Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Contrary to popular belief, Batman does not know the identity of Robin. 

Well. Not this one, at least. Tim’s made quite sure of that.  

The last two Robins were handpicked. Not to go out in the field, no, but to be part of Bruce’s life. Not Batman’s – Bruce’s. Tim has never earned his spot in either place. He forced his way in because he was necessary, not because he was wanted. 

Batman needed a Robin. Tim was readily available, and more than capable of doing what needed to be done. No one else was willing or able to step in and keep Batman intact. Only Tim. 

(As usual.)

And he wasn’t just competent, he was good. Even Tim could see that. The mortality rates were down to nearly zero, the crime waves and the brutality from both sides of the fight were noticeably waning, and Batman was more likely to glare his enemies into submission than to beat them senseless until they physically couldn’t resist. 

Tim was serving his purpose. He was keeping Batman – Bruce – from getting himself and everyone else killed, and he was keeping the streets of Gotham safe. 

(A dream he’d always refused to recognise before – a dream he still can’t allow himself to fully accept. Tim is here because he’s necessary, not because he’s wanted. Keeping Gotham safe isn’t about him. Nothing is about him. 

He just needs to remember to stop being so selfish.) 

Needless to say, it would be incredibly counterproductive to literally everything if Batman were to become aware of his identity. Batman is listening to Robin right now, not to the spoiled rich brat next door. Not only would it impact his credibility, it would also mean that Bruce would try and involve himself in Tim’s personal life. That is unacceptable. Tim’s been doing just fine on his own, and will continue to do fine for the rest of his life, but he’s well aware that Bruce will see him and think alone and sad and Jason, and then Tim will never, ever be able to get away. 

Besides that, if Bruce knows who he is, then that means he’ll be capable of stopping Tim from being Robin. Tim can’t stop until he’s no longer needed, until Robin is no longer needed, and that certainly isn’t happening any time soon. 

He’d taken steps to ensure the safety of his identity. Aside from Robin’s signature domino, Tim’s put his own disguise skills to use. Makeup can hide his bone structure, contacts can change the colour of his eyes, temporary dyes and chalks can hide the shine in his hair. At this point, all Bruce knows is that Tim’s hair is probably black, and he’s pretty sure that the addition of colours like blond and ginger to his roots on more than one occasion has made even that shaky bit of information unreliable. 

And he hasn’t hidden his physical features every single time – only enough times to make sure that Bruce, and by extension Batman, couldn’t tell when he was hiding and when he wasn’t. He usually added a few consistent features, and occasionally made it look like he was badly attempting to hide something he didn’t even have – freckles, or perhaps a mole. He’d even faked various piercings on more than one occasion. 

He’s sure it must drive Bruce crazy, trying to figure out who on earth is behind the stolen mask, but Tim will never tell, and Bruce will never know. ‘Thorough’ is an understatement when it comes to Tim’s efforts. 

It does make him feel like a chameleon sometimes. He can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. 

What does it matter though, anyways? It’s a useful skill, so obviously Tim will exploit it. There’s no point in having an ability if he’s not going to be productive with it. 

Putting the last finishing touches on tonight’s makeup (a simple contour to sharpen his jaw and cheekbones, and a couple freckles by the left corner of his mouth), Tim packs away his supplies and tucks them under his bed, into the hollowed-out leg of the bedframe where neither of his parents will ever think to look. He doesn’t think they’ll care enough to go searching, but if he’s careless enough to be caught with so much as a speck of makeup on him when they return next– 

Well. It’s been made quite clear to him that boys don’t wear makeup, and that was the end of that. It didn’t matter that Tim didn’t listen in the long run – only that they thought he listened during the short time they still cared about that (as in, the short time he was within their sight). 

The modified spirit gum seals his mask tightly to the skin around his eyes, the lenses concealing the aqua contacts he’s chosen for tonight. He usually doesn’t need them, but there’s always a chance a lens will crack, and he’d rather be safe than sorry. Tim didn’t make it this far by being careless and complacent, after all. He knows better than to let his guard down for even a second. 

He is a Drake, and while this isn’t the most normal application of the trademark Drake Stubbornness, Tim is hardly the first of his line to grab on tight, dig his heels in, and hold on. If what he needs to do to hold on is hide every inch of his true self, then so fucking be it.  

Tim feels the rest of the Robin uniform around him like a fitted glove, custom-made after he’d figured out what materials the previous ones had been sewn from. It had been hell to steal Jason’s costume in the first place, and even worse putting it back, but he’d done it. Tim wasn’t going to fly in a downed Robin’s colours – he was a heathen and a hellion, sure, but he wasn’t going to disrespect his Robin. He’d only needed that uniform on a temporary basis, just until he had one of his own, and then it went straight back to where it belonged, with Jason’s father. 

(Even if Tim feels like keeping it in a glass case is… unhealthy at best. Still, he may be grieving Robin, but he’s not grieving his son. Tim is no one to tell Bruce how to handle Jason’s death, not unless it’s legitimately hurting him – and isn’t that why he became Robin in the first place?)

So he puts on the suit and the mask, and Tim becomes Robin, and Robin has a job to do. It’s easy to slip out the window when he learned to circumvent all of his parents’ security measures years ago, and after that, it’s merely a matter of figuring out where Batman will be tonight – which, if one has his patrol schedule and all of its planned deviations memorised (which Robin does ), is even easier. 

Robin is on the correct rooftop before the clock even strikes ten, standing right behind Batman like the backguard he’s made himself to be. 

Robin is small where Batman is big. Robin is quick where Batman is strong. Robin guards his back when Batman leaves it open. A well-oiled machine, a fitted match. Whatever Batman is not, Robin must learn to be, so that when they work as a team, there is no weakness to be found. 

“Robin,” Batman greets in that familiar gravelly tone, nothing like the voice he uses in his day life, and only somewhat similar to the voice he used when talking to his sons. 

“Evening, Batman.” Robin nods curtly, ever the professional gentleman. 

They don’t exchange any more words after that. Batman simply leaps, and Robin knows it’s time to follow. It’s a rare evening that Robin is briefed on whatever they’re going into – he’s fairly certain that it’s a fruitless attempt to keep him uninvolved, but the issue with that is that not telling Robin anything only puts him in more danger. He won’t stay away from the dangerous situation, he’ll just be going in less prepared. Batman hasn’t seemed to notice that yet, though, so Robin has simply gotten used to doing his own research. 

