Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Tim Drake was six, his mother hired a new nanny to watch over him during the long periods his parents spent traveling and attending high-society events without him. Mrs Macklemore was her name, but she preferred to be called Mrs Mac. The moment Tim met her, with her warm smile and eyes that twinkled with grandmotherly affection, he felt instantly at ease. Mrs Mac wasn’t like the other nannies who had come and gone, stiff and formal, as if trying to fit in with the furniture at home. No, Mrs Mac was different. She wasn’t stingy with hugs and didn’t mind when he followed her around the house, curious and eager to be part of her routine.

“Mrs Mac, can I help clean?” Tim asked one day, trailing behind her as she dusted a bookshelf in the study.

She glanced down, surprised but pleased by the request. “You want to help with chores?” she asked, her voice rich and gravelly but warm with delight. “Well now, I think that’s a wonderful idea, Timmy. A boy should learn how to take care of things, don’t you think? It’s a very good skill to have.”

Tim beamed, nodding eagerly. He wanted to be helpful. More than that, he wanted to make her proud, the way she always made him feel special. Mrs Mac had a way of making even the smallest accomplishments seem like grand achievements, and he craved that praise, that feeling of being seen.

Over the next few weeks, Mrs Mac showed Tim how to do all sorts of chores. She taught him how to dust properly, sweeping the cloth across surfaces in broad strokes to catch everything without knocking things over. She showed him how to separate laundry–whites from colors, laundry from dry-clean, delicate fabrics from the heavy ones–and though he still struggled with folding bigger items like sheets, he tried his best, his tiny hands working diligently under her guidance. But there was one thing Tim loved more than anything else: mopping and scrubbing.

“Why do you like mopping so much, sweetheart?” Mrs Mac asked one day, watching as Tim pushed the mop back and forth across the (clean) kitchen floor, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Tim paused, looking up at her with a proud smile. “Because the dirt disappears. It’s like magic! It’s like the opposite of coloring, ‘cause I’m erasing the dirt. And you said it’s good to keep things clean, right?”

“That’s exactly right,” Mrs Mac said, amused but proud he listened to her. “And I’ll tell you a little secret–cleaning can be fun too. You just need a little music to make it go faster.”

She began to sing, low and dulcet, the kind that seemed to belong to an old radio from a simpler time. Tim listened, then started humming along, scrubbing the floor in time with the rhythm. Soon enough, they were singing together as they worked, their voices filling the big, empty house with joy and laughter. Mrs Mac had a way of turning even the most mundane tasks into something relaxing, and Tim thrived under her tutelage.

Stars shining bright above you..

Over time, Tim became proficient in the little things–things he thought might impress his parents when they were home. He could segregate the trash properly, knew which industrial cleaners were for which surfaces, and how to make the furniture look like it belonged in a showroom, neatly placed in the right spots. He even found comfort in arranging his toys, books, and clothes the way Mrs Mac taught him. There was something in his brain that just clicked right when everything had its proper place.

“See how everything looks so much better when it’s neat and tidy?” Mrs Mac would say, admining their work after a long day of chores. “It’s a good habit, Timmy. Someday, you’ll thank me for teaching you this.”

Tim always smiled at her words, though part of him wondered if his parents would ever notice. But even when they didn’t, he knew Mrs Mac would. She always did.

Night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’

As Tim grew older, things began to change. Mrs Mac was around less often. It started with her taking shorter hours, and then, one day, his mother, Janet, sat him down with a perfunctory look.

“Timothy, darling, you’re a big boy now. You don’t need a nanny anymore, do you? Mrs Mac has done her job, and you’re more than capable of looking after yourself.”

Tim didn’t protest. He didn’t argue, though a pit of sadness settled in his stomach. He knew what it meant. Mrs Mac wouldn’t be around as much, and eventually, not at all. But he coped. He had to.

Birds singing in the sycamore tree…

Tim had considered rebelling, making a mess of things so that his parents would look after him, or at least bring Mrs Mac back. But knowing them, nothing would come in fruition and he would only be punished and forced to clean, something he already loved doing. Instead, Tim found comfort in something else. He picked up his father’s spare camera one evening, careful not to leave any fingerprints on the lens, and wandered through Gotham’s streets, snapping photos of the city at night. He didn’t know anything about photography, but the darkness of Gotham intrigued him, the way the shadows amplified the noise, unhiding secrets that the sounds of daytime traffic tended to cover. It was harder to see, and yet, everything would come into focus. One of those nights, his camera caught something unexpected.

Batman.

Not just Batman–Robin too. The boy wonder leaping across rooftops, following his mentor with effortless zeal and joyful whoops.

Tim wasn’t sure why, but he felt the same sense of awe, the same excitement he’d felt years ago when Mrs Mac first praised him for sweeping the floor just right. There was something about the way Batman moved, the purpose in his actions, the silent partnership he shared with Robin. It was something that Tim felt he could relate to when he was moving around with Mrs Mac, a choreographed dance, but better–exciting.

Dream a little dream of me

From that night on, his photography sessions turned into something more. He started cataloging their movements, their patterns. He watched, he learned. Tim had always been good at observing–first with Mrs Mac, and now with Batman and Robin. It became his obsession, his new way of coping with the absence of the warmth he once felt.

But even then, every time he folded his clothes just right or scrubbed away a stubborn stair, he thought of Mrs Mac, her voice in his head reminding him that there was value in the little things, in the quiet moments. She had taught him to take pride in the things others overlooked, and that lesson stayed with him long after she was gone.

Chapter Text

Say ‘nighty-night’ and kiss me..

Tim Drake had never felt true loneliness until that night. The house was usually chilly, quiet, austere, filled only with the noises he made on purpose–such as the steps he would make on pristine flooring, or the opening and closing of cabinet doors when he was feeding himself from the pantry. It wasn’t as lonely if he cracked open the windows and listened to the ambient sounds of nature outside or the nightly engine whizzing past to the Wayne’s Mansion. But tonight, as he stood in the doorway of the grand living room, he knew he would never pair silence with peace or comfort ever again.

He had been out birdwatching, something he’d taken up as a way to fill the hours he wasn’t at school, doing homework, or cleaning. His parents, being gone months at a time, suddenly coming back home early, wasn’t something he’d taken into the equation. They usually called ahead, telling him to prepare the house for their arrival, but perhaps they had already expected it to be kept in pristine condition, as was his habit now, and didn’t bother to inform him this time. Because of this, he had turned the security system off before sneaking out, thinking no one would notice. That had been his first mistake.

Just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me..

His heart pounded in his chest as he stepped further inside. The overwhelming stench of iron hit him before his eyes could even process what he was seeing. Blood. So much blood. The marble floors stained, thick pools of it soaking into the plush white rug mother had piccked out last summer–”Ecru, Timothy. It’s a beautiful color that warms up the living space.”

Tim’s breath hitched as he forced himself to move forward. His shoes left faint prints in the blood as he walked, and a deafening white noise filled his chest when he saw them. Everything was wrong. Everything was out of place. A mess.

And then he saw his parents.

They were crumpled on the floor, side by side. His mother’s once elegant nightgown was soaked, dark with drying blood. His father’s body lay twisted, his face unrecognizable from the gunshot wounds. They had been tied up, forced to their knees. It had been a robbery gone horribly wrong. Amateurs–he could tell. The ransacking was sloppy, valuables scattered haphazardly around the room, drawers and safes emptied. They’d tried to get his parents to open the safes, he realized. His parents hadn’t complied, and something had gone wrong. A shot fired. His mother first. Then his father. They didn’t stand a chance.

Tim stared down at their bodies, numb. He should be feeling something, right? Grief, sorrow, anger–something. But there was nothing. Just noise.

It’s a mess , a voice whispered in his head. You need to fix it.

It was automatic, a reflex learned from years of following Mrs. Mac through the house, tidying up after the smallest spills, sweeping away dirt before it could accumulate. That voice–the one that had reassured him through his childhood–kicked in now. He wasn’t thinking about the dead bodies of his parents anymore. They were just another part of the mess that needed cleaning.

While I’m alone, as blue as can be...

Tim rolled up his sleeves, his mind zeroed in on one goal: make it right. He was on autopilot, moving with a precision he barely registered. The first thing he did was fill up a bucket of water and pull out the industrial cleaner, the kind Mrs Mac had shown him for toucher stains. Blood was just another stain, after all. He mopped and scrubbed the floor with focused intensity, watching as the dark red smears slowly faded under his efforts. He worked tirelessly, not noticing the passage of time.

When he hit a particularly stubborn stain, he brought out the UV lamp. Mrs Mac had taught him that trick too. Under the bluish glow, the spots of blood glowed like firelies. He scrubbed them away, one by one. His hands trembled, but not from fear–from the sheer exhaustion that was starting to weigh on him. He ignored it.

He moved from room to room, fixing what he could. He cleaned up the broken glass, rearranged furniture that had been toppled during the raid. He bagged the valuables that had been rifled through, shoving them into closets, out of sight. And when he returned to the living room, to the bloodied bodies of his parents, he hesitated.

His heart twisted for a moment, his stomach flipped, but he pushed it down. They’re part of the mess , he told himself. Just a mess. You can fix it. 

So, he bagged them too. It was a little difficult–his father’s body was heavier, but Tim was smart. With adrenaline still coursing through him, he managed to toss their bodies, wrapped in black plastic, over an emptied rolling bucket and used that to drag them out to the shed out back.

Once they were out of sight, it was easier. He returned to the house, cleaning up the last traces of blood, scrubbing the floors until his knees hurt and his hands bled from the effort. Every time he paused, the voice in his head screamed at him to keep going, to hide the evidence, to make sure no one would ever know. Not the police. Not anyone. Not even Batman, who could see through anything.

By the time the first light of dawn crept through the windows, the house was spotless. Not a single drop of blood remained. The furniture was pristine, the valuables locked away in their proper places, and the bodies–his parents–were hidden where no one could find them.

Tim stood in the middle of the room, his entire body aching, his mind foggy with exhaustion. But the voice in his head was quiet now. The mess was gone. Everything was back in order, just the way it was supposed to be.

He collapsed onto the couch, his hands still shaking. He didn’t cry. He couldn’t. There was nothing left inside him to feel.

He had fixed everything. No one would ever know.

Dream a little dream of me..

Chapter Text

He had time. Or so, he thought.

No one knew his parents weren’t home, no one asked. The Drakes were notoriously flakey in upper society. They’d rarely been seen in person, only known through their articled expeditions, press releases, and business meetings. It wasn’t strange for them to disappear for weeks, even months at a time. For all anyone knew, they could’ve been traversing jungles, raiding tombs, eating worms. Tim imagined them going on all sorts of adventures, his frame of reference only being The Mummy or Indiana Jones series. He knew no one would notice their actual disappearance until the payments stopped coming, until the bills piled up, or the employees started asking questions. But Tim had a plan.

Sweet dreams til sunbeams find you..

For years, his parents had never been particularly careful about hiding things from him. He knew the passwords to their email accounts–his dad’s was the same password he’d used for years, a combination of his first dog’s name and his wedding anniversary. His mom was a little trickier, but Tim had cracked it after watching her type it in one too many times. He knew how to forge their signatures perfectly, something he’d practiced out of sheer boredom once. And he knew where they kept everything: files, legal documents, bank accounts, property deeds. It was his duty as their sole heir to know, after all.

His parents never trust him to handle their business affairs while they were alive, him not even crossing double digits at the time, but they’d trusted him with enough. Enough to know how to write checks in their name, enough to authorize payments, sign off on deliveries, all the things a secretary would do. He’d been doing it for years, quietly managing the little things they couldn’t be bothered with. And now that they were gone, he could continue–no one would have to know. As long as no one asked for an in-person meetup, no one would even suspect anything was wrong.

Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you..

The first few months after the murders passed without incident. Tim had fallen into a routine–balancing school with the business of maintaining the illusion that everything was fine. Every morning, he’d check his parents’ emails, responding to inquiries, approving decisions, and signing off on documents as if nothing had changed. He paid the bills, kept the house running smoothly. He even managed to dodge a few invitations from his parents’ acquaintances, faking their excuses with convincing emails.

But four months was the limit.

The cracks started showing when the payments began to slow. A few employees grumbled about missing their bonuses. Suppliers started demanding answers when Drake Industries failed to respond to their invoices in a timely manner. And soon, it wasn’t just disgruntled workers; the shareholders took notice.

Tim had managed to keep things afloat for a while, but he couldn’t keep up. The shareholders launched an internal investigation, and it wasn’t long before they discovered the truth. His parents weren’t managing the company anymore–they hadn’t been for months. They found discrepancies in the signatures, inconsistencies in the emails. The paper trail, though hidden well, led back to Drake Mansion.

When they confronted him, it was too late for Tim to lie his way out. The legal system came down on him like a hammer. Tim had thought he could buy himself more time, but he couldn’t win against the combined might of lawyers, investigators, and corporate executives who saw an opportunity to seize control of the Drake fortune.

And then they discovered the biggest truth: Tim had been alone the entire time. There was no mysterious business trip, no extended vacation. His parents had vanished without a trace, and the last record of their existence was the plane tickets they’d used to return to Gotham. But that was it. They were never found again.

The police didn’t know about the incinerator in the basement, or the sewers in Old Gotham where Tim had scattered their remains. He had made sure to get rid of everything that tied them to this world–just like he’d learned to clean away every mess in his life. But no matter how careful he’d been, the lie couldn’t last forever.

But in your dreams, whatever they be..

They called Child Protection Services as soon as they realized Tim had been alone. The board members didn’t care about him–he was an inconvenience, an obstacle in the way of their takeover of Drake Industries. They erased him from the picture, just like he had erased his parents. Tim had become as invisible as the people he’d made disappear.

The CPS were fooled by Tim’s attempt to create a fake relative to take him in. He’d tried to forge documents for an uncle–someone distant, but close enough to claim guardianship. But someone saw through it. They were thorough. It was Batman.

Batman had been watching. He had noticed when business at Drake Industries began to decline, noticed the scarce presence of the Drakes in the media turned into complete absence, Batman saw what others missed–Tim’s quiet, desperate attempts to keep the illusion alive. He knew something was wrong, and when CPS couldn’t find any real relatives, only for one to suddenly crop up, it was only a matter of time before the truth began to emerge.

Tim was placed into foster care. He didn’t protest, didn’t fight. His life, the careful, delicate world he’d constructed, was falling apart around him. The system swallowed him up, and the people who should’ve protected him forgot about him. No one asked what had really happened. No one cared.

But Tim couldn’t stay in foster care for long. He couldn’t stay anywhere for long. Four months later, he disappeared just like his parents. Slipping away into the night, unseen, unheard. Just another boy swallowed up by Lady Gotham’s veil of shadows.

No one could find him.

Not even Batman.

Dream a little dream of me..

Chapter Text

Jason Todd, the Red Hood, made his debut in Gotham. Brutally so. His message to Gotham’s criminal underground was simple: he was here, and he wasn’t playing around. Over the span of three days, he’d decapitated the lieutenants of six major players in Gotham’s criminal scene, each one a strategic target. Their heads, hacked and sawed off, were piled up in his bolthole, gruesome trophies of his latest rampage. Every one of those houses had been left drenched in blood, bodies mangled and strewn about like garbage, meant to send a clear signal.

But the strangest thing happened.

By morning, every crime scene was spotless. Not a drop of blood, not a piece of evidence–nothing. Like he had never been there. At first, Jason thought he was losing his grip. Maybe something had snapped more than usual in his brain. Maybe Gotham was playing tricks on him. But no. The heads were still there, the proof undeniable. Someone was cleaning up after him. And doing a damn good job of it.

After the seventh kill, Jason was determined to figure it out. This latest target, some mid-tier mob boss living in a gated, modern mansion with security systems fit for a military bunker, should’ve been left for the family to find in all its gory detail. The wife and daughter who had been away on an abroad trip were spared, of course, but the security guards who got in his way? Free game. After that massacre, Red Hood parked himself in the woods nearby, hidden under the cloak of dark foliages, ready to see just who had been erasing his work. He didn’t have to wait for long.

An hour after Jason had left the scene, a pickup truck rolled up the private road, tires crunching softly on gravel as it approached the house’s gates. His helmet’s HUD zooming in with night vision, taking in the details of the truck–dark, nondescript, and plain. Nothing special about it. But what caught his eye was the way the driver casually entered the gate code, like they’d done it a thousand times before. The security should’ve been top-tier, but this guy walked right in.

The truck stopped in the driveway, and the driver’s door creaked open. Out stepped a slim, short figure wearing a cleaner’s jumpsuit with a logo on the back that read Quick Clean . Jason frowned behind his helmet. A cleaner? This wasn’t a mob clean-up squad or some private mercenary outfit. This was a guy in a red jumpsuit, hauling a bucket, a mop, industrial cleaning supplies, and UV lamps. The kind you’d find in any high-end janitorial service.

He watched, fascinated as the cleaner unlocked the house and walked inside, his equipment in tow. Jason slipped down from his perch, quiet as a cat, moving to plant a tracker underneath the pickup. If this guy was cleaning up after his kills, Jason was going to find him again later.

An hour passed, and the cleaner emerged from the mansion, looking slightly dirtier but still composed, dragging a dozen or so hazmat trash bags back to the truck. Afterwards, he went back and forth to wheel out several more black bags, Jason noted with interest, that were larger and more shapely than the rest. Bodybags. Whoever this guy was, he was no amateur. This wasn’t just some random housekeeping.

Jason crouched down, adjusting the zoom of his helmet again, focusing on the cleaner’s face as they tossed the bags into the back of the truck. The guy’s cap was tilted low, but shaggy black hair poked out from underneath. The guy was young–really young. Jason blinked, surprised when he got a good look at the cleaner’s face. Beneath the grime and the cap was a sharp jawline, pale skin, and delicate feature. Huh. Pretty boy.

The cleaner finished packing up, then climbed back into the truck and drove away. Jason didn’t follow immediately, instead slipping back into the house, his curiosity getting the better of him. Inside, it was immaculate. The bloodstains that had once painted the floors and walls were completely gone. The body, too. It was as if no one had ever died there, let alone been brutally decapitated. He ran a hand over the gleaming counter, impressed despite himself. Whoever this kid was, he was damn good.

Back in his bolthole, Jason hacked into the mansion’s CCTV system and realized footage of his massacre had been deleted from the main local server. He would have lost footage of the cleaner doing his thing as well if he hadn’t been remote recording everything from a mirror server.

He rewatched the footage from his laptop, studying the cleaner’s every move. And the guy moved, efficiently, almost like clockwork–no hesitation, no wasted time, no wasted motions. He knew exactly what he was doing. Jason sat back, intrigued. This wasn’t just some kid cleaning up for a gig. There was experience there. Real skill.

But the question that nagged at Jason now was simple: Who the hell is he working for?

Red Hood was impressed, but he wasn’t about to let this go. He had left those crime scenes as a message, and someone had been erasing them, undoing his work as if it was nothing. That didn’t sit well with him. He needed to know who this kid was, and why he was involved. And Jason had a feeling that whoever was behind this cleanup operation was a much bigger player than he realized.

Jason smirked to himself. Gotham had always been full of surprises, but this–this was new.

And so Jason adapted. After realizing his original plan of leaving decapitated bodies to send a message was being foiled by the mysterious cleaner, he shifted tactics. He decided to work with what he had–after all, the heads were still identifiable. He didn’t need to leave the bodies behind to make his statement.

Instead, Jason dumped the seven heads in a duffle bag and left them in a place where they were sure to be found–a spot just off the main road, not too far from the GCPD headquarters. He didn’t leave a calling card; that would’ve been amateur. He let the work speak for itself. Sure enough, within hours, the heads were all over the news, the press having gotten their hands on the story thanks to a well-timed leak. Gotham’s underworld was buzzing. The message was clear: there was a new player in town, and he wasn’t taking prisoners.

But Jason didn’t stop there. His war on crime intensified, particularly in Crime Alley. The narrow streets became his hunting grounds. Red Hood wasn’t just enforcing his own brutal brand of justice; he was rewriting the rules of survival. The local goons learned fast–if you wanted to live, you played by his rules. You followed his command. His moral code was simple but absolute: no fucking with kids, no selling drugs to kids, and no hurting the working ladies (and lads) just trying to make a living. He locked down on the gun and drug trade, forcing the scum to pay tariffs to him if they wanted to keep their operations going. Heads would roll if they didn’t.

The word spread quickly, and fear followed. In the cloaked shadows of Crime Alley, Red Hood became a name whispered with both terror and reverence. For the first time in years, some people were even grateful. Jason wasn’t like Batman. He didn’t just scare the criminals–he removed them. Permanently. The human trash that Batman overlooked, those who festered at the bottom of Gotham’s criminal ecosystem, were dealt with swiftly and without mercy.

But despite his rising infamy, one thing still nagged at him: the mysterious cleaner.

Every time Jason shot someone in the back of the head, every time he left a bloodbath in a dingy alleyway oro a mobster’s mansion, the scene would mysteriously disappear. If Jason didn’t haul the body away himself, it would vanish, and the area would be immaculate by morning. It was frustrating. He couldn’t leave a message if someone was erasing his work like it was just another Tuesday.

At first, he ignored the cleaner. They seemed harmless enough, almost like some sort of janitorial guardian angel that showed up after his kills. In some ways, it had even been helpful. The cleaner kept the cops off his trail. Batman couldn’t pin shit on him. No evidence, no leads, no bodies. But now Jason had had enough. Whoever was behind this constant cleanup was stepping into his territory, and Jason didn’t like people interfering with his business.

He needed to have a little chat with them.

For weeks, he thought about tracking the cleaner down, following them to their base, but kept putting it off–until an idea hit him. Instead of going after them, why not start leaving something for them? A little test.

It started small. After a particularly messy execution, Jason left behind a stack of hundred-dollar bills in a kitchen drawer, to see if they’d take the bait. He wasn’t sure they’d even find it, but the next time he checked the house after the cleanup, the money was gone. A smug smile tugged at Jason’s lips.

So, he started doing it again. After each kill, he’d leave a little cash in a different place–stuffed inside a book, tucked behind a picture frame, hidden in random spots. He even left the occasional expensive watch or piece of jewelry he’d “liberated” from his targets. And every time, without fail, it would be gone after the cleaner finished their work.

Jason whistled to himself, almost impressed.

Whoever this kid is, they’ve got good eyes. Like a little magpie.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder–why? Why clean up after a notorious vigilante–dare he say villain–like him? And who the hell was employing someone this good?

The more he thought about it, the more Jason felt a strange sense of amusement. Whoever this cleaner was, they were probably trying to keep  a low profile. Maybe Jason had been giving them too much of a headache. He chuckled to himself, imagining the cleaner cursing under their breath every time they walked into a house he’d painted red.

But there was no denying it now–Jason needed answers. And whoever this kid was, Jason was starting to feel like he might owe them a thank you, even if it was just for making his life a little more interesting.

Jason decided it was finally time to meet this “cleaning fairy” face-to-face.

Jason had enough time to kill, literally, after his latest kill. The target had been an accountant who funneled money meant for disabled children into his own private slush fund, all while knowing full well who Red Hood was and what he did to people who crossed him. The sheer audacity. The guy thought he could fly under the radar, figured Red Hood wouldn’t notice his little operation.

Well, Jason noticed.

He’d taken his time, enjoying the quiet cabin nestled up in the hills. It wasn’t one of those posh, old money estates in Bristol where the rich were untouchable with their tall gates and maximum security details. Nah, this area was for the nouveau riche, the kind of scum who made their fortunes off the blood of the people they were supposed to help and so lived like sitting ducks in isolated areas where they knew the law couldn’t reach them. Jason loved these guys the most. They made it so easy.

This particular property didn’t have CCTV like the other big shots did, so it was the perfect setting for what Jason had planned. Down in the basement, modeled into a sort of luxurious man cave, it was cozy, lined with varnished wood, thick carpets, and plenty of old books that suggested a semblance of culture. He knew bloodstains were a pain to get out of fabric, even for someone as good as his “cleaning fairy,” so he’d taken the liberty of laying down tarps before the real work began.

It started like any other session–cries for mercy, broken sobs, promises to change–but Jason didn’t care. He wasn’t Batman. He didn’t believe people like this could change. He was here to send a message, and sometimes that message had to be drilled in. Literally. The accountant’s blood pooled around his boots, teeth scattered across the tarp like confetti, fingers bent in ways they shouldn’t. By the time Jason was done, the man was barely recognizable.

He sat back in the second chair he’d pulled from upstairs, letting out a satisfied breath. The guy had finally stopped moving, and Jason’s mood was peaceful, almost serene. He even took a moment to glance around the cabin basement. A solid wooden space, good craftsmanship. It had a rustic charm, and Jason found a few classic novels upstairs that looked tempting. He plucked one up from the pile–The Prince by Machiavelli, a fitting choice–and cracked it open while waiting.

Waiting for the special guest to appear.

Jason was finally going to meet his mysterious cleaner. He’d been tolerating their interference for too long, and as much as he appreciated their talent, this whole disappearing act was making it difficult for him to build his rep. What good was an enforcer if no one could see the aftermath of his work?

So he waited.

He didn’t have to wait long, either. Like clockwork, barely an hour passed when he heard the faintest crunch of gravel outside, despite the rain drumming steadily on the cabin’s roof. Jason’s ears picked up. A car had pulled into the driveway, he imagined the same nondescript pickup truck he’d been tracking for weeks now. It was a quiet vehicle, easy to overlook, but not for someone like him. The cleaning cart clattered softly as it rolled over the stone path and through the front door. Jason smirked, flipping another page in the book.

Stars fading til I linger on, dear…

He could hear the soft shuffle of boots, the creak of the floorboards above, and the unmistakable sound of a bucket being filled. His “cleaning fairy” was already getting to work on the first floor. Meticulous–Jason had to give them that. They always started upstairs before making their way down to where the real mess was. Jason made sure to play with his food and made a real mess upstairs for his fairy to clean.

