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Chapter Text

It was a truly terrible plan. But Tim had carefully considered all his options and come to the conclusion that he had none to speak of. Tell his parents? They wouldn't care, and there was a slim possibility that they knew what was going on. Tell Bruce? There was a chance he'd bench Robin, and Tim needed Robin. It was selfish, but he appreciated feeling like he mattered. Go to the police? His parents would be furious about all the bad publicity. So what was Tim supposed to do with the fact that Drake Industries' brand new, highly lucrative pharmaceutical branch was also a highly illegal drug front?

Wait on the rooftop of the tallest building in Crime Alley for Red Hood to show up. Tim had been studying the new crime lord. He didn't have enough data to feel entirely comfortable about the whole situation, but it was clear, at the very least, that Red Hood cared for Crime Alley. Tim could work with that. Hopefully. He stared at the dingy alley below him, fiddling with his backpack straps. Apparently, Red Hood also cared for his kids. If Tim couldn't convince that the latest concoctions Drake Industries was coming up would be devastating if they ever reached the streets, maybe he could play the scared kid card. 

There was a barely perceptible thump as someone landed on the rooftop behind him. Tim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was a business meeting. He'd gone to a couple with his mother. He knew exactly what to do. This was just a business meeting. If he kept his eyes closed, he could pretend he was in a boardroom and Red Hood was just another asshole in a suit.

"Hey kid, watcha doing up here?" Red Hood asked. "Wanna do me a favor and move from the edge? You're pretty close. If you got problems, I can help you out, you know?" Somehow, despite the voice modulator, Red Hood's voice was gentle and soothing. 

Was he really doing this? Did he have any choice? Tim got to his feet and turned around. "I have a business proposition for you."

"What the hell." Red Hood took a step forward. The only reason that Tim didn't take a step back was that he was already at the edge. "Timothy Drake?"

Why did Red Hood know who he was? Well, that wasn't important right now. This had to go smoothly.

"Yes," Tim acknowledged. "Red Hood, I presume? I believe I have some information that may be useful to you."

"Really?" Red Hood asked, crossing his arms. As he did so, his leather jacket shifted to reveal a truly ludicrous amount of guns and knives. Tim would call the number overkill, but Red Hood was a particularly violent crime lord.

Stick to the script, Tim reminded himself. He took another deep breath. There was a reason he had memorized so many lines and mapped out all the likeliest ways the conversation could go. "I've made a powerpoint breaking down how exactly this transaction would benefit you."

"A powerpoint?" Red Hood repeated, sounding incredulous. "You want to make a deal with a drug lord, and you made a powerpoint explaining why that's a good idea?"

This was just a business meeting, and Red Hood was just a potential business partner. Everything would be fine, and Tim hadn't made a colossal mistake trusting a drug lord over Batman. It wasn't like he had a choice, he reminded himself. After all, if he had told B, B would've gotten the police involved, and his parents would never forgive him if he got the police involved in this mess, and things would be different between him and B because Tim had screwed up and hadn't noticed that a significant section of his parents company was a drug front and maybe that would be grounds for taking away Robin and that definitely couldn't happen. Tim took another deep breath and tried not to fidget.

"Yes," he said, doing his best to keep his voice steady. "Would you be amenable to reviewing it and discussing possible terms?"

Red Hood stared at him long enough that Tim started to worry.

"Why the fuck not," he said at last. "But I'm not doing this on a rooftop. How do you feel about Denny's, kid?"

Tim really didn't want to go to a secondary location with a notorious crime lord known for decapitating people. But really, he didn't want to be doing any of this. Why was it up to him to deal with the fact that his parents were (hopefully) unknowingly running a drug front? He nodded.

"Great," Red Hood said, clapping his hands. "My motorcycle isn't far from here. Got a plan to get down?"

"Fire escape," Tim said. 

"Rusted to hell," Red Hood said. "But I guess it'll hold a shrimp like you. Let me get down first, though, so I can catch you if you fall."

This wasn't part of the plan, but what could he do? Nothing, except wait until Red Hood gave him the all-clear to scramble down the side of the building using the admittedly antiquated fire escape. He fingered the emergency beacon in his pocket as he clambered onto Red Hood's motorcycle behind the man. Hopefully, nothing would happen, and no one would ever learn what he had been up to tonight.

It was a quick ride to a mostly abandoned Denny's. There was one other person in the restaurant, huddled over a plate, who seemed content to ignore them and the rest of the world. The waiter didn't hesitate, rattling off a practiced greeting and handing them menus.

"Coffee?" he asked.

"Yes," Tim said. He wasn't a fan, but he needed to be awake and alert for this conversation.

"Don't even think about it," Hood said.

The waiter wisely brought them both water and left them to give them time to decide their orders. 

"So—" Tim began.

"Pick something to eat," Hood said, leaning back in his chair to study him.

Tim sighed but opened up the menu. He scanned the options, settling on waffles and a milkshake.

"Are you going to get anything?" he asked.

Hood shook his head. "Nice try, kid, but the helmet stays on."

It had been worth a shot. The waiter wandered over, and Tim gave his order. It was a good thing that Tim was in the habit of carrying around emergency cash. 

"Now, may I show you my PowerPoint?" he asked.

"I'll admit, I'm curious," Hood said. "Go on."

Tim dug out a computer out of his backpack. It was a basic Aser he had bought specifically for this project. He pulled up the presentation and flipped the laptop around. Hours of creating and then memorizing the pitch were about to pay off. Tim had watched so many videos on how to give the perfect business proposal.

He leaned forward. "This is my Red Dragon Pitch. The goal of this presentation is to help you deal with another potential drug rival."

"Dragon?" Red Hood asked.

"Drake," Tim explained. "Name anonymity is a priority."

"That eager to cover for your family?" Hood drawled.

"Don't have a choice," Tim said. "My parents don't know what's happening, but if their company gets any bad press, there will be hell to pay. Besides, there are several other complications. There's a reason I'm going to you and not the police."

"What about Batman?" Hood asked.

Tim froze for a second. There was no way that Hood could know, right? "How would I get in contact with Batman?"

"You seem like a smart enough kid," Hood said. "I'm sure you could figure it out if you had to. I mean, you found me."

"Batman would go to the police," Tim said. "I can't allow that."

"Okay," Hood said. "Continue with your Red Dragon pitch."

The waiter wandered over with Tim's order. He was enough of a Gothamite to be smart enough not to care about what was going on.

"Hope you enjoy," he said through a yawn.

Red Hood handed him a fifty. "Keep the change." And stay away, was the implicit part. The waiter nodded before walking back to the front of the restaurant. So, Red Hood had paid for his dinner. Would he expect to be paid back? That was a later worry.

Tim moved to the next slide. "This is the agenda for today's meeting. I thought I would start by explaining why I know I can help you, then go over the problem in detail as well as my proposed solution, walk you through a potential timeline, what resources this would require, and benefits, then finish off by hashing out the necessities of our agreement."

He really hoped that Red Hood liked the presentation. This wasn't a basic Google slides template. Tim had designed a logo for this project and made his own color scheme and theme.  There were animations — so, so many animations. Professional, classy-looking ones that wouldn't detract from the overall aesthetic but would make this particular presentation stand out.

"As you know, I am Tim Drake," he said, moving to the next slide. "While my parents have a rather hands-off approach to managing the company, preferring to delegate the various day-to-day tasks to different executives, my father expects me to be up to date with the latest information about the company. As a result, I spend quite a bit of time reviewing financial statements and other business records. This is why I noticed a few discrepancies about a month ago. After some investigation, I realized there was an entire drug operation running under the guise of pharmaceutical research. The incriminating files are included on the hard drive.

So why do you need me? I know Drake Industries inside and out; I know who is at fault, what is going wrong, and the best way to deal with this before the drugs Drake Industries are pushing become a problem. They plan to first target low-income areas, such as Crime Alley, with three different products. I've looked at the chemical formula of each, and I can guarantee you do not want it on the streets."