There’s a new crime lord in town, one who’s using one of the Joker’s old monikers, and when Robin says old, he means old . Red Hood is a name that Gotham hasn’t heard in years, and yet, some newcomer has apparently taken it upon himself to revive the title. 

As far as Robin can tell, they’re heading in for reconnaissance to see if the title is the only thing he’s reviving, or if he’s decided to take on some of the Joker’s tactics as well. One Joker is bad enough, but a second one? A second Joker might actually be the final straw that tears Gotham to pieces, especially if this one manages to avoid the Batman obsession. 

Sometimes, it seems like that morbid fixation is the only thing keeping the Joker from actually destroying Gotham in its entirety. If Red Hood lacks that fixation… 

Regardless, there’s no need to start theorising just yet. For all he knows, it’s just a messed-up coincidence, and there’s no reason to worry at all. This guy’s still a small name, meaning that it’s possible he just picked a really unlucky moniker. Of course, there’s also the chance that he knew of the name’s significance, and still picked it, but more as a tactic to piggyback off of the Joker’s notoriety than to mimic the clown himself. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried that trick, and it probably won’t be the last, either. 

So Robin follows Batman without protest to where he knows Red Hood has been spotted most recently – the warehouse district of Park Row, or as it’s more often known, Crime Alley. It’s the perfect place for a budding mob boss to set up, especially since Red Hood has been rumoured to have interacted with Black Mask. It’s unclear as to whether they’re allies or enemies at this stage, but Crime Alley is technically unclaimed territory when it comes to the major gangs. Plenty of them like to say it’s part of their turf, but Crime Alley is a no-man’s-land. If Hood wants to establish himself as a solitary figure, be it ally or enemy to the other lords, he can’t do it on someone else’s turf. Crime Alley may be a lofty goal, but it’s still unclaimed, and that’s probably all Hood needs. 

Robin is so lost in thought that he almost doesn’t notice Batman pivot to another rooftop – almost. He’s not so unaware of his own surroundings that he’d miss something like that, especially not while he’s out on patrol. He’s quick to follow Batman’s lead here, crouching down behind the crumbling decorative lip of the rooftop as they look down at the scene below. 

It’s not a drug deal, but it’s something shady. Red Hood is there, hovering in the shadows with that signature crimson helmet concealing his face as he leans against the wall in a deceptively casual fashion. He’s certainly got a theatre streak, that’s for certain. 

Across from him are two of Black Mask’s goons, and while they don’t look scared, per se, they’re at least a little bit wary. Cautious, perhaps, would be the most accurate term. It seems Hood is at least partially as intimidating as his rumours of a reputation make him out to be. Still, what could he possibly be doing with someone else’s goons? 

“The boss wants to know what you’re planning,” one of the goons says, and it sounds like he’s repeated this exact line a dozen times. 

Hood tuts. “He’ll find out when he holds up his end of the goddamn deal. How much fuckin’ clearer can I possibly be?” 

His voice is vaguely familiar, but through the vocoder that must be built into the helmet, it’s too staticked to tell if that’s his real tone and pitch. Robin could always try and get an audio sample and take out the vocoder effects, but that would still require him to identify the voice itself, and he’s always been better at visual clues over auditory. 

The other goon groans, shaking his head. “The deal’s gonna be upheld from our end, but how we gonna make sure you keep your side o’things? Ain’t like the boss has time t’go checkin’ in on that shit every three hours.” 

“‘Course not. Can’t go putting our dear mutual friend out, now can I? You’ll get your shit, Mask. Be patient, and maybe you’ll even get more than ya bargained for.” Red Hood chuckled, flicking his wrist and pulling a revolver out of the holster on his belt, spinning it by the loop of the trigger around and around his outstretched finger. The movement is familiar, but just like the voice, Robin can’t quite place it. 

The introduction of the gun is an obvious threat, and the goons both seem to know it. “Now listen, Mr. Hood, we ain’t searching out no trouble here. We’ll go and tell the boss you’re gonna pull your weight, all right? No need for… escalation.” 

Red Hood steps forward where the goons step back, encroaching on their space bit by bit until they’re nose to nose. “Good plan. Run along like good little goons, won’t ya?”

Theatre streak. The movement patterns. The spinning gun. Robin knows this person. Why does he know this person? How do those things connect? There’s a connection here, something he’s missing, one last piece–

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell ya what’ll happen if I don’t get what I want. ” 

Ah. 

It’s the accent that does it, he thinks. The speech patterns help, but that accent – it’s Crime Alley through and through, except it’s not, because there’s still that tiny, tiny hint of Gotham high society that can only be picked up by living it. 

Tim knows who this is. Red Hood is Jason, and judging by Batman’s lack of reaction, Tim is the only one who knows it. 

The question is… what is he going to do about it? 

Chapter Text

Jason’s back. 

Jason is alive. Alive and… not necessarily well if he’s a crime lord, but intact, at least. 

And Tim doesn’t know what to do. 

It’s been a few days since the first revelation, and during that time, it’s quickly been revealed that not only is Jason definitely fixated on Batman (and who can blame him), he’s also fixated on Robin. Namely, he’s pissed that Robin still exists. 

And… Tim can’t blame him. Can’t even muster up the effort to be offended, because, well, he’s right. Robin died with Jason, but Tim dragged him back from the grave and now his dead predecessor is rightly furious. 

Of course, there’s always the chance that this somehow isn’t Jason, but Tim doesn’t really believe that. Red Hood is just too close, too on-point, too particular to be anyone but Jason Todd-Wayne. At worst, he’s a clone with Jason’s memories, but honestly, that’s close enough. If he looks like Jason, acts like Jason, thinks like Jason, what’s the difference? He’s still Bruce’s lost son either way. 

He needs to come home. 

It’s obvious that Jason is trying to bait Bruce into something, and Tim doesn’t know what that could possibly be (yet) since Batman is being weirdly secretive about this case. Maybe he’s picked up on Jason’s tactics, or maybe the idea of a Joker wannabe is just bringing up bad memories, but whatever the case, Tim can’t rely on Batman for his information in this regard – not that he usually can anyways. He’ll just do what he always does, and figure it out himself. It’s not like this is anything new for him. 