He wasn’t even reading anymore, it was merely a prop. His grip tightened on the book in anticipation. This would be the first time he’d get a real look at them up close, and he wasn’t sure what to expect. All he knew was that they were damn good at their job–so good that Jason had gone months before even realizing someone was cleaning up after him. Word of his presence mere rumors from those who survived looking at him. And now, they were here, in this very house, just a floor away. He could hear them, smell the faint scent of cleaning supplies wafting down the stairs.

Still craving your kiss…

Jason waited patiently. He wasn’t going to rush this. He stayed put, listening to the cleaner methodically scrubbing away upstairs. First the bathroom, then the kitchen. Living room, bedroom. Finally, they made their way down to the basement door. The lights were on, but spotlighting the accountant and leaving Jason in a shadowed corner of the room. Jason’s heart picked up–the thrill of a hunt coming to its close.He leaned back in the chair, the book still open on his lap as the basement door creaked open.

Footsteps descended the stairs, slow and deliberate, and soon enough, there they were. A figure in a plain, red jumpsuit, face half-obscured by a cap pulled low over shaggy black hair. They were smaller than he expected–slim and almost wiry–but there was a certain efficiency in their movements. They carried a mop, bucket, and a cleaning kit that Jason recognized instantly.

The cleaner didn’t seem to notice him right away. They were focused on the mess–the tarps, the blood, the scattered teeth, and of course, the body. Jason watched, bemused, as they took in the scene with a calm, practiced eye. They knelt down, collecting the bits that could be bagged, pulling out industrial chemicals and sponges like they were about to clean up a particularly stubborn coffee stain instead of a murder scene.

Jason’s smirk deepened. This was it. Time to introduce himself.

“It’s pouring cats and dogs out there, isn’t it?” he said, his voice casual, almost conversational. When in doubt, the weather.

The cleaner froze mid-motion, their hand tightening around the handle of the mop. Slowly, they turned their head towards him, finally locking in on him. Jason could see the flash of surprise behind those shadowed eyes, but it was quickly buried under a professional mask of neutrality.

Jason tilted his head, still leaning back in his chair. “Gotta say, you’re damn good at this. A real Houdini-maker.”

The cleaner didn’t reply right away. They stood, placing the sponge down gently before speaking. “You weren’t supposed to be here,” they said, their voice calm but wary.

Jason chuckled, the sound mechanical and ominous through his voice modulator. “Yeah, well, I’ve been leaving you tips. Thought it was about time we met face-to-face.”

The cleaner’s brow furrowed slightly but otherwise they remained unreadable. “I just clean. That’s it.”

Jason’s smile grew. “Yeah, but you do it so well. And that’s exactly why we need to talk.”

Jason snapped the book shut with a soft thud, placing it carefully on a small side table. He rose to his full height, towering over the cleaner, who barely reached his chest. Yet, despite the stark size difference, Jason couldn’t help but feel a level of respect for the kid. Hauling around bodies twice their weight, scrubbing bloodstains out of expensive rugs–it took skill, patience, and a strong stomach for it. Jason respected that.

He took a few slow steps forward, arms out, palms open. He wanted to appear unthreatening, or as close to it as someone in tactical gear and a reputation for putting holes in people he didn’t like could appear. “Friendly” wasn’t exactly his brand, but he gave it a shot. The cleaner didn’t so much as flinch when Jason extended a hand for a shake, their expression remaining unchanged–tired, maybe even bored.

Jason couldn’t help but be amused. Most people, guilty or not, froze, panicked, or tried to run when they saw Red Hood coming their way. But this kid? Not even a flinch. Jason tilted his head, trying for humor as he offered his hand.

“Red Hood,” he said, voice modulated with a light tone. “You know, the guy who’s been accidentally ruining your sleep schedule for a while now.”

The cleaner looked at his outstretched hand and then, without a word, took it. Their grip was firm but quick, and Jason noted the black nitrile gloves covering their slender fingers. Clean, professional. He had to admit, their whole getup was kind of adorable in a bizarre way–industrial gloves, oversized jumpsuit, cap pulled over big blue eyes that looked far too soft for the work they were doing.

They had no business being in this line of work, Jason thought. The kid couldn’t have been much older than a teenager, if that. Their face was smooth and unmarked, with soft pink cheeks and lips. They looked more like someone who’d just rolled out of bed after an all-nighter of studying than a cleaner for the aftermath of a brutal crime scene.

Jason couldn’t help himself. “So,” he asked, folding his arms and leaning against the wall, “how’d you get into… this?” He gestured around the blood-soaked basement. “Cleaning up after guys like me?”

The cleaner gave him a long, unimpressed look, as if debating whether or not to indulge the question. After a minute, they finally spoke, their voice flat and quiet.

“Someone’s gotta do it.” They shrugged, picking up a mop and wringing it out in the bucket beside them. “It pays the bills.”

Jason raised an eyebrow behind his helmet. “Yeah, but you’re not exactly your average janitor, are you? Most people wouldn’t touch this kind of work.”

The cleaner didn’t miss a beat as they got back to soaking the tarp, the mop gliding smoothly over the surface. “You’d be surprised by how much demand there is for this kind of work,” they said simply, not looking up from their work. “And how much scarcity there is for those who provide it.” They moved with such calm efficiency, like there wasn’t a dead body staring at them slack-jawed with open eyes.

Jason watched them for a moment longer, then pushed off the wall and took a step closer. “You’re good, though. Real good. I’ve been in this business a while, and I haven’t seen anyone clean up like you do.”

The cleaner paused for a fraction of a second before continuing, and Jason smirked. Ah, gotcha there.

“You ever thought about doing more than just cleaning?” he asked, his tone lighter but with an edge of curiosity. “Ever explored other options out there?”

The cleaner finally glanced up, their blue eyes locking onto his helmet. “I’m fine where I am.” There was no hesitation in their voice.

Jason couldn’t tell if it was stubbornness or something else, but he leaned in slightly, intrigued now. “Kid, you’ve been covering me for who knows how long I’ve been in town. Whatever you’re getting paid, I’ll triple it. You’ve got talent, and talent like yours shouldn’t be stuck mopping up other people’s messes.” What he’s trying to say is: Cough it up. Tell me who you work for. And work for me instead.

They didn’t reply right away, focusing on lowering the carcass on a bed of black plastic sheets and fabric. Jason could see the concentration in their eyes, the methodical way they wrapped the body up like a mummy. It was almost… obsessive.

Finally, they spoke, their voice as quiet as before but with a hint of steel underneath. “I don’t clean for anyone else.”

Jason paused, straightening up. That was unexpected. “Then why do you keep cleaning up after me ?”

The cleaner didn’t look up this time, just kept working. “Because you leave a huge mess,” they said, as if that explained everything.

Jason couldn't help but chuckle. “Yeah, I do.”

There was silence for a moment, the rhythmic sound of the mop hitting the floor filling the space again. They didn’t seem afraid of much of anything, really–and that alone was enough to pique his curiosity.

“You got a name, or do I just call you ‘Cleaning Fairy’ from now on?” Jason asked, his tone light but genuinely curious now.

The cleaner glanced up, their expression unreadable for a moment before they shrugged again. “Tim.”

Jason nodded slowly. “Just Tim, huh?”

Neither of them said anything after, just the sound of the mop swishing back and forth, soaking up the blood that Jason had spilled.

It almost felt like Red Hood was the one interrupting their work and being a nuisance. For that reason, Jason decided he’d accomplished his itinerary and it was time to step out.

“You ever need a job,” Jason said after a while, his voice amused, “just call me.”

I’m longing to linger til dawn, dear..

Jason pocketed a few books, sliding them into his signature leather jacket and made his way out of the dead accountant’s cabin. As he left, he made sure to leave something behind–his calling card plus $10,000, rolled up and tucked in a drawer where Tim would find it.

Tim.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the kid. There was something off about this whole situation. No one that young looking should be this good at covering crime scenes, not unless they’d been doing it for years. But more than that, no one should have to. Not someone like Tim.

The kid had surprised him–not just with his skills, but with how calm, almost detached he was. But underneath that cool exterior, Jason saw something else. Something familiar. A sense of isolation. He recognized it because he’d been there before, too.

Just saying this…

When Jason got a call from Tim the next evening, he wasn’t surprised. Part of him had been waiting for it, half-expecting it. He leaned against the wall of his safehouse as he answered. His helmet on the table beside him with guns dismantled for cleaning.

“Tim,” he said gruffly, his voice unmodulated.

There was a pause on the other end. Then, Tim’s voice came through, soft and hesitant. “Red Hood?”

Sweet dreams til sunbeams find you…

Jason smirked. He could hear the uncertainty in the kid’s voice, the nerves hidden beneath the surface. But there was something else there too–something hopeful, almost desperate. It tugged at him, and he found himself more interested than he expected to be.

“You did good last night, kid,” Jason said, keeping his tone casual but sincere. “Real good.”

There was a long pause. Jason imagined Tim on the other end, probably trying to figure out what to say. When the silence stretched a little too long, Jason stepped in.

“Listen, I’ve been thinking. You’re good at what you do–really good. I don’t say that lightly.” He shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I want to know more about you. About what you want. You ever think about doing more than cleaning up after me?”

Another pause, then Tim spoke, a little more sure of himself this time. “I–yeah. I mean, I’ve been doing this for a long time, and… you’re the first person who’s ever noticed. Or cared enough to offer.”

Jason’s gut twisted at the kid’s words. No one had noticed? No one had cared?

“Well, I’m noticing now,” Jason said firmly. “Let’s meet. No bodies this time, just you and me. Call it a job interview if you want.”

Tim hesitated for a moment before agreeing. They set a time and place, and when Jason hung up, he couldn’t help but feel a little… hopeful. Tim needed help, that much was clear, but there was more to him. Jason was sure.

Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you…

The next evening, they met in an old, abandoned warehouse on the edge of Gotham’s industrial district. Jason arrived first, perched on a metal beam overhead, watching as Tim pulled up in that same nondescript pickup truck. He could see the kid’s nerves from the way he got out of the vehicle, hands shoved in jacket pockets, head down as he approached the building. But he came, and that said something.

Jason dropped down silently from the beam, landing in front of Tim. The kid startled but recovered quickly, raising his head to look up at the towering vigilante.

Jason tilted his helmet. “You really are short,” he said bluntly. “You sure you’re 18?”

Tim blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. “...I’m 16,” he admitted quietly, his shoulders tensing.

Jason exhaled slowly. Sweet Sixteen. Hell, that made things even worse. He’d been 16 when he was running the streets with Batman. He’d also been 16 when he choked. And Tim… Tim had been surviving on his own, cleaning up bodies, keeping his head down.

“Kid, how long you been doing this?” Jason asked, his tone softer now, curious but concerned.

Tim glanced away, kicking at the ground before answering. “Five years.”

Jason’s heart sank. He should’ve expected that answer, but hearing it made something twist inside him. Five years of probably cleaning up after the worst of Gotham’s underworld. Five years of probably doing it all alone.

“You’re telling me you’ve been doing this since you were 11? And no one noticed?” Jason’s voice was low, laced with disbelief.

Tim nodded, avoiding eye contact. “It’s easy to make clients online. They don’t ask questions. Just make demands. If they like my work, they pay extra. I needed the money, so that… helped.”

Jason didn’t press for more. He could already piece together enough. Tim had been surviving, not living, and Jason knew what that was like all too well.

“Look, Tim,” Jason said, stepping forward and lowering his voice, “you’re smart, you’re capable, and you’ve got skills most people couldn’t even dream of. But you don’t have to do this alone. I’m offering you more than just money or jobs. I’m offering you a… way out.”

But in your dreams, whatever they be…

Tim looked up at him, his blue eyes wide and a little unsure. “Why?”

Jason shrugged. “Because you remind me of me. And because no one else seems to have given you the chance. Maybe it’s time someone did.”

Tim stared at him for a long moment, like he was trying to decide if he could trust Jason—if he wanted to trust him. Eventually, he spoke, his voice soft but hopeful. “Okay.”

Dream a little dream of me

Chapter Text

Somewhere, over the rainbow…

Jason knew all too well what it was like to be trapped in a life you didn’t choose. He had grown up in Crime Alley, raised by the streets and hardened by circumstance. And now, sitting with Tim, he couldn’t ignore how similar their paths had been. The kid had been pulled into a darkness he never should have known, just like Jason. But Tim was young, still had so much potential, so much to live for. There was still time for him, still a way out if he wanted it.

Way up high

Jason’s jaw clenched as he considered his options. His gut instinct was to use Tim’s talents–to mold him into an invaluable asset for his own war on Gotham’s filth. But as much as Jason wanted to recruit him into his mission, he also knew he had to give the kid something he never had: a choice.

Tim deserved that.

After Tim seemed to consider his offer, Jason carefully broke the silence. “Listen, kid. I’m gonna be real with you.” He paused, weighing his words, before continuing. “You’re good– damn good at what you do. And I could really use your help. You and me? We could clean up Gotham, in our own way. We could do it right, take out the trash and make sure no one else has to live like we did. If you want that… I’ll gear you up. Make sure you’re safe, that no one ever touches you.”

There’s a land that I heard of…

He held Tim’s gaze, but his tone softened as he spoke the next part. “But if you don’t want this–if you want out, to start over somewhere else, away from all this?” Jason gestured vaguely at the abandoned warehouse, at Gotham beyond the walls. “I’ll help you with that, too. I’ve got contacts. You could leave, build a life for yourself. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere safer. No more cleaning up after anyone else’s mess.”

Jason leaned forward slightly, his voice gentler now. “This doesn’t have to be your life, Tim. You don’t owe Gotham anything. Hell, you don’t owe me anything. I know this shit feels permanent, like you’re stuck in it, but you’re not. I can help you get out.”

Once in a lullaby…

Tim stood there, silent, processing. His eyes darted down, fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie as he thought of the weight of Hood’s offer. He’d never been given a choice before. Not like this.

Hood continued, his voice resolute. “Look, this is my fight, alright? It’s what I live for. But it doesn’t have to be yours. If you want out, we’ll find you a place far away from here, where you can just… live. Like a normal kid. Go to school, make friends, not have to worry about crime lords and psychopaths.”

Somewhere, over the rainbow…

The sincerity in Hood’s words struck something deep in Tim. No one had ever offered him a way out. For years, he had believed there was no other path for him except the one he was already on, sweeping up after Gotham’s worst, hiding in the shadows. He had never even let himself imagine a different life.

Skies are blue…

But here was the Red Hood, giving him that choice. And it scared him. The idea that leaving Gotham, leaving behind the work he had become so attached to–even if it was toxic–felt daunting.

Tim met Red Hood’s gaze, his expression conflicted. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice small. “I’ve been doing this for so long, I don’t know how to do anything else. I want to help you. I really do.” He swallowed. “But I’m scared. What if I can’t? What if I mess up?”

And the dreams that you dare to dream…

Hood reached over, placing a firm hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Kid, you’ve already been doing it on your own for years. You’re not gonna mess up. And if you decide to stick around? I’ve got your back. No one’s gonna touch you.”

Tim nodded slowly, processing the weight of Hood’s words. He still wasn’t sure. The idea of starting over, leaving Gotham behind… it was tempting, but terrifying. And the idea of working with Red Hood? Even more so.

Red Hood tilted his head, as if conveying his reassurance. “Take your time, alright? You don’t have to decide now. But whatever you choose, I’m with you.”

Tim stood across from the Red Hood, nerves buzzing beneath his skin as he thought about the words that were hanging between them. He’d made his choice a long time ago, thrown himself into this without a second thought, but now he was facing the reality of it. Of being in this, with someone he admired, feared, and respected all at once.

“I just realized,” Tim began, breaking the silence. “I’ve been calling you ‘Hood’ in my head this whole time. And if I want to make this… work out, I should know your name, right?”

He watched as Red Hood tilted his head slightly. “Does this mean…?”

Tim swallowed, trying to keep his voice steady. “I want to stay… I want to help you, Red Hood.”

Really do come true

The words felt like a leap off a high rise building–one that Tim wasn’t sure he was ready for, but it was too late to turn back now. He wanted to believe in this choice, believe that he could be more than just a background figure cleaning up other people’s messes. Red Hood was giving him a chance to be something more. To have a purpose beyond just survival.

Some day I’ll wish upon a star and wake up…

Tim had always been driven by something. A need to prove himself, to do something, to help. It’s what kept him going, even when he was younger, when the streets of Gotham swallowed him whole. It’s what made him obsess over Robin–the second Robin, Jason Todd–because that kid became something more. Jason was a hero to him before Tim even knew the full story. 

Where the clouds are far behind me…

And now here was Red Hood, offering him something Batman never did–a way to fight back, to make a tangible difference in the only place that ever felt like home, even when it shouldn’t have. Crime Alley.

“Will you really let me… help you?” Tim asked, his voice quiet, but the sincerity behind it was loud and clear.

Where trouble melts like lemon drops away above the chimney tops…

There was a beat of silence before Red Hood leaned forward, something almost gentle in his approach. “You’ve already been doing a damn good job, you little magpie.”

Tim’s heart jumped in his chest. There was something about the way Red Hood said it, with a kind of rough fondness, that made Tim feel seen for the first time in years. He wasn’t just a tool to be used or an anonymous hand sweeping away the city’s filth. Hood saw him.

That’s where you’ll find me

Then, Hood had asked the question casually, “How do you feel about the Joker?”

Somewhere, over the rainbow…

“I… hate him,” Tim had said, voice shaking but steady. “He killed someone I… admired… a lot.” Hood had leaned in then, curious. He tilted his head. “Who?”

Tim hesitated, and then, with a soft tremor in his voice, revealed: “Robin, the second one. He was my idol. Crime Alley kid, same place I ended up in. He was a hero to me. I know Joker killed him. I would hear him taunt Batman about it all the time. Robin was the only one I liked…”

Blue birds fly…

After a moment, Hood raised his hands to his head and pulled off his helmet, revealing a face hidden this time by a red domino. Tim stared, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the side of Hood’s almost young features. The streak of white in his hair stood out against the dark curls, making him look older than he was. His eyes were covered but still there was something vulnerable about the moment.

“Call me Jason.”

Tim blinked, processing the name. “Jason… Jason Todd?”

Birds fly over the rainbow…

Hood’s brows shot up. “How do you know me?” His hands gripped Tim’s arms tightly, a mix of suspicion and something else in his expression.

Tim swallowed hard. There was no use hiding it now. “I… I had a crush on you at school. I used to follow you around when you went on patrol.”

His grip loosened a little, the surprise evident. “How the hell…?”

“No one knew,” Tim whispered, his voice barely holding up. “No one found out. Not even Batman. I thought you were gone for good. How are you even alive?”

Jason flinched, visibly taken aback by the confession. He looked at Tim, really looked at him, like he was trying to figure out how he had missed him all those years ago. “Woke up in a casket and clawed my way out.”

The bluntness of his words sent a chill down Tim’s spine. Jason’s return was a miracle wrapped in a tragedy. He had a million questions, but Tim’s mind was spinning, and everything suddenly felt too overwhelming. The shock, the memories, and now, confirming Red Hood was Jason –Tim could feel his head filling with white noise.

His vision blurred, and before he could steady himself, the world tilted, and he fainted.

Why then, oh why can’t I?

Jason didn’t expect things to escalate the way they did. But after Tim’s confession about Robin–about him–things shifted. Jason had barely processed what happened before Tim’s face fell slack, and he collapsed, passing out. Jason panicked for a second, checking his pulse, making sure the kid was breathing fine. Tim was exhausted, emotionally and physically. Jason carried him back to his pickup and drove them to the kid’s apartment where, upon reaching his bedroom, gently laid him on the bed to rest.

While Tim slept, Jason couldn’t help but snoop around. The little townhouse on a hill, from the outside, had looked as decrepit as any run-down place you’d expect from Old Gotham. But inside? It was meticulously neat, considering Tim’s lifestyle. Basic furnishings, nothing fancy, but everything was in its place, clean, and updated with what little money Tim had probably had. It reminded Jason of the way he used to be when he was trying to make things work as a kid. The kitchen, though—Jason opened the fridge and pantry– barely stocked . It felt wrong, considering how skilled Tim was, the talent he had.

When all the world is a hopeless jumble…

So Jason did what he could. He left the apartment and returned with bags of groceries, pulling on an apron he bought (because clearly Tim didn’t own one) and getting to work in the kitchen. Cooking was one of those things Jason had picked up in his years away. It was cathartic, grounding. In a distant memory beyond the green, it was probably even something he greatly enjoyed before his death. So, while Tim slept, Jason busied himself whipping up a meal, something that would fill the kid’s stomach and keep him going for a while.

And raindrops tumble all around…

Tim woke up, rubbing his eyes, then he heard noises coming from the kitchen. Still groggy, he made his way there and stopped in the doorway, his eyes widening. Red Hood–Jason Todd–was at the stove, mask and helmet off, wearing an apron he was sure he didn’t own, stirring something in a pan. The boy he once admired was alive, and now, here they were, in Tim’s kitchen. It was surreal.

The delicious smell wafted through the room, and as his eyes finally adjusted, he found Jason watching him back, his expression unreadable. The man looked different now–more human, more vulnerable. There was something between them now, something neither of them had anticipated. A connection, maybe. Something tied to their shared history, to the strange turn of fate that had brought them together.

Heaven opens a magic lane to a place behind the sun…

Tim’s heart skipped a beat. Under the warm light, Tim got another good look at Jason Todd. He remembered those short wavy curls just as he did in his youth, but the stark white streak artfully curling into his bangs was new. And also, he was handsome . Strong bone structure with classical features that made him look like a vintage movie star. Tim blushed hard, his cheeks going pink.

“What’s… this?” Tim asked, trying to focus on the situation rather than how his face was burning. He ducked his head under his hoodie to hide it, feeling flustered.

Jason smiled–a small, crooked grin. “You passed out, and I figured you could use a meal. Didn’t think you had much to eat in that kitchen of yours, so I stocked it up a bit. Thought I’d cook something decent for you.”

Tim stepped closer, still trying to shake the blush from his face. “You didn’t have to—”

Jason waved him off. “Nah, I wanted to. You’ve been through a lot. Least I can do is make sure you’re not running on fumes.” He gave Tim a quick once-over. “Besides, you’re not exactly looking like you’re taking care of yourself. You need more than just coffee and takeout to run this whole mob cleaner gig.”

Tim’s eyes softened, and he finally shuffled forward, peeking over Jason’s shoulder to see what he was cooking–a pasta carbonara. He was still reeling from the kindness, from everything Jason–as Red Hood–had done. No one had gone out of their way for him like this since Mrs Mac.

“Thanks,” Tim mumbled. “For… you know, everything.”

Jason smirked, stirring the cheesy pasta in the pan. “Don’t sweat it, kid. You’ve helped me more than you know.” He glanced at Tim, giving him a sidelong look. “But seriously, next time you start passing out on me, give me a heads-up, capisce? Thought I broke you for a sec there.”

Tim let out a small laugh, shy but warm, feeling something stir in him–hope.

Just a step behind the rain

Jason had planned to spend these months crafting the perfect strategy, so meticulously crafted, it had been straightforward—take away Batman's choices, leave him helpless, and finally bring down the Joker.. He had been obsessed with revenge, with reshaping Gotham in his image. But ever since Tim came into the picture, Jason found his focus slipping, shifting.

At first, it had been the cleaner’s strange efficiency that distracted him. Now, though? Now Jason was looking at Tim’s entire basement setup–a hacked-together operation that had everything: police databases, security feeds, encrypted communications, detailed surveillance logs.

It was insane how much dirt this kid had.

“Are you serious?” Jason whistled low, staring at the multiple screens in Tim’s dingy basement. The array of monitors flickered with real-time footage of several key areas in Gotham, including feeds Jason recognized– feeds from Wayne Enterprises.

Tim sat nervously in his battered office chair, his hands clasped between his knees. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable from the attention, his usually emotionless expression cracking just a little.

“I’ve, uh, been doing this for a while,” Tim said softly. “I mean, someone had to. Batman was… slipping. No one was seeing it, no even Nightwing. So I did that. And I made sure he didn’t completely lose it.”

Jason turned to look at him, eyes narrowing. “You made sure ? How the hell did you–?”

Tim hesitated before reaching into one of his desk drawers, pulling out a bundle of carefully folded papers. “I left him these,” he said quietly, unfolding one to reveal a series of photographs–grainy, but unmistakable: Batman, covered in blood, standing over an unconscious criminal, fists clenched and trembling. There were others too, of even worse instances. Jason recognized them for what they were: moments when Batman had gone too far, when he’d crossed the line .

“And then,” Tim continued, voice steady but with a hint of nervousness, “I’d leave a note, telling him to pull it together. Or else.”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up. “ Or else? ”

Tim nodded. “Or else I’d reveal his crimes. Send the pictures to the GCPD.” He swallowed hard, his eyes downcast. “I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t let him… become something worse.”

Jason was floored. He’d always thought Batman was untouchable, in control, even if Jason himself hated him. But there was this kid , who had been watching, quietly cleaning up Batman’s messes, holding the Dark Knight together in ways Jason could hardly believe.

Tim wasn’t just a good cleaner. He was dangerous –in the best way possible.

Jason leaned forward, gripping the armrests of Tim’s chair, effectively caging him in. “You’re a vigilante cleaner,” his voice trembled, in hysterical awe, in disbelief. He tilted his head, his lips twisting into a mad grin. “You’ve been holding Gotham together in your own twisted little way, haven’t you?”

Tim looked up at him, wide-eyed but determined. “I didn’t have a choice. Someone had to.”

Somewhere, over the rainbow…

Jason felt a surge of excitement. This kid just kept showing off just how good he was. He wasn’t just some street-smart survivor like he thought, he was on a whole different class of fucked up good. Hacking, surveillance, blackmail–it was like finding a gold mine he hadn’t even known existed.

“I have a job for you,” Jason blurted out, his voice low but giddy with the possibilities.

Tim blinked. “A job?”

Jason straightened up, finally releasing the chair. “Yeah. A big one. You’ve got skills I didn’t even know I needed, and I’m gonna put them to good use.” He glanced around the basement setup, already mentally spinning a dozen different ways Tim could help him. “You’re gonna help me with my plans, and in exchange… I’ll make sure you get what you want.”