"Those formulas are?" Hood asked.

"Included in the hard drive," Tim said. He took a sip from his milkshake. "Any other questions?"

"No, continue," Hood said. "This is the funniest shit ever. A fifteen-year-old mini-businessman tryna convince a drug lord to do business with him."

Tim frowned. He was nearly sixteen, and this was a serious matter. However, antagonizing his potential business partner would not help the situation. He took a bite from his waffle and mentally went over his next lines. There had been a lot to memorize. He moved on to the next slide.

"This breaks down the problem pretty clearly," Tim said, gesturing to the computer. "This is adapted from the so-called pharmaceutical branch's plans to start pushing the drugs. They contacted several dealers, providing proof of concept by already selling in certain areas. I'm sure this has popped up on your radar."

"The Poison Ivy pollen and Scarecrow toxin shit?" Hood asked, leaning forward and suddenly interested. "Been trying to track where that's coming from for weeks."

Tim nodded. "Of course, they are very thorough in covering their tracks."

"Of course," Hood murmured. "Mind if I grab the computer and look this plan over?"

"Not at all," Tim said, sliding over the computer. This was going better than he had hoped for. He munched on his waffles and sipped on his milkshake as Red Hood reviewed the numerous planning slides. Of course, it was a much stripped-down version of what Drake Industries' Pharmaceuticals was planning to do. The essential details were stored on the hard drive. 

"So, what are you planning to do?" Hood asked, pushing the computer back over.

"Glad you asked," Tim said, moving to the next slide. "Action would need to be immediate, of course. We would have to make breaking into the drug market not worth it for Drake Industries. Once profit starts to plummet and becomes a deficit, I'll bring it up with my parents. How are we going to do that, you might be asking? I was thinking that the most simple approach would be to target labs and supplies, although I'll bow to your expertise on this matter."

"So you want to stay involved with this," Red Hood said. "You're not just gonna give me the information and run?"

"You need to have me be part of this," Tim said. "So no."

Red Hood nodded. "That's pretty brave, kid."

"Thank you," Tim said, moving on to the next slide. "As I said, immediate action —"

Red Hood held up a hand. "This is an admittedly impressive powerpoint, but you don't have to go through all of it. I'm with you on this one, kid. Don't suppose I need to warn you what'll happen if you double-cross me, though? No Bats, no police on this, and you have yourself a part-time job working with me to take down the drug front in your parents' company."

Tim was fully aware that Red Hood was Dangerous, capital D. The duffle bag full of heads and the ensuing, brief gang war was only one example of how brutal the drug lord could be. He had no desire to experience that brutality firsthand, so he nodded.

"Of course. Wouldn't dream of it. Then do we have ourselves a deal?"

Red Hood held out his hand. "Yeah."

Tim shook it. "Pleasure doing business with you. Where should I show up tomorrow with my hard drive?"

"Don't have it on you?" Red Hood asked, pulling out a burner phone. "You might be smarter than I thought. Put your number into this, and I'll text you with all the details."

Tim took the phone and punched his number in. This was going so much better than he had hoped. Hell yeah, this was a terrible idea, but at least it was working. He slid the phone back across the table after sending himself a quick text. 

"Gonna head out, then," Hood said, standing up. "Hate to leave alone with your dinner, but I have shit to blow up and people to intimidate. You know how it is. No rest for the wicked."

"That's perfectly fine," Tim said. "I can't imagine how busy you must be running a criminal empire. But before you leave, here's my resume and cover letter." 

He handed a folder to Red Hood, who took it and tucked it under his arm. Tim hoped the crime lord would take the time to read it because he had worked hard on those. It had been really difficult to take his non-experience and high school education and make it seem impressive. He gave it a minute after Hood had left the restaurant before dropping his head in his arms. This was going even better than he had hoped! Which was great and also terrible. Bruce would totally notice the change in schedule, especially because Tim had just told him he had no particular summer break plans. A help-wanted sign stuck to the door caught his eye. Huh, that could work.

Chapter Text

Tim showed up to Hood's base of operations promptly at 9:50, firmly not thinking about the fact that he had a ten-to-four, five-days-a-week job with a drug lord who was literally gunning for his alter ego. He had been expecting a stereotypical warehouse or maybe a set-up in some abandoned subway tunnels. But it looked like Hood had bought an honest-to-God office building; the only thing distinguishing it from any other regular building were the three guards, all openly carrying some pretty hefty firearms. One of them waved him over, giving him a reassuring smile. Tim took a deep breath and slipped his gala persona on. He didn't know what people would expect from him, so that seemed like his best bet.

"You must be Tim," one of the guards said. "Thought the Boss was joking when he said he hired an intern. I'm Lila."

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," Tim said, holding out his hand. First impressions were always important, after all. He had to make sure that Red Hood knew he was taking this opportunity seriously. 

She shook it. "Aren't you polite? Pat, you could take notes from him."

"Is this even legal?" another one of the guards said, sounding concerned. He looked Tim up and down. "I'm Miles, by the way."

"Is anything we do legal?" the last guard, presumably Pat, pointed out. "Other than the apartment buildings."

"Yeah, but look at him," Miles said, gesturing to all of him. "You're what, fourteen at most?"

"I'm fifteen," Tim said hotly. He wasn't that short or scrawny for his age.

"Well, you're real tiny for fifteen," Pat said. "Miles, is your kid this small?"

Miles shook his head. "Nah. But I'm gonna be honest, doesn't really matter what age Tim is. He's a kid, and I don't feel great about him getting mixed up in this business. Don't know what the boss is thinking dragging a teenager into this."

"I'm the one who approached Red Hood with this business proposition," Tim said. "And I assure you, I will be keeping my distance from most of the more illegal operations."

The more he could avoid Red Hood the better, actually. The crime lord was smart, and Tim had a whole bunch of secrets.

"Business proposition," Lila repeated, sounding highly amused. "Gonna tell us what that is, short stack?"

"I've noticed some rather alarming trends in data regarding drug deals in this area," Tim said. "I had one or two ideas about how to deal with that, and Red Hood agreed to hear my proposed solutions out."

"You're adorable, kid," Pat said, grinning. "But you don't have to treat this so seriously. This is a pretty relaxed workplace."

"If by relaxed," Hood said, coming out of the building to join them at the entrance. "You mean it's a miracle we get any work done around here, then yeah. It's a pretty relaxed workplace. Come on, Tim. Cleared out an area so you could have an office and work on whatchamacallit — the Red Dragon?"

"Nice talking to you," Tim said, and then he hurried after Hood into the building. Despite what he had said, everywhere Tim looked, people were hard at work. The floor plan seemed to be pretty open, with only a few walled-off areas. Long tables were scattered about, and several people were sitting down and working at computers. A couple groups were off to the sides, sitting in circles and having conversations that filled the entire place with the low hum of indecipherable talking. 

"First floor," Hood explained as they practically ran through it, "is where most of the work happens. You'd be surprised how much administration goes into running a crime empire. Basement is for labs; they'll want samples of the drugs if you can get them. You'll be up on the second with tech. Before I get you set up, I'm gonna introduce you to a couple people."

They bypassed the elevators for the stairs. Tim had to nearly sprint to keep up with Hood as they made their way up to the second floor. Why were his legs so big? Why was he so fast?

"If you need anything, you can always ask me," Hood said. "We just passed the breakroom, by the way. There's a kitchenette and fridge. Did you bring lunch?"

"I forgot it," Tim said. He'd been too busy trying to figure out what Hood had meant by business-casual dress code. By the time he had settled on a pair of khakis and a polo, he'd almost been late.

"I'll order takeout for the both of us, then," Hood said. "Anything in particular?"

"Really, don't worry about it," Tim said. 

"I guess I'll get Chinese, then," Hood said. "If you can't find me, talk to Isa. She oversees just about everything on the business side of things."

"So she's the CFO?" Tim asked. "Chief Financial Officer?"