Tim will have to gather his own information, but even without it, he can make some rough assumptions – though of course, without sufficient evidence, to go off of, there’s a much higher chance of those theories being wrong. 

Jason, from what Tim had seen so far, seemed to be utterly pissed at Batman. Whether it’s true hatred or just fury remains to be seen, but Tim is personally banking on the former. When he recalls how Batman and Robin had interacted before Jason’s death, when he recalls how Bruce and Jason had always interacted, it doesn’t paint a picture of a child who could hate his father. If Jason harbours a true loathing for Bruce, there had to have been some sort of outside interference to make that happen. It doesn’t rule out the possibility entirely, not considering some of the bullshit that goes down in Gotham on a regular basis, but it does make it far less likely. 

Motives aside, what is Jason trying to do? He’s establishing himself as a crime lord, or at least he’s doing something that looks awfully similar, but why? What’s his end goal here? 

What does he want?  

Well. That much is obvious, actually, once Tim really thinks about it. He probably would have figured it out earlier if he were smarter. 

Jason wants his family back. That’s why he’s so insistent on getting Batman’s attention, why he keeps showing up, why he’s purposefully encroaching on not only the various gangs’ territories, but on Batman’s own, as well. Jason wants his family to know he’s here, and the only reason for that is because he wants his family back . 

But why can’t he just go home properly? There must be something stopping him from simply returning to the Manor, some sort of block in the road that’s preventing him from taking the easiest path. Is he being blackmailed? Forcefully kept away from his family? What terrible thing would happen if he did go home? 

Somehow, though, Tim doesn’t think Jason is being forcibly kept away from his family. This is something Jason himself is doing voluntarily – if he were beholden to someone else’s orders, Tim would have picked up on it by now. No, this is certainly Jason’s own doing, but that doesn’t explain why. Why can’t Jason come home? 

Could it be because he’s upset with Bruce? But no, there seems to be more layers to that as well. Tim would say that Jason was mad because Bruce had let him die, but Bruce had tried his almighty best to save Jason. 

Tim needs to think about what Jason would be mad about. What does he know about Jason? Born and raised in Crime Alley, up until he was adopted by Bruce and was then assimilated into the high-class Wayne family. Was the second Robin after Dick – Nightwing – had retired, and was well known for his fierceness coupled with his quips and aggressively gleeful personality when it came to taking down criminals. Hated socialites – could that be it? But no, Bruce had already been using his ‘Brucie’ persona long before Jason had even entered the scene, and Jason was smart enough to know that it was fake. What else could Bruce be doing that Jason would dislike? No – that Jason would be mad about? And mad enough to not come home even though he obviously wants to, at that. 

Born and raised in Crime Alley. Second Robin after Dick. Hated socialites. What am I missing?

Tim pauses in his pacing, staring at the wall for a solid six seconds as his brain processes. Jason was dead for… likely months, considering that Tim doesn’t know when exactly he’d come back to life. At the very least, he’d been removed from society and Gotham as a whole for at least that long, since there was technically still a chance that Jason had never actually died in the first place and that the body buried was a fake. 

But either way, if Jason had been dead-ish for that long, what could have happened in that time that Jason wouldn’t have context for? Gotham had kind of gone to shit for a while there, and if Jason hadn’t been around to see any of it, could he have misunderstood something in the aftermath? 

Maybe Tim only needs to clear up a misconception or two in order to get Jason to calm down and come home.  What happened before Jason came back that would still have visible aftereffects? 

Plenty of buildings had been rebuilt, most of them by the Wayne Corporation. Jason would be able to see that easily, but Tim can’t really imagine that making Jason mad . The criminals had been receiving far harsher injuries for a while, but that had stopped after Tim-as-Robin had started keeping Batman in check, and Jason likely wouldn’t know of it unless someone told him. Not much else had changed, now that he thinks about it. Batman still patrolled, he still had a Robin–

Tim stops short, nearly falling on his face as he freezes mid-stride. 

Batman still has a Robin. Jason isn’t his Robin. Tim is his Robin, and he took Jason’s place. That’s what’s changed. That’s what Jason is upset about. 

Jason was Robin, and he’d died as Robin. He had a reputation for hating high society. He’d been adopted from the gutters of Crime Alley, and would likely have issues worrying about being replaced as a result, considering some of what Tim heard people whispering about him during galas and parties. 

He must be furious with Tim for taking his place. On top of that, with Tim in the way, Jason can’t go back to being Robin – he can’t reclaim his place at his father’s side if there’s someone already taking up that space like an empty pot blocking the burners of a stovetop. It isn’t that Jason is mad at Bruce. It’s that he’s mad that Tim replaced him.  

Fuck. 

Tim staggers back, falling to sit in the armchair in the corner of his room. He’s the reason Jason won’t – no, can’t – come home. He’s the roadblock. He’s the one in the way. 

Clearly, this must be remedied. 

What can he do about it? Leave, obviously, but how? When? If he doesn’t show up for patrol tonight, if he just drops off the face of the earth, Bruce will assume something has happened to him, and Jason will have no idea that Tim backed out. They’ll draw their own conclusions, and for all he knows, he’ll just end up pushing Jason away further if Bruce decides he needs to search for the missing Robin III. It’s highly unlikely that he’d care enough for that, of course, but there’s always the chance of Tim disappearing because he was compromised – which, of course, would be a threat to Batman’s security, and would necessitate finding Tim and getting him out of there before he could spill any of his many, many secrets. 

No, Tim can’t rush into this. Simply going AWOL isn’t feasible – he’ll have to formulate a plan . 

Luckily, that’s exactly what he’s best at. 

Chapter Text

The situation with Red Hood is beginning to get out of hand. 

Hood is carving out a place for himself within the shaky system of Gotham’s criminal underworld, building a drug empire and ruthlessly taking out any opposition. That would normally be par for the course in a place like Gotham. Unfortunately, nothing in Bruce’s life can ever be simple, and Hood has (multiple times, in fact) declared his intentions to follow in his namesake’s footsteps and see Robin downed. 