Tim looked uncertain, but Jason could see the flicker of interest in his eyes. “What do you want, Tim?” Jason asked, his voice softer, almost coaxing. “You want more than this. More than cleaning up after other people’s messes. So, tell me–what is it you really want?”

Blue birds fly…

Tim hesitated, staring down at his shoes before he finally met Jason’s gaze again. “I want… to make a difference. To stop the people who hurt others.”

Jason grinned. “Then you’re in luck, kid. Because we’re going to do exactly that. Together.”

And as Jason stood there, watching the flickering grainy screens showing off what could have been the whole of Gotham, a thousand new ideas buzzing in his head, he realized something else: Tim might just be the key to everything he’d been planning. The kid was the perfect weapon, and Jason had every intention of putting him to use.

Birds fly over the rainbow…

Jason had seen a lot of messed-up people in his life, but Tim? Tim was different. There was a detachment to him, something cold and efficient about the way he handled things, but also a deep, underlying brokenness. It fascinated Jason, even concerned him in a way he hadn’t expected.

As they sat together on Tim’s sofa, the warmth of tea and biscuits between them, Jason broached the next subject carefully. “We’ll need to do a little test run.” He stirred his tea, eyes watching Tim over the rim of his cup. “I won’t make you watch if you don’t want to. Tell me now if you’re the type to start throwing up in the middle of things.” He laid it out plainly, even though he was curious how far Tim’s stomach of steel really went.

The profile Jason laid out on the table was simple: a child trafficker, a pedophile, and a drug dealer. The kind of scum Jason was all too familiar with. The kind of scum he killed without a second thought. He wondered how Tim would react to that. He’d been exposed to the aftermath for years, but the actual execution?

Tim’s response surprised him. His face remained mostly neutral, eyes soft but distant, as he listened to Jason’s plan. “I don’t really… feel much about it,” Tim admitted. “About the crime, I mean. I know what it is, what they’ve done, that it’s really bad, but I don’t feel strongly about anything except… the cleanup. It’s like… that’s all that matters to me. The mess.”

Jason whistled low, leaning back against the couch. “Now that is some shit to unpack. You wanna talk about it?” 

He didn’t expect Tim to open up so easily, but something about the way Jason asked, maybe even the warmth between them, had Tim lowering his defenses. He set his cup own, his voice quiet, almost reluctant. “I know I’m messed up. I feel bad for not feeling… enough. But if I don’t clean up, it feels worse. Like I’m missing something. I need it to be right , and if it’s not, I can’t function. It drives me crazy.”

Jason listened, sipping his tea, a little unsure of what to say at first. This was far deeper than he’d anticipated. The kind of shit that made rogue villains. Jason thanked his lucky stars cleaning and blackmail were the only things Tim got up to. The conversation took a turn when Tim continued, his voice cracking ever so slightly, a vulnerability creeping.

“My parents… were murdered,” Tim confessed, eyes glassy but distant, not meeting Jason’s. “I found them at home, and I… I made them disappear. I was eleven. I couldn’t let anyone find them. I didn’t want people to see them like that, so I cleaned it up. I was so… so scared. But I did it.”

Jason’s heart sank, not for the first time realizing how deep Tim’s trauma ran. The kid hadn’t just been surviving; he’d been living in a nightmare for years. Jason leaned closer, instinctively wrapping an arm around Tim’s shoulders, pulling him into his side.

Tim’s voice wavered as he tried to keep it together, but he couldn’t stop the tears from spilling out. “I never told anyone,” Tim whispered. “Not the police, or CPS. Not even Batman. I’ve just been carrying it for so long, and I thought if I just kept cleaning, it would be okay. But it’s not. I’m not.”

Jason held him tighter, his hand coming up to gently stroke Tim’s hair. He grabbed a blanket nearby, draping it over Tim’s shoulders, tucking him in closer to him. “That is fucked up,” Jason admitted, his voice low but soft. He didn’t sugarcoat things, but there was warmth in the honesty. “But don’t worry. I’m here now.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Tim quietly sniffling as Jason rubbed his back, letting him get it out. Jason wasn’t sure when he’d started feeling so protective of Tim, but there was no denying it now. He wasn’t going to let this kid carry all of this alone anymore.

Eventually, Tim’s sobs subsided, his breathing evening out as he leaned into Jason’s side. He looked up at him, eyes still glassy but full of a kind of quiet hope. “Thanks,” Tim murmured, his voice hoarse but sincere.

Jason glanced down at him, smirking softly. “Don’t mention. We’ll work through this together. You don’t have to carry everything on your own anymore.” He brushed a lock of hair away from Tim’s face. “And for the record? You’re not as messed up as you think you are. You’ve just been dealt a shit hand. But you’ve survived.”

Tim gave him a small smile, and for the first time in a while, he actually believed Jason.

Why then, oh why can’t I?

After Tim calmed down–the biscuits eaten, tea drank–they continued their little discussion. Jason had laid it all out–the plan to finally break Batman, to take away everything Bruce Wayne thought he still had. Jason’s resentment was a living thing, coiled tight around his heart, and the plan he had pieced together over months was meant to unravel the man who had failed him.

But Tim, sitting there in that quiet way of his, didn't flinch. He didn’t back down, didn’t look at Jason like he was crazy. Instead, he listened, processed, and then, in his typically blunt fashion, cut straight to the core of it.

“Batman already lost his mind,” Tim said, his voice low but clear. “It took him a long time to get it back, but he did. You’re going to need to do this another way, because Batman is nothing without Bruce Wayne. And Bruce? He’s already lost so much.”

Jason leaned back, the leather of his jacket creaking as he crossed his arms. He narrowed his eyes at Tim, not out of anger but curiosity. “You think I don’t know that? The man is a walking corpse. The only thing keeping him together is the Mission.”

“Exactly,” Tim countered. “And you’re focusing on Batman. You want to hit him as the vigilante. But that’s where you’re wrong.” Tim leaned towards him, his blue eyes locking onto Jason’s. “If you want to break him, you can’t go after Batman. You have to go after Bruce. Meet him when he’s vulnerable. Hit him as Bruce Wayne, when he can’t hide behind the mask. He’s not going to be able to react the way he’s supposed to if he’s trying to protect his civilian identity.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, chewing on Tim’s words. The idea was simple but effective, and it hadn’t crossed his mind in the way Tim was framing it. He’d always seen Bruce and Batman as two sides of the same coin, one bleeding into the other without separation. But Tim was right–there was still a human side to Bruce, one that Jason had almost forgotten about. And it was that part of him that could be hurt the most.

“So you’re saying I’ve been thinking too much like a vigilante,” Jason said, his tone thoughtful now. “I’ve been focusing on the Bat, not the man.”

Tim nodded. “Exactly. Batman can take a hit–he’s built for it. But Bruce? Bruce is fragile. He’s already broken. If you want to shatter him, you’ve got to hit him where it really hurts. His sense of control. His ability to hide who he is. You get him when he’s Bruce, and he won’t know how to react, not without slipping up.”

Jason let out a low whistle, impressed despite himself. “Damn, kid. You’ve got a mind for this.”

Tim shrugged, looking almost shy under the praise, but he kept going. “You said you wanted to break him, right? Well, Batman’s whole world is built around Bruce’s ability to keep his two lives separate. He compartmentalizes everything–shoves all his pain and grief into boxes. If you make him fight as Bruce, he won’t be able to keep it together.”

Jason thought about it, really thought about it, and the more he considered it, the more he liked the idea. For years, he’d been focusing on the wrong part of the equation. He wanted Batman to suffer, but it was Bruce who needed to feel the pain. It was Bruce who had failed him in the first place. Batman was just the mask–the shield. But Bruce? Bruce was vulnerable. Human.

A slow grin spread across Jason’s face. “You know what, Tim? I think you’re onto something.”

Tim gave a half-smile, the faintest hint of pride in his expression. “Just trying to help.”

Jason leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a newfound sense of purpose. “Alright. Let’s do this your way. Let’s hit Bruce where it really hurts.”

Tim met his gaze, the weight of their shared goal hanging in the air between them. They both knew that this wasn’t just about revenge anymore. It was about changing the game, about playing it smarter. And for the first time in a long time, Jason felt like he had the upper hand.

With Tim by his side, maybe he didn’t need to go it alone after all.

If happy little blue birds fly beyond the rainbow…

Jason wasn’t sure why he agreed to this. Visiting his own grave wasn’t exactly high on his to-do list. But after he’d told Tim about how he clawed his way out of it, Tim got that look in his eyes—the one that said, we need to check this out . Jason had tried to brush it off, but in the end, here they were, walking through the graveyard in broad daylight, dressed in civilian clothes like it was some kind of casual weekend trip.

Jason had always imagined his grave would be something he'd leave behind, forgotten along with the memories that tied him to his old life. He wasn’t prepared for the sight of it now, three years later.

The earth around the grave was sunken in. Grass had grown over the uneven ground, but the dip in the soil was still noticeable—a mark left behind, a scar on the landscape. It looked like no one had bothered to care for it past the day of his funeral. It was like a wound that never quite healed. Jason clenched his fist, bitterness rising in his chest. He’d been buried, forgotten. No one had thought to check the grave or even flatten the ground. He’d been gone, and apparently, that was enough for everyone.

It stung more than he thought it would.

Tim’s hand on his arm was gentle, bringing him back from the bitter place in his mind. Jason glanced down at him, and the expression on Tim’s face made something in him ease. Tim’s blue eyes, specked with the faintest hint of purple in the sunlight, were full of quiet understanding. There was no pity, just the strange, unwavering support Jason had come to rely on. 

"I'm... going to make him remember me," Jason said, voice tight with emotion. He didn’t have to say who—Tim already knew. "And I'm going to make sure he cries."

Tim smiled at him, soft and a little hesitant, but Jason could see the warmth there. The care. "I cried for you, Jason. I promise, I did. But you're alive now. I'm so glad you are."

Jason’s heart stuttered in his chest. It wasn’t often that someone said something like that to him, with real meaning behind it. He didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just smiled back at Tim, a small, crooked smile, and let the bitterness of the graveyard fade away for the moment.

“Why, then oh why can’t I?”

Chapter Text

When… When I am down…

I lay my hands upon this ground…

Magpie. That’s what Tim called himself now. Together with Red Hood, they had become Gotham’s bogeyman, the vengeful shadow that no one saw coming until it was too late. They didn’t just take out criminals–they erased them. Jason had promised Tim a partnership, and he made good on it. With Tim’s sharp mind and Jason’s brute force, they cleaned up Gotham’s criminal underbelly like a well-oiled machine.

Magpie didn’t have a reputation like Red Hood, which was how it was supposed to be. They could slip in and out of systems, find and delete every trace of a crime before the cops even realized there was a crime. No one knew who Magpie was, not like Red Hood did, but they became known as the specter that moved at Red Hood’s will.

For the thousandth time

I call him in, his earth is mine…

People whispered about them in the same breath, a pair that worked in the darkest streets of Crime Alley. Red Hood made people disappear– bodies , money , and sometimes even entire legacies . Magpie was the ghost, the one no one ever saw, but who was always watching, always waiting, and always ready to clean up the messes that followed Red Hood’s bloody wake.

Before I make the offering,

Remember all the faces that I’ve seen…

It had been two years since their partnership. Two years of hacking into the fortunes of Gotham’s worst, of redistributing that wealth to fund Jason’s growing empire. Red Hood had people now, an army of enforcers who believed in the same twisted sense of justice Jason did. Crime Alley had become something of a sanctuary for the broken, the ones who the system had failed–women, children, and people looking for refuge from a world that had no place for them. Under Red Hood’s protection, they found new lives, a sense of safety that Gotham had never offered before.

Now all the marks have settled on my skin

From all the different places that I’ve been

That I’ve been

In two years, Jason had gone from feeling like a lost ghost, barely tethered to life, to someone grounded. Tim was part of that grounding force–this kid had become the missing piece Jason hadn’t even known he was searching for. And though Jason didn’t want to admit it, he needed Tim. Maybe it was some fucked up kind of codependency, but the fact of the matter was: if anyone messed with Tim, they’d pay with their lives. He’d already proved it once.

War inside my mind

Behind my eyes, is coming down

Jason still remembered that night. He was supposed to pick Tim up from a restaurant he had been staking out as a janitor. It was a mob front, deals were being made, products were being negotiated, and the subsequent betrayals made everything go south. When Jason showed up to gunfire and a mobster being shoved head-first into a fired pizza oven, when he saw Tim cowering behind the bulletproof display casing of the kitchen counter, a man with a cast iron pan standing before him ready to strike, the green had taken over his mind, blotting out reason and replacing it with rage. By the time he regained control, there were ten bodies on the ground–eight mobsters, and two civilians who had just been unlucky enough to be there. Jason stood in the blood-soaked room, breathing hard, the gun in his hand still warm. The worst part was that he didn’t even remember doing it. The green had overtaken him completely, and Tim had been the one left to clean up the mess.

For the thousandth time

I feel too numb to even mind

Tim had been furious. Jason had seen it in his eyes, though he tried to hide it behind his usual calm exterior. He cleaned the scene up, erasing every trace of the carnage, but Jason could feel the weight of the civilian deaths on his conscience. Tim hadn’t said much afterward, except to reassure him that those civilian deaths weren’t his fault, but Jason could tell–this was one of those moments that would haunt them both.

I, I don't know where I am, where I'll go

Where to even begin when I know

Jason didn’t know if it was just the pit or something deeper in him, but whatever it was, it terrified him. Before, it was a tool. Now, it was a liability. He couldn’t lose Tim. Not now. Not when they’d built something out of the chaos. But as he sat there, watching Tim peel off his blood soaked gloves after cleaning up his mistake, Jason knew that even though they were on the same side, Tim was holding a part of himself back. Something that Jason couldn’t reach.

What lies behind makes no sense in my mind

But I know that it's time to let go

Jason tried to make up for it, though he knew no amount of money or protection could ever undo the damage. He’d sent anonymous payments to the families of those civilians–a girl who had only been working her part time shift, and a grandma who had been looking out her window to hear the commotion. Those payments were meant to be a form of alimony and support that would keep them safe under Red Hood’s invisible umbrella. They’d never know who was watching over them, who ensured their safety and wellbeing. But Jason knew it didn’t erase the grief he'd caused. He felt like scum, and the weight of it crushed him every day.

It was Tim who finally snapped him out of the self-loathing spiral. Tim, with that unshakable focus, reminded him he couldn’t afford to lose sight of his mission. “You’ve got too many people depending on you, Jason,” Tim had said one night in their shared bedroom. His voice, steady and firm, said “You made a mistake. Now make it right again. You always told me you wanted to help. So help.”

And I feel the light for the very first time

Not anybody knows that I am lucky to be alive

Jason listened. He always did when Tim spoke like that. It was the same conviction that Tim had once used on Batman, back when he was nothing but a kid who idolized Gotham’s Dark Knight. He’d pulled Bruce back from the brink more than once, reminding him of the mission, of the core promise beneath all the layers of vigilante armor: to help. Tim wasn’t just talking to Jason; he was guiding him, the same way he had guided Batman all those years ago.

Jason learned quickly that listening to Tim led to the best choices, the smartest moves, and the most lucrative outcomes. Tim wasn’t just his partner; he was half the brain behind Red Hood’s entire operation. The kid– no, not a kid anymore –had taken Jason’s agenda and sharpened it, made it more efficient, more targeted. He’d turned Red Hood from a chaotic force of vengeance into an instrument of justice, one that not only punished but also protected. Crime Alley and beyond feared him, but they also knew that if they kept to Red Hood’s rules, they might just make it out alive.

Two years in, and Jason realized Tim wasn’t just his partner–he was the heart of everything they’d built. And despite the blood on his hands, despite the green haze that sometimes clouded Jason’s mind, Tim had forgiven him. He hadn’t forgotten what happened at the restaurant, but he forgave him, and that was everything.

And I feel the light for the very first time

Not anybody knows that I am lucky to be alive

Jason thanked him for it, constantly. He never let a day pass without reminding Tim how good he was, how valuable, how precious. Tim didn’t need grand speeches–just a simple, gentle acknowledgement was enough. “You’ve made me better,” Jason would say, sometimes after a mission, sometimes when they were just sitting around in their hideout. “I don’t think I could've done this without you, Tim.”

I’m lucky to be alive

Tim didn’t always respond with words, preferring touches, but the way he’d look at Jason, the way he’d keep pushing forward with their plans, made Jason feel like he was finally doing something right. And for the first time since his resurrection, Jason Todd felt like he had a purpose again. One that wasn’t just about revenge–but about redemption. For him, for Tim, and for all the lost people they were trying to save in their own way.

Tim wasn’t just helpful–he was essential. He was the reason Jason could sleep at night, knowing that whatever darkness he waded through, he had Tim to guide him back to the light. And Jason made sure Tim knew it, every single day.

I’m lucky to be alive

Chapter Text

Jim, better known as Big Jim to the crew, had always figured being a henchman would be a rough gig. He’d seen the stories, heard the horror tales about mob bosses who treated their men like disposable paper cups, always ready to throw away after all the blood they’d spilt for them. But with Red Hood, things were… different. Surprisingly good, even.

Jimothy–because, for some reason, Red Hood liked calling him that, and hell if Jim was going to argue with the guy who could turn him into Swiss cheese–anyway, Jimothy had been in the crew long enough to know that this wasn’t your average criminal ops. Sure, you had to stay sharp, had to be quick on your feet, and more importantly, had to keep alive. But Red Hood’s crew? It was organized, fair, and dare he say it, a little bit like family.

The benefits weren’t just talk. They had dental. Jimothy had always thought that was some kind of universal running joke for all henchmen alike, but nope–full dental, vision, health. Hell, they even had severance and retirement packages. Retirement! In this line of work! And it didn’t involve being thrown into Gotham Bay wearing cement shoes, which was a nice change of pace from what other guys in the city dealt with. They’d all heard about Old Ben, a real vet, only been working with the crew for a year, but he was already pushing 60 when he joined. Red Hood made the guy take a long holiday he never returned from but he always sent postcards and travel photos of him and his wife whenever they got the chance.

Jimothy had heard of a few crime families that didn’t have quite the same respect for their people. Red Hood, though? Fair wage. Really fair wage. And it wasn’t just that. Red Hood treated them with respect. He’d ask after your family and remember names in a way that wasn’t a threat, make sure you weren’t being pushed too far. “Jimothy,” Red Hood would say, sounding real chummy despite his creepy voice mod, “How’s your sister doing? Still working at the bakery, right?” And he’d nod, offer to bring some bread next time, feeling a weird sense of normalcy in the whole thing, as if this wasn’t Gotham’s underworld. Like maybe, maybe they could be… regular people. Hood made it feel like they were building something. Not just tearing things down.

That’s why Jimothy would kill for Red Hood. Hell, any of them would, and not because Red Hood told them to, but because he’d earned their loyalty. Red Hood didn’t ask them for blood. He didn’t demand bodies from them . What he wanted was commitment, loyalty, and respect for the tenets of his crew. Protect the vulnerable. Keep Crime Alley safe. No sex or human trafficking. No drugs for kids. And take care of each other.

It was almost… kumbaya. If anyone asked him, Jimothy would say working for Red Hood was like some kind of weird brotherhood. Except for when it wasn’t.

Like tonight.

They recently had a rat problem, but they caught it. It was now trussed up in the basement, hanging from the ceiling like a pig. One of their own, someone who had sold them out to some rival scum. Jimothy and the crew watched as Red Hood circled the guy like a shark, talking in that eerie, sarcastic modded voice of his. Red Hood wasn’t loud. He wasn’t cruel. He was just matter-of-fact, telling the rat his life story, detailing every single point where the guy screwed up. It was scary how much he knew about your life. And then, when Red Hood got to the part about how it was all going to end, Jimothy felt that familiar feeling of spiders crawling up his spine.

Red Hood didn’t need to scream. He didn’t need to lose his temper. He showed them all what happened when you betrayed his trust–what happened when you went against the family. It was brutal, yeah, but it wasn't mindless. It had a purpose.

That’s why Red Hood worked. Why his crew wasn’t falling apart like all the other Gotham bosses. He stood up for people. He made them feel like they had something worth defending, and in turn, they stood with him. Red Hood was merciful until he wasn’t, and when that time came, he made sure everyone knew what betrayal meant.

After it was all over, when the rest of the crew had been dismissed, Jimothy lingered for a moment, not because he needed to, but because someone caught his eye. The janitor kid–the one who’d been around long enough to be a familiar face, before Jimothy ever joined the crew–he was quietly cleaning up the mess. He wore a black LED mask and usually dressed in this red hooded jumpsuit like that getup from the show Squid Game. Jimothy only knew about it because he got Netflix once.

The kid sounded young, even with his own voice scrambler, probably wasn’t much older than Jimothy’s nephew, and every time Jim saw him, he couldn’t help but feel a bit uneasy. Magpie, Hood called him–wasn’t just some nobody. He was the one who handled the cleanup, the guy who erased the evidence, who took care of everything when things got ugly. He’d been with Hood long enough that people talked about him like he was a ghost, always around but never quite there. And Jimothy couldn’t help but worry about the kid sometimes, wondering if all this was too much for him.

But then again, Red Hood seemed to really care about the kid. He treated Magpie with a kind of protectiveness Jimothy saw with people who would move mountains for another. He would put money on Red Hood being able to move mountains and win that bet. And for now, Jimothy hoped that was enough to keep the kid from getting swallowed up by Lady Gotham.

As he walked away from the basement, Jimothy thought about the whole scene. About the rat, about loyalty, about how much he trusted Red Hood with his life. And yeah, maybe it was messed up. Maybe this wasn’t the kind of life anyone should’ve ended up with.

But damn if it wasn’t family.

Chapter Text

Stephanie Brown, Robin extraordinaire , found herself at yet another October bash, hosted by some old rich guy she didn’t give two hot dogs about. It was an annual event where Gotham’s rich and famous liked to flaunt their donation receipts for the upcoming holidays. She had attended a few of these events by now, and while they tended to feel stuffy and pretentious, she always looked forward to the capanes. Honestly, if she had to endure being ignored by rich folks who could probably smell the poor on her, at least she could do it while munching on fancy hors d’oeuvres.

Still, there were perks to being here–watching Bruce Wayne play the role of Gotham’s lovable airhead, for instance, if Dick wasn’t around to steal the spotlight. Sometimes both of them would put on a show and compete to who could evoke the most scandalized gasps. As it happened, though both of them were in attendance tonight, it was Dick on distraction duty, flitting through the ballroom like a particularly drunk butterfly. He had the crowd either eating out of the palm of his hand or grimacing at it before taking it anyway. Steph found herself chuckling as she watched him play the part of “Gotham’s Golden Boy.”

They’re writing songs of love, but not for me

She had her phone in hand, recording the latest of Dick’s antics, when something–or rather, someone–caught her eye. She zoomed in, focusing past the swarm of socialites and toward a guy who practically glowed amidst the dull, glittering crowd. Average height, lean, dressed in a standard black tux but with those fancy chain collar brooches, his shaggy black hair framed a face that might as well have been sculpted by angels. But it wasn’t just his impeccable bone structure that had caught her attention. It was his eyes that sparkled, not with amusement for Dick’s antics, but with wonder as he gazed up at the chandelier and muraled ceiling like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

How the hell was this guy even real?

A lucky star’s above, but not for me

Steph couldn’t help herself; she needed to meet him. Pocketing her phone into her evening gown (it had pockets!) she made her way across the room, weaving through Gotham’s elite less like a drunken butterfly and more like a dog at a show running an obstacle course. It was a bad analogy but Steph wasn’t known for good analogies anyway. Just as she was about to reach him, a large, hulking figure moved in her way, blocking her path like a living Berlin Wall. Startled, Steph let out a little yelp, causing the pretty boy to snap out of his trance and look at her. His eyes were even more mesmerizing up close–so blue, with those flecks of purple that almost seemed unreal. And the smile he gave her was sweet, if a little confused, like he wasn’t quite sure what she was doing there but didn’t mind it either.

With love to lead the way

“It’s alright, Jim,” he said softly to the human mountain in front of her. The man–who she now realized was clearly security–nodded and took a step back, though not quite as far as Steph would’ve liked. Still, it was enough space for her to step forward and try to introduce herself. But before she could even get a word out, the pretty boy beat her to it.

I’ve found more clouds of gray

“You’re Stephanie Brown, right?”

Steph’s brain short-circuited for a second. He knew her? He knew her? Was this love at first sight?

She blinked, trying to process what was happening. “Uh, yeah! That’s me,” she managed, trying her best to sound casual despite the flutter of excitement in her chest. “How’d you know?”

Than any Russian play could guarantee

He tilted his head consideringly, “You saved the heir of Fox Gardens with a Heimlich maneuver at their own restaurant opening. I was actually there to see it.”

She blinked, trying to process what was happening. “Uh, yeah! That’s me,” she managed, trying her best to sound casual despite the flutter of excitement in her chest. “And you are…?”

I was a fool to  fall and get that way

The guy smiled again, more warmly this time. “Tim. Tim Drake.”

Drake. She’d heard that name before, of course, but it didn’t click immediately in the haze of her minor infatuation. All she could think of was how those blue-purple eyes were still sparkling, though this time they were focused on her.

Hi-ho alas, and also, lack-a-day

Steph felt like she was floating. After the initial awkwardness of meeting Tim Drake, they ended up bonding over the most unlikely topic–chili dogs. Of all things, they debated where to find the best ones in Gotham, and when Tim revealed that his favorite spot was a humble cart parked near Crime Alley, she was floored. She grinned wide and agreed, “The guy at Park Row? No way, that’s my favorite too!”

Although I can’t dismiss the memory of her kiss

But then, a question nagged at her. How did Tim know about a place like that? Park Row wasn’t exactly the kind of area you’d expect a guy in a tux to frequent. Steph tilted her head, curious. “Wait, how do you know about that spot?”

Tim’s answer threw her for a loop. “I lived around there for a while,” he said casually. “Before I moved out.”