He wasn't sure how much business vocabulary Red Hood knew or even how formal this operation was. What kind of hierarchy did they have? Was the financial side of Red Hood's operation separate from his more…active operations? There were so many questions that Tim really kinda didn't want to know the answer to. Plausible deniability and all that, right?

"Yeah," Hood said. "This is her office. She'll be overseeing you directly."

They stopped before a door covered in crayon drawings of various skills. Some looked like a toddler had happily scribbled over the lines of a coloring book, while others clearly showed time, effort, and a lot of care. Hood knocked before entering. 

"Isa, here's your intern, Tim," he said. "Tim, Isa."

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," Tim said.

"Glad to have you working with us," Isa said, getting up. "And call me Isa."

She was a short, tanned woman with black hair pulled into a tight bun. Her shirt was a truly eye-watering shade of pink dotted all over with palm leaves.

"Lou's turn to pick your shirt?" Hood asked. 

"How could you guess," she said drily. Then, for Tim's benefit, she added, "I let my kids pick my outfit every day, and Lou still hasn't forgiven me for going back to work. But I get health insurance, including dental and eye, and paid time off since I work here. Better pay than the job my husband has, too. I could even get pet insurance if I needed it. We'll discuss all the benefits you'll be getting after the tour of course. Do you have the information with you?"

Tim nodded, swinging his backpack around to the front so he could dig through it and pull the USB out. He handed it over, and Isa plugged it into her computer.

"While that's copying over," she said. "Why don't we continue the tour? I want to introduce you to a couple people you may be working with."

They did a round of the offices on the second floor before Red Hood had to leave to deal with something. Chris was the one-man HR team; there was a COO and several different managers, too. It was so normal that it was throwing Tim for a loop. For all intents and purposes, this was just another company, which was why it was so, well, strange. This morning, when he had been getting ready for work, he'd half expected that he'd end up in some half-abandoned building and be handed a beat-up Dell to work with while people cleaned guns, made drugs, or did whatever else a criminal gang did around him. Maybe extort someone? Instead, he was in some weird crossover between The Office and Leverage. Several people he passed were openly carrying guns or other weapons, but there was also a cork board in the breakroom detailing all the community bonding events coming up.

When Hood left, Isa took him to the chemistry labs in the basement and the tech ones on the second floor. Kaleigh, the RD head, happily took over that part of the tour, practically gushing about all the latest and very expensive equipment Hood had given them. To do what? She was very careful about not saying anything too specific, which Tim was perfectly fine with, even if he was just a little curious. Why did Red Hood need such a complicated business backing all the crime he did?

He even had his own office. Tim had thought Hood was joking about that. Sure, it was tiny, but it was his, and there was even a window that looked out into the street with a potted plant catching some of the light. He had a double monitor and a work laptop, although Isa told him there was no pressure to work at home and that if he did, he should log it to make sure he got paid.

And the benefits were pretty comprehensive. Tim obviously didn't need dental or Rouge attack insurance, but he would've been set if he did. Even though he was only a part-time intern, he also got two weeks off of paid leave. Speaking of which, he was getting paid twenty dollars and fifty cents an hour. If this was how he was treating his intern, no wonder everyone wanted to work for Red Hood.

"I'm the one who asked Red Hood for a job," Tim pointed out when Isa handed him the wage form. 

"And?" Isa asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I didn't think he was going to pay me for this," Tim said, signing. "Considering he wasn't exactly looking for an intern."

"There's none of that unpaid intern crap around here," Isa said. "Do you know your information to set up direct deposit?"

Tim did, and he wasn't about to argue against getting paid. There was a lot of onboarding to do, after all. They had just finished up all the paperwork (which meant it was time for a couple hours of training videos, oh joy) when Isa checked her phone and laughed.

"Red Hood told me I need to get you to the kitchen," she said, pocketing it again. "Come on, we don't starve interns around here."

Red Hood had been serious about ordering him lunch? Tim followed Isa to the kitchen, wondering what exactly the crime lord was playing at. Because all of this? Getting paid, free lunch, and his own office space in what was clearly Red Hood's center of command? That was all so much more than what Tim had been expecting. 

Had he somehow figured out that Tim was Robin? There was that comment he had made at Denny's. Was this all about keeping his enemies close? Was this all some sort of trap? Because while Tim hadn't ever worked a job before, he knew very well how Drake Industries was run. Interns certainly weren't getting five dollars above the minimum wage and their own space to work. Neither were their bosses getting them food. 

Even Wayne Industries, the best place to work in Gotham, wouldn't have gone this far for a kid who had just demanded an internship, would they? Tim made a mental note to check the requirements for interns there and what kind of benefits they received.

"So what do you think, kid?" Red Hood asked, handing him a carton of stir-fried udon noodles.

"This is an extremely well-organized business, sir," Tim said, taking the food. 

Hood's voice modulator crackled with static. A laugh, maybe? "I'm not just here to run a gang, you know? Or knock some sense into Gotham's underworld and sell drugs. The point is to make Crime Alley better, and that's gonna take a lot of hard work from a lot of different and talented people like Isa."

"Thanks, Hood," Isa said, grabbing a salad from the fridge. "And yes, this is a business. Admittedly an unorthodox one, but money has to be made to keep all the operations running and someone has to oversee said operations. Hood is the one calling the shots and deciding what we're going to do, but there are over a hundred people who make sure those plans happen. I never thought I would use my accounting degree to become a drug lord's lieutenant, but Hood's a good boss, and what I'm doing here makes a difference. I'll be in my office if you need anything, Tim."

"Thank you, Isa," he said. Did she really have to leave him alone with Red Hood?

"See you later, Isa," Red Hood said. "So I'm guessing this isn't exactly what you were expecting?" 

Tim shook his head no. "I've never had an office job before. I'm incredibly thankful for this opportunity you've given me. This really means a lot to me, sir."

Red Hood laughed again. "You don't have to be so tense, kid. And call me Hood; everyone else does."

"Of course, Hood," Tim said.

"So Isa told me I should run through some basic rules we have around the place," Red Hood said. Tim hurriedly pulled a notebook from his bag, ready to take notes. "The dress code is business casual like I mentioned last night. Jeans, as long as they don't have holes in them, are fine, as are sneakers. Just make sure you wear a nice top or something. And make sure you mind your own business. While you're here to work on Drake Industries' drug problem, you might also be pulled to other projects. We're currently looking for another accountant, so we're a little short-staffed at the moment. But unless Isa has expressly invited you to work on something, if you hear about another project, no, you didn't. You get me?"

Tim nodded, frantically writing everything down.

"If anyone harasses you or gives you grief, talk to me or Isa immediately about it," Hood added. "Don't care who it is, could even be my second in command. We've got a strict no-bullying policy, alright?"

Tim nodded again. "Of course."

"If you make a mistake, own up to it," Hood continued. "We're all human; don't try to sweep something under the rug. It'll just cause more problems down the line. If you can't get something done within a deadline, let Isa know, alright? And I think that's it. Text me if you have any more questions. I've got some shit I've gotta be doing, and I'm pretty sure you have the next two hours blocked out for training. Feel free to leave after that. We'll start working on your Red Dragon idea tomorrow."

"Thank you again, Red Hood," Tim said. "Again, I really appreciate everything you've done for me."

"Don't thank me yet, kid," Hood said.

And with that ominous statement, he left the room. Tim stared at the fridge for a moment, trying to remember how to breathe. It was covered in photos of pets and cute little magnets. Were any of the animals Red Hood's? It was so bizarre to think of the man having a civilian life. It was almost as strange as seeing him interact with Isa and everyone else.

That was going to be the worst part about this internship, keeping separate Red Hood, the surprisingly good boss, and Red Hood, the murderous Rouge who was out for Batman's blood and didn't seem to mind if that meant he had to go through Robin or Nightwing to do so. Tim got up, grabbed the takeout Red Hood had ordered, and went back to his office. Crises over his new boss' murderous tendencies could wait after he had watched all the endless videos about payroll and phishing and how to avoid scams. There were quizzes, too, which meant he couldn't just let the videos run on mute while he actually got to work.