He hasn’t mentioned it to Robin yet. Bruce had been lucky enough that Hood hasn’t said anything to Robin’s face yet, but he imagines that his self-appointed sidekick is already aware of it anyways. He seems to possess some form of omniscience in that regard – it almost makes Bruce wonder if he’s a meta, but he doubts it… though, perhaps that would explain how the boy knows to be so meticulous with not letting Bruce get ahold of any of his DNA. 

Despite his best efforts, Bruce still hasn't been able to figure out who’s wearing the Robin mask. He hasn’t been trying as hard as he was before, not when he’s been so wrapped up in Hood’s case, but even before, he doesn’t think he ever even got close to figuring it out. 

The third Robin is an enigma. His physical features seem to change day by day – Bruce had thought him to be black-haired until he’d seen roots of blond one night, but his confirmation that Robin dyed his hair went out the window when those very same roots were a vibrant shade of ginger a week later. He’d never gotten close to taking off Robin’s mask, not even to check for a concussion – the boy always vanished after Bruce suspected injuries were occurring, and he only reappeared once he had plausible deniability to avoid the medbay. Even the bone structure of his face appeared to change often, likely augmented by makeup in order to hide his true identity. 

Even on the rare occasions he had entered the manor without a domino concealing his features, he had never once looked the same. Alfred had reported the boy to have numerous eye colours, sometimes even two at a time, and his face never once looked the same. He had put in as much effort as possible to hide who he was, to the point that not even the ‘World’s Greatest Detective’ could unmask him. 

And yet, despite his mystery, Bruce can’t help but worry about him. 

If no one knows who Robin is, how can they protect him? How can they keep him safe when they don’t even know his name and face? 

With the threat of Red Hood looming nearer and nearer, Bruce was only growing more concerned for the safety of his Robin. He has to find some way to protect him, but Bruce knows perfectly well that trying to bench him isn’t going to do a thing. It’ll just mean that Robin goes out without him instead of with him. 

If Bruce wants to keep Robin safe… he needs him out of Gotham entirely. Robin isn’t going to like it, but if Bruce can frame it right, perhaps he’ll actually cooperate. 

oOoOo

“...I’m being benched, then.” 

Bruce sighs, pinching his nose. The patrol is over, and he’s got his cowl off, but he’s still in the rest of his Batman getup, which makes for a somewhat amusing sight – or it would, at least, had he not opened his mouth. “Not benched. I need you at the Titan’s Tower for the moment, Robin.” 

“So I can be benched there, sir?” 

“ No, I’m not benching you. This is for your own good. Gotham isn’t safe for you right now–” 

Robin gives him an incredulous look that he knows Bruce can read even through the domino. “Is it ever? I just – isn’t that the point of us going on patrol, sir, to make it less unsafe?” 

“Circumstances have changed.” 

Robin stays quiet. So it’s about Jason, then.  

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Jason has clearly made his fury with Tim evident. Bruce, in some misguided attempt to solve the problem, is trying to remove Tim as quickly and smoothly as possible, and knowing that benching him has never been effective, has decided to simply send him far enough away that he can forget about him. 

That won’t solve anything, though. It’ll put a band-aid on it at best, but Jason is still going to know that Tim is out there wearing his colours, and their family will never be able to knit itself back together if that still holds true. 

Tim needs to remove himself completely. Perhaps… this is simply his opportunity to do so. 

If he gives in too easily, though, Bruce will get suspicious, so Robin shoots him a look and crosses his arms. “I just don’t see why I have to go across the country because of ‘circumstances’ that you won’t even explain, sir.” 

“Robin has become somewhat of a goal for some of the… newer rogues. I want you to leave Gotham because I don’t want any of them targeting you specifically. You haven’t done anything wrong, this is for your own safety and nothing more.” 

Robin scoffs, though he allows his arms to relax a bit, showing a ‘subconscious’ reaction that he knows Bruce will take as him slowly giving in. “But that’s never been a problem before. We’ll beat them easily, just like we usually do.” 

This is the part that Tim knows to expect. Bruce, sensing weakness, will attempt to get Robin to cave with one big push. Robin, already softened up by the earlier argument, will reluctantly agree. Sure enough, like clockwork, Robin watches as Bruce’s gaze hardens. “You’re going to stay at the Titan’s Tower for the foreseeable future, and that is final . This is for your own good, Robin.” 

He gives it a moment, maybe two, before he slowly lets his shoulders drop. “...Fine. I’ll be ready by morning.” 

Bruce watches him for another second before turning and walking away without so much as a ‘goodbye’. 

(Not that Tim would ever expect one.)

oOoOo

Titan’s Tower is eerily quiet when Robin arrives. 

He teleports in through the zeta, like usual. Unlike usual, however, Robin is the only one here. The rest of the team – Kon, Bart, and Cassie – are all with their own respective families, and won’t be returning until their next scheduled meetup. That’s all right, though – Tim is used to being the only one home. 

(If he could even call any of the places he’s thinking of ‘home’.) 

Bruce didn’t bother coming with him, just shoved him into the zeta and sent him on his way. That’s all right, too. He’s got his own son to worry about, and it’s not like he needs any more brats causing him trouble. 

So, Tim is well and truly alone, and that’s perfectly fine by him. It means he can start putting his newly minted plan into action without having to worry about anyone interrupting or interfering – which, honestly, was the only reason he hadn’t done anything earlier. 

Jason’s problem is Tim’s existence. Therefore, Tim needs to remove himself from the situation. He can’t just go somewhere else, either – Robin (or rather, Tim-as-Robin) needs to disappear entirely. Jason will no longer feel like he’s being replaced, Bruce won’t have to bother with an entitled interloper, and Dick won’t have to be reminded of his lost younger brother every time he sees Tim, because he won’t see Tim anymore. None of them will. 

(Not that they really did in the first place.) 

If he’d tried to do this back in Gotham, Bruce would have noticed. Bruce would have gone looking for him, would have raised a fuss, because it would have seemed like something was wrong. He’d assume that Tim had been forced into this somehow, because why would anyone ever willingly relinquish Robin? But no, Tim is going to be doing this of his own volition, and if he does it somewhere safe and secure like the Titan’s Tower, then Bruce won’t be able to have any doubt that it was Tim’s decision and Tim’s decision alone. Luckily, the Titans aren’t here to intervene either, which is one less roadblock that Tim would have to worry about. 