Steph’s eyebrows shot up. Lived there? Tim seemed so polished, so… different from the rest of Gotham’s grime. “Where do you live now?” she asked, leaning in, eager to hear more.

Before he could answer, another hulking figure appeared beside them–this one younger, beefier, and undeniably good-looking. The sheer amount of attractive guys she’d seen tonight was beginning to make her dizzy, but the real surprise came when this new guy wrapped his arm around Tim’s waist in an easy, practiced motion. Tim didn’t even startle. Instead, he smiled softly, tilted his head as the guy stooped down to plant a kiss in his hair.

I guess she’s not for me

Tim didn’t miss a beat. He was still talking to Steph about chili dogs, local bakeries making gluten free options, and halal meat alternatives, as if this was more interesting than the adonis waiting on him for a scrap of attention. “Babe, I know you’re hungry, but you wanna introduce me to your new friend?” the newcomer asked, his voice casual, but the weight of familiarity was clear.

They’re writing songs of love, but not for me

Steph’s mind screeched to a halt. Her brain was short-circuiting again, but this time not in the dreamy way it had been earlier. She watched as Tim blinked in realization. “Oh! Jay, sorry. I got distracted.”

A lucky star’s above, but not for me

The guy– Jay –smirked in a way that said he knew exactly how Tim’s mind worked and found it endearing. “This is Jason, my boyfriend,” Tim said.

And just like that, the warm, floating feeling in Stephani’s chest came crashing down like shattered glass.

With love to lead the way

She stood there, trying to keep her composure, but inside, she could practically hear the sound of her dreams cracking.

“Stephanie? Are you okay?” Tim’s voice pulled her out of her spiraling thoughts, his concern genuine. His brow furrowed slightly as he looked at her with those sincere, blue eyes.

I found more clouds of gray

Steph went through the stages of grief at lightning speed. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. It all hit her like a tidal wave in the span of two seconds. Then she put on her brightest grin and rallied. “Sorry! I just didn’t expect that! Like, wow, you know? Two hot guys, like peas in a pod, at this fancy shindig, no fear, just owning it. Hell yeah!” The words kept spilling out of her mouth, faster than she could stop them. God, she wanted to crawl under the table and hide. The Louboutins she’d worn with so much confidence now felt like they were mocking her–maybe she did deserve to stab herself with them.

Than any Russian play could guarantee

But then Jason laughed, a deep sound that cut through her rambling. He reached out to pat her on the shoulder, and the gesture felt weirdly reassuring. “It’s alright, we get it,” he said, his tone good-natured.

Steph exhaled in relief, feeling some of the tension lift. “I mean, damn, you two look so good together. You’re so lucky!” She felt herself cringing inside, but she was committed to the bit now.

I was a fool to fall and get that way

Tim’s face lit up with that angelic smile again. “Thank you! I think so too.”

And damn it, there it was again–that impossible, sweet innocence that made it hard to be mad at him for anything. Even if he started spouting rich-kid nonsense, Steph knew she would still end up liking him. She watched as Jason glanced down at Tim with that soft, affectionate look that people only got in rom-coms. It was enough to make her heart ache with both jealousy and hope.

Hi-ho alas, and also, lack-a-day

They were good together. Like, really good together. Steph wanted to be their friend so badly. She wanted in on whatever perfect universe they were living in, even if it was just for the foodie talk. “Hey can I get your number? You know, for, uh, chili dog comparisons,” she said, flashing her best, most casual smile. She tried to act nonchalant, but inside, she was screaming.

Although I can’t dismiss the memory of her kiss

Tim looked up at Jason, his eyes asking a silent question. That tiny hesitation sent a red ping through her mind, but she waved it off. It wasn’t her business, right?

Jason gave a nod, and Tim pulled out his phone with a bright grin. They exchanged numbers, and Steph couldn’t help but feel a little bit like she’d just scored a golden ticket into their little world.

Chili dogs. Lightning, strike her.

“So, how are you guys liking the party?” Steph asked, curiosity lighting up her face. She couldn’t help herself–she’d been to plenty of these events, and she was pretty sure she’d never seen them before.

Tim’s eyes sparkled a little as he looked around. “It’s my first time at one of these, actually. I love it,” he said, his gaze drifting upwards to the intricately painted ceilings. “The architecture in this place is incredible–the gilding, the furniture, everything. Look at the Corinthian columns, they’re so much more ornate than the simpler Doric style.” He went on, detailing the subtleties between different structural designs. Most of it soared right over Steph’s head, but the way Tim explained it was almost mesmerizing. His voice was smooth, calm, and carried the kind of warmth that could make even the driest of topics sound fascinating.

Jason, when Tim finally ran out of breath, eventually chimed in. “I used to come to these things as a teenager,” he said. “Didn’t love ‘em. Except for the canapes, those were the only highlight.”

That factoid hooked Steph’s attention. “Canapes, huh? Same, honestly. The food here is half the reason I put up with all these rich people.” She grinned, glad to find something they had in common. Turns out, the best conversations always come out when people start talking about food.

Jason, surprisingly, seemed to perk up a little at that. “Yeah, I’m not picky. Doesn’t matter if it’s from a fancy restaurant or a street cart–if it tastes good, it’s good enough for me.”

“Exactly!” Steph laughed, feeling more at ease now that they were all bonding over something as simple as food. “I mean, a greasy chili dog from Park Row? Or a thousand-dollar truffle bite from this place? Honestly, sometimes the chili dog wins.”

Jason nodded approvingly, while Tim’s eyes twinkled as he agreed, clearly warming up to her. The more they talked, the more Steph felt like she could maybe be a part of whatever world these two guys lived in.

I guess she’s not for

Jim, the security guard, stepped up quietly to Jason, leaning in to whisper something too low for Steph to catch. Whatever it was, it had Jason straightening up immediately, a shift in his demeanor as he nodded in acknowledgement. He pulled Tim into a side hug, planting a quick kiss on his cheek–a move so seamless, like they’d done it a thousand times before. This time, Tim returned the gesture, leaning in without hesitation.

I guess she’s not for

“Sorry, babe. Work emergency,” Jason murmured, regret lacing his voice. “I’ll have to leave early. But you can stay and enjoy the night with your new friend, okay?”

Tim’s frown was almost comically cute, a subtle downturn of his lips, but he nodded. “Be careful,” he replied softly. Jason responded with a kiss dropped onto Tim’s hair before turning to Steph.

“Sorry, gotta bail. You know how it is,” he said with a shrug.

Steph nodded, though internally she was screaming, her mind still reeling from witnessing their easy affection. Jason gave her a quick handshake before heading off, disappearing through the party crowd with Jim close behind. When Steph glanced back at Tim, she noticed the way his shoulders slumped a little now, like some of the joy had deflated with Jason’s departure.

I guess she’s not for me

“Wanna sit?” she offered, hoping to lift his mood a bit.

Tim shot her a grateful look and nodded, following her to one of the unoccupied lounges by the walls. They grabbed a tray of canapes to share, not caring about any judgment from the hoity-toity party guests for breaking decorum. Steph admired how little Tim seemed to care about the stares–they were kindred spirits that way.

“So,” she said, popping a canape into her mouth, “boyfriend, huh? How’d you meet Mr Tall, Dark, and Handsome?”

Tim blinked, caught off guard, before laughing softly. “It’s actually a funny story. I had the biggest crush on him when I was a kid–like, I was 9, and I saw him at school. Followed him around for a while, but never talked to him.”

Steph’s jaw dropped, already hooked on every word. “No way.”

Tim nodded, still smiling. “Yeah. Life happened, and we met again when I was 16, became sort of coworkers. We only made it official a couple of months ago–on my birthday. I asked him to be my boyfriend. It’s honestly been a dream come true.”

Steph’s eyes lit up, utterly enchanted by Tim’s story. “So, he was your first love, and now you’re together ? That’s like a fairy tale! Are you a fairy tale prince? Or maybe a fairy princess?” she teased.

Tim flushed, cheeks turning bright pink, and his shy smile widened. “He… calls me that sometimes too,” he admitted bashfully.

Steph couldn’t help but feel a bit starstruck. Tim wasn’t just cute–he was loyal, earnest, and so incredibly in love. It was hard not to adore him for it.

Steph couldn’t resist throwing questions at Tim, rapid-fire, as they continued to snack.

“What was your first date like?

Tim grinned, thinking back. “Exciting. We went ziplining–it was like flying.”

“Favorite gift?”

Tim didn’t even hesitate. “Vacuum mop Roomba.”

Steph blinked. “A Roomba ?”

“Yeah. Two-in-one function. Best gift ever. I call it Mr Glide.”

She laughed at his serious expression. “Okay, okay… Does he snore?”

Tim sighed dramatically. “Yes. Loudly.”

Steph was in stitches at this point. Tim was an absolute riot, and the more he talked, the more she found herself unable to get enough. His straightforwardness, paired with his dry humor, had her practically in tears with laughter. They were so engrossed in their conversation that neither of them noticed when a familiar figure started paying attention to Steph’s unhinged guffaws.

“What’s the joke? I want in!”

Dick Grayson appeared out of nowhere, swaggering in with his signature sway. His presence caused Tim to freeze instantly, his expression morphing into one of wide-eyed awe. It was as if he’d just seen a living legend. Steph watched the whole thing unfold, already mentally stashing these adorable moments away for future teasing.

Tim stammered a bit before finally managing, “Dick Grayson, it’s an honor to meet you.”

Dick, caught off guard by the formal greeting, shook Tim’s hand with a playful smile. “People are usually dishonored to meet me,” he joked, glancing at Steph. “Where’d you find this baby angel? Didn’t think we had those on earth anymore.”

Tim blushed furiously, turning as red as a tomato, and Steph couldn’t stop cackling at how flustered he became. Dick’s naturally flirtatious charm was clearly too much for Tim to handle.

The night had carried on pleasantly, with Dick meeting his quota of pestering socialites and settling in to relax. Tim now sat between Dick and Steph, who shared a silent, mutual understanding: they were adopting Tim. It wasn’t as if they were going to reveal their vigilante identities, but it felt nice to make friends outside their usual circles. Tim, for all his preciousness, felt like a baby deer–a real Bambi, and it warmed both of their hearts.

For a good two hours, the trio chatted, shared jokes, and laughed together before Tim’s departure. When Jim, the hulking bodyguard, came by to excuse Tim, saying something about it being “curfew,” Steph and Dick were amused by the way Tim perked up, excitedly announcing, “I can go home now!” His enthusiasm was infectious, and they couldn’t feel bad about letting him go.

Steph made Tim promise to text her, and he eagerly agreed before saying his goodbye. As he turned to leave, Jim closely shadowing him, Steph and Dick exchanged glances.

Dick finally broke the silence. “He talked all night, but I haven’t learned a damn thing about him.”

Steph nodded, the same realization dawning on her. “He mostly talks about weird facts or his boyfriend. It’s like his life revolves around the guy. When I asked for his number, he looked to Jason for permission.”

Dick’s brows furrowed. “Jason?”

Steph nodded. “Yeah, his boyfriend’s name is Jason. I didn’t catch a last name.”

Dick leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “Hmm. Something was off about that kid–cute as hell, though.”

Steph frowned. “If he’s being controlled… I want to help him. Jason was literally a foot taller, twice as wide, could probably throw Tim over a football pitch. Handsome, sure, but… you never know.”

Dick hummed in agreement, eyes serious. “Yeah, keep an eye on him. Tim seems like a good kid, but if something’s wrong, we’ll figure it out. He’s a good nugget. Doesn’t deserve to be stuck in anything shady.”

They shared a look, silently deciding to follow up on this mysterious Tim and his equally mysterious boyfriend.

Mr Sandman, bring me a dream

When Tim got home, the warm, mouthwatering smell of roasted chicken with aromatic seasonings greeted him at the door. Finally , real food after a long night of standing around and looking pretty. He stepped into the sleek, upscale apartment they shared, a place he and Jason had “liberated” from one of their former enemies in their first year working together. Now it was their home. Tim found Jason in the kitchen, still wearing his tuxedo pants, but with his blazer off, shirt sleeves rolled up, and an apron tied around his waist. The sight made Tim swoon. Jason looked effortlessly handsome, his hair still perfectly styled despite the long day.

Make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen

Tim smiled, taking in the cozy domesticity of the scene. “Hello, darling. I was lonely without you,” he teased, walking up to plant a soft kiss on Jason’s lips.

Give him two lips like roses and clover

Jason, setting aside his carving knife and fork, pulled Tim in for a deeper kiss, holding him close. “Lonely, huh?” Jason teased back, grinning. “I heard you chatting all night with your new friends.”

Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over

With a smirk, Jason plucked a small tracker and recorder from under the lapel of Tim’s blazer. He neatly hung the jacket on the back of a dining chair, his movements smooth, practiced. Tim wasn’t surprised, he was used to Jason being thorough.

Sandman, I’m so alone

“I was still missing you,” Tim insisted, smiling up at him. “Didn’t matter who I was with.”

Don’t have nobody to call my own

Jason guided Tim to sit at the dining table and served him a plate of perfectly roasted chicken, accompanied by tender potatoes, asparagus, and a gourmet homemade sauce. Tim marveled at the simplicity, yet elegance of the meal–Jason always had a way of making even basic dishes feel indulgent. He’d gotten used to being pampered like this. Jason cooked, Tim cleaned–it was a system that worked flawlessly, and Tim loved it.

As they began eating, Tim asked between bites, “How was work? Do I have to clean anything up?”

Jason smiled, chewing thoughtfully before answering. “Nah, no mess tonight. I knew you’d be tired after the party. It was just negotiations–lots of persuasion, heavy suggesting.”

Tim giggled, catching the veiled meaning. “Sounds like blackmail.”

Jason grinned, playful. “You said it, not me.”

Tim didn’t need to recount his night at the party, thanks to Jason listening in via the tracker, so instead, Jason filled Tim in on his latest dealings. Over dinner, he talked about a recent acquisition–another shipment confiscated that had been smuggled through Gotham harbor without permission. Since taking down Black Mask, Red Hood had been steadily monopolizing the black market. Jason had made sure his operations were running like a well-oiled machine, with everyone else falling in line or getting crushed.

“The Maronis and Falcones are still at large, but I’ll let them be–for now,” Jason mused, taking a sip of water. “They’re just families, too. People to support, like anyone else. Business is business.”

Please turn on your magic beam

Tim nodded as he listened, savoring each bite of food. Jason’s pragmatism was why they worked so well together, even if his methods were sometimes brutal. Red Hood had the power now–enough that with a point of his finger, he could claim ownership of any building and have it by the morning. That was the kind of influence Jason wielded.

And Tim? Tim was the one to make it happen. A real Houdini-maker.

Mr Sandman, bring me a dream

At Wayne Manor, after the party ended with no major disruptions, the Batman and Batcompany reconvened in the Batcave for their nightly Bat-debrief.

“Nightwing, stop saying Bat.”

“Bat I don't wanna.”

Batman, as usual, got straight to work, reviewing surveillance footage, checking up on Gotham’s usual suspects, analyzing potential antidotes to use for any Scarecrow shenanigans this Halloween. Dick and Steph eventually joined him in their uniforms, and as they settled in, Steph casually mentioned her new friends from the party.

“Tim Drake?” Bruce’s sharp tone cut through the air before she could even finish. The name clearly pinged on his mental radar and his fingers were already flying across the Batcomputer keyboard panel, pulling up a profile.

“That’s him!” Steph confirmed as she pointed at the screen, seeing a picture of the same boy from the party. “Same Bambi eyes, just all grown up.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes at the profile report. “I remember him. His parents were our neighbors. I didn’t know they even had a son until he was reported to CPS. He was… a crafty kid. And then he went missing..."

Steph filled in the gaps as she read the report, “Missing!? Yikes. He mentioned he used to live in Crime Alley, so I guess that’s where he ended up missing to. He looked pretty good for a guy with that kind of past. Though his boyfriend? Looked like some big shot, head honcho type. Could be a mobster’s son or something. Had security all around him.”

Dick’s demeanor shifted as well when he heard the name. “You said his name was Jason?” His voice dropped, eyes narrowing. “You think we can pull up the CCTV from the party, Bruce? I want to check something.”

Bruce obliged, already anticipating Dick’s line of thought. They replaced the footage, focusing on the moments when Stephanie was interacting with Tim. As they sped through the recording, they saw it–a tall, broad-shouldered man in a tux, moving through the crowd like a swan, yet exuding an aura that felt more like a stalking panther.

Bruce and Dick exchanged glances, neither wanting to voice what they were both thinking.

Stephanie, confused by the tension in the room, broke the silence. “Uh, guys? What’s going on?”

Bruce’s face remained stoic, but his voice was gruff. “We don’t know. But we’re going to find out.”

Dick chimed in, his tone quieter but serious. “Steph, you’ve got their number, right?”

“Tim’s,” she confirmed with a nod.

“That’s a start,” Dick said. “We need to get closer. Set up a meeting, something casual. A coffee date, maybe.”

Steph groaned, clearly torn. “Dammit! I actually liked him. Please don't tell me he’s into shady stuff!”

Bruce didn’t look away from the screen. “We don’t know yet. But don’t get too attached.”

She pouted, but the reality of the situation started to settle in. “Fine,” she huffed. “But if this gets weird, you owe me big time for ruining my potential new bestie.”

With the Batcave growing quiet again, the trio shared a mutual understanding–this was personal, but also too important to let emotions cloud their judgment. If Tim Drake was involved in something deeper, and if that man was who they thought he might be… they’d have to be ready for anything.

Chapter Text

Stephanie stood outside the cafe, shivering slightly as the chilly breeze of Old Gotham cut through her jacket. The street was quieter than she expected, with just a few passersby huddled in their coats, and the hum of distant traffic creating a soft ambient noise in the background. The place wasn’t exactly sketchy, but it wasn’t upscale either–more of a worn-in, cozy area that had a bit of character. She glanced at the cafe sign, a little wooden board with handwritten letters that read “Crusty Crooks Cafe.”  It had a bizarrely charming, understated vibe that she was starting to appreciate, even if it wasn’t her usual scene.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, wondering just how much of a gamble this coffee date would turn out to be. But just then, she spotted a sleek black BMW rolling up to the curb. It had blacked-out windows so dark they were definitely illegal, and for a moment, Steph felt a spike of wariness creep up her spine. That was the kind of car you’d expect to see in a mob movie, not at a cafe in Old Gotham.

The car came to a smooth stop in front of her, engine purring quietly, and the back passenger door swung open. Tim only stepped half-out, and for a second, Stephanie’s breath hitched. He was dazzling.

Why do birds suddenly appear

Tim was dressed in a way that was both elegant and cute. Undusting her fashion know-how, she would describe him wearing a mixed style of dark academia and preppy lolita boy. He wore fitted black leggings tucked into ankle-high leather booties with a slight heel, the kind that clicked softly on the pavement as he moved. Over that, he sported warm, high-waisted shorts in a wool-like plaid fabric, which seemed both cozy and fashionable. But it was his top half that really stood out–a rich, oversized red cashmere sweater that looked impossibly soft, the fabric bunching just slightly around his slim waist. Beneath the sweater peeked a crisp white collared shirt, the collar adorned with a delicate chain brooch that glittered faintly in the afternoon light. A velvet red beret perched slightly askew on his head, giving him an almost Parisian look. Black gloves covered his hands, adding a touch of sophistication, while also keeping them warm against the cool Gotham air.

Every time you are near?

Steph was momentarily floored at how put-together he looked, like he’d stepped out of a fashion spread. He was all soft edges and stylish details, with an air of effortless elegance that made him seem almost out of place against the gritty backdrop of the city.

Just like me, they long to be

What really caught her eye though, was the way he seemed to glow with excitement when he saw her, a genuine smile spreading across his face. But her attention was quickly drawn to the figure behind him.

Jason was still inside the car, visible only by the slant of light catching his face through the open door. He wore a perfectly tailored bespoke suit in a dark, charcoal gray that highlighted his broad shoulders. His hair, slicked back from earlier in the day, still held its polished shape, though a few strands had fallen loose, softening his intense features.

Close to you

A large hand rested possessively at Tim’s waist, anchoring him. The touch was gentle but firm, a small act that spoke volumes of unspoken communication between the two. Jason leaned in close to Tim, murmuring something quietly into his ear, and though Steph couldn’t hear the words, she noticed the way Tim’s eyes softened and he nodded in response, completely at ease. Jason’s lips curved into a smirk, satisfied, and he pressed a soft kiss to the shell of Tim’s ear before letting him go.

The moment seemed so intimate, so natural, that Steph almost felt like she was intruding on something private. There was a possessive energy in the way Jason held Tim, a combination of tenderness and quiet authority that left no room for doubt about how much he cared for him.

Why do stars fall down from the sky

Tim finally turned his attention fully to Steph, his smile brightening as he hopped out of the car with a bounce in his step, his heels clicking softly on the pavement. Jason stayed in the car, watching them for just a moment longer before the door shut smoothly and the BMW pulled away from the curb like a silent predator slipping back into the night.

Every time you walk by?

“Hi Stephanie!” Tim greeted cheerfully, his enthusiasm palpable. He looked so genuinely pleased to see her that she couldn’t help but grin back, her earlier wariness melting away.

Just like me, they long to be

“Hey, Tim,” Steph replied, managing a smile of her own. “You look adorable, by the way! I almost feel underdressed,” she added with a playful grin, trying to mask her surprise at the fancy arrival and Jason’s sudden appearance.

Tim’s cheeks turned the lightest shade of pink at the compliment, and he did a little shrug. “Oh, thank you! I thought I’d dress up a bit since it’s our first official hangout,” he said, looking genuinely pleased by her words.

Close to you

Steph noted the lingering presence of Jim, the security guard, standing a respectful distance away but still within sight. It was strange to see Tim with what seemed like constant security detail, especially since they were just grabbing coffee. But then again, his boyfriend was clearly a protective type, and Tim didn’t seem to mind at all. She gave him a nod, which he returned with a polite but silent acknowledgement.

“Nice ride,” Steph said, jerking her thumb toward the BMW that had already rolled off. “Those windows looked like they could hide a dead body.”

Tim laughed, a sound that seemed almost unhinged. “Yeah, they’re not strictly legal,” he admitted, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial whisper. “But Jason insists on them for privacy, and I kind of like it. Makes me feel like I’m in a space shuttle.”

“Of course, it does,” Steph teased lightly, before looking around. “So, this place was your pick? I wasn’t expecting a coffee shop in this part of town to be so… cute.”

As they walked towards the cafe entrance, Steph couldn’t help but notice the way Tim seemed to carry himself–confident, but with a hint of bashfulness that made him even more endearing. There was a quiet joy in his eyes, and the way he talked to her made it feel like this was more than just a casual coffee meeting.

Tim’s smile grew even more sincere. “It’s one of my favorites,” he said. “Kind of a hidden gem. Plus, they make the best sourdoughs, hands down.” He tilted his head slightly, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I also thought you’d appreciate a place that’s not all Bruce Wayne’s stuffy clubs and high society dining.”

Steph gave him a pointed look but couldn’t help laughing. “Okay, fair point. You caught me–I was spoiled by all that. But I’m game! Lead the way, Tim.”

Stephanie follows Tim into the cafe, already bracing herself for what she thought might be another rundown spot in Old Gotham. But to her surprise, the place was actually quite charming. The interior was filled with tasteful rustic decor: dark wooden tables, mismatched chairs with equally mismatched seat cushions, and shelves lined with trailing plants and antique knick-knacks. The lighting was soft, casting a golden glow over the cozy space. Plush couches were arranged in little nooks, perfect for conversations or curling up with a book. The walls were covered with maximalist decor–old picture frames, quirky art pieces, and a collection of clocks that seemed to tick in unison. It was busy, but in a way that felt comforting rather than chaotic.

Steph’s eyes drifted to the display case, and she was practically overwhelmed by how mouthwateringly good everything looked. Pastries of every kind lined the shelves: croissants, muffins, eclairs, tarts—each one more tempting than the last. She could already feel her stomach growling in anticipation.

Looking around at the other patrons, she noticed they were just regular folks–students, artists, and locals who didn’t seem to mind the casual, down-to-earth vibe. She even spotted a business suit or two. No one else was dressed as fancily as Tim though, which made him stand out even more. The best part? The menu prices were surprisingly reasonable, even for someone on a tight budget like a college student. Steph felt a bit relieved; this place wasn’t about luxury, it was about comfort.

On the day that you were born the angels got together

Tim led them to a table tucked away in the far back corner of the cafe, where the lighting was soft and their privacy was assured. It was the perfect spot, with a view of the whole room yet still hidden enough to feel like their own little world. Steph settled into her seat, glancing around once more with an approving nod.

Just when she thought this was the kind of place where you’d have to order at the counter, an old gentleman in a waistcoat and apron walked up to their table with menus in hand. They smiled warmly and asked what they wanted to drink, and Steph was taken aback by the personal touch. It felt like they were being treated as VIP guests instead of just regular customers.

“Uh, I’ll have a hot chocolate, please,” Steph said, still a little out of sorts from the unexpected service.

And decided to create a dream come true

Tim, without missing a beat, ordered some kind of fancy-sounding espresso that she couldn’t even begin to pronounce. He seemed completely at ease, like he was used to this kind of treatment all the time.

As they waited for their drinks, Steph’s eyes wandered to where Jim, Tim’s ever-present bodyguard, was seated nearby. To her surprise, he was chatting amiably with a young woman behind the counter who bore a striking resemblance to him but infinitely more rounded and petite. She seemed to be working the pastry case with the kind of skill that only a seasoned baker could have.

Tim noticed her gaze and smiled. “That’s Jim’s younger sister,” he said casually. “She works here as the head pastry chef . Went to culinary school in Japan and everything. You should definitely take some stuff back with you later. I always get things from here when I’m craving, and trust me, they’re amazing.”

Steph blinked, pleasantly surprised. “Wait, really? That’s pretty cool. No wonder everything in the display case looks so good.”