Halfway through, Isa knocked on the door and asked for his sweatshirt size. Chris swung by a bit later to introduce him to Courtney, the office manager. She'd been out when Isa had been introducing him to everyone else. Sydney, the COO, came by with a donut for him and for a quick chat. Everyone seemed so friendly and normal. Tim could almost trick himself into believing he was working a regular job.

When he wrapped up training, he stopped by Isa's office to tell her he was going home. She handed him another pile of papers.

"Just printed these off," she said. "You can find them on our online portal as well. They cover what to do if you're shot, stabbed, or in some other way harmed, as well as other safety policies."

"Shot?" he repeated curiously. 

"It might happen," Isa said. "Occasionally, if one of the crew finds something unusual, they'll bring it directly here. And I swear the guys in chem and tech try to find a new way to break a safety rule every day. But you don't have to worry about that. This is all just a precaution. It's better to have a protocol in place that'll never be used than need one and not have it."

"I'll do my best to avoid getting injured," he said.

"Glad to hear," Isa said. "Looking forward to working with you this summer."

"Same," he said, putting the papers in his bag. "I'll see you around. Can't wait to get started."

He could, actually, but this was the right thing to do. After this first day, talking to all the regular people who made up Hood's operation, Tim was a little more confident that he had made the best choice. Drake's drug manufacturing would go down, and Red Hood would never discover he was Robin. It was all going to be perfectly fine.

Chapter Text

There was a knock at Tim's door, and someone poked their head in. "Tim, right? I'm Ryan. I work in the chem labs. I need a favor."

"Yes?" Tim asked, looking up from his work. Isa had asked him to update and provide new analysis for the labor efficiency and standard burden spreadsheets before he started working on ruining Drake Industries' drug operations from the financial side. She wanted him to become familiar with the systems and how Red Hood ran his operations, so she'd given him this introductory project to help with that. The deadline to wrap that up was in seven days; Tim was going to get it done in four, and he was coding user-friendly dashboards for all the sheets to boot. He really hoped whatever Ryan wanted would be quick.

"Are you busy?" Ryan asked. "I can come back later. It's no big deal."

"No, not really," Tim said, closing his laptop and shutting down the monitors. "I'm happy to help with whatever you need. What's up?"

"We have this thing we do whenever we get new hires," Ryan said. "Where we get them to prank Red Hood."

"What?" Tim asked after a moment. This sounded like workplace hazing, right? Pranking a drug lord had to be workplace hazing. What had the workplace safety videos said about that? All of a sudden, he was wishing he'd paid attention in training.

"And he's gone all day," Ryan said. "This almost never happens. You can pull off something really crazy."

"You want me to prank Red Hood?" Tim repeated.

Ryan nodded. "Last time, the new guys filled his office with balloons. Pretty sure the time before that was sticky notes. So whatcha thinking about? Since you were a spontaneous hire, a bunch of us offered to pitch in to help you."

"And this is a thing all new hires have to do," Tim said slowly. "Can I speak with Isa real quick?"

"Sure," Ryan said with a laugh, stepping aside as Tim left his office. "I know it sounds crazy, but it really is something we all do."

"I don't doubt you," Tim said quickly. 

"But you want your manager to okay it," Ryan said. "I get it."

"Isa?" Tim asked, stopping by her brightly decorated office door. It was slightly ajar, so he didn't feel bad about interrupting her. "I have a quick question."

"Is this about the prank?" Isa asked, looking up from her own work. "Yup, this is something all the new hires end up having to do."

"Really?" Tim asked.

Isa nodded. "Hood always finds it funny. You don't have to worry about his reaction, Tim. He's perfectly fine with whatever happens as long as it isn't permanent, and the people who caused the mess clean it up."

"Okay," Tim said. Alright. This was a thing that he was doing today. He was going to prank the guy who had left a duffle bag of heads on the GCPD doorstep. Seemed like a perfectly safe thing to do. 

"So what are you thinking?" Ryan asked.

He thought about it for a second. He'd never pranked someone before, but he'd seen some examples online. "We could gift wrap everything in his office?" That seemed simple and tame. How crazy could it get?

"Okay," Ryan said, pulling out a walkie-talkie. "A classic. I respect that. Do you wanna be part of the Walmart crew grabbing supplies, or do you wanna stick around to help prep?"

"I'll stay," Tim said.

"And I'll put in an order of pizza for the whole team, so ask whoever's running vans to pick that up, too," Isa added.

Ryan nodded, relaying the information over the walkie-talkie. "Alright, let's head over to Hood's office and start shifting furniture out."

"We're moving furniture?" Tim asked. That seemed a little excessive.

"Yeah, because if we're going to do this, we're going to do this right," Ryan said with a feral grin. "Come on."

Tim sighed as his plans of getting any work down today vanished. He followed Ryan to Red Hood's office, where a group of people were already waiting.

"So Tim, you're in charge of all of us," Ryan said, gesturing to the group. "Why don't you introduce yourself and start directing?"

What Tim wanted to say was that they should all head back to their offices and work spaces because, clearly, this was turning into an entire day type of thing that was roping in a lot of the office. And while Red Hood might not mind the occasional workplace prank, taking so much time and so many people to pull one off was probably pushing it. But instead of saying all of that (or screaming), he said, "Hi everyone, I'm Tim. I'm the new finance intern working with Isa to simplify, streamline, and update financials. I guess we can start by moving out all the smaller furniture items? Then we should wait for people to get back with the wrapping tape."

"I have streamers," someone offered. "And balloons leftover from last time. We can hang them up from the ceiling."

"I'll grab the window markers," someone else added. "Hey, Speedbump, did you keep up with those art classes?"

"Yeah," presumably Speedbump said. "What do you think, Tim?"

"Sure?" Tim said faintly. "Go for it. Why not." 

What the hell was going on? Better question, was Tim going to be the fall guy for all of this? This was all turning out to be a lot more than he had been expecting.

As they cleared out Red Hood's office and decorated it with the supplies they had, people took a moment to introduce themselves and talk a little bit about why they were working for Red Hood. It would've been a nice way to meet a lot of his coworkers if Tim could've ignored the feeling that this was a Very Bad Idea.

The group had also spilled out into the hallway area near the office since so many people had decided to chip in that they all couldn't fit in the office. It was chaos, but Tim gradually found himself having fun even if he wasn't quite relaxed. His coworkers certainly couldn't be called boring, at the very least. 

The Walmart guys showed up just around the time they were running out of things to do. Everyone took a break for pizza, sitting wherever they wanted on the floor. Josie sat down next to Tim and Speedbump, whose real name was Kieran. Together, they were drawing a deep-sea-themed landscape on Hood's windows. The two of them were doing a pretty complicated, fantastical design. It actually looked pretty impressive.

"So why do people call you Speedbump?" Tim asked curiously.

"You can thank Josie for that," Kieran said.

"Are you really never going to let me forget this?" Josie asked. "What else was I supposed to do? We had to stop that car."

"A bunch of my siblings are in high school," Kieran explained. "It's about thirty minutes from my parent's apartment walking, so sometimes Josie lets me borrow her minivan to pick them up."

"Because I'm awesome like that," Josie added.

"That you are. Anyways, my siblings let me know that one of the teachers was selling shitty weed to the students after classes," Kieran continued. "It was making people sick. This was before either of us knew Red Hood, so it wasn't like we could tell him about it. We figured we had to do something ourselves, and we had this plan and everything to catch him. But one day, when we were waiting for the kids to get out, hanging out by the school, Josie saw the guy in his car heading for the street. So you know what she did? She threw me in front of the car."

Josie shrugged. "Like I said, what else was I supposed to do? And I knew this guy was going to stop because he was clearly pretty nervous about dealing weed. Besides, he wasn't going very fast."

"Well, we stopped the guy, made it clear that that wasn't gonna fly anymore, and then called the cops," Kieran said. "But that's why everyone calls me Speedbump now."