And it’s not like Tim plans on dying or something, so there’s really no reason for Bruce to worry. For one thing, he has no desire to be removed from life, and for another? A dead Robin is only going to fuck everything up for the Wayne family. A dead Robin is what ruined everything in the first place – well, technically it was the Joker killing a Robin that had ruined things, but the end result would be the same. 

No, Tim won’t be dying, but he won’t be doing anything to reveal his identity, either. He’ll simply use this time he’s been given to make sure that there’s no question about who belongs in the Wayne family and the Robin uniform. 

Jason belongs here. 

Tim does not. 

(And he’s well aware of that.) 

He’s got to shed the face of Robin. The uniform is folded up on his bed (it wasn’t his bed, it was just the bed he used, it belonged to Robin , not Tim) with the two notes, and Tim is packed and ready to leave. 

He hadn’t had many possessions here, anyways – Tim thinks that deep down, he always knew this was a temporary deal. The few things he’d kept in the Tower were the things that were necessary to have there, things like his laptop, spare clothes, emergency cash, disguise supplies. All of it was packed neatly into his plain black backpack, leaving a spotless room with no trace of Tim left except for the uniform and notes sitting pretty at the foot of the bed. 

Tim isn’t Robin anymore. After he walks out of this tower, he’s never walking back in. 

Pulling the backpack over his shoulders, Tim adjusts the black facemask and the hood of his black zip-up jacket to make sure his face is properly concealed. He’s got one green and one brown contact in just in case a camera is able to catch his eyes, but the lower half of his face and the rest of his head are fully concealed.  The thin black gloves will block fingerprints, too, just in case they think to check for that. 

No longer Robin. No longer Timothy Drake the socialites’ son, either, not if he has anything to say about it. If Tim is leaving one identity behind, he’s leaving all of them. 

It’ll probably take his parents years to realise he’s missing, anyways. The last three times they visited, he didn’t see them once, and they hadn’t said a word about it. Sometimes, he doesn’t think they even remember they ever had a child – if they do, they certainly don’t care to think about it. 

So, no Robin, and no Timothy Drake. He can still be Tim, the one identity he can never truly shed (the one identity he would never truly want to), but Tim is as flexible and subjective as a funhouse mirror. It won’t be hard to meld that face into whatever he wants – whatever he needs to be right now, now that he’s lost the main two faces he’s been showing to the world. Maybe it’s time for a new face, anyways. 

Tim’s always been able to do that – just put on a new identity like one would a sweater or a hat. He thinks it’s called ‘code switching’, but it’s less of a code than it is a mask . 

Timothy Jackson Drake is a mask. Robin is a mask. The leader of the Titans, Batman’s sidekick, Gotham’s hope, they’re all masks that Tim has worn at some point or another, and they’re all masks he has to leave behind. He can’t bring any of them with him – not anymore. He’s not the socialite’s obedient son, he’s not the placeholder hero, he’s not Robin. He needs to be someone else entirely. 

He needs a new mask to wear. A new identity that no one can connect to anyone he’s previously been. 

And.. well. Even if he isn’t Robin, who’s going to stop him from doing exactly what he’s always wanted to do? He doesn’t need to wear the traffic-light colours to be one of Gotham’s heroes. He doesn’t even need them to be a bird.  

Tim is going to fly on his own, with or without anyone else’s help, and he’s not going to let a single soul stop him. He’s never going to let anyone stop him ever again. 

And he knows exactly what he’s going to do to make sure of that. 

Chapter Text

Jason’s plan is at last coming to fruition. 

He’s already in Titan’s Tower, since they’d never bothered to remove his old codes from the zeta system. The other three mini-heroes are drugged to high heaven and won’t be waking up any time soon (and that had honestly been the most difficult part of this, concocting and administering personalised sedatives for a speedster, a half-Kryptonian, and a demigoddess). All he has to do now is find the Replacement, and then the fun can truly begin. 

The problem is, Jason’s been through about half the tower by now, and there’s no sign of the little bastard anywhere. He can’t actually be in his room, can he? Every bit of information Jason’s gathered by now says that there’s no way the Replacement would be going to bed before all of the mission reports and sidework were finished, but despite the drafts sitting unfinished in the computer, he’s nowhere to be found. 

God, if Jason somehow managed to break in on the one night that the Replacement actually decided to go to bed at a reasonable hour… 

He can feel the emerald haze creeping at the edges of his vision, held back by barely a thread and ready to go at a moment’s notice. The second he sees that damn brat, it’s over. Jason stalks toward the Replacement’s room, hand creeping towards his gun as he draws nearer and nearer. 

A single push of a button opens the door, and Jason draws and cocks his gun to find… absolutely nothing. 

The room’s fucking empty. Completely empty, no Replacement to be found anywhere. 

There’s barely a trace of personality in here, either. It’s like the walls have been stripped – not so much as a single poster or picture remains. The only thing that isn’t standard-issue for every Titan’s room is the suit folded on the bed, laid out like one would lay out clothes to wear after a shower. 

Jason stills as he looks around the room, finding no sign of the Replacement anywhere. He slowly walks around the room, glancing under furniture and even sliding open the closet to see if the brat’s squirrelled himself away somewhere like a coward, but no. He’s not hiding anywhere in this room, and Jason has checked everywhere else in the tower. Either the Replacement has spontaneously gained the ability to teleport, or he’s not fucking here.  

He came all this way, and the little bastard didn’t even have the dignity to show up. 

The haze is all but consuming his vision now, tinting everything green, green, green and making him so, so angry. He’s furious at the Replacement for denying him this chance to vent his frustrations. He’s furious at Batman for letting a Robin die in the first place and then just taking another on like it’s nothing. He’s furious at Bruce for letting his death go unavenged. 

And he’s absolutely pissed that the bastard killed him in the first place. 

The first of these problems, at least, and potentially the second, could have been solved if the Replacement had just been here this evening. But no, Jason is going to have to go all the way home and make another plan, because apparently the brat couldn’t be bothered to show up. 