So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair of gold

Tim nodded with a smile that seemed even warmer now. “Yeah, she’s a genius when it comes to desserts. It’s part of why I love this place so much–it feels like a hidden gem, but with that personal touch you don’t find anywhere else.”

And starlight in your eyes of blue

Steph felt herself relaxing more. Despite the odd circumstances of her meeting with Tim, the whole setting felt genuine, almost homey. It was clear that Tim wasn’t just some fancy rich kid; he had roots here, connections that made this place special to him. She could see why he’d picked it for their little coffee date, and she found herself even more curious about the layers hidden beneath that charming exterior of his.

As they settled into their cozy corner table with their drinks, Stephanie took a moment to absorb the vibe of the cafe. It was undeniably charming with an almost homey feel that seemed to wrap around them like a warm blanket. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the heady aroma of baked goods, and it was all so cozy and inviting that Steph understood why Tim had chosen this spot.

But it was what was happening behind the counter that really caught her eye. Through a small square window that divided the front of the cafe from the back kitchen, she could see the bakers at work. They were an imposing sight–large men with forearms like tree trunks, vigorously kneading dough, their hands moving with a practiced, almost aggressive rhythm. One of them was slamming a giant ball of dough onto the counter, while another was loading bread into an old-school oven, the kind with a roaring fire that you could almost feel from where they were sitting. The heat coming from the back kitchen was probably the reason Tim hadn’t bothered with a coat today–the cafe was practically its own little furnace.

Steph’s eyes widened in surprise as she took in the sight. “Wow, they make all the bread fresh right here?” she asked, genuinely impressed, her gaze drifting again over to the display case filled with golden, rusty loaves and delicate pastries that looked almost too pretty to eat.

That is why all the girls in town

Tim’s smile was a little smug, clearly enjoying her reaction. Without even a word, he gave a small nod to one of the more available servers, who promptly made his way over to them like he was just waiting for Tim’s cue. The ease with which the server responded to Tim’s unspoken command made Steph blink in surprise–this wasn’t the typical cafe experience.

Follow you all around

“Hi Ani, can we have a sampler spread today? I’m showing my new friend the goods,” Tim said cheekily, his grin playful yet somehow authoritative, like he was both a regular customer and someone who had a special connection with the staff.

Just like me, they long to be

Ani, the server, was not what Steph had expected. He was tall, with the kind of presence that immediately drew attention. His face looked like it belonged in a Renaissance painting–handsome and striking, with sharp angles softened by a cascade of golden curls. A prominent scar slashed diagonally over one eye, adding a layer of ruggedness to his otherwise angelic features. When he smirked at Tim’s request, there was a glint in his eye that spoke of familiarity and perhaps even a bit of fondness.

Close to you

“No problem, princess,” Ani replied, his voice deep and smooth, tinged with the faintest hint of an accent that Steph couldn’t quite place. “I’ll bring out the best we’ve got. Be right back.”

On the day that you were born the angels got together

As Ani turned to head back to the kitchen, Steph couldn’t help but be a little awestruck. This place wasn’t just a cafe; it was like a well-orchestrated stage, and Tim seemed to know everyone involved in the performance. She turned back to Tim, raising her eyebrows in curiosity.

And decided to create a dream come true

“Princess, huh?” she teased, though there was genuine wonder in her tone. “Also I noticed they treat you like some kind of VIP.”

So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair of gold

Tim rolled his eyes with an easy smile, taking a sip of his fancy espresso. “They just like to tease me. They know I’ve been hanging around here for a while,” he said. His eyes gleamed with something that made her think he wasn’t just talking about the cafe.

And starlight in your eyes of blue

As they waited for the sample spread, Steph couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this cafe and to Tim’s connection here than met the eye. She didn’t know yet how deep that connection went, but she had a feeling that this unassuming place held a special significance for him—a kind of sanctuary in the heart of Gotham's lowest.

Steph tried her best, she really did, to stay focused on her mission of gathering information about Tim. She had her mental checklist ready, the questions she’d rehearsed in her head. But all of that went straight out the window the moment she bit into the first piece of bread. Every single bite was like an explosion of flavor in her mouth, the kind that made her eyes roll back slightly in bliss. The bread and butter alone–a classic, humble combination–had her melting. It was like tasting clouds of heaven, with a perfectly crisp crust and a soft, pillowy inside that felt like it was hugging her soul.

She was a goner, she realized. There was no way she was getting through this without being totally distracted. Tim had chosen the perfect weapon against her resolve: carbs. Delicious, glorious carbs. She was mentally preparing to fail this mission, already imagining herself coming back to the Batcave with bags full of bread instead of answers. Bruce would probably look at her with that disappointed dad glare of his and sigh, saying, “I understand. Try harder next time. But I understand.”

That is why all the girls in town

Snapped back to the present by Tim’s voice, she saw him holding out another piece of bread. “Try this,” he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “It’s tartine bread. My favorite.”

Steph took the offered piece, the moment almost reverent as she tasted it. It was even better than regular sourdough, with a rich, tangy flavor that danced on her taste buds and a texture that was somehow both crunchy and creamy. She let out a groan that was half-pleasure, half-surrender. “This friendship was a mistake,” she said, shaking her head but not meaning a word of it. “You’re gonna make me fat, Tim. And you know what? I ain’t even mad about it.”

Follow you all around

Tim laughed, a soft, genuine sound that made her smile despite herself. “It’s not my fault I know the way to your heart,” he teased, looking far too pleased with himself.

Steph couldn’t help but join in his laughter, the warmth of the cafe, the bread, and Tim’s easy company making it all too easy to forget why she was really here. For now, all that mattered was that she was having the best bread of her life and a surprisingly great time with Tim, even if he was possibly hiding a mountain of secrets behind that charming smile of his.

Steph had lost count of how many times she had to visit the bathroom, a consequence of trying every drink and indulging in all the delicious food Tim kept ordering. She couldn’t even feel embarrassed by it; she was too stuffed with happiness and delicious bread to care. Besides, Tim didn’t seem to mind or comment, and while he clearly had a better bladder than she did, she reasoned that it might’ve helped that he hadn't eaten quite as much as she did. Still, it was a testament to how comfortable this whole setup was. She didn’t even feel awkward leaving him alone.

Just like me, they long to be

When she returned from her latest trip, she found Tim sitting at the table in a relaxed pose, one leg crossed over the other, his attention focused on his phone. He was completely at ease, typing away with a small smile tugging at his lips. As she slid back into her seat, Steph couldn’t help but catch a quick glimpse of his screen before he could turn it away, the message still in view:

“Still hanging out with Steph. Dinner is ruined so probably don’t cook lol. Love you xx”

A reply came almost instantly, presumably from Jason: “Bring home some bread. Pantry out. Love you too.”

Close to you

Steph’s heart melted into a puddle of goo right then and there. She mentally cooed, screaming inwardly with a mixture of envy and delight. It was disgustingly cute, the kind of domestic bliss she’d always dreamed of but never quite found. Sure, she could spar with the boys at the Batcave and share a laugh with them over takeout, but this was different. She was getting an up-close glimpse of something rare and precious: a normal, loving relationship that wasn’t overshadowed by the chaos of vigilante life.

Trying not to feel too much of a third wheel, she forced a smile as she sat down, determined to be happy for her new friend. If she couldn’t have that kind of domestic romance herself, at least she could live vicariously through Tim’s adorably sweet texts and his obvious joy when talking about Jason. She took it back, maybe third-wheeling wasn’t so bad after all, especially if it came with endless bread and an inside look at a love story that seemed straight out of a fairy tale. “Who was that? Your dark shadow?”

Tim looked up from his phone, a little grin spreading across his face at her teasing. “Guilty as charged,” he said, not even trying to hide his affection. “It was Prince Charming, alright. He’s just checking in to make sure I’m still alive and not, you know, passed out from a food coma. Told him not to cook tonight. I don’t think I can eat anymore,” he said the last part while patting his stomach which did look like they were bulging out a little.

Steph laughed, leaning in like they were about to dive into the best part of a slumber party gossip session. Now that they’d devoured almost every sample on the table, she was ready for the real talk, the nitty-gritty details she’d been hoping to pry out of him since they sat down.

“So,” she continued with a playful nudge, “you mentioned you guys got together recently. I am officially jealous. Wish my first boyfriend was like yours, but oh well.” She tried to keep her tone light, though a hint of genuine regret seeped in. But more than that, she was dying to know what kind of guy managed to sweep Tim off his feet.

Tim laughed, shaking his head, but there was something more behind his smile–a hint of gratitude, like he was lucky to have found something he never thought he would. “Trust me, Steph,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially, “he has his quirks. But hey, if I’m stuck with anyone’s quirks, I’m glad they’re his.” He winked at her, and for a moment, it was like they were just two normal friends gossiping over coffee, with nothing more pressing than the trials and triumphs of romance.

Steph’s eyes widened, and she couldn’t help but grin at how adorably smitten he was. “Aw, Timmy! You’re gonna make me gag with how cute you are,” she teased, even though her voice was more envious than joking. “Seriously though, you two seem like you’re in a whole different league compared to the disaster dates I’ve been on. I mean, a guy who cooks ? And checks in on you like that? Where do I sign up?”

Tim’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, and he shrugged a little, clearly flattered by her interest. “I couldn’t even begin to look where. He found me, so I didn’t even sign up before I realized I was already… in it. It was like it was meant to happen. We just kind of… clicked, you know? One minute, we were friends, and the next–” he snapped his fingers. “He just made everything feel so easy, like I didn’t have to try to be anything I wasn’t.” His eyes softened as he talked, the words flowing naturally. “Honestly, he’s… he’s too good to me,” Tim admitted, almost shyly. “I keep waiting for the catch, but it’s just been… perfect.”

Steph’s eyes softened at that. “You really care about him, huh?”

“More than anything,” Tim said simply, his gaze flickering to the spot where the car had been before turning back to her with that saame honest sincerity. “He’s… he’s my anchor, you know? Like, the one solid thing I can always rely on.”

Steph nodded, a little envious of how sure Tim seemed to be about his feelings. There was so much she wanted to say, to ask, but she kept it light. “Well, I’m glad you have someone like that. And you’ve got me too now!” She grinned. “Just saying, I’m pretty great in case you didn’t know.”

Tim chuckled, a sound that seemed to brighten the room. “I’m starting to see that,” he said warmly, reaching out to give her hand a friendly squeeze.

Steph couldn’t help but lean forward, her curiosity bubbling up like steam from a fresh cup of coffee. She’d been trying to piece together this puzzle of Tim Drake ever since they’d first met, and now, as they sat across from each other in this cozy corner with Tim pouring his heart out, she figured it was her chance. “So, what does your Mr Fancy Pants do for work?” she asked, giving Tim a playful nudge. “He’s always dressed so sharp. Like, does he have some kind of James Bond thing going on or what?”

Tim gave a soft laugh, his finger twirling a lock from his bangs as if he was a bit shy about the question. “Or what… He’s in management,” he said with a casual wave of his hand. Steph raised an eyebrow, intrigued. 

“Management, huh?” she repeated, clearly not convinced. “Well, whatever he’s managing, he must be really good at it to always look that put together.”

Tim smiled exasperatedly. “He oversees a lot of different things–logistics, negotiations, that kind of stuff. I promise you, he only dresses up like that for work. At home, he’s just as comfortable wearing ripped jeans and a ratty shirt with holes in it, and not the artful kind. He really doesn’t care.” Tim shrugged as if that down-to-earth confession was all there was to it, and Steph decided to let it go. But her curiosity hadn’t been satisfied yet.

“And what about you, Mr Mysterious? You dress pretty fancy too, like way fancier than any other guy I know at our age,” she pointed out. “Not to be nosey or anything, but seriously, what do you do? I mean, I’m like 18, just your regular old college kid trying to figure out my life, and here you are looking like you’ve got your whole life sorted out. Are you even my age? ‘Cause you look like you’ve already graduated from life school.”

Tim’s smile turned softer though he paused for a second, clearly choosing his words carefully, then continued, “Well for me, I guess I’m sort of… doing odd jobs here and there? I do consultations for interior design or contract work as a business analyst. Nothing too glamorous, but it keeps me flexible, you know?” He gave a small shrug, glancing down at the remnants of their sample platter. “And yeah, I’m your age. So, trust me, I don’t have it as together as it might seem. I’m just… good at faking it, I guess.”

Steph blinked, a little surprised by his honesty, then laughed. "Wow, okay, so you’re saying there’s hope for me then? I mean, you seem like you’re light-years ahead in the whole ‘adulting’ thing."

Tim chuckled, a touch of self-deprecation in his laugh. "Yeah, well, life kind of threw me into the deep end earlier than I expected," he said, his tone growing a little more serious. "So I had to learn how to swim pretty fast. A lot of it’s just bluffing until you make it, honestly."

Just like me, they long to be

He gave her a smile that was more genuine this time, a hint of something warmer in his eyes. "But hey, at least there’s good coffee and bread to keep us going, right?" He lifted his cup in a small toast to her, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a grin.

Close to you

Steph lifted her own cup in return, clinking it lightly against his with a smirk. "To good coffee, great bread, and faking it ‘til we make it," she said, laughing. "Seriously though, I’m still kinda mindblown by you, Tim. You’ve got this whole mystery vibe going on, like there’s a lot more to you than you let on."

Close to you

Tim gave her a look that was both knowing and teasing. "Well, I guess you’ll just have to keep hanging out with me to find out more, huh?" he said with a wink, and Steph couldn’t help but grin back, knowing that her little mission for Bruce had just gotten a whole lot more complicated—and interesting.

Close to you

Despite the oddities surrounding Tim and his seemingly intense relationship with Jason, Stephanie felt like she was on the verge of something good here–a real friendship. And she was determined to protect that, whatever it took.

Close to you

Steph’s arms were overflowing with boxes stacked high, the scent of freshly baked bread and pastries wafting all around her as she juggled her loot. “I’m officially a walking bakery,” she muttered, trying to balance the boxes in a way that wouldn’t crush the precious cargo. She was practically glowing with victory, knowing this arsenal of deliciousness would secure her a smooth way back to everyone’s good graces at the manor.

Tim’s laughter, clear like the sound of tinkling bells, rang out as he watched her struggle with the towering pile. “You sure you can handle all that, Steph? Looks like you’re one baguette away from disaster,” he teased, grinning at her expense. Before she could come up with a sassy reply, Tim gave a signal to Jim, who stepped forward with a knowing smile.

“Jim, be a gentleman and give her a hand,” Tim said, a fond look in his eyes. Jim nodded, easily taking the boxes from Steph’s arms like they weighed nothing–and they likely didn’t–before loading them into the taxi. Steph let out a dramatic sigh of relief, shaking out her empty arms as she laughed.

“Thank you! I overestimated my arm capacity for maximum bread holding,” she said, giving Jim a grateful smile before turning to Tim. “This was fun, Tim. We definitely need to do this again. Next time, I’ll try to pace myself so I don’t need to roll home in a bread coma.”

Tim laughed softly, giving her a little wave. “Deal. More foodie dates it is. And hey, don’t eat it all in one sitting, okay? Save some for your family,” he said with a wink before turning back towards the cafe entrance. Steph watched him go, still amazed at how effortlessly he seemed to fit into this world of Gatsby type glitz and yet still be grounded by kindness.

Close to you

Back at Wayne Manor, Steph all but burst through the doors, arms filled with her spoils. She headed straight for the kitchen, she Alfred was already waiting, his eyebrow arching in amused curiosity. “Good heavens, Miss Brown, what mountainous bounty have you brought upon us?” he asked, eyeing the impressive haul.

“I come bearing gifts! A peace offering,” she declared dramatically, setting down the boxes with a flourish. “I figured, what better way to earn everyone’s forgiveness for failing my sleuthing mission than with a truckload of carbs, right?” Alfred’s eyes lit up, and the corners of his mouth twitched into a rare smile as he began to unpack the boxes.

“This is quite the variety, Miss Brown,” he said, clearly impressed as he sorted through the pastries and loaves. “You’ve outdone yourself. I daresay, dessert tonight shall be exceptional.”

Steph groaned, patting her stomach with a rueful grin. “As much as I want to stuff my face even more, I think my appetite is officially ruined for now,” she said, then added with finger guns, “But give me an hour, and I’ll be back for round two with that bread.”

Alfred gave her a knowing nod, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “I shall hold you to that, Miss Brown,” he said with a touch of warmth in his voice. “And for this magnificent offering, I believe all can be forgiven.”

Dinner at the long, polished table in the Wayne Manor dining room was a comfortable affair, the warm glow of the chandelier casting soft light on the three of them. Bruce sat at the head of the table, his usual stoic demeanor slightly softened as he listened to Steph recount her day. Dick, seated across from her, leaned forward, his interest piqued as she animatedly described her outing.

“So, you went to this cafe in Old Gotham,” Dick prompted, a grin breaking through his usually chiseled features. “And instead of intel, you instead brought back home the entire bakery?”

“More like a bakery and a half!” Steph laughed, her eyes lighting up with excitement for the upcoming dessert. “I’m telling you, this place was a hidden gem! The warm lights, actually, it wasn’t just the lights, it was warm all over because they had furnaces in the back! But yeah, it was so cute, the food was good–food lover’s paradise! I tried so many kinds. There was this tartine bread, and I swear, it’s better than any regular sourdough I’ve ever had!”

“Sounds like you’re getting a bit carried away there,” Bruce said, raising an eyebrow, though the corners of his mouth twitched with amusement. “But I suppose you’d know what’s worth it.”

“Oh, it’s worth it, trust me!” she insisted, her enthusiasm infectious. “And the pastries! The chocolate croissants were flaky and warm, and the butter… oh my God, it was heaven! I could talk about bread all night.”

Dick chuckled, shaking his head. “You have this way of making even a loaf of bread sound like it’s a Michelin-star dish. Did you leave any for us?”

“Of course! I made sure to grab some favorites for you guys,” Steph said, grinning. “You should have seen me, though–like a kid in a candy store. I totally failed my mission to get intel on Tim because I was too busy stuffing my face.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, an amused glimmer in his eyes. “And what intel did you manage to gather? You mentioned Tim’s boyfriend earlier, right?”

“Right! Jason, the man, the myth, the legend!” she said, nodding enthusiastically. “He didn’t stick around, but I caught Tim texting him at the table–they were so domestic together! Seriously, they’re adorable. It felt like I was a side character in a rom-com.”

“Not exactly professional spying there, is it?” Dick teased, smirking at her. “So, what’s the verdict on Tim? Any red flags?”

“Honestly? Not much,” Steph admitted, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “He’s got his act together, which is impressive for someone our age. And he really did admit he was just faking-to-make-it, so I think he’s really smart about what he’s doing at least. He has a passion for interior design and does gigs as a business consultant… That’s about it. Oh! The servers at the cafe treated him like VIP which kinda pings the Mystery Alert.”

Bruce nodded, absorbing her words, his mind racing with considerations. “Mysterious can be a double-edged sword. And if this boyfriend is as affluent as he seems, his clout might have extended to Tim. He might not be as innocent as he seems.”

“Come on, you have to admit that bread was a good bribe,” Steph interjected, rolling her eyes. “Just think of all the pastries I brought! And the best part? I’ll have plenty to share at the next family dinner.”

“That’s the real win here, I suppose,” Bruce replied, a rare hint of warmth creeping into his voice as he glanced at the plated desserts on the side. “Well done, Stephanie. Next time, just make sure you keep your eyes open and perhaps your mouth closed.”

“I will! But seriously, if you ever need someone to go undercover as a food critic, I’m your girl,” she laughed, excitement bubbling over as she recounted more about her day, specifically the cute server she saw at the cafe. Bruce and Dick exchanged amused glances while they indulged in the coffee and sweets she had brought home.

Summertime and the livin' is easy

The familiar rumble of an old pickup truck broke the silence of the night as it rolled up to the gates of Wayne Manor. Its headlights cast long shadows on the cobblestone path, cutting through the mist that settled over the estate. The truck paused at the gate’s code box, and a gloved hand in a red sleeve extended from the driver's side window. After a few quick taps on the keyboard, the gate swung open with a low creak, and the truck drove up to the service entrance of the grand manor.

Fish are jumpin' and the cotton is high

The vehicle stopped, and out stepped a hooded figure dressed in a black mask and red jumpsuit. Their black boots crunched against the gravel as they moved to the back of the truck, retrieving a large cleaner’s kit on wheels. With steady hands, they wheeled it toward the kitchen entrance, slipping through the doorway as if they had done it a hundred times before. The soft hum of the manor’s security system acknowledged their presence–disarmed from within, thanks to the code they entered earlier.

Oh, your daddy's rich and your ma is good lookin'

Inside the kitchen, the figure barely glanced at the fallen butler lying unconscious on the floor. Alfred Pennyworth, the ever-vigilant guardian of Wayne Manor. The intruder’s gaze swept over him with a cold detachment before moving on without hesitation. Their true targets awaited them elsewhere.

So hush, little baby, don't you cry

The hooded figure made their way to the dining room, where the scene before them was almost comical. It looked like a dark parody of a family dinner gone wrong, each person slumped over in positions that bordered on absurd. The figure paused, taking it all in–the priceless expressions of Gotham’s most vigilant defenders, now rendered utterly helpless.

One of these mornings

Dick Grayson, Nightwing, Gotham’s golden boy, lay with one arm draped awkwardly over the table, his face nearly planted in the remnants of his meal. The elegant way he had collapsed made him look like a drunk Narcissus, fallen in love with his reflection on fine china.

You gonna rise up singin'

Bruce Wayne, the indomitable Batman, was slouched back in his chair, head tilted forward as though he had simply nodded off after a long day. His position would have been almost peaceful if not for the unnatural limpness of his posture.

Yes, you'll spread your wings

And then there was Stephanie Brown, Robin the Third, her face squished against a slice of freshly baked bread smeared with melted butter. Her position was the most ridiculous of all, her lips puckered against the bread as if she had fallen asleep mid-bite. A faint snore escaped her, cutting through the otherwise silent room.

And you'll take to the sky

Magpie let out a soft snicker that he couldn’t cold back. He slipped his phone from his pocket and began snapping pictures, capturing the scene from various angles. It was too good to miss, this tableau of Gotham’s finest, taken down not by brute force or a supervillain’s scheme, but by a simple drugged dessert.

Mm, but 'til that morning

He tucked the phone away, satisfied with his collection of blackmail material. Adjusting his grip on the cleaner’s kit, Magpie allowed himself one last glance at the fallen trio, his masked expression caught somewhere between smug satisfaction and a trace of regret.

“There is nothin' can harm you,” he sang under his breath, before turning on his heel and wheeling the kit deeper into the shadows of Wayne Manor. There was still work to be done, and the night was far from over.

Yes, with daddy and mommy standin' by

The world was a blur when the Batfam began to stir, the groggy aftereffects of a heavy sedative still weighing down their limbs and dulling their senses. Bruce was the first to come to, his instincts kicking in before full awareness reached him. Something was wrong–his head throbbed, and his vision was fuzzy, but even through the haze, he noticed immediately that something was missing. Or rather, someone.

Stephanie.

He forced himself to sit upright, ignoring the way his head spun and the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. The dining table, once filled with the remnants of their meal, was now bare, wiped clean of any trace that they had ever eaten there. In place of their dinner plates were a series of polaroid films, spread out like a mocking display of their vulnerability. Each photo showed them in various states of unconsciousness, slumped over like rag dolls.

Bruce’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing to slits as he registered what he was seeing. He reached out, snatched up one of the photos, and stared at it–the image of Stephanie, face smashed into a buttered slice of bread, was almost too absurd to be real. He shook his head, the pieces clicking together far too slowly for his liking, and then reached over to rouse Dick.

“Wake up,” Bruce said, his voice hoarse but insistent. He shook Dick’s shoulder, harder than necessary, and watched as his son’s eyes fluttered open with a groan.

“Wh—what’s going on?” Dick mumbled, rubbing at his face.

“Stephanie’s gone. And Alfred…” Bruce didn’t finish his sentence, a rare sliver of fear flashing in his eyes before he stood abruptly. Dick’s confusion turned to alarm as he shot up from his chair, following Bruce at a sprint to the kitchen.

They found Alfred slumped on the floor against the counter, his usually immaculate uniform disheveled from his position, his face pale and slack. For a terrible moment, both Bruce and Dick stood there, hearts pounding in their chests like war drums, fearing the worst.

But then Alfred stirred, his eyelids twitched, and he let out a groggy, “Master Bruce? What–what on earth?”

Relief washed over them, so palpable it brought them to their knees. Bruce placed a steadying hand on Alfred’s shoulder, his grip firm but gentle. “We were drugged,” he said, the words clipped. “You too, old friend. Can you stand?”

Alfred nodded, albeit shakily, and with their help, he got to his feet, a bewildered look on his normally composed demeanor. “I don’t recall a thing, sir. One moment I was preparing myself another cuppa, the next–well, here we are.”

Bruce’s expression darkened, his mind already racing through possibilities. “Everyone, to the Batcave. Now,” he commanded, and then pointed at the remaining bread and pastries on the counter. “We’ll bring those with us.”

Down in the cave, the atmosphere was tense, charged with the undercurrent of frustration and suspicion. Dick immediately stationed himself at the computer, his fingers flying over the keys as he accessed the Manor’s security footage. He rewound the feeds, combing through every second leading up to the moment they’d all blacked out, but every screen showed the same thing: blank frames where the footage should have been, as though the cameras themselves had turned a blind eye.

“Nothing,” Dick said, his voice taut with frustration. “Whoever did this wiped everything clean.”

Meanwhile, Bruce was hunched over the forensic station, his focus narrowed on the samples he’d taken from the bread and pastries Stephanie had brought with her. He ran every test he could think of, searching for any trace of toxins, sedatives, or unusual compounds. But each result came back the same: just bread and butter and dough, innocent and unassuming.

“Nothing,” Bruce muttered under his breath, slamming his fist on the counter harder than he intended. The thought of how they had all been so easily compromised made his blood boil.

Before he could launch another string of tests, Alfred’s voice cut through the air, a rare edge to his usually composed tone. “Master Bruce,” he called out, his voice urgent, “I believe you should see this.”