"And how we ended up here," Josie added. "We were both seniors in college when that happened. I was studying chemical engineering and hated it. Kieran double majored in pure mathematics and econ and loved it. Neither of us had any idea what we were gonna do afterwards, though, but Red Hood found us since everyone was talking about how we caught the creep at the school. It's a pretty good job for post-college."

"Seems like it," Tim said.

"And you, Tim?" Kieran asked. "How did Hood find you?"

"I found him," Tim said. "I like computer science, and I'm good at picking up on things. I was playing around with a couple algorithms tracking crime across the city and noticed some alarming drug trends in Crime Alley. I figured Red Hood might be interested in hearing about it; I didn't think I'd end up with an internship, though. It's been a lot of fun so far."

"Alright, people," Ryan called from the other end of the hallway, standing up. "We've got a lot of gift-wrapping to do. Tim, how do you want to break this up?"

"Solid colors on the walls near his office," Tim said, standing up as well. "Plaid and fun patterns inside and for all the furniture. I know we got a couple rolls of paper with glitter on them, too, which we can use on the knick-knacks on his desk and his tea cabinet."

"Let's go, folks," Ryan said, clapping his hands.

"Guess lunch is over," Kieran said, dumping his and Tim's trash on Josie's plate. 

"Hey," Josie spluttered, but she took it all to the trash can regardless.

They wrapped up the wrapping pretty quickly. All told, the whole production had only taken four or so hours to pull off. By the end of it, Hood's windows had been entirely covered by sea monsters, fish, and whales. Balloons hung from the ceiling and covered the floor. Everything had been meticulously gift-wrapped, from the desk to the pencils. Kieran and Josie had also done some doodles on the hallway's windows, and a couple of balloons were scattered here and there in the hallway, too.

Tim offered to finish the work he should have been doing afterwards for free, since it was four o'clock and he was technically off, but Isa wouldn't hear of it.

"If you're going to do work, you're going to get paid," she said. "And you're fifteen, so I won't let you work for more than six hours. It's the summer; you should be having fun. I'm sure you have friends you'd like to hang out with or things you'd rather be doing."

Tim didn't, actually. All his friends were traveling, and the only thing he had waiting for him at home was frozen lasagna for dinner and summer reading. Continuing to work on the spreadsheets sounded like a much better option. He'd just do it in his room back at Drake Manor instead of his office.

"Thanks, Isa," he said. "I'll head out, then."

"See you around," she said with a smile.

But as he headed home, a much better idea struck him. Tim knew at least one of the Drake Industries' drug labs locations. Red Hood could use information about the physical lab, and it wouldn't be that difficult to hack into his servers and leave photos. 

He got home and ate dinner while pulling together what he needed for his late-night photography session. It had been a while, but he still had all the stuff lying around — pocket knife, pepper spray, fake wallet, and fake phone. He threw on mostly black clothing and was headed towards Robbinsville by 5:45. That gave him three hours before he'd have to get back for patrol.

He'd only been out for thirty minutes when he heard a familiar mechanized drawl behind him.

"I'm sure you have a great explanation for why you're out here."

Tim didn't guiltily turn around because he had nothing to be guilty about. He was just staring at the street because whatever mystery liquid was on it had formed a very interesting pattern. Was that blood? Probably. "I do, actually."

Red Hood honest-to-God crossed his arms. "Go on."

"I like city night photography," Tim said. It was technically the truth.

"Yeah," said Red Hood. "I'm sure you do. You know what I don't like? Letting you run around this city at night, especially when your parents aren't even in the country."

"How do you know that?" Tim asked.

"Did some digging into your family's background," Red Hood said. "I was curious about why you thought I was your best option."

"Like I said," Tim said. "Police aren't an option. This can't become breaking news. Not entirely sure what else I could do."

"And so your brilliant plan was hoping a drug lord would be willing to help you out," Red Hood said flatly.

"You aren't the only one who's done some digging," Tim said. "You're doing a lot of good, Red Hood. I could trust you the most to do the right thing out of everyone. Besides, everyone knows that you don't hurt kids."

There was a beat of silence. "Well, flattery isn't going to change my mind, kid. Head home or I'll make you head home. And trust me, you don't want that."

"Why do you care?" Tim found himself asking before he could think about how smart it was to question a drug lord.

"'Cause you're my intern," Red Hood said. "And I'm pretty sure it violates every OSHA workplace regulation and rule to let my intern sneak into drug labs at night to take pictures in the most crime-ridden city in the US."

"It could help," Tim pointed out. "The sooner we take down this part of Drake Industries, the better, right? It's just some photos."

"I can do it myself, but thanks," Red Hood said.

Tim sighed. There went his plans. He'd just have to head out another night and be more careful since Red Hood was apparently hanging around Robbinsville now. "Fine, I'll head back."

"I'll walk you over to the gas station and wait until your Uber shows up," Red Hood said.

"You don't have to do that," Tim said.

"I don't want to spend the rest of my night tracking you down," Red Hood said. "Order the Uber, and let's get going."

Tim rolled his eyes but pulled out his phone. He showed Red Hood that he had ordered the ride before pushing past him to get out of the alley. Neither of them said anything as they walked over to the gas station or waited for the Uber. Red Hood seemed busy, checking something on his phone. This was all so embarrassing. Tim couldn't believe he'd been caught sneaking out by Red Hood. Okay, no, that part made sense. What he didn't get was why Red Hood cared.

Chapter Text

Red Hood knocked before entering Tim's office. Glass, the stray alley cat that the office had collectively adopted, opened her good eye to study him for a moment before she went back to sleep on Tim's lap.

"She knocked over every single mug on the first floor," Red Hood said, leaning against the doorway. "I'd keep a close eye on her."

"Yeah?" Tim said, running a hand over her patchy cream and orange coat. "You woke up and chose violence today, Glass? You wanted to mess with the accountants? Well, I know you'd never break my stuff, right?"

"If she knocks over your plant, the broom is in my office," Red Hood said. 

"Glass would never betray me like that," Tim said, looking up. "Is there anything you need, Hood?"

"Wanted to see how your first week was," Hood said. "Anything you need? Anything you'd like me to know about?"

It was still so strange to see Red Hood at the office. Tim didn't think he would ever get used to the dissonance caused by having Bat Priority Number One as his (pretty decent) work manager. He couldn't think of anything more Gotham, though.

"No, I'm good."

"Are you sure?" Red Hood asked. "You're looking pretty tired. Did you pull an all-nighter?"

Tim had, actually. Riddler had held the power grid hostage last night. Batman and Robin had wrapped up the last of his puzzles around five. He was running on Zesti and sheer spite, basically, along with a hefty dose of Advil. Maybe too much Advil, honestly, but everything hurt. He should've brought some with him.

Red Hood had also been up late, too. He had chased Batman out of Crime Alley around one or two. And at three, Tim had been running for his life from some Riddler goons and had quite literally tripped over Red Hood. 

"I was reading and lost track of time," Tim said, then mentally face-palmed. Why had he said that, and not something like video games? He didn't read. Red Hood did, though. He had two bookshelves filled with well-worn books in his office.

"Oh, what book?" Red Hood asked, leaning against the door frame. 

Fuck. "Fahrenheit 451 ? I'm reading it for summer work. It's a surprisingly interesting commentary on the dangers of media saturation. I thought that Bradbury's take on how a dystopia forms was so cool. His warning that when people are prevented from reading, they cede a lot of power to the government because they stop thinking for themselves is more relevant now than ever."

No, it wasn't. Tim opened it a few weeks back and had made it roughly half a chapter before googling Fahrenheit 451 important themes. He really hoped that he had made at least some sense.

"That's a real page turner." With the helmet, Tim couldn't get a read on whether or not Red Hood was being sarcastic. "So, media saturation? Whatcha mean by that?"

"We have to be careful that there's diversity in the media we consume," Tim said, fully aware that that made no sense. "Both in type and content."