Jason shoves his gun back into its holster on the side of his thigh, letting out a harsh scoff as he stalks off, leaving the room untouched. With any luck, he can leave through the zeta without any fuss and be back in Gotham with enough time to go hunt down some human traffickers or pedophiles or something. Someone he can kill with no remorse – someone that will shed their blood to sate the unending flood of emerald in his head. 

oOoOo

It’s been over 48 hours since Bruce has last heard from Robin. Normally, that wouldn’t be nearly as much of an issue, but with Red Hood unaccounted for? Considering the obvious grudge the crime lord has been known to harbour against Robin, Bruce would rather not take any chances. 

Last he’d known, Bruce had sent Robin to stay in the Titan’s Tower, hoping that it would be far enough away and well-defended enough to at least deter Hood, if not outright stop him. Now, though, with no word from Robin for two days and counting, he’s wondering if perhaps he’d made the wrong decision after all. If something had happened to Robin at the Titan’s Tower… 

No. There’s no point in wondering about what did and didn’t happen. All he has to do is check the security footage, and he’ll know if something has happened to Robin or not. 

Bruce pulls up the window on the Batcomputer, but before he can even get to the security feeds, a red alert in the corner catches his eye – the symbol for a security breach. Likely not an active emergency, but a report of one nonetheless, and Bruce feels the pit of his stomach drop away as the thoughts of everything that could’ve happened start pouring in through the hole left behind. Robin must have been too caught up in the security breach to send a report. 

The message was only from a few minutes ago. He needs to go to the Titan’s Tower immediately. Bruce stands abruptly, shutting off the Batcomputer without bothering to close the windows as he grabs his costume and starts to pull it on. 

After a quick note to Alfred, he’s ready to go, and he heads over to the zeta with no delay. Batman is at the Titan’s Tower in moments, stepping out into the zeta lobby and heading up the stairs. 

The Titans are clustered around the counter with a tablet in the middle of the group – or rather, three of the Titans are. Wonder Girl is sitting on a spinning stool and holding the tablet as Superboy and Impulse lean over her shoulders to get a look at the screen. All three of them look up as Batman enters the room, but he sees their eyes all flick to his side, as though they’re expecting another to arrive with him. 

That… does not bode well. 

“Batman,” Wonder Girl greets him, politely professional. “You must have got our alert, we think there was a security breach last night. I just sent it a couple minutes ago.” 

She waves the tablet in the air, but before Batman can respond, Superboy cuts in to continue the explanation. “There’s no damage and nothing was taken – I’d almost think they’d entered through the zetas, but we knew it had to be something else because when we woke up, it felt like we’d all been drugged. Cassie and Bart weren’t sure, but I… know what it feels like, so. Yeah. I confirmed, and we had Cassie send the report. We didn’t expect anyone to show up that quickly, though.”

“I see. Where is Robin?” Batman asks, glancing around. “He should have been the one to send a report to me.” 

He usually never misses a report or meeting. Had he been injured during the security breach? But then, why hadn’t the other Titans – or Robin himself, if he was well enough to do so – informed him of the injury immediately? Something here isn’t adding up, and it’s only confirmed when he sees the confused looks on the other young heroes’ faces. 

“But… Robin isn’t here,” Superboy says hesitantly, glancing at the other two Titans to see them nod in agreement. “We would’ve seen him if he was. The intruder went into his room, yeah, but Robin wasn’t in the tower when that happened. I… thought he was back in Gotham with you guys?” 

Batman stills. “Robin isn’t here?” 

Wonder Girl shakes her head. “He hasn’t been here since… what, a couple weeks ago? A month?” 

“That last mission with the snakes!” Impulse jumps in. “An’ then he went back to Gotham an’ I think the zetas said he popped in a couple times while we weren’t here but we haven’t seen him since then an’ he wasn’t in the tower when we all got here yesterday so we all thought he was still in Gotham ‘cause he’s got other stuff to do ‘sides Titans things.”  

Shit. 

Robin wasn’t here at all yesterday, and Bruce hasn’t seen him for over 48 hours. He couldn’t have been in the tower for more than a couple of hours before he’d gone completely missing without a trace. 

“The intruder got into his room?” Batman asks, and he’s already sweeping down the corridor, cape billowing ominously behind him as the three Titans rush to catch up. “Was anything tampered with in any way?” 

“I think Rob cleaned a bit an’ he left his uniform folded on the bed but his room kinda always looks like that so it’s hard to tell,” Impulse says, already in front of him. He’s obviously going slow to keep pace with the rest of the group, though the speed of his words is just as overwhelming as usual. “D’you think they were here for Robin? Were they trying to kidnap him? Was he s’posed to be here this weekend and that’s why they came to take him but then he wasn’t here and they had to leave before they got caught? Kon, was Robin s’posed to be here this weekend?” 

Impulse pauses to let his friend respond, and Superboy shakes his head after a moment’s deliberation. “He didn’t tell me anything about coming to the Tower, and it wasn’t on the schedules, either. Usually he just… either shows up or doesn’t, on the weekends.”

Batman presses the button on the wall to make Robin’s door slide open, since the motion sensors are still down from the security breach. Luckily, the buttons are fully mechanical and work without electricity, meaning that a loss of power doesn’t affect the ability to open and close doors. Sure enough, just as Impulse had said, the room looks spotless. The only thing that stands out is the folded cloth at the foot of the bed. 

Did Robin do that, or did the intruder? Batman bends to pick it up, but pauses when the movement of the cloth causes two previously unnoticed envelopes to fall to the floor. 

Impulse swipes them up in milliseconds, flipping them over to see the fronts and backs. “This one’s addressed to us and this one’s addressed to you. Looks like one of those labelmaker thingies. Don’t we have a labelmaker, Cassie?” 

“I think so, somewhere,” she confirms. “Can I see that?” 

Impulse moves to hand her the letter, but Batman stops him just as her fingers make contact with the paper, taking both envelopes for himself. “We aren’t opening these until we can be sure they weren’t tampered with. There are plenty of dangerous things that could be done to an envelope.” 

Superboy squints, cocking his head. “They’re not lead-lined. The only thing in ‘em is paper, so I think it’s safe. No unknown substances, no traps, just two pieces of paper.” 

“See? It’s fine! They’re probably from Robin anyway.” Impulse holds out his hands expectantly, and Batman waits for a moment before slowly handing over the envelope marked To the Titans – Superboy, Impulse, Wonder Girl. Impulse snatches it and passes it to Wonder Girl immediately, who carefully tears it open and unfolds the piece of paper within. 