Bruce and Dick turned to where Alfred was standing, gesturing toward a corner of the Batcave. It was the area dedicated to Jason Todd–the shrine that housed the memorabilia of a life cut far too short. Only now, it had nothing.

Every trace of the second Robin was gone. The case that once held his suit, now stood barren, with not even a scrap of fabric left behind.

For a moment, the cave was suffocatingly silent. Bruce’s eyes were fixed on the empty display, his mind racing back to the polaroid photos, the missing footage, the flawless execution of the drugging.

“This isn’t just a random attack,” Dick said softly, breaking the silence, his face ashen with realization. “This was personal.”

Bruce didn’t respond. His eyes remained locked on that empty space, the weight of a thousand unspoken words pressing down on his chest. He knew, in his gut, that this was only the beginning–and whoever had done this wasn’t finished with them yet.

Chapter Text

With the Batcave’s defenses compromised, Bruce wasted no time issuing orders. His voice was cold, clipped, and steady–the kind that booked no room for arguments.

“System lockdown, now,” he barked, his eyes glued to the main console. His fingers flew across the keyboard, initiating a full security lockdown protocol. Red warning lights flashed to life across the cave, signaling the immediate fortification of the Manor and Batcave’s defenses.

“We’ll have to move out,” Bruce said, not taking his eyes off the screens.

Dick pulled out his phone, his own movements precise but laced with urgency. He knew they needed backup, and only one person came to mind. “I’m calling Oracle,” he said, already dialing the number. The line picked up on the first ring.

“Hey, heads up,” Dick said, his voice carrying a tone of grim determination. “We need somewhere to crash for our Bat Ops. The Manor’s compromised.”

Barbara Gordon, aka Oracle, didn’t miss a beat. “I just got the alert. You’re all clear to move. I’ll set up everything you need. It’s gonna be tight quarters, but it’s secure.”

The Belfry, a clock tower located in the middle of the Financial district, was outfitted with the latest technology, and served as Oracle’s base of operations as well as a sanctuary for Gotham’s protectors when things went south. It wasn’t often they had to retreat, but tonight was different. Tonight, it was a place for them to regroup, plan, and recover.

As soon as Batman, Nightwing, and Agent A arrived at the Belfry, Oracle was waiting for them, her eyes already darting between the multiple screens displaying the night’s chaos. She listened intently as they laid it all out, each detail deepening the furrow in her brow.

“Steph met some guy named Tim Drake at the October ball last week,” Dick began, leaning heavily on the console beside Barbara. “He’s got a boyfriend–Jason something. No last name, no data, no traces except in public outings that were all reserved under the Drake name. Steph spoke highly of them, as a couple, but otherwise, enough flags to make the UN look bad.”

Bruce took over, his tone as emotionless as ever but his frustration evident in the tight set of his jaw. “Stephanie had a coffee date with him last night, brought home dessert which ended up with the three of us drugged and our base infiltrated. Whoever they were, they slipped past everything undetected. Our CC footage wiped, every surface wiped, even the floors wiped. It didn’t help that it rained last night.”

Alfred piped up from where he stood in the kitchenette, “I should say, it was the most polite breaking and entering I’d ever experienced. They even washed the dishes.” His little mustache wiggled as he sniffed in offense at the paltry tea selection found in the cabinets.

Barbara’s fingers flew across the keyboard, her brow furrowed in concentration, her mind turning over the information. The glow of the monitors cast her face in a blue hue, highlighting the lines of tension in her expression. She sifted through the scattered data points, pulling up what little information she could find on Tim Drake. Every snippet, every grain of intel was a frustrating dead end.

“Tim Drake,” she said, more to herself than anyone else, her voice tinged with frustration. “He’s practically a ghost. After age 11, his records just stopped, not even a paper trail. Only recently debuted in Gotham’s society, but not in the way you’d expect. He’s not a player or someone looking to make a name for himself.” She paused, bringing up a few grainy images on the screen–Tim Drake in tailored suits, always beside a tall, formidable figure with a striking resemblance to someone they once knew. “He’s always with this man. The boyfriend, I’m assuming.”

Dick’s eyes snapped to the screen, narrowing at the figure in the image. “Jason,” he echoed, the name hanging in the air like a challenge, like a test they weren’t sure they were ready to face yet. The resemblance to Jason Todd was almost cruel in its clarity, yet impossible. It was wishful thinking at best, a painful echo of a ghost they’d long since buried.

“No,” Bruce said, his tone firm but laced with something else–a shadow of doubt he wouldn’t admit to. “It can’t be. We buried Jason ourselves. We saw his body. There was no way he could be alive.” But even as he spoke, his eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty, a hint that the world had surprised him too many times for him to be entirely sure of anything.

Barbara shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I know it sounds impossible, Bruce. But look at these patterns.” She pointed to the screen, the data lining up like pieces of a twisted puzzle. “Tim Drake doesn’t appear anywhere without this guy by his side. He’s either got a serious security detail or a very tight leash. Always being chaperoned, always within arm’s reach.”

Dick’s jaw clenched. “So, what are you saying? That this kid, who vanished from the system all those years ago, reappeared, only to end up as some kind of… kept companion?”

Barbara sighed, hating the words she was about to say but unable to dismiss the possibility. “I’m not ruling it out,” she said quietly, almost reluctantly. “It’s not impossible that a kid with no options, no family, and no support could fall into that kind of life. If he was taken in by someone like this ‘Jason’--someone unknown, yet powerful, dangerous–it’s not hard to imagine he might have become… dependent.”

“It doesn’t make sense why he’d reappear only years later but,” she paused, considering the puzzle pieces they had pulled together. Then, a sudden look of clarity washed over her face, and she leaned back in her chair, her lips pressed into a thin line. “This might be the work of Magpie.”

Bruce’s brow twitched, barely perceptible, but to those who knew him well, it was a tell. He made that familiar low “hrn” sound, his eyes locking onto one name that had danced at the edges of his investigations for years. A ghost in Gotham’s underworld. Always there, always out of reach.

“Magpie,” Bruce echoed, his voice laced with a rare hint of bitterness. He stared at the image on the screen, lost in thought, piecing together every lead, every rumor that had slipped through his fingers. “And where Magpie is, the Red Hood is never far behind.”

Bruce continued, his voice low and thoughtful. “We know about Red Hood… the name itself is a legacy, a moniker that once belonged to the Joker.” He rubbed his chin in contemplation. “They didn’t just take the Joker’s old title–they turned it into something else entirely. Where the Joker used chaos to spread fear, Red Hood uses fear to enforce control. He’s made Crime Alley his territory, stamped his rule on it with an iron fist.”

Dick nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly as he followed Bruce’s train of thought. “And because of that, Crime Alley’s changed. I’ve seen the statistics–petty crime in that area’s all but disappeared. The small-time crooks are too scared to operate, knowing if they mess up, they won’t be dealing with the GCPD, they’ll be dealing with Red Hood. But in it’s place, we’re seeing more organized crime–big ops like drug trafficking, arms dealing, things that require a higher level of coordination.”

“Exactly,” Bruce said, his voice growing more intense. “Red Hood doesn’t tolerate chaos in his domain. If anything gets out of hand, he crushes it instantly. No mercy. No second chances. He’s not interested in the small fry–he’s after the bigger players. The ones who think they can move under the radar, who believe they can avoid the spotlight.”

Barbara’s eyes flickered with realization as she added, “It’s almost like he’d been cleaning up Crime Alley, but on his own terms. He turned it into a territory where the rules are his and his alone. Anyone who doesn’t play by those rules pay the price. It wasn’t about creating chaos like the Joker–it was about imposing his own twisted version of order.”

Dick piped up in askance, “And who’s this Magpie? I’ve never heard of them before.”

Bruce stood still for a moment, his mind already racing through a hundred different possibilities. His gaze was fixed on the screen in front of him, but it was clear he was somewhere else entirely, lost in the maze of his thoughts.

“I don’t know exactly when Magpie started working the scene,” he said slowly, piecing together the timeline in his mind. “But it was about five years ago when people I’d been investigating started disappearing without a trace. Around the same time Tim Drake’s parents vanished in their own home. It was a high-profile case, no bodies ever found.”

He glanced at the others, his eyes narrowing slightly as he connected the dots out loud. “Tim Drake was placed into the foster system after they found him managing their estate for four months all by himself, and then, he vanished completely. Just like the others. Now he’s back in Gotham’s social circles, popping up out of nowhere… and Stephanie disappears after meeting him.”

Barbara leaned forward, her eyes on Bruce and Dick, trading theories like pieces of a chessboard. “Magpie’s work has always been infamous yet so subtle that they’ve become almost a myth–a scary story to keep troublemakers in line,” she said, her voice filled with curiosity and intrigue. “No concrete evidence, no real trail to follow. Just enough to make criminals afraid to cross paths with them. But if Magpie has been working with Red Hood for awhile…”

She paused, tapping her finger thoughtfully on her chin. “That would explain how Red Hood has been taking down the other gangs in Gotham without causing a fuss. The two of them together–they’re not just your common rogues or crime families; they’re a shadow war nobody even knew was being fought.”

Dick let out a slow breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “They’re like the anti-Batman and Robin,” he said, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “A twisted mirror of what we stand for. And we’re the ones who didn’t see it coming.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed as he considered his words. He was about to speak when Alfred appeared, ever the unflappable butler, carrying a tea service. “Perhaps a moment for refreshment,” he said, setting the tray down with a gentle clink. The mismatched set of mugs did nothing to deter him from serving them as if they were fine china.

Bruce took a mug without looking up, the gears in his mind still running. Dick, who had been pacing back and forth, stopped to take a mug and asked, “Wait, let’s back up a second. If Tim was a kid when Magpie started operating… Do you really think he’s somehow connected to them? What if he’s just another target caught up in their web? I’ve met the kid, he didn’t look like he could even hurt a fly.”

Barbara’s fingers flew over her keyboard as she brought up old case files and news clippings, overlaying them with the current timeline of events. “We’re still dealing with too many unknowns,” she said, frustration creeping into her voice. “But if there’s a connection between Tim Drake, Magpie, and the Red Hood, we’re talking about a plan that’s been in motion for years. Maybe even before the day Tim disappeared.”

The Bat Family fell into a heavy silence, each of them processing the information in their own way. Bruce leaned against the terminal, arms crossed over his chest, staring down at the scattered pieces of evidence on the screen as if sheer willpower could force them to reveal their secrets. Dick stood off to the side, his arms folded and brow furrowed, the weight of everything they’d uncovered pressing down on his shoulders. Barbara’s fingers tapped lightly on the keyboard, searching through files, sifting through information, her mind whirring with possibilities.

Dick glanced at Bruce, the lines of worry creasing his forehead. “But why resurface now? Why come back into the spotlight with such a high-profile move? And why target Stephanie of all people?”

Bruce’s jaw clenched as he considered this. “Magpie’s actions were always calculated. They know how to make people disappear without leaving a trace, how to manipulate the underworld’s fear like a weapon. If they’re involving Tim, then it’s possible he’s either a pawn in this game… or worse, he’s playing a role of his own.”

Alfred cleared his throat gently, looking at Bruce with his usual calm demeanor. “Master Bruce, if I might suggest–it seems prudent to consider that Mr Drake may not be acting entirely of his own volition. If he’s indeed connected to Magpie and the Red Hood, then it’s possible he’s being coerced or manipulated by forces even he might not fully understand.”

Dick’s expression softened for a moment, looking up at the image of Tim on the screen. He saw the way the kid stood just a little too close to that imposing figure, the way his eyes seemed to flit to ‘Jason’ for reassurance. He thought of another lost boy, one who wore the Robin suit with pride before everything went to hell. “If this kid is tangled up with Red Hood,” he said quietly, almost to himself, “then he’s more than just some pawn. We can’t let him fall any deeper into this mess.” Dick’s eyes glistened as he turned back to Bruce. “You think they’re using him, don’t you? That he’s just a kid who got caught up in all of this?”

Bruce didn’t reply, his gaze fixed on the screen. His mind was already racing, connecting the dots in ways only he could. Tim Drake, Jason, Magpie, Red Hood–too many shadows, too many ghosts. He’d thought he was done with those names, that he’d buried them with the past. But now, it seemed the past was coming back to haunt them all. He let out a long, slow breath. “Maybe,” he finally said. “Or maybe he’s not as innocent as we’d like to believe. Either way, we need to figure out what role he’s playing in all of this–before it’s too late. The more we learn about Magpie, the more dangerous they become. And now they’ve made this personal.”

Barbara locked eyes with Bruce. “If the Red Hood and Magpie are behind this, if they’ve somehow pulled Tim Drake into their orbit–we’ll bring him back too. We’ll bring Stephanie and him back.”

Bruce nodded, a fire igniting in his eyes, colder and sharper than ever. “Then let’s get to work. If they think they can make us their targets, then they’ve severely underestimated who they’re dealing with.”

The room fell silent, the tension palpable as they knew that this wasn’t just about the Red Hood, Magpie, or them. It was about the fight for Gotham’s soul–and the battle was only just beginning.

Dick’s jaw clenched as he looked at the screens, the flickering images of the Crusty Crooks Cafe highlighted on the Belfry’s surveillance. He was quiet for a moment, his eyes scanning the footage with a focus that was almost painful to witness. The lines of tension in his posture gave away more than words ever could–he was frustrated, angry, and worst of all, he was worried.

“I’m going to that cafe,” Dick finally said, his voice low and steady, though there was an edge to it. “I need to see for myself what Steph might have missed. I need to know why this keeps happening.” He didn’t have to elaborate on the pain of yet another Robin being taken, another young vigilante twisted into something they were never meant to be. It wasn’t just about Stephanie–it was about the legacy of Robin itself, his legacy, tainted and manipulated once again.

Bruce turned to him, a flicker of something almost like sympathy in his eyes. “Dick, you need to be careful. This isn’t just another recon mission. We’re dealing with people who know how we operate, who’ve already managed to get under our skin. If this Magpie and Red Hood are working together, they might be expecting you.”

“I know,” Dick replied sharply, then took a breath, trying to reign in his frustration. “But someone has to do this. We can’t just sit here waiting for them to make their next move. If this Tim Drake is involved with Magpie and Red Hood, then I need to understand why. Why Joker’s ghost keeps targeting us, why they keep coming for Robin. Why they keep twisting what I built.”

Barbara’s voice was softer, but just as firm. “We’ll be on comms the whole time, keeping an eye on everything. If something goes wrong, we’ll pull you out. But Dick, don’t do anything reckless. We need you in one piece to figure this out.”

Dick nodded, the lines of worry still etched on his face. He was angry, sure, but beneath that was the fear–the fear of being too late. Too late to save Stephanie, too late to stop Tim Drake from becoming yet another pawn in Gotham’s endless cycle of vengeance and violence. Too late to protect the mantle he once held so dearly.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, forcing a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m just a customer, right? A guy with a craving for cheap coffee and baked goods. I’ll blend in, get some answers, and be back before you know it.”

Bruce gave a reluctant nod, though the concern in his gaze didn’t waver. “Watch your back, Dick. Your life is more important than whatever information you can get.”

Dick turned to go, but before he left, he paused, looking back at the team. “We’re not losing another one,” he said, voice steady with determination. “Not another Robin. Not this time.”

He walked out of the Belfry’s double doors, his footsteps echoing in the heavy silence left behind, the weight of his words settling in. The thought of another young hero being twisted, manipulated, and lost to the darkness of Gotham’s streets gnawed at his insides. He wasn’t just going out as Nightwing or even Batman’s ally–he was going as the first Robin, the one who started it all, determined to protect the legacy he had built and the lives that had come after him.

As he left, Bruce and Barbara exchanged a look. There was no need for words; they both knew the stakes. They’d let him go, but they’d be watching every step of the way, ready to jump in at the first sign of trouble. This wasn’t just another mission to them–it was personal. And for Dick, it always would be.

Dick forced a smile as he looked up at the man standing by his table. Ani–the man Steph had gushed about–had a striking presence, an effortless charm, and a smile that could light up a room. His demeanor was warm, yet there was an undercurrent of something guarded. His eyes  seemed to pierce right through any pretense, like he was reading Dick just as much as Dick was trying to read him.

When Dick asked for their recommendation, Ani tilted his head slightly, a glimmer of amusement in his gaze, but he played along with the professional air of a well-trained server. “Well, we pride ourselves on our freshly baked pastries and specialty coffees,” he said, gesturing to the menu with a sweep of his hand. “Our house blend has a bit of a kick, but if you’re in the mood for something lighter, the lavender honey latte is a favorite among our regulars.”

Dick felt a flicker of recognition, recalling Steph’s praise over that same latte. He let out a soft chuckle, more to keep himself anchored than anything. “Lavender honey latte, huh? I’ll take one of those then,” he said, nodding. “And a slice of whatever pie you think is best. Surprise me.”

Ani’s smile widened a fraction, the kind that seemed both genuine and knowing, as if he already suspected that Dick wasn’t just any ordinary customer. “Excellent choice,” he said, jotting down the order with a flourish. “I’ll get that right away for you. You won’t be disappointed.”

As Ani walked away, Dick’s gaze lingered on the man, his mind running through the details. There was something too perfect about him, too practiced. Dick was sure he wasn’t just a simple server. The way Ani moved, the alertness in his eyes–it all spoke of someone trained, someone used to being more than they seemed.

He forced himself to relax–or at least, to look like it–and settled back into the booth, his senses on high alert. It had been a long time since he’d let himself be caught off guard by anything or anyone, but this whole situation was turning out to be one giant question mark. From the moment they woke up drugged at Wayne Manor to the loud echoes of a rumor that led him here, he felt like he was playing catch-up in a game where someone else knew all the rules.

A few minutes later, Ani returned, placing the latte and a slice of spiced pear pie on the table with a flourish. “Here you go,” he said, his voice smooth and inviting. “Let me know if you need anything else.” He gave Dick another one of those searching looks, the kind that felt like it could see through his layers, and then he was gone, off to tend to another table with that same easy charm.

He had tested the food and drink as discreetly as possible, doing his due diligence to check for any hidden toxins or drugs. To his relief—and slight frustration—everything came back clean. Just regular, delicious coffee and dessert that left him with no excuses to walk away. It was no wonder Steph had let her guard down in this place; the food and atmosphere were disarming enough to make anyone forget they were on a mission.

He let out a small sigh of enjoyment, more for show than anything, as he took another bite of the dessert Ani had recommended. It really was good, and Dick found himself wondering how this unassuming little cafe could be a possible front for something more sinister. The more time he spent here, the more he started to see the trap that Steph had stumbled into.

When Ani circled back to his table, Dick made his move, letting his curiosity come out in a casual tone. "So, Ani, how long have you worked here? Seems like a nice place," he said, taking another sip of his drink, his eyes not leaving Ani’s face.

Ani gave him that easy smile again, though this time there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—something almost amused. "Oh, not too long," he said lightly, shrugging. "I like to keep things interesting, move around a bit. Keeps life from getting too stale, you know?"

Dick nodded, filing away that answer for later. He had heard similar lines before, usually from people who had a lot more going on beneath the surface than they were letting on. "I hear you," he said. "This place must get all kinds of regulars. Anyone interesting I should know about? Friend of mine mentioned someone named Tim. Know him?"

Ani’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a slight pause, a fractional moment of hesitation before he responded. "Tim, huh? Yeah, he comes by every now and then," he said, eyes narrowing slightly, as if assessing Dick anew. "He’s a quiet kid, keeps to himself mostly. Real nice though. Why do you ask?"

Dick’s smile turned a touch rueful, and he ran a hand through his hair, letting out a small laugh. "Oh, you know how it is. My friend’s got a bit of a crush on him," he said with a conspiratorial wink. "Thought I’d check out the field. See if I need to worry."

Ani’s eyes sparkled with mischief, his lips curving into a grin that was all sharp edges. "Well, your friend has good taste then," he said, a hint of a challenge in his tone. "But I wouldn’t worry too much. Tim’s... spoken for, you might say."

Dick expected that answer but it didn’t make him feel any lighter, like heavy stones in his stomach. "Spoken for," he echoed, forcing another smile. "Lucky guy."

"Yeah," Ani said, his gaze never wavering. "Lucky indeed."

Ani seemed to circle back to him often, always with that same effortless smile that put up a friendly wall, a practiced mask that revealed nothing. Dick pushed a little harder each time, turning up his own charm, playing the role of the curious customer with just enough interest to draw Ani in. Slowly, Ani seemed to warm up to the banter, but his answers stayed deliberately vague, skirting around anything that might give Dick a real lead.

It was during one of these exchanges, as Dick flashed him another disarming smile, that Ani leaned in, his voice taking on a teasing edge. "Aren't you going to ask about me too?" he said, his tone playful, eyes sparkling with a challenge.

Dick blinked, caught slightly off guard. He had been so focused on trying to pry information out of Ani that he hadn’t expected the tables to turn so suddenly. Recovering quickly, he shot back with an equally flirtatious grin, "Well, would you answer if I did?"

"For the right price," Ani said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Dick’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his expression steady, his voice light. "Oh? How much are we talking here?"

Ani’s smirk widened into a full-blown grin, the kind that sent a ripple of something dangerous and exciting through the air. "How about one date?" he said, his tone a mix of flirtation and challenge, as if he was daring Dick to agree.

Internally, Dick was screaming. He didn’t have time to play games, to waste on dates or pleasantries, not with another Robin out there possibly in danger. But he also knew that if he pushed too hard, Ani might close off completely, and this could be the best chance he had to get closer to the truth. So he forced himself to relax, let his smile grow softer, more genuine, and nodded.

"Thought you’d never ask," he said, with a touch of playfulness in his voice that belied the tension coiling in his gut. "You've got yourself a date. When?"

"Tomorrow at nine, pick me up here after my shift," Ani confirmed, his eyes never leaving Dick's, that spark of intrigue still there. He looked almost surprised at Dick's agreement, as if he hadn't expected him to go through with it.

They sealed the deal with a shared smile that was too smooth, too practiced on both sides. Dick spent another half-hour lingering at the cafe, keeping up the casual facade, letting Ani's watchful eyes follow him around the room, sizing him up. When he finally rose to leave, he made sure to leave a generous tip on the table—more than generous, really, to show that he was still in character, the eager, flirtatious customer who was definitely coming back for more.

As he walked out of the cafe, his heart was still pounding, his mind racing with a mix of frustration and determination. He had agreed to the date, yes, but the clock was ticking. If this was his way into their operation, he needed to make it count. If Ani was as connected as he seemed, then getting closer to him might finally give him a chance to unravel the tangled threads of Tim Drake, Red Hood, and Magpie.

He tapped his earpiece as he crossed the street, moving quickly into the shadows where he knew the cameras wouldn’t catch him. "Oracle," he said, keeping his voice low, "I’ve got a lead. It’s not much, but I’ll be meeting Ani again tomorrow night. Keep digging on Tim Drake and his connection to this Jason guy. And check if Ani matches any known aliases or faces in the system."

Barbara's voice crackled through the line, steady and analytical as ever. "Got it. I’m pulling up everything we have. Just be careful, Dick. If this guy is connected to Red Hood, you're walking into something big."

Dick took a deep breath, nodding even though he knew she couldn’t see him. "I know. But if it means finding out who’s pulling the strings and getting Stephanie back, it’s worth the risk."

He had a promise to keep to himself—to never let another Robin fall through the cracks. And even if it meant playing this dangerous game a little longer, he would see it through to the end.

Bruce stood in the cold light of the Belfry tower, his face set in grim determination. He was in full detective mode now, methodically stripping away the layers of mystery surrounding Tim Drake, Jason, and this shadowy figure known as Magpie.

He recalled the previous night, when they first relocated to Oracle’s station, he had drawn additional blood samples from himself. He wanted to be thorough, to leave no stone unturned. The tiny prick was nothing compared to the battles he fought on Gotham’s streets and beyond, but the real pain came from not knowing what had infiltrated his defenses.

The readout had confirmed his suspicions: traces of Ace–a powerful sedative that could incapacitate even the most resilient of beings, enough to knock out an elephant. There were no other anomalies in his bloodstream, no exotic compounds or untraceable chemicals. Just the clean, clinical effectiveness of a knockout drug that had hit them fast and hard. Whoever had orchestrated the attack, whether it was Magpie, Red Hood, or someone else, they knew exactly what they were doing, as if they had planned for every contingency, even the Bat-family’s resilience.

After Dick had left for his recon at the cafe, he was determined to dig deeper into the Drakes. He needed to understand more about this family and what legacy they might have left behind. What he found was disappointing yet unsurprising–there was almost nothing. Drake Industries, once a leading enterprise in pharmaceuticals, had been systematically cannibalized by its own board members. After the entire Drake family vanished, the company’s assets were picked apart, its lifeblood drained until the entity itself ceased to exist.

The building management and equipment were suspiciously handed over to the remaining members, almost as if it had been a fire sale for those in the know. Too neat, too tidy for something that should have been chaotic and desperate. Batman’s instincts buzzed with the unease of a trail that had been deliberately covered up.

“They dismantled their empire from the inside,” he muttered under his breath. “But why? What were they hiding?” He knew better than to accept coincidences, and this situation reeked of something much larger, something orchestrated. It was like a game of chess, each piece moving according to a strategy he couldn’t yet see.

His eyes narrowed as he stared at the schematics of the old Drake facilities that popped up on Oracle’s screens. Faded blueprints of long-abandoned factories and storage warehouses. “Time to pay them a visit.”

Bruce quickly donned his Drifter disguise–seemingly innocuous, he wore Batgrade armor under dark heavy clothes meant to blend in with the crowds of your average citizen; a simple but layered ensemble of cargo pants, a hoodie, jacket, cap, and scarf. The gadgets, the tools, and everything he might need for what lay ahead were squirreled in the layers and pockets. He knew these kinds of places; they were either tombs of forgotten secrets or lairs for those who thrived in the shadows. Either way, he was ready to unearth whatever truth lay buried there.

He got on his souped up motorcycle and with a turn of his wrist, its powerful engine roared to life like a beast waking from slumber.