"Huh," Red Hood said. "You're lucky you had a backup generator last night. You know, with Riddler fucking everyone over by taking out the power grid. He can be such an annoying little bitch sometimes, you know?"

"Yeah," Tim said. 

"If you need a nap," Red Hood said after a moment. "You can always crash on the couch in the room down the hall. The door locks from the inside. There should be some tea that helps with sleep in the breakroom cabinets, too."

"Thanks," Tim said quickly.

"See you around, Timmers," Red Hood said, finally leaving.

Glass mrred, bapping at his hand since he had stopped petting her. When Tim didn't start again, she unsheathed her claws.

"Sorry," he muttered, stroking her again. Red Hood was a fantastic boss. Everyone loved him. Why wouldn't they? He kept the break rooms stocked with snacks and drinks. There were so many benefits to working for him. Pay was actually competitive. He was the one feeding and taking care of Glass, and he pretended like he didn't know that some of the guys were trying to befriend a stray dog, too. 

Despite all that, Tim couldn't relax around him. Red Hood was such a threat that Batman was worried. He had cracked ribs because of his run-in with the crime lord last night. When Tim had run into him, Red Hood had snapped his bo staff in half. He hadn't stuck around to see what the Rouge had done next. The crime lord hated anyone associated with the Bat like few other Rogues did and had the skills to be a threat.

"Maybe I will take a nap," Tim said. "Are you gonna be mad if I stand up, Glass? I think I need one after botching that conversation so badly."

He had to be on top of his game when he came to work. There couldn't be any slip-ups. Tim couldn't imagine what would happen if Red Hood connected him to Robin, mostly because he couldn't imagine Red Hood deliberately hurting him. And that was a dangerous thought. Tim couldn't allow himself to become comfortable around the crime lord. He just had to remember that behind the twelve sessions of therapy paid for each year and childcare was a terrifying Rogue who wasn't afraid to literally send heads rolling. Easy-peasy.

Tim sighed. He didn't want to take a nap. There were so many better things he could be doing than sleeping. But he was still adjusting to the summer patrol schedule, and he was exhausted, and he was probably going to put his foot in his mouth again if someone else talked to him, and he really couldn't afford that . He stood up, and Glass landed on the floor with a startled hiss.

"Sorry," he said. 

She swiped at his ankle, hissing again, and stared up at him with utter and complete betrayal in her hazel eyes.

"I'll grab you a treat from the breakroom," he promised, hurrying out of the office and down the hallway. The room with the couch was painted a cheery yellow and had a fluffy white carpet. A couple of crocheted blankets were thrown over the back of the sofa, and the desk by the window was covered in potted plants.

He locked the door before flopping down on the ridiculously comfortable couch and staring up at the ceiling. A sudden thought hit him: why did Red Hood hate Batman and Robin so much? B had been looking into it, but now he was mostly focused on discovering Red Hood's weakness so he could drag him into Arkham. Maybe that was something Tim could focus on while he had this summer job.

So what did he know? After a minute's contemplation, nothing other than the obvious. Red Hood was genuinely invested in improving Crime Alley, seemed like a decent guy all around, and wouldn't hesitate to kill Batman if given the chance. (Tim really hoped that the crime lord would have at least some remorse for shooting Robin.) Yes, he was ruthless, but only to those who crossed him somehow. He didn't go around shooting people at random. Every target was calculated. Each person who ended up dead had a good reason for ending up dead.

Clearly Red Hood thought that Batman deserved to die (which was a fucking terrifying thought). It could be a general stance against vigilantism, but that didn't seem likely considering that Red Hood was as much a vigilante as he was a crime lord. Tim moved that theory to the mental list of Possible, but Highly Unlikely. Batman could've sent one of his close friends to jail, maybe even a family member. Just as likely, Batman could've failed to save a close friend or family member. Maybe even Batman had failed to save him. There had to be a reason that Red Hood always wore a helmet. Maybe he was covering some kind of scar? Those three theories were much likelier, but it didn't help narrow down the question of why at all. 

Tim closed his eyes. The black eye he'd gotten from a particularly lucky Riddler goon was throbbing, and he had a terrible headache. The lights weren't helping him concentrate.

Someone had been let down by Batman. Maybe that someone was Red Hood himself or someone close to him, but that didn't matter. Red Hood was furious, and he was making that Batman's problem. And while Tim had originally agreed that Red Hood needed an extended stay in Arkham, after looking at a bunch of Crime Alley statistics and working with the crime lord, he was less convinced that it would do any good. In fact, it would probably be a disaster. A completely, fucking, total disaster which would probably lead to a city-wide gang war as Crime Alley crumbled without its protector. Besides his feud with Batman, Red Hood wasn't hurting anyone who didn't deserve it. While Tim wished that he had less violent methods, maybe Red Hood was best left alone to do his own thing. Questionable methodology aside, the crime lord was doing actual good.

What Tim needed to do was find out Red Hood's identity. If he found out who was behind the mask and what had happened, he could discover why Red Hood was so angry at Batman. Then, he could figure out some way of making Red Hood less furious. Finding out where Red Hood had received training that allowed him to rival Batman and who had supported him early on — because clearly someone had been supplying him with tech and connections in the beginning — would also be nice. Maybe he could start looking at a list of people willing to take on apprentices who could give Batman a run for his money? 

But how could he find that list without alerting Batman? And on top of this, he still had to figure out the whole Drake Industries drug problem. Great. How was he supposed to balance all of that when he was so tired? Well, pretending to rest was better than not even trying, right? Maybe he could just take five minutes with his eyes closed and then think about all the problems he had to deal with after that. Five minutes seemed like enough time to fix his headache.

Tim jolted awake some unspecified amount of time later. Another knock sounded at the door.

"Coming," he said, scrambling off the couch. What time was it? How long had he been asleep for? He unlocked the door, and Red Hood held up a bag of takeout — Italian, this time.

"You've been out for a couple of hours, kid," Red Hood said. "Figured you'd want some lunch."

A couple of hours? Damn it, he had things to be doing. On top of the Red Hood mystery and Drake Industries' drug problem, Isa wanted him to combine the current gun shipping and distribution routing data with the historical data, which had the amount of manpower and machinery previous gun operations had used to see if their current standards made sense. 

"Man, you're really out of it, Timber," Red Hood said.

"Sorry," Tim said quickly, taking the bag from him. "I'm still half-asleep. Thanks for waking me up and grabbing me lunch."

"No problem," Red Hood said with a shrug. "And I stopped by CVS and grabbed you a bottle of extra-strength Advil."

"Thanks," Tim said slowly. "Why do I need it?"

Red Hood snorted. "That makeup job is decent, but it's hard to completely hide a black-eye."

"I tripped," Tim said. "Last night. When the power was off and before the generator kicked in."

"Yeah," Red Hood said. "Seems like you had a busy night yesterday. I'll be in my office if you need anything."

He left. Tim stared at the bag momentarily and then went back to his office. He stopped by the breakroom to grab the bag of treats from the breakroom, but he was too late to buy Glass' loyalty; the cat had knocked over his actual mug, the mug where he kept all his pencils and pens, and his plant. She stood in the midst of the chaos, glaring at him, and then stalked out of his office.

Great. That was exactly what he needed today. Tim left the takeout bag on his desk and went to Red Hood's office to grab the broom.

"I'll see if I can find another pot for your plant," Red Hood offered, grabbing the broom and dustpan from his dustpan. "Actually, why don't you go find Marc? He should have a couple of extras and some dirt. I'll clean up for you."

"You don't have to do that," Tim said. "It was my fault for leaving Glass in my office."

"I don't want you to get cut on the glass, and I can't find the rubber gloves," Red Hood said. 

So Tim found himself running all over the place, looking for Marc. He turned out to be one of the chemists who specialized in Poison Ivy's toxins and had a green thumb that rivaled everyone except her. His office had dozens of different plants, and apparently, Red Hood had even given him his own greenhouse to play around in. He'd gotten a bachelor's degree in organic chemistry and bioengineering from MIT and a master's in biochemistry from Caltech. Gotham had attracted him because of Poison Ivy, of course. Working with and studying her plants and pollens in depth was a dream come true. The man knew a lot about Poison Ivy's plant, like a concerning amount. 