“To Kon, Bart, and Cassie,” she begins, reading the letter aloud for the benefit of her teammates (despite the fact that they’re both leaning over her shoulders). “I’m sorry to tell you this way, but I’m… leaving.” 

What? 

“What?” Superboy says, echoing Bruce’s thoughts. 

Wonder Girl’s brow furrows as she continues to read. “It’s become evident to me that I can no longer continue as Robin, so I’m leaving you all this note to clarify that I’m not abandoning you without a word. I hate to leave you all behind, but I know you’ll be able to handle things without me. The three of you will make a great team with or without a Robin. With any luck, we’ll see each other again someday. Signed… Robin.” 

It’s short, is the first thing Bruce thinks.  

What the fuck, is the second thing Bruce thinks, and he’s taking the letter from Wonder Girl only moments later to read it for himself. Once, twice, thrice through, and it still says the exact same thing it did the first time, the printed letters glaring back at him from the singular sheet of paper. 

His attention is drawn almost inexplicably to the second letter, the one addressed to Batman , and he hands the first note back to a shell-shocked Superboy as he carefully opens his own. 

It’s. 

It’s a letter of resignation. 

An actual letter of resignation, like the kind he’d find on his desk at Wayne Industries. Robin must have found one on the internet and copy-pasted it, simply adding in names whenever necessary. It’s impersonal, it’s professional, and it’s so, so Robin. 

And at the same time, it’s as far from Robin as it gets. The letters were obviously typed out and printed, likely right here in the Tower, which would be easy enough for the intruder to have done. Why would Robin have done this? Why would he have left his suit here with these notes – why would he have resigned? These were goodbye notes.  

(Well. One of them was, anyway.) 

Batman feels his brow furrow as he reads it again, and once more for good measure. There’s no way to tell if it’s a real note or not, but… the suit doesn’t look like it was removed by force. It’s even folded the same way that Robin usually folds up a suit or cloak on the rare occasions he does so back in the Cave. Batman can distinctly remember seeing his cloak folded and left in the seat by the Batcomputer after a particular difficult night. It had gotten torn off and Robin had retrieved it, and he’d left it there for Batman to find, just like his suit was left at the foot of the bed. 

Robin is missing, and based on the one clue that Batman does have… he left of his own volition. That, combined with the two notes that had been left – one letter of resignation and one goodbye note that mimics his speech patterns and thought process so perfectly that it would take a genius to fake it – leaves Batman with only one conclusion to reach. 

Robin is well and truly gone, and with how secretive he had always been, not even Batman is going to be able to find him. 

Chapter Text

“What do we know about the newcomer?” 

Dick looks up at the sound of his father’s voice, setting down the tablet he was poring over. “Which one? The crime lord?” 

Bruce shakes his head. “No. There’s someone else on the scene, someone I’ve never even heard of before. They’re practically a ghost, and some of the things they’ve been doing makes me think they’ve been flying under the radar for far longer than anyone thinks, but it seems that now, they’re finally willing to show their hand.” 

“What?” Dick frowns, leaning forwards. “Is this a new villain or something? I thought Gotham had been relatively quiet recently.” 

“It has. It’s unclear yet as to whether this is a new villain or a vigilante hopeful, but whoever they are, they’re nearly impossible to get ahold of. All I’ve got are reports of them dropping people at the police station and interrupting deals and busts.” 

“What details do we have on them? Anything that would help recognise them?” 

Bruce shakes his head. “Not really. According to Gordon’s department, they were dressed in all black, dropped from somewhere above to land in front of the police station and deliver a note, and then waved at the security camera before walking out of view and then vanishing entirely. Take a look, I’ve sent the note over to you.” 

Opening the messages on his tablet, Dick sees a new file in Bruce’s chat, opening it to find a photograph depicting the note that the mysterious newcomer had apparently given to the police station where Commissioner Gordon worked. “What the hell is this?” 

It looks like it was written by six different people, the style of handwriting switching every couple of words (and sometimes even mid-word). Still, it’s surprisingly legible, and Dick has no trouble figuring out what it says. 

To whom it may concern. 

Three nights from now at 10:17 PM, a weapons deal will take place in the warehouse at the address of 5743, Park Row Avenue. There will be approximately 26 people involved from three different gangs. It would be to everyone’s advantage if this deal were prevented.

Short, succinct, and to the point. At the bottom of the note was a small indentation, almost like a stamp, of a single feather in shining blue-black ink. 

“What’s with the handwriting?” Dick says, deciding to focus on the more obvious aspects. “And signature?” 

Bruce frowns. “I don’t know yet. I was hoping you could help me figure this out. If I had to guess, I’d say they’re attempting to hide their identity, but the way the letters are written makes it obvious that each style of handwriting is one they’re familiar with.” 

He’s right. If this person were attempting to copy other styles they weren’t comfortable or familiar with, the letters would be far more purposeful, more like a child learning to print than someone scribbling out a quick note. The fact that they switch so easily, though, and even mid-word, leaves Dick baffled. He looks closely at the word ‘weapons’, and notes that even though the writing switches form the ‘a’ to the ‘p’, the letters themselves are still connected by a thin graphite line, like a mimicry of cursive. The writer hadn’t even paused, much less picked up their pencil, before switching styles. 

And the entire note is like that. Who the hell are they dealing with here? Dick can’t think of a single one of Gotham’s rogues or vigilantes who should be capable of that. The Riddler might be able to mess with his handwriting a bit – he’s done it before in past traps – but never with such ease, and certainly never to this degree… nor for this purpose, for that matter. 

“Have we checked on this supposed weapons deal, B?” Dick asks, furrowing his brow. “Is it legit, or is someone trying to lure us into a trap with a fake scenario?” 

Bruce sighs. “As far as I can tell, it’s a real weapons trade. All of the details check out as well, and I doubt anyone could have staged something involving so many volatile parties. Trying to manipulate the mobs never goes well – not even the Joker can reliably do that. The deal could have been planned, of course, but it’s more likely that the scenario is real and someone is simply taking advantage of their knowledge of the situation.” 

“Then, are we dealing with a new… ally, I guess? Someone like Babs, who gets the info and points us at the problem?”