“You’re heading out?” Dick said, his voice tinged with both understanding and worry. “I don’t like this, Bruce. It feels like a trap.”

“Everything’s a trap,” Bruce replied, his voice a low rumble that brooked no argument. “But we can’t afford to ignore it.”

Barbara wheeled herself next to Dick. “We’ll keep monitoring from here, Batman. Be careful.”

Bruce nodded. “If Magpie’s using the Drake sites for cover, then they’re hiding something important. Something that ties all of this together.”

He adjusted into the seat of his bike, his gloved hands tightened around the handlebars. “Let’s see what secrets you’ve left behind,” he said to the night as the bike tore out of the Belfry’s tunnel, a black shadow banishing into the shroud of Lady Gotham’s dark curtain.

Tonight, he wasn’t just Batman hunting the criminal underbelly of his city; he was a man racing against time to catch up to ghosts that should have stayed buried. The past and present were colliding, and he was going to be there when the dust finally settled.

Bruce moved with cautious precision through the old, forgotten corridors of the Drake Industries pharmaceutical labs. Dust motes hung in the air, disturbed only by his silent footfalls. Everything in these halls felt like a ghost of the past–stale, abandoned, a place that one held life and purpose now swallowed by time and neglect.

He had already checked the offices, rifling through dusty filing cabinets and empty desk drawers, and now stood in the laboratory itself–a place where the line between legal research and morally gray experimentation once blurred. Batman wore dark tinted safety goggles, an upgraded piece of Bat-tech, and scanned the room, taking in the long counters, ancient lab equipment, and shelves stocked with rows of sample containers, many marked with faded labels.

The computers on the workbench were old, but he knew how to coax life out of them. With a swift movement, he connected his data extraction device to the terminal. The screen flickered to life, and lines of code began to stream across it as the download commenced. His eyes darted between the screen and his surroundings, ever vigilant, listening for any change in the silence of the room.

As the files downloaded, he turned his attention to the sample storage area. He examined the contents with a discerning eye, noting the cracked labels and the abandoned test tubes. The chemicals inside might be degraded, but they could still offer clues about what was developed here. He carefully extracted a few vials, sealing them in his forensic evidence kit for further analysis.

Just as he was turning back toward the computer, a flicker of movement caught the corner of his vision. His flashlight beam shot towards  the source, and for an instant, two bright round spots glinted back at him from the darkness. They disappeared almost as quickly as they’d appeared, vanishing into the shadowed recesses of the lab.

Batman tensed, his muscles coiled like a spring. His mind instantly ran through the possibilities–an ambush, a trap, or worse, a shadowy adversary he hadn’t anticipated. He activated the thermal imaging in his goggles, scanning the room for any sign of heat or movement. The room turned into a landscape of red and blue, a mosaic of shapes and outlines, and there it was–a figure, barely registering in the infrared spectrum, crouched low, watching him from behind a row of chemical shelves.

“You can’t hide from me,” Batman said, advancing slowly, his eyes locked on the figure. “Who are you?”

He shifted, readying himself to engage, but the figure moved first, a blue of motion too fast and fluid to follow. It darted through the darkness like a ghost, slipping past his line of sight with unnatural speed. Batman hurled a batarang, aiming to cut off its path, but it hit nothing but air, clanging uselessly against metal as the figure vanished deeper into the lab.

The brief encounter had set his nerves on edge. This was no ordinary opponent. The way it moved, the speed, the precision–it wasn’t human, at least not entirely. Batman shifted his stance, recalculating his approach. He needed to draw them out, to make them engage on his terms.

He turned off his flashlight and stood still, blending into the darkness, letting his eyes adjust to the low light while his eyes strained to catch the faintest sound. A soft rustle, the soft rustle, the slight scrape of fabric against metal, a whisper of breath, but never all from one place–it only told him one thing. This was no amateur. This was a professional. Someone trained in the art of evasion and assassination.

The shadows were his ally too, and he moved silently, methodically, using every inch of his stealth training to close the distance. He paused, listening, when he heard it–a quiet football from above, the ceiling ventilation shaft shifting slightly. They had the high ground, moving through the ductwork like they were born to it.

Without warning, a drop of moisture hit his shoulder, almost imperceptible, but enough to set him into motion. He looked up, and there were those eyes again–unblinking, predatory, watching him from the darkness above. He launched another batarang, aiming this time not to hit but to force the figure to react, to give away more of their movement. The projectile ricocheted off the ductwork, and in that split second, the figure vanished, slipping deeper into the ventilation system like smooth through a crack.

Batman’s jaw clenched. This was different from any adversary he’d faced recently. There was a precision to this–no wasted movements, no hesitation, almost as if they knew his tactics, his strategies, his very thoughts. This wasn’t just some random encounter. This was a shadow from the past, something–or someone–that had been waiting for him.

As much as he wanted to chase the unknown into the darkened maze of vents and corridors, he knew better than to be lured blindly into a trap. Taking a step back, Batman re-focused on his original mission. He retrieved the now fully downloaded files from the terminal, pocketing the USB stick, and stowed away the collected samples securely in his pack. Whatever he had just encountered here was beyond a simple thug or henchman–it was something more sinister, something with a skillset of a predator bred for the shadows.

He activated his comms, his voice a controlled growl as he contacted Oracle. “I’ve encountered an unknown–someone fast, highly skilled, and trained to operate in the dark. No verbal communication. They were tracking me, almost like a predator toying with its prey. I’m sending you the footage now; cross-reference them with any potential League movements and recent activities.”

Oracle's voice came back immediately, tense but professional. “Already on it.”

As he disconnected, Batman took one last look at the vent where the assailant had vanished. He couldn’t afford to underestimate this opponent, and he wouldn’t. This wasn’t just a test–it was a warning. And whoever was behind those lenses, they were as much a shadow of Gotham as he was.

Dick stood in the tower’s dim light, giving himself one last glance in the mirror before heading out. His face wore a reluctant smile, more amused than thrilled, as he thought about his upcoming mission–a date with Ani, the cafe server who had become their newest person of interest. “Always the pretty ones,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head in mock resignation. Beneath his casual clothes, he more a thermal version of his suit, just in case things took a turn for the worse.

“Don’t stay out too late, dear,” Alfred called out from his seat at the console, a touch of dry humor in his voice as he manned the surveillance systems.

Dick laughed softly and turned to face them both. “I’ll try not to, Alfred. Babs, make sure Bruce doesn’t get too reckless tonight,” he said, knowing that Oracle’s focus was locked on guiding Batman through his investigation. She gave him a thumbs-up without even looking away from her screen, her eyes intent on every movement Bruce made.

“Stay safe out there, Boy Wonder,” Babs replied absently, still tracking Bruce’s visuals and vitals.

“Always,” Dick said, more serious now as he turned and left. He knew the night could go any number of ways, and his instincts told him this was a lead worth following.

Dick drove a nondescript sedan to the Crusty Crook Cafe, parking it casually on the curb like any other visitor might. He stepped out, taking in the night air, and let his eyes quickly scan the scene before heading toward the entrance.

When he stepped inside, the warm light of the cafe enveloped him, and his eyes instantly found Ani sitting at yesterday's booth with his head propped up by a hand, and his legs crossed elegantly over the other. Tonight, Ani wasn’t dressed in his server uniform but in a striking all-black ensemble that showcased his figure. A black leather jacket layered over a sleek turtleneck, tight black pants that seemed almost painted on, and knee-high leather boots adorned with multiple buckles. Dick couldn’t help but admire the look–dangerous, alluring, and yet somehow all too fitting.

As he raised his hand halfway in greeting, Ani’s gaze, even while partially obscured by wisping bangs, snapped to his, almost predatory in its intensity. For a fraction of a second, Dick felt exposed, like Ani’s eyes were stripping away his layers, not in the playful way but as if sizing him up, analyzing him. Then, just as quickly, the moment was gone, replaced by Ani’s easy smile, the kind that could melt anyone’s defenses. Dick’s instincts screamed at him to be on guard, but he forced himself to stay relaxed as he walked toward the man.

“Hey there, beautiful. You ready to head out?” Dick asked, keeping his tone light and casual.

Ani tilted his head in that peculiar, bird-like way that only intensified Dick’s unease. There was something almost unnatural about the movement, something calculating. But then Ani’s smile grew warmer, almost inviting, and he stood, closing the distance between them until he was a fraction too close for Dick’s comfort.

Despite them being almost the same height, Dick slid an arm over Ani’s shoulder in what appeared to be an easy, natural gesture, but in reality, it was to gauge his reaction, to see if there were any sudden movements. Ani seemed to lean into the touch, his posture relaxing, but there was a tension there, a hidden readiness that Dick’s trained senses didn’t miss.

As they stepped out of the cafe, the warm air inside gave way to the chill of the night. Ani shifted closer to Dick, letting out a small, involuntary shiver as the cold winds hit. Without even thinking, Dick pulled him in a little tighter, offering warmth to the man beside him. Even if he was their suspect, that instinct to help was too ingrained in him to ignore. 

“You cold?” Dick asked, his voice softening as he looked at Ani. There was nothing forced about his concern, nothing false. It was as if, despite the alarms ringing in his head, he couldn’t help but extend that empathy, that desire to comfort.

Ani’s eyes met his again, softer this time, but still with that flicker of something unreadable deep in their depths. “Guess I should’ve dressed warmer,” he replied with a teasing smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Dick gave a half-smile, his mind still racing with the implications of this encounter. Every instinct he had was telling him that there was more to Ani than met the eye, that this was a trap wrapped in temptation. But as they walked away from the cafe, side by side, Dick couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to see this through, to get to the bottom of who Ani really was.

Dick navigated the car through Gotham’s winding streets, his gaze shifting briefly to Ani seated beside him. The dim streetlights outside the car’s window illuminated Ani’s sharp features, the shadows highlighting the dangerous edge of his beauty. Dick kept his expression neutral, masking the unease simmering beneath his calm demeanor. He had chosen a club that was on the cleaner side of Gotham’s nightlife–respectable enough to not raise eyebrows, yet still shady enough to extract the information he needed.

Ani seemed right at home when they walked into the place. The air inside was thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and the pulse of heavy bass vibrating through the floors. Neon lights danced erratically, casting fleeting shadows on the throng of bodies moving to the rhythm. Dick wasn’t fond of playing the sleaze, but he knew how to the room; a touch here, a whispered word there, just enough to draw out defenses and get tongues to loosen. And tonight, Ani was his target.

They moved through the crowd, Ani’s body pressed close to his as they found a quieter spot near the bar. The warmth of the club contrasted sharply with the cold outside, and Dick leaned in, using the heat and the noise as an excuse to speak closer to Ani’s ear. As the night wore on, he played his part flawlessly–his touches casual but deliberate, his questions probing yet masked under flirtatious banter. Ani responded coyly, tossing bits of information his way, each answer calculated to leave Dick wanting more, just out of reach.

It was almost as if Ani was leading him, step by step, deeper into a game that he hadn’t quite realized he was playing. Every word, every smile seemed like a breadcrumb leading to something much darker beneath the surface.

Then came the shift–subtle but unmistakable. Ani’s eyes changed, the playfulness replaced by something sharper, more focused. He grabbed Dick’s hand, tugging him toward the club’s back exit, and before Dick knew it, they were stumbling out into the cold alley behind the building. The biting chill was a stark contrast to the heat they’d just left, but the warmth of their closeness still lingered in the air between them.

Dick’s senses were on high alert now, every instinct screaming at him all night that something was wrong. Ani stood too close, their breaths mingling in the fog of the cold night, eyes locked on his. For a split second, Dick thought they were going to kiss, a dangerous spark igniting between them. But then, his gut twisted, a lifetime of training shouting at him to move– now.

Dick’s reflexes kicked in just in time. He somersaulted back, narrowly dodging the glint of metal aimed straight for his ribs. When he landed, his feet were already in a ready stance, heart pounding as he faced Ani. But Ani wasn’t the charming server anymore–his expression had shifted into something cold, a mask of lethal intent.

Without a word, Ani moved, a blur of speed and precision, hurling knives with deadly accuracy. Dick’s muscles burned as he twisted and dodged, each blade slicing past him by mere inches–hell, centimeters and less. The alley’s dim lighting and narrow space made it harder to maneuver, and he knew he couldn’t afford a single mistake.

“Who are you!?” Dick barked, even though he knew he wouldn’t get an answer. This wasn’t the time for words; Ani’s silence was louder than any threat, his skill far too dangerous to be some random assassin. This wasn’t just any opponent. Ani was a predator, skilled and silent, hunting him with an intensity that sent a chill down Dick’s spine despite the head of their battle.

Ani didn’t respond, his movements fluid and relentless as he closed the gap between them. Dick barely had time to register the next attack–a flurry of strikes aimed with surgical precision, aimed at lethal points for pain and not his permanent demise–this forcing him to backflip and rebound off the alley wall to gain some distance. He landed in a crouch, his eyes never leaving Ani, who seemed to almost glide toward him, the dim neon reflections in his eyes like twin coals burning in the darkness.

Dick didn’t hesitate. His hand shot to his sides, under his jacket, and an instant, the escrima sticks were out, humming with the familiar charge of electricity. He met Ani’s assault head on, steel clashing against metal, sparks flying in the dark alley. They were locked in a deadly dance, blade versus baton, both of them moving with fluid lethality.

Ani’s movements, again, were relentless. Every strike he made was coordinated, powerful, and so fast that Dick could barely keep up. Despite Dick’s agility and years of training, it was all he could do to stay on the defensive. He felt each impact up his arms, the force behind Ani’s blows far beyond that of a normal human. It was monstrous, almost unnatural.

Sweat trickled down Dick’s back, his focus narrowed to a razor-sharp edge. There was no room for banter, no space for his usual quips. His breathing was ragged, labored, but he couldn’t help himself from gritting out, “Blink, motherfucker!”

Ani’s eyes–those unsettling, unblinking eyes–did not obey. They remained fixed on Dick with an intensity that felt like cold worms wriggling up his spine. When Ani finally spoke, his voice was cold and mechanical, the charming veneer stripped away. “You were supposed to join us, brother. You were supposed to be the Gray Son.”

The words threw Dick off-balance, his mind racing even as his body fought on autopilot. The Gray Son? It made no sense, but he didn’t have time to ponder. “That’s my name,” Dick grunted as he blocked another slash aimed at his throat. “So who the hell are you?!”

A flicker of light reflected off Ani’s eyes, and as he lunged again, one of his contact lenses dislodged and fell away. What was revealed made Dick’s stomach twist into knots. One eye remained blue, human, but the other glowed an unnatural gold, like a predator’s in the night. That eye–animal, beast–never wavered, never blinked, as if it were studying him, dissecting his every move.

Ani didn’t answer right away, his assault never faltering. Their weapons locked together, the force of the clash almost buckling Dick’s arms. Ani’s face remained stoic, unreadable, but then in that same hollow tone, he said, “I am Talon.”

Dick’s breath hitched. For the first time in a long while, he felt genuinely hunted, like prey in the gaze of a predator. Ani–no, Talon– grinned, and it was all teeth, sharp and savage. Dick felt like a mouse cornered by a cat, and the question slithered through his mind unbidden: Is this how it ends?

But then, salvation roared into the alley.

The growl of the Batmobile echoed off the narrow walls before it came barreling through like a force of nature. Dick had just enough time to twist away, somersaulting high and back as the Batmobile skidded under him, its chassis crashing into Talon with bone-crushing force. The vehicle didn’t stop until it had Talon pinned hard against the wall, the impact leaving a dent in the stone. Talon’s body went limp, slumped over the hood.

Batman emerged from the driver’s seat in a blur of black armor, eyes narrowed and calculating. Dick couldn’t mask the mix of horror and relief in his voice as he half-joked, half-demanded, “Did you kill him?”

Batman’s response was flat, his gaze not leaving Talon’s unmoving form. “It’s not human.”

Well that didn’t make him feel better at all. If anything, he felt worse. He straightened up, trying to shake off the ache in his muscles and the adrenaline that still thrummed through his veins. Batman’s gaze flicked to him, assessing his condition from a distance before asking, “Injuries?”

“Just a thousand paper cuts,” Dick replied, forcing a grin despite the tremor in his voice. “You’re right though. He, or whatever it was, went full beast mode on me. Thought I was done for, B.”

Batman gave a short nod. When they turned to where the Batmobile was parked, an alarmed sound escaped Dick that was half-startled, half fearful. Batman’s head snapped around to see what had drawn his reaction.

The Batmobile was still there, its front end crushed against the wall, but Talon was gone. All that remained was the dent in the concrete where his body had hit.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Batman’s jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened with that familiar, cold determination. He didn’t say anything but the unspoken question was clear: What have we just unleashed?

Chapter Text

Dick’s voice broke the tense silence, stating the obvious with a mix of frustration and disbelief. “He’s gone! How!? We didn’t hear a sound…” The tableau of him gripping his escrima in tight knuckled fists, combined with them pushed up into his hair, gave the comedic effect of him looking like a confused alien with antennae.

Batman’s eyes narrowed, his mind already working through the implications. “I encountered a similar being earlier during my investigation at Drake Industries’ abandoned labs,” he said. “Did it say anything to you?”

Dick’s brow furrowed as he recalled the chilling words. “Said its name was Talon and that I was supposed to be the Gray Son. Whatever that means.”

For a moment, Batman stood motionless, his expression hidden beneath the mask but clearly deep in thought. Then, with a tight nod, he turned to Dick. “Get in the Batmobile. We’re heading back.”

As they both climbed into the armored vehicle, Bruce barely had time to accelerate when the Batmobile was suddenly rocked by a massive explosion. The force rammed the modified tank on the side, making it skid on its wheels, but the reinforced armor held steady. Both men instinctively braced for impact as the shockwave faded.

“What the—?” Dick started, but his words trailed off as he spotted the source of the attack.

Far down the street, silhouetted against the glow of Gotham’s neon lights, was Red Hood. From the seat of his red Kawasaki, he held a smoking RPG in his hands, aimed directly at the Batmobile. Red Hood gave a casual wave, the kind of taunting gesture that only a madman would think to do at the Dark Knight. He dropped the single-use RPG launcher, letting it clatter to the ground, and without delay, revved his motorcycle to life.

Batman’s jaw tightened, eyes narrowed to slits. “Hold on,” he growled as he hit the gas.

The Batmobile roared to life, tires screeching against the pavement as they shot forward, hot in pursuit. Red Hood sped off into the distance, weaving through Gotham’s streets with reckless precision. The chase was on.

Red Hood’s bike moved like a bullet, darting between traffic and leaping over obstacles as if the laws of gravity didn’t apply to him. He vaulted over the wreckage of an old truck, cut through narrow alleys, and even drove up onto the pedestrian walkway of an overpass. He was leading them on a wild chase, his motorcycle dancing across the concrete jungle of Gotham like he knew every crack and pothole by heart.

Batman was forced to take alternate routes, the Batmobile’s bulk making it impossible to follow Red Hood’s nimble maneuvers. He cut through the back streets, using every shortcut in the city to keep pace, but Red Hood was always one step ahead, like he was playing Pacman and he was the ghost. 

The chase stretched on through the night, the lights of Gotham blurring past as they raced toward the industrial outskirts. Finally, Red Hood led them to the old Dixon Docks–a half abandoned industrial area littered with rusting cranes and empty shipping containers. The docks stood in stark contrast to the city skyline, the picture being another one of Gotham’s urban beauties.

Up with your turret

Red Hood was waiting on top of a half-constructed beam that towered over the docks, standing there like an ominous host in his red helmet and leather jacket.

Aren’t we just terrified?

“Batman,” their dark mechanized voice said, low and challenging.

Batman stepped out of the Batmobile, cape flowing like the night itself, his silhouette cutting an imposing figure under the moonlight. “Red Hood,” he replied evenly.

From the Batmobile’s roof window, Nightwing jumped out, landing on the hood with an athletic flip and a broad grin. “Nightwing!”

Neither Batman nor Red Hood acknowledged him, their eyes locked on each other, two opposing forces of justice poised for confrontation.

Shale, screen your worry from what you won’t ever find

Batman’s voice was low and steady, his words like a rumble of thunder. “What do you want?” he demanded, the growl in his tone matching the rumble in Red Hood’s.

Even while masked, the Red Hood managed to express his sardonic sense of humor. “I want what everybody wants,” he said in a voice laced with menace, before letting out a mocking chuckle. “Peace, love, freedom,” he added, his tone turning cold and hard as granite as he leveled two guns at Batman and Nightwing. “Your head.”

Don’t let it fool you

That was their only warning, Red Hood opened fire, the deafening sound of gunshots cutting through the air. Batman’s cape flared out like the wings of a giant bat, absorbing the impact of the bullets with its reinforced material. Nightwing, always the acrobat, dove into a series of cartwheels, narrowly dodging the hail of bullets.

Don’t let it fool you down

Red Hood’s movements were steady, his arms moving independently as he aimed at both targets with unerring precision. His shots were fast, relentless, and perfectly controlled, each bullet ricocheting dangerously close to its mark. Batman, eyes just as sharp, threw a batarang with a flick of his wrist. The spinning projectile arced through the air, forcing Red Hood to pivot one hand and deflect it with the barrel of his gun.

Dancing around, folds in the gown

In that split second opening, Nightwing saw his chance. He flicked his wrist, launching a grappling line from his escrima stick, which snagged onto the beam that Red Hood was standing on. He swung up with a graceful arc, landing on the narrow beam with perfect balance, his escrima sticks ready.

Sea and the rock below

Red Hood’s balance didn’t waver as he blocked Nightwing’s first strike, switching his grip and using the barrels of his guns like tonfas. The two exchanged rapid blows, their weapons clashing in a flurry of sparks. The beam held steady under their combined weight, and neither man faltered. Each strike, each counter, was a testament to their training and skill–a duel fought on a knife's edge.

Cocked to the undertow

Batman aimed and shot a bolawrap at Red Hood, the ropes cycloning in his direction. But Red Hood was faster–he threw one gun up in the air before he twisted his body and let himself fall off the beam, grabbing onto its edge mid-fall with one hand. With the grace of an expert gymnast, he swung back up, landed on the beam, and caught his gun by the grip just as Nightwing was tangled in the very bolawrap meant for their opponent. The wrap tightened around Nightwing, binding his limbs and throwing off his balance.

Bones blood and teeth erode

“Whoa!” Nightwing yelped as he toppled sideways. In a flash, Batman lunged forward, catching him before he could hit the ground. They both looked up at Red Hood, who had managed to stay atop the beam, his agility and dexterity belying the weight of his armor. For a moment, they couldn’t help but marvel at how nimble the guy was for someone who looked as big as Batman and carrying an entire armory.

With every crashing node

“Who are you!?” Batman roared, his voice unforgiving. Nightwing, still untangling himself from the bolawrap, couldn’t help but mutter under his breath, “Okay, that was cool.”

Red Hood tilted his helmet just slightly, a mocking gesture that hinted at familiarity. “Thanks, Big Wing,” he said casually.

Wings wouldn’t help you

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Batman and Nightwing froze in place, a chill running down their spines. That nickname–Big Wing–was something only known to a very select few. It was a private term, a relic of a time long gone.

Nightwing’s eyes widened, his voice barely a whisper. “Little Wing?” he asked, his tone a mix of hope, confusion, and disbelief.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Red Hood reached up to his helmet and pressed a hidden mechanism. The faceplate slid up smoothly, revealing a face they both knew well–haunted eyes, a familiar jawline, and a mouth that was meant for mischief.

Wings wouldn’t help you down

“Miss me?” Jason Todd asked, his voice still rough and whining with youth. The son they had both thought they lost forever, now stood before them as the Red Hood. The brother they’d mourned was back, but with a cold fire in his eyes that spoke of a darkness neither of them had ever truly understood.

“It can’t be… but you’re dead!” Batman’s voice was strained, thick with shock and disbelief as he stared at the figure before them. The raw edges of his control frayed as he tried to grasp the impossible sight of Jason Todd, very much alive and burning with rage.

Jason’s eyes narrowed, his lips twisting into a smile that held no warmth, only a seething bitterness. “Guess even death didn’t want me,” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “Just like you.”

Nightwing’s expression flickered with confusion and realization. “So it really was you? At the ball?” he said, his voice faltering as the pieces of the puzzle started to click into place. 

Jason’s head snapped toward Nightwing, the twisted smirk still plastered on his face, his half-lid gaze weighed down with mockery. “Surprised I have a life?” he sneered before his eyes snapped back to Batman, the resentment bubbling over again. Without breaking eye contact, his hands moved, twin pistols in his grip transforming with a series of mechanical clicks, merging into a high-powered rifle. He aimed it squarely at Batman, “I was going to leave you alone, you know. Wasn’t planning to cause you trouble,” he said, his voice trembled, simmering with barely-contained rage. “But you just can’t help but ruin things, can you, Bruce?”

Down towards the ground, gravity smiled

He fired a relentless stream of bullets, his voice breaking into a scream that echoed through the empty docks. “GIVE HIM BACK!” Jason’s demand was more a desperate plea, his words cracking with emotion as he poured his fury into each shot.

“Give who back!?” Batman shouted over the noisy barrage as he moved, his cape a blur, desperately trying to shield himself from the deadly assault. The confusion in his voice was genuine, but Jason only heard lies. Batman hurled smoke bombs at the ground, the explosion filling the area with a thick, choking mist. The darkness swallowed them both, and Batman pulled Nightwing into the cover of the shadows as they tried to find a safe vantage point.

Jason’s voice was ragged, torn between a roar and a sob. “YOU KNOW WHO!” he bellowed into the shroud of smoke, eyes wild and burning as he scanned the darkness for any sign of movement. “How is it that right after meeting your sorry excuse of a sidekick, he disappears just like every good thing in my life!? What did you do to him!?”

The silence that met his accusation only seemed to fuel his fury. His hands were trembling as he reloaded, but his movements were precise, controlled–he was no longer the reckless boy they once knew. He grappled himself onto a higher beam, taking a strategic position to scan the area from above, his gaze sharp and unyielding.