Tim learned this while Marc dug around his office for another pot and the right kind of soil. He hadn't really thought about the fact that different plants would need different types of soils, and only narrowly managed to deflect another rambling lecture that he wouldn't entirely understand by asking Marc what his favorite plant was. Eventually, he managed to make his escape with a pot and two more plants in hand. 

Hood laughed when Tim finally made it back to his office. "I'll admit, the offer to clean up here wasn't entirely altruistic. Marc's a great guy, but he tends to get a little excited about plants. If Poison Ivy started hiring people, I'm sure he'd quit here in a heartbeat."

"His dream is to meet Poison Ivy," Tim said, just a little flabbergasted. He never understood the people who wanted to meet the Gotham Rogues.

"Yeah, I'm trying to set that up," Red Hood said. "Anyways, I cleaned up the area. I'd keep your door shut if you're not in the office for a couple of weeks until Glass has decided to forgive you."

"You're trying to set up a meeting between Marc and Poison Ivy?" Tim asked, surprised. He temporarily put the two new plants on his desk while he repotted the third. Marc had said he'd come by sometime to make sure they were all thriving, and Tim didn't want to know what would happen if he killed one of them. "Does that seem smart?"

Red Hood shrugged. "Everyone deserves a chance at having their dreams come true, or at least some of them. This is pretty easy, all things considered."

He left the room, and Tim closed the door behind him. He really had to focus during the rest of the day. Because of that impromptu nap and botany lecture, he was hours behind. And he really wanted to show Isa he knew what he was doing. So he grabbed the Alfredo that Hood had bought him — it had broccoli in it, really? — cracked open the bottle of water in the bag, chugging it along with a couple of advil before turning on his computer. He had work to do, and he was going to do a fantastic job. Tim had no idea how to tackle the whole Red Hood situation, and he was mostly just hoping at this point that everything would work out with Drake Industries, but at the very least, he knew his way around an Excel sheet.

Chapter Text

Robin meant everything to Tim. It was his chance to be something more than the everyday and the ordinary. He could fly when he put the suit on, and he wasn't talking just about the parkour or grappling from building to building. Being Robin meant he had a purpose and a place; he could make a difference.

That didn't mean, though, that he heavily regretted his choice of hobbies some nights. When it was too late after a series of too-late nights, and he was running from his life because Gotham was a fucking nightmare (this particular night, it happened to be that a small-time car chopping gang was packing surprisingly heavy artillery), Tim cursed himself out mentally for his life decisions. Seriously, couldn't painting have become his core personality trait? Gardening? Anything that would have ended up with him getting shot at less? He could've taken up macrame, but no, he'd gone with the vigilantism route; the stalking had been the start of a slippery route into this: dodging into the sketchiest alleys Gotham had to offer, weaving around dumpsters and ducking behind miscellaneous junk heaps.

Tim focused on his breathing as he jumped a fence for the umpteenth time. He didn't know why this crew was so focused on gunning him down; they'd been at this for nearly forty-five minutes now, the people chasing him swapping out as cars came swerving out of the darkness to try to cut him off. Seriously. They were dealing in car parts. It wasn't like he'd interrupted a drug deal or a weapons trade. 

He was starting to run out of breath, but he didn't have any better ideas than 'run fast'. There was no backup — Batman was caught up with something on the other side of town. Fighting them wasn't an option, since he was so outnumbered and outgunned. And he couldn't lose them, no matter what he tried. It was starting to edge from annoying to worrying. 

He skidded into an alley and cursed. Focused on his breathing and hyper-aware of the guys sprinting after him, he hadn't noticed that it was a dead-end. Fuck. He was in so much trouble. Tim slowly turned around, extending his bo staff and holding it out in front of him. Five guys stood in the alley entrance; a car pulled up behind them. He’d faced worse odds. 

"Alright," Tim said. "I can admire the commitment to the bit. But I'm sure you guys have more cars to steal, and I should probably head home. If you want, I can tell everybody you guys beat me up."

"Real funny, kid," Goon No. 1 drawled. His guns were holstered. Somewhere, he’d found a pipe. That wasn’t good. That was really not good.

"What if I apologized for wrecking your warehouse?" Tim offered. "And I promise I won't even tell Batman where it's located."

"Gonna enjoy this, brat," Goon No. 2 said, taking a step forward. He had a length of chain in his hands. 

"You know, I don't think you will," Red Hood said, landing with a dull thud as he jumped down from the fire escape. The entire alley froze until one of the guys dared to raise a gun. Faster than Tim could track, Red Hood whipped out his guns and shot each man in the left hand. 

"You'll be heading out," Red Hood said calmly over the swearing and shouts. “Now.”

The men all scrambled back towards their beat up Kia SUV. Red Hood didn’t wait to see them go, turning around to face him. He knelt down so he wasn’t towering over Tim. He couldn’t stop the flinch, but his grip on his bo staff didn’t waver. Whatever Red Hood wanted, Tim wouldn’t give it to him easy.

“You alright, Robin?" His voice was surprisingly gentle.

"Uh," Tim said, taking a step back. “You know, I’ve been better.”

"Not gonna hurt you, kid," Red Hood said, holstering his guns before holding up his hands.  

What the hell was going on? Had he just been saved by Red Hood? Was that even Red Hood? The costume looked the same, but it was pretty generic — leather jacket, beat up black cargo pants, a red motorcycle helmet — so it would be pretty easy to fake. The only thing missing from the whole get-up was the murderous, vengeful intent directed at Batman and anyone working with him.

Telegraphing his movements, Red Hood reached into his leather jacket and slowly pulled out a water bottle. He rolled it over to Tim, who considered it doubtfully for the moment. Well, if Red Hood wanted to kill or incapacitate him, there would be easier ways. Tim collapsed his bo staff and bent down to grab the water; he cracked it open and drained half of it in one go. So now what? Stall until Batman could arrive? 

"Do you really carry water bottles everywhere you go?" 

"It's a big leather jacket," Red Hood said. "It can hold a lot of things."

Tim took another moment to take a couple more deep breaths. "Sorry."

"For what?" Red Hood asked. 

"For running into Crime Alley," Tim said. "I can go. I didn’t mean to cross into your territory."

"Where's Batman?" Red Hood asked. “Thought he would be here by now.”

"I can go," Tim said, taking another step back. His back brushed against the wall. That was just great. He really hoped that this wasn't about to turn into another 'run-for-his-life' situation. He hated cardio.

"You know, one of my guys called this in," Red Hood said. "Said a kid was being chased by a bunch of Ellen's guys. Neglected to mention that it was you , though. Probably for the best, right?"

"I'm really, really sorry about running into Crime Alley," Tim tried again. Defuse, distract. That was all he could do at the moment. Keep talking until Batman showed up and dealt with the situation. "It won't happen again. I don’t make a habit of pissing off guys that carry more than six guns on them."

Red Hood sighed (or maybe laughed?), the modulator turning it into a burst of static. "What I'm trying to say is that I did a good job hiring my guys, 'cause they picked up on something I didn't. You're just a kid, Robin. And it was a real shitty thing for me to do to shoot you."

Wait, "Was?"

"Won't go aiming for you anymore," Red Hood promised. "And if you're out with the Bat, won't shoot at him anymore, either. Don't want you to get caught in the crossfires of a fight that isn’t yours. You've already got enough on your plate. How's the eye?"

Tim abruptly forgot how to breathe. Red Hood hadn’t figured him out, right?  "Please don't tell me you saw me eat shit after that Riddler goon decked me," he said, keeping his voice level. There was no way, right? He could know. There was no way he could know. 

“No,” Red Hood said, like he wasn’t upending Tim’s world. “Makeup’s good, but the skin around your eye looks puffy. You wince every time you blink.”