“Potentially. I plan on checking out this weapons deal, but I’d like you to come with me. This isn’t the kind of situation I’d like to be in without some form of backup.” 

Right. Bruce doesn’t have his usual backup, because Robin… resigned. Dick hasn’t seen hide nor hair of the kid since he was sent to Titan’s Tower, and with that note, he doubts he ever will again. Without knowing his secret identity, Dick didn’t even have the opportunity to check on him and make sure he was safe, and that he hadn’t been forced to give Robin up because someone else made him. 

And… it’s not that Dick didn’t want the kid to stop being Robin. As bad as it might sound, he’s almost relieved that the kid won’t be going out as a hero anymore, because at least he won’t be in quite so much danger. Being Robin had gotten Jason killed, and Dick didn’t want to see another kid die in the costume. 

So, he was torn. On the one hand, it was safer for the kid to give up Robin. On the other… it feels wrong, to have Robin just vanish into the ether like that. To have it given up so easily and readily with no buildup, no prior explanation. The third Robin hadn’t even taken on a new hero identity. He’d just… disappeared, and he’d left nothing but a note and his customised suit to prove that he had ever even existed. 

He’d never even gotten a room in the Manor, not even as a guest. 

“Okay,” Dick sighs eventually. “I’ll come along with you on this one. I might hang around Gotham for a while anyway. It’s been a while since I came back here, so.” 

(It’s a lie. They both know it. But Bruce is willing to let Dick have that lie, so have it he shall.) 

oOoOo

Batman and Nightwing are situated on a nearby rooftop when the weapons deal goes down. 

The police (led by some of Gordon’s handpicked non-corrupt officers that he’d sent himself) are already in position, surrounding the building to cut off escape routes and catch the criminals as they come pouring out. Batman himself is watching from above, ready to jump inside once he can see the majority of the criminals. 

They seem to be gathering in the centre of the warehouse, a prime place to jump in from, and with Nightwing at his side, he should be able to handle this many enemies with little issue. Likely, they haven’t bothered to find a more defensible position because they don’t realise that someone has found out about their deal and is waiting to interrupt. It’s also possible that they’re attempting to spring a trap by using the congregating people as an obvious bait, but it’s highly unlikely. 

(Unlikely, but not impossible. Batman will keep his guard up regardless, just in case – not that he had ever let it down in the first place.) 

It’s only a few moments more of watching and waiting before Batman moves, nodding almost imperceptibly to Nightwing before he darts forward. The skylight of the warehouse caves easily under the force of his reinforced heel, and he rolls on impact, bouncing right back up to knock a criminal right in the nose before any of them have even realised what just happened. 

Nightwing is at his side as he swings his way through the fight, wielding his freshly charged escrima sticks  with a fearsome ferocity. The weapons deal is scattered in an instant, all thoughts of money leaving the criminals' heads as they flee the scene en masse. 

A loud bang from behind catches Batman’s attention as he feels a bullet whiz past him, just barely clipping his cape. He whips around and advances on the attacker, who’s holding a cheap revolver with shaking hands. 

“I-I’ll shoot!” He yells, voice quivering. “Don’t come any closer!” 

Batman stops, watching the man with an unbroken glare. Behind the white lenses of his mask, his gaze shifts from the criminal to the one standing behind him. 

Just out of the man’s line of sight, Nightwing is creeping up, escrima sticks at the ready and footsteps silent even in the echoing warehouse. Batman just has to keep the criminal’s attention for a few more seconds, giving Nightwing enough time to get close and stop him while minimising any risk of the gun going off by accident – or on purpose. 

“I don’t think you want to do that,” Batman growls threateningly, bringing himself up straighter to utilise his full height. It always tends to add more to the intimidation factor when it comes to petty criminals, and judging by the way the man’s face goes abruptly bloodless. 

Just one more moment, and… 

Nightwing strikes, knocking the arm holding the gun down to the floor with a charged escrima stick. The gun goes off, the bullet ricocheting off the floor and hitting a nearby crate. The man, meanwhile, drops his weapon and crumples to the ground with a howl, the painful voltage coursing through him. Enough to hurt and stun, but not enough to debilitate or kill. Batman won’t take that risk, and while in his city, Nightwing won’t, either. 

Batman steps forward and restrains the man with ease, scanning the warehouse for any signs of further resistance. The GCPD are starting to move in, grabbing criminals and cuffing them to drag out to the police wagons waiting in the alleys. 

“Thank you for your assistance, sirs,” a particularly brave officer commends them with a nod and a tip of his hat. A few of his coworkers watch from afar, eyeing both vigilantes warily. 

Batman nods solemnly, and sees Nightwing mimic the gesture off to his side. “Likewise.” 

They’ll stick around for a few minutes more, at least, just to make sure there are no further complications. The GCPD has enough on their hands without worrying about escaped weapons dealers that are likely connected to the Crime Alley mobs. 

This fight felt more serious than any Batman’s had in a long while, and he knows it wasn’t because of the gun. He’s been in far more dangerous situations, and yet, there was always an underlying sense of hope – of levity, almost. It’s been a long, long time since the fight had felt so sombre – so dark. Unfortunately, Batman knows exactly why it felt that way, because the last time things were like this was the last fight before the third Robin had come onto the scene. 

Because despite how much Bruce didn’t want him involved, despite how much Batman tried to push him away, Robin… had helped. He’d provided that much-needed presence to lighten the tone, just by virtue of being there. It added so much stress, knowing that a child fought beside him, but at the same time, Batman knew he could trust Robin to act in the best interests of the city and the victims. 

Robin was always the light to Batman’s darkness. As much as he loves Dick, Nightwing just doesn’t fill the same role anymore. 

But Batman can’t dwell on that now. Robin is no longer here, and he refuses to bring another child into his war against Gotham’s underworld, especially when he had never even wanted the last three children involved in the first place. There is no place for a child in a gunfight. 

Beside him, Nightwing nudges his side, an unspoken question hanging in the air. The police are just about done, all of the criminals safely locked away and en route to the station by now. No reason to hang around. 

Batman jerks his head toward the rooftops, pulling out his grapple. “Nightwing. Let’s go.” 

The pair shoot off into the night, leaving the GCPD to finish cleaning up, and all the while, not a soul notices the small presence sequestered away on the fire escape, watching through the lenses of a birdlike black mask.