“You can’t hide from me, Bruce!” he shouted, his voice ringing out like a challenge. “I will hunt you down!" He pressed the side of his helmet again and the faceplate snapped back closed. Through the HUD’s night vision, his eyes darted through the mist with the focus of a starving predator.

Suddenly, from below, a shadow surged upwards, fast and brutal, slamming into Jason with a force that sent him staggering. Batman had moved with the silence and speed of a specter, catching Jason off guard. "Stand down, Robin!" Batman knocked Jason’s rifle from his hand and it clattered to the ground far below. But Jason recovered quickly, even with his balance shaken and he was forced into close quarters. "Shut up! Don't—Don't call me that!" His hands balled into fists, and his stance shifted–he was ready for the fight.

You barely are blinking

They met in a flurry of punches and blocks, their movements a blur, almost too fast to follow. Every strike Jason threw carried his rage, every block from Batman met with the weight of regret. They were locked in a vicious choreograph, a battle of wills that went beyond mere physical blows. To Jason, this was years of pain, betrayal, and unspoken words finally crashing to the surface.

Jason’s attacks were wild yet precise, each blow aimed to hurt, to break, not just the man but the symbol that had failed him so profoundly. His fists hammered against Batman’s defenses, each hit harder than the last, a desperate need to make Bruce feel even a fraction of the pain that had consumed him.

Wagging your face around

“You took him from me!” Jason growled as he landed a solid punch to Batman’s side. “You hid him away, just like you tried to do with me!”

Batman grunted, absorbing the force of Jason’s attacks, his expression twisted in confusion. “Jason, I don’t know who you’re talking about!” he insisted, even as he deflected another powerful punch.

When’d this just become a mortal home?

Nightwing moved in to flank Jason, trying to engage him from the other side. “Jason, stop!” he shouted, his tone desperate. “Let us help you! Tell us who you’re looking for!”

Won’t, won’t, won’t, won’t, won’t let you talk me

But Jason’s rage was uncontainable, his focus now locked on Nightwing. “Stop lying to me!” he shouted, his voice a heartbreaking mix of a scream and a sob. His fists swung at Nightwing, who barely managed to dodge the blow.

Won’t let you talk me down

In a last ditch effort, Batman threw a batarang, aiming to subdue Jason, but in the heat of his emotions, Jason’s balance once again faltered. The impact sent him stumbling backward, and with a final desperate grasp, he tumbled off the beam. He hit a pile of crates below with a sickening crash, the wood splintering and collapsing under his weight.

Will pull it taut, nothing let out

Batman and Nightwing stared down at him in shock, expecting the fall to have done serious damage, but Jason, who even Death abandoned, was already grunting, climbing back to his feet, shaking off the pain like a man possessed. His breath came in harsh garbled pants through the helmet’s vocalizer, its LED damaged and glitching ominously. A single green glowing eye was partially visible through the broken glass, and through it, they could see it filled with pure, unadulterated fury.

“Where did you hide him!?” Jason roared. “I know you took him! Where is Tim!? Don’t you dare lie to me!”

Nightwing grappled down to Jason’s level while Batman simply dropped from the beam, his cape flaring to break his fall. Nightwing’s eyes searched Jason’s face, desperate to understand. “Do you mean Tim Drake?” he said, the confusion in his voice genuine but sympathetic. “Jason, we don’t know where Tim is–”

Before he could finish, could step closer, they were all caught off guard as the temperature around them plummeted. A sharp, bone-chilling cold swept through the air, turning their breaths into visible clouds. Without warning, a freezing blast encased their legs in solid blocks of ice, trapping them in place.

They turned to see a figure emerging from the mist, his suit glowing with an eerie blue light that illuminated the frozen docks. Mr Freeze stepped forward, his every breath fogging up the inside of his helmet as he regarded them with ice detachment.

“Enough with your family drama; I have business to attend to,” Mr Freeze said, his voice echoing with a hollow, mechanical chill. Slowly, he turned his head to fix an icy gaze on the person he was truly looking for. “Red Hood. Penguin is dead. Where is Magpie?”

The question hit like a slap across the face, leaving everyone in stunned silence. Red Hood’s eyes narrowed beneath his helmet, his posture stiffening. “What the hell are you talking about?” he snapped, all the menace in his voice suddenly laced with confusion.

Batman and Nightwing exchanged glances, equally taken aback. Penguin was dead? And now there was mention of the elusive Magpie? Why would Mr Freeze be looking for Red Hood’s infamous shadow? Were they missing, too?

“Victor, what are you doing out of Arkham?” Batman demanded, voice sharp, trying to seize control of the spiraling situation.

“I’ve been out of Arkham for a year, Batman,” Mr Freeze replied coldly, disdain coloring his tone. “I suppose this is news to you. You do like to forget we exist unless we make ourselves known.” His eyes drifted over the scene before him, noting the debris and the desperation in Red Hood’s stance. “I take it now isn’t the time for questions.”

He addressed Red Hood once more, his voice taking on a darker edge. “Come with me, and I will tell you everything you want to know.”

Red Hood stood there, torn. His eyes flickered to Batman and Nightwing, who now clearly had no idea where Tim was–they were as useless to him as he’d feared. Weighing his options, Jason’s expression hardened into resolve. Without a word, he drew another pistol from the various pockets of his armor and fired at the ice encasing his legs, shattering it into fragments. He kicked free immediately, shaking off the shards, and turned his back on the two heroes to follow Mr Freeze into the darkness.

Batman and Nightwing were left struggling to free themselves from the ice. Nightwing let out a frustrated curse, kicking at the remaining frost. “Dammit! First Talon, then the Red Hood who is actually Jason, and now Freeze? Oh, and also apparently, Penguin dead! Can’t we catch a break!?”

As if mocking his words, the distant sky lit up with a piercing beam of light. The Bat-Signal blazed against the thick Gotham clouds, cutting through the night like a call to war.

“What did I just say!?” Nightwing screeched at the offensive symbol, throwing his hands up in exasperation. Batman grunted as he also broke loose from the ice, his face set in a grim line.

“We’ll deal with them later,” Batman said, his voice as steady as steel. “Right now, we need to see what Gordon wants.”

Nightwing let out another groan of disbelief as he followed Batman into the Batmobile. The engine roared to life, and the dark vehicle sped off into the night, tires screeching as they raced toward Gotham’s latest crisis.

High above, perched on the same beam where they’d just fought, a lone figure watched them all leave. The hooded silhouette in a red jumpsuit sat like a gargoyle against the Gotham skyline, one knee drawn up, hands clasped around it, the other left to dangle and swing. The figure’s feelings were completely indiscernible, covered by a black LED mask. It was trained on the Batmobile’s tail lights as it disappeared into the city.

Chapter Text

As the Batmobile raced through the rain-slicked streets of Gotham, its roar cutting through the dark, inside the cockpit Nightwing’s voice was tight with urgency. He activated the comms, connecting with Oracle and Agent A.

“You guys need to hear this,” Nightwing said, trying to keep his voice steady and failing. “Red Hood… it’s Jason. Our Jason. Jason’s alive.”

There was a heavy silence on the other end before Oracle’s gasp was audible over the line. “What? How? After all this time… how can he be alive?”

Alfred’s voice came through, laced with disbelief. “Master Jason? Are you certain, Master Richard?”

Batman’s jaw clenched as he stared at the road ahead, eyes hard behind the cowl. “His eyes,” he said, his voice low and grim. “I recognized them. They were green like the Lazarus Pit waters. Ra’s al Ghul and Talia… they have the same eyes.”

Nightwing’s face paled. “No… you don’t mean—”

“I do,” Batman interrupted, his voice clipped. “Oracle, I need you to find out everything you can on Mr Freeze and Penguin. Freeze claimed that he'd been out of Arkham for a year, and no one knew. Also, that Penguin is dead.”

There was a rapid clicking of keys in the background as Oracle pulled up the necessary files. “According to Arkham’s records, Mr Freeze is still listed as a patient,” she said. “But there haven’t been any recent status updates. It looks like someone tampered with his records in the system without alerting anyone. Could be the work of Magpie.”

“That name again,” Batman muttered, frustration clear in his tone. “We’re finding out more about Magpie tonight than we have in the half decade they’ve been operating right under my nose.”

“And Penguin?” Nightwing pressed.

Alfred’s voice cut in smoothly. “If Penguin has indeed been murdered, it hasn’t been reported to the authorities yet. Perhaps a bit of reconnaissance is in order once you’ve checked in with the Commissioner.”

Batman gave a small nod, eyes narrowing. “Hm.”

The Batmobile slowed to a stop in an alley several blocks away from the Gotham City Police Department. Batman and Nightwing exited the vehicle and grappled up to the rooftop where the Bat-Signal should be shining its beacon into the night sky. But as they approached the signal, they found the rooftop empty. The Commissioner was nowhere to be seen.

Nightwing quickly activated his comm. “Oracle, Gordon’s not here. Is he safe?”

There was a pause, and then Oracle’s voice returned, edged with relief. “He’s at home. I just called him–he’s safe and sound. He was just as confused as you are. He saw the Bat-Signal out his window and assumed you were responding to it. I told him not to worry about it for now.”

I awoke the dawn

Batman’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the area, his gaze sharp and focused. Then he spotted something–something small and metallic–taped to the Bat-Signal’s light. He reached out and carefully peeled it off, revealing a USB drive.

“I found something,” Batman said, slipping the USB into one of his utility belt compartments. “Looks like someone left us a gift. We’ll deal with this later. For now, let’s get to the Iceberg Lounge and see what’s happening with Penguin.”

Saw horses growing out the lawn

Nightwing let out a frustrated sigh as he turned off the Bat-Signal and they headed back to the Batmobile. “Feels like we’re being led on a wild goose chase. This whole night has been nothing but loose ends.”

Batman’s voice softened, just a fraction. “I know. I’m as frustrated as you, chum. But we’ll follow the leads–we always do.”

When they arrived at the Iceberg Lounge, it was immediately clear that something was terribly wrong. The inside eerily silent. As they entered through the rooftop access, they were greeted by overturned furniture, shattered glass, and the bodies of Penguin’s security detail sprawled lifeless across the floor. The scene was a massacre–silent and thorough enough to not have been reported to the authorities.

Nightwing’s face twisted in horror and sympathy. “What the hell happened here?” he muttered, scanning the carnage.

I glimpsed a bat with butterfly wings

They moved deeper into the lounge, making their way toward Penguin’s private office. When they entered, they stopped cold. There, pinned to the wall like a grotesque butterfly, was Oswald Cobblepot–the Penguin. His lifeless body was suspended by a series of knives embedded deep into his limbs, each one precisely placed to immobilize him in his final moments.

Nightwing let out a shout of surprise, stumbling back a step. “Oh my God!”

Oh what marvelous things

Batman’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the crime scene, moving closer to inspect the horrific tableau. He took in every detail of the room, searching for any sign of an ambush or clue that could explain the state they found Penguin in. Nothing seemed disturbed, save for the knives. The blades were old, their handles decorated with an emblem unmistakably shaped like an owl’s face.

“The Court of Owls…” Batman muttered under his breath, recognizing the ancient insignia of what he had always believed to be a fairy tail.

Before either of them could react further, Penguin coughed, a raspy, rattling sound that startled them both into motion. His head lolled to the side, his eyes unfocused as he began to murmur words in a barely audible voice.

“Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time…” Penguin recited, his voice barely a whisper. His words were an eerie echo of the infamous nursery rhyme that haunted Gotham’s darkest legends.

Dark night… hold tight, and sleep tight

Nightwing moved quickly, his heroism taking over as he carefully pulled the knives from Penguin’s limp body. As the last blade came free, Penguin collapsed into Nightwing’s arms, a dead weight. He was barely conscious, blood staining his clothes and dripping from the fresh wounds.

Batman, his voice grave, continued the rhyme in consternation. “Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime…”

My baby

As he spoke, Batman’s eyes were drawn to the wall where Penguin had been pinned. That’s when he saw it–a small device, hidden in plain sight. His eyes widened in recognition.

Morning light… shall burst bright

“Dick!” Batman shouted, grabbing Nightwing and yanking him backwards with all his strength. In the same motion, he threw his cape over them, the reinforced material designed to shield them from the explosion.

The room shook with a deafening roar as the bomb detonated. Heat and smoke filled the air, the blast swallowing everything in a blinding flash of fire. Batman’s cape absorbed the brunt of the impact, protecting them both from the deadly shrapnel, but it was too late for Penguin.

And keep us here safely

As the smoke cleared, the gruesome reality became visible. Penguin’s body was nothing more than a charred husk, a twisted, smoldering carcass lying on the ground. Flames snaked up the wall behind him, igniting in a precise trail that seemed almost deliberate. The fire flared brighter for a moment, and as it did, it formed words scorched into the plaster:

TIMOTHY DRAKE MUST DIE

Still cradled in Batman's arms, Nightwing’s face went slack with shock and confusion as he read the fiery message. Batman’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he read the words over and over again. He was still visibly shaken from almost losing another Robin to an explosion. Nightwing turned to him, his face pale and haunted. “What does Tim have to do with this?”

I followed a rabbit

Batman remained silent, compartmentalizing, his mind racing, trying to piece together the twisted puzzle that had turned their night upside down. The name of Tim Drake was like a knife twisting in his gut–a reminder of something or someone that was far from where they should be.

“We’re being baited,” Batman said finally, his voice a low growl. “Whoever’s behind this, they’re dragging us around like a carrot dangling from a stick.”

Through rows of mermaid entwined shrubbery

Nightwing clenched his fists, shaking his head in disbelief. “And we’re the horse with blinders. We need to find Stephanie, Jason, and now… Tim. Before it’s too late.”

Batman nodded, determination hardening in his gaze. “And we will.” The stakes had just become much higher, and the web of conspiracies surrounding them was tightening. Whatever was coming next, they needed to be ready. His hand subconsciously drifted to his belt, to the compartment holding the USB drive. “Back to the Belfry. The night isn’t over yet.”

They watch you at your hearth

They watch you in your bed

Speak not a whispered word of them

Or they’ll send the Talon for your head

After putting out the fire and calling in the GCPD, Batman and Nightwing turned to leave the carnage of the Iceberg Lounge. They missed one crucial detail though: a small recording device, previously concealed and now buried under the rubble.

Oh what marvelous things but, they are, they are, they are

Outside the Lounge, cloaked in the shadows, a figure in a hooded red jumpsuit observed the duo’s departure. The figure was perched under a nearby window awning, protecting them from the drizzling rain. They watched the Batmobile speed away once more with more questions than answers.

Giving me the creeps

In another location, miles away in an undisclosed room filled with the soft glow of monitors, another figure wearing a similar hooded red jumpsuit sat at the center of their surveillance setup. The room buzzed with data streams and live feeds from Gotham’s streets.

“Magpie 2,” said the figure in the room, their young voice measured and composed, “things are proceeding according to plan. We'll continue to have eyes from afar.”

The one watching the duo leave in the Batmobile responded, deeper and garbled by a voice modulator, but equally measured. “Magpie 4. Affirmative. League actions?”

“Underway,” Magpie 2 replied, their eyes never leaving the screens. “They’ll be making contact with Red Hood soon. I have Magpie 5 eyes on the Janus Cosmetics Buildings. Sending a Shrike for backup just in case.”

The tension between the two figures was palpable even across their communication link. Magpie 2 continued, “Good work, Magpie 4. You may return to base.”

“Magpie 4, returning to base.”

Dark night… hold tight, and sleep tight

From the shadows emerged a figure dressed in the same red jumpsuit as the one sitting at the console, though his hood was down and mask was missing, revealing a pale face framed by shaggy black hair and set of periwinkle blue eyes. Magpie 2 turned their chair slowly to face the newcomer. They pulled off their own hood and mask, revealing familiar golden eyes and a cascade of gold curls that washed out under the dim light. A gentle smile tugged at his lips.

“Princess,” Ani said softly, fondness in his tone, “you should be in bed.”

Tim gave a dismissive scoff, his gaze never leaving the glowing screens. “You underestimate my power. Sleep is for the weak,”

Ani chuckled warmly, the sound rich and soft. “And those too smart to resist it,” he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

My baby

Tim rolled his eyes dramatically but couldn’t hide a small smile as he moved to sit on Ani’s lap. Ani adjusted, rotating the chair until they both faced the console again, their eyes trained on the live camera feeds following Gotham’s most infamous faces of the week: Red Hood, Batman, Talia al Ghul, and the various agents of the Court of Owls.

Morning light… shall burst bright

Ani’s arms wrapped around Tim, drawing him in close. Tim curled up against him instinctively, resting his head under Ani’s chin. Ani’s hold was gentle but firm, the kind of touch that said “I’m here” without words. The warmth Tim radiated was a balm against the coldness of the room, and Ani basked in it, soaking in the comfort Tim unknowingly provided.

And keep us here safely

“Jason’s with Victor,” Ani murmured, his voice a soothing rumble. “He’s stable for now, but as soon as he’s back in the fight, Shrike will be there to provide back up. Whether it’s against the Talons or the League, we’ll keep him safe.”

“I know he’ll be safe,” Tim mumbled, his voice slightly muffled as he nuzzled closer. “He’s Jason Todd. It’s everyone else I’m worried about.”

Morning light… shall burst bright

Ani’s hand traced calming patterns on Tim’s back, his touch steady and reassuring. “Trust in them,” Ani said softly, his golden eyes fixed on the screens, watching their mischief of magpies keep vigilant watch over the board and its players. “Trust in us.”

And keep us here safely

Chapter Text

When Freeze made his bargain, urging Red Hood to follow him in exchange for answers, it felt like a game of trust-fall and chicken. Jason’s instincts screamed at him to be on guard, ready for an ambush or a sudden betrayal. In Gotham, trusting anyone was like playing Russian roulette. But there was something in Freeze’s hollow, mechanical tone, the way he held himself that made Jason reconsider. As far as villains went, Freeze had always been different–more principled, almost honorable. Jason, for once, just wanted to believe that someone would just follow through and do as they said they were gonna do.

“Don’t think I won’t put a hole through your goldfish bowl if you try anything,” Jason warned, his helmet now removed, but his voice still just as menacing. “This better not be some kind of setup, Freeze.”

Freeze didn’t bother to turn, his focus straight ahead. “You’ll get your answers, Red Hood. All I ask is that you trust me, just this once.”

Jason huffed, a mix of skepticism and impatience crossing his face. “Yeah, trust. Real easy when you’re leading me straight into the belly of your supervillain lair.”

Jason, on his motorcycle, followed Freeze’s car through the wet streets of Gotham’s industrial district, stopping in front of what looked like an old, abandoned cryogenics research facility. “This place,” Freeze said, gesturing to the decrepit building, his voice echoing slightly in the desolate halls, “has gone unnoticed by most. You wouldn’t have found it, even if you tried.”

If that wasn’t a little too on the nose. Its exterior was weathered and crumbling, half-swallowed by shadows, forgotten by time and the city above. Freeze explained that the facility used to belong to a defunct tech company that went bankrupt years ago–now, it was nothing more than free real estate. A staple commodity in Gotham.

Jason had to admit, the place had completely slipped under his radar. Freeze wasn’t lying when he said it was hidden; there were only a few secret entrances, all of which Freeze had modified to be guarded by automated ice traps and defensive systems. As they walked deeper into the facility, the chilling air seemed to amplify the hum of unseen machinery. Freeze disabled the traps with an air of practiced ease, leading Jason safely through the frosted corridors.

“Why are you telling me all this? What’s got you playing good host, huh?” Jason couldn’t help but wonder why Freeze was being so forthcoming, laying out all these secrets like cards on a table. And then, Freeze dropped the bombshell.

“Because, Red Hood,” Freeze said calmly, turning to look at Jason with those cold, calculating eyes, “this facility was funded by someone close to you. Someone you know well–Magpie.”

Jason froze mid-step, felt his heart skip a beat, then drop like a stone. Magpie. Tim. His trusted partner, his closest confidant, and his beloved treasure–someone he thought he knew better than anyone–had a connection to this place, to Freeze.

“You’re telling me that Magpie helped bankroll this place and didn’t tell me a damn thing? What the fuck else are they hiding?” He felt a spike of betrayal, a flash of anger, but before he could even process the thought, Freeze ushered him into another room.

The air was cold and sterile, the walls glistening with a thin layer of frost. The dim lighting cast long shadows that danced in time with the soft hum of cryogenic equipment. But it wasn’t the room or the chill that took Jason’s breath away–it was her.

Sitting comfortably on a medical cot, her demeanor calm, tranquil, was Nora Fries. The legendary Mrs Fries, the catalyst for Victor Fries’ descent into a life of crime, the woman at the heart of every ice-coated crime spree he’d ever committed. She looked alive and well, dressed in a cozy insulated outfit that kept her warm despite the ice air. Her presence in the room felt almost otherworldly, an ethereal glow surrounding her as if she were untouched by the darkness of the world outside–and she probably wasn’t.

Jason stood there, floored, his mind racing to catch up with what his eyes were seeing.

“Nora,” Victor said, his voice softened to something almost human, his eyes fixed on his wife with a warmth that seemed so out of place coming from a man made of ice. “Red Hood, meet the reason for everything I’ve done. For all the crimes, the risks. She is my salvation, and she lives because of Magpie’s intervention.”

Jason’s head snapped towards Freeze, his expression a storm of confusion and fury. “Magpie knew? All this time, they knew about this, and they didn’t say a word to me? Why? Why keep this from me?”

“Magpie protected Nora when no one else could,” Freeze said, his tone unwavering. “They ensured her safety, helped me create this sanctuary. It wasn’t betrayal, Red Hood–it was survival.”

Jason clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves creaking under the pressure. “Damn it, Freeze, you have no idea how much that changes things. Magpie was supposed to be my partner. My–” He stopped himself, swallowing the bitterness, not wanting to reveal more of his heartache to this man.

“Jason,” Nora said softly, her voice gentle yet firm, “you have every right to feel angry. But know that your partner did what they did for reasons that go beyond trust. Sometimes, we’re pushed into a corner and the only way we can think to protect someone is to keep them out of the dark and out of danger.”

Jason’s shoulders slumped slightly, the anger cooling just a little, replaced by a deep, raw hurt that he couldn’t quite mask. “So that’s it then,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Magpie played their cards to save you, and left me in the cold.”

“Perhaps,” Freeze said, “they did it because they knew you would come anyway. Because they knew you wouldn’t stop until you found out the truth.”

Jason took a deep breath, his chest tight with the weight of betrayal and the slow understanding that maybe, just maybe, Magpie’s silence had been a twisted kind of loyalty. He turned to Victor, meeting his eyes squarely.

“Alright, Freeze,” Jason said, voice steadier. “I’ll accept that, for now. For Nora’s sake. But if Magpie’s got another hidden agenda that I don’t know about, I swear I’m going to–”

“You won’t have to,” Freeze interrupted. “Magpie’s plan is in motion. And if you truly care for them, you’ll understand why they’ve made the choices they have.”

Jason looked at Nora once more, the living miracle set her sympathetic gaze toward him, cutting through his defenses. He didn’t know whether to be furious or relieved, but one thing was clear–Magpie’s game was far from over, and he was going to get to the bottom of it, no matter what it took.

Nora’s lips curled into a warm, inviting smile for him. “I’ve heard so much about you, Jason.” she said, her voice soft but genuine, like someone welcoming a friend into her home.

Jason’s brow furrowed in surprise, his guard halfway up despite the lack of hostility. “Oh yeah? From who?” he asked, tone slightly suspicious but mostly curious.

“From your boyfriend Timmy, of course!” Nora replied with a chuckle, the name falling from her lips like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

For a second, Jason blinked in stunned silence. His demeanor shifted in an instant. Gone was the rough-edged anti-hero; in his place stood a man trying to make the best impression possible on the most important person in the room. He straightened his posture, and a sheepish smile found its way to his face.

“All good things, I hope?” Jason asked, the edges of his grin softening into something far more genuine, almost bashful. “Well, I hope he didn’t exaggerate too much.”

“Not at all!” Nora said, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Timmy’s been very helpful to us. And he spoke of you with such respect and–it’s clear he cares about you a great deal.”

Jason’s cheeks flushed slightly under the cold, but he managed to cover it with a smirk. Before he could respond, Nora turned a sharp eye on Victor.

“Victor,” she scolded lightly, “why on earth did you bring Jason down here without offering him a coat? You’re being a terrible host! He must be freezing.”

Victor’s lips curled in a rare, begrudging smile, a glimpse of the man he might have been before tragedy consumed him. He moved to a cabinet, pulling out a heavy winter coat that looked surprisingly brand new. “Forgive me, Red Hood,” he said, handing over the coat. “I sometimes forget that not everyone is accustomed to this environment.”

Jason accepted the coat with a nod, slipping it on over his armor. “Thanks,” he said, “and just call me Jason.” He was feeling awkward but oddly at ease in the domesticity of the moment. The normalcy of it all was a stark contrast to the chaos and violence he was used to. He saw something in Victor’s demeanor–a tenderness, a mellowness–that he hadn’t thought he’d ever see in the rogue. It was something he had come to relate to recently, one he understood deeply.

Jason cleared his throat, taking a step closer to Nora. He met her eyes, a small smile on his lips, though his eyes belied the sadness of a man who was missing his other half. “Sorry about my manners,” he said, offering her a hand to shake. “It’s an honor to finally meet you, Mrs Fries. I know Victor’s been fighting hard for you, even when I was just a kid–he’s a stubborn guy. I’m glad to see that stubbornness finally paid off.”

Nora’s expression gentled again as she shook his hand. “He is stubborn. And that stubbornness brought us both here tonight.”

They all moved to sit around a small table in a makeshift break area, surrounded by a mix of old lab equipment and personal touches that his hosts had added to make the place feel like a home. Jason glanced around, noticing the little signs of life and hope–a family photo tucked into a corner, a vase filled with fake flowers.

Victor took Nora’s hand in his, still in his suit, his gloved hands completely dwarfed hers. He turned to Jason, his gaze steady, and began to speak about the past–about everything that led them to this moment.