Tim’s domino covered the top part of his face. There was no way Red Hood could have noticed that Robin had a black-eye. But Tim? His finance intern? He’d brought it up earlier. And now he was making a point of bringing it up again. Why? Tim forced himself to take a deep breath, ready for the crime lord’s next move.

Red Hood stood up and took a step back, raising his grappling gun. "Don't feel bad. He even gives me trouble sometimes. You know how I feel about Riddler. He can be such an annoying little bitch. See you around, kid."

Tim stared at Red Hood as he made his way to the top of the nearby building and took off running. Well, fuck. At least he wasn't dead, but Red Hood knew his secret identity. That was bad, really, really bad. Maybe not as bad as it could've been, considering that Red Hood probably wasn't going to try to kill him anymore, but still bad. He took a deep breath, spilling most of his water as he tried to finish it. Breathing wasn’t really working, either. 

(He had to focus, but the world was spinning just a little too fast. Another deep breath, but all his deep breaths were turning shallower. How? Why? Focus.)

How long had Red Hood known? Was the internship a trap? What was going on? But no, this whole situation was just like the water bottle; if Red Hood wanted him dead, wanted him out of the game, there were easier ways than giving him a job. But maybe he wanted to play with Tim? That didn’t make sense, either. He’d toyed plenty with Robin before the internship. There had been more than one run-in that had ended with holes in Tim’s cape. Not because Red Hood missed — the crime lord never missed — but because he had wanted Tim to know just how close he had come to dying that day. 

So why? Why had Red Hood saved him? Why had Red Hood let him know that he knew that Tim and Robin were the same person? Tim forced himself to take a deep breath and then another but it wasn’t working. His hands wouldn't stop shaking, though either. That…was getting to be annoying. He’d like them to stop shaking, please. And to be able to take a deep breath. That would be nice.

Okay. Right. He could deal with this whole problem after Drake Industries was no longer manufacturing drugs; it would be a good idea to figure out Red Hood's identity first, too. Those were easier problems. He could deal with those first. But before all that, he had to breathe. Why couldn’t he?

Batman found him a couple of minutes later, Batmobile swerving to a screeching stop in front of the alley. He got out of the car almost before it stopped moving and strode over to Tim; it was the closest he'd ever seen the man hurrying.

"Robin, report," he barked out, placing a hand on Tim's shoulder and checking him over for injuries. The familiar brusque tone shocked him out of his mounting panic. 

"Red Hood rescued me," he said, after a moment's hesitation. The words felt strange in his mouth. Red Hood had rescued him. Not only that, Red Hood knew who he was. But he couldn’t tell Batman that. Not yet, at any rate. "I found a car chopping gang’s warehouse. They started chasing me. I stole one of their motorcycles. Had to abandon that when one of the goons got a lucky shot in. Headed for the alleyways, hoping to lose them on foot. They were persistent. One of Red Hood's crew saw what was happening, and he let Red Hood know. He dealt with the situation. Promised me he wouldn't keep gunning after me. Gave me water. Left."

The entire situation still felt so distant, almost dreamlike. Tim couldn’t stop staring at the water bottle in his hand. It was Dasani brand. It didn’t feel real. Red Hood had given him water, told that he knew who Robin was, and left. He had the water bottle in his hand to prove it.

"Fatalities?"

"None."

"And Red Hood said he would stop shooting at you?"

"Yes."

"Injuries?"

"None."

"I'll have to review your cowl footage for tonight," Batman said. It was only because Tim knew him so well that he could pick up the frustration in the vigilante's voice. Whenever Red Hood did something that didn't fit neatly into the Rogue dynamic, it drove Batman up a wall. 

This was also going to give Tim a couple of sleepless nights, but for an entirely different kind of reason. He'd already accepted that Red Hood was one of the kindest people he had ever met and the most terrifying. What he wanted to learn was why . What had happened to Red Hood? And now he wanted the answer to that question more than ever. Because Red Hood hated Batman, but not enough to let Robin get hurt. 

"I'm guessing the night's over, now," Tim said. His hands were still shaking. Batman had noticed; the hand on his shoulder was pressing down hard. Neither of them knew what to make of the situation. Tim would’ve ended up in the hospital. But he hadn’t. Because of Red Hood. 

"For you," Batman curtly replied. "I need more answers. This might be a ploy to lull us into a false sense of security. We will have to increase our vigilance; I don't want you anywhere near Crime Alley, Robin, until this entire situation is dealt with. Red Hood is unpredictable at best."

Tim rolled his eyes, but didn't protest. He was exhausted, but even if he hadn't just spent the better part of half an hour running for his life, he wouldn't have pushed the issue. There was no point trying to catch Red Hood. If the crime lord wanted to be found, he'd show up and make himself known; otherwise, it was like looking for a ghost. Tim had the sneaking suspicion that the residents of Crime Alley helped Red Hood disappear sometimes. The other times could be chalked up to the fact that the crime lord knew the area better than he knew the back of his own hand, while Batman could only be dragged into the area by the anniversary of his parents' death and, apparently, the intriguing mystery of the crime lord who doubled as a vigilante. 

The door to the Batmobile opened with a hiss. Tim walked over and ducked into the car, which wasted no time in driving off with him. He almost fell asleep on the ride over. When he got back to Drake Manor, the most he could do was ball up the Robin costume and chuck it into his closet. Safety precautions could wait until tomorrow, when he felt a little less like he'd been run over by a bus. 

Morning came all too soon, and for a brief moment, he thought about calling out sick from work. Tim stared at the ceiling. Did he really have it in him to get out of bed, put on real-people clothes, eat breakfast, go to work, and deal with Excel for the next hours? No. No, he very much didn't . There was so much happening all the time, all at once, and Tim didn't want to deal with any of it. What he wanted to do was curl back up into a ball and nap the rest of the time away. But something, something responsibility and all that bullshit. So he hauled himself out of bed and got ready for work.

Red Hood knocked on his office door almost before Tim had sat down in his chair. He held up two energy drinks. "Figured your stubborn ass would be here. Nap couch is still available if you need it."

Tim was tired enough that he didn't care about the fact that Red Hood knew his identity. He was also tired enough not to care about his dignity. He made grabby hands, and Red Hood placed the drinks on the table with a laugh.

"How did you figure it out?" Tim asked, cracking open the first energy drink.

"It's not all that hard to figure out," Red Hood said.

"Something must've tipped you off," Tim said.

"That's for me to know and for you to find out," Red Hood said. "Sorry, again, for everything. I don't always have my head screwed on straight. But I've been getting better. Trying to, at any rate."

"Yeah?" Tim asked. He took a sip of his drink.

"Meditation, mostly," Red Hood said. "Googled some anger management exercises. 'Sides, couldn't stay mad at you after I met you, kid. It would be like kicking a puppy."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tim asked, a little offended.

"I also came by to let you know that if you're ever in trouble again, bring it to the Alley," Red Hood said, ignoring the question. "If you need help, I'll do my best to be there. But I also get it if you don't completely trust me."

Tim nodded. "B's going to be searching for Crime Alley for you. He thinks that last night was a trap."

"And you don't?" Red Hood asked.

"I've seen the stats," Tim said. "And I've talked to a lot of the people here. It's hard to be scared of you when I know you spent an hour coaxing a puppy out from underneath a dumpster for Alex's kids, or that you were late to a meeting because you offered to carry an old lady's groceries and she made you stay for tea. You do a lot of good for Crime Alley. I don't know why you hate B so much, but I do know that you love Crime Alley, and that's more important. If B managed to take you in, I don't know what would happen."

"You don't have to worry about that, kid," Red Hood said. "You already worry too much. You're fifteen and trying to topple your parents' drug empire, for fuck's sake."

"Someone has to worry," Tim said simply. "Thanks for the energy drinks."

"It feels like I'm enabling an addict," Red Hood said. "The next time nights start getting too long, let me know. You have my number, right? It's okay if you take a break from here every once in a while."

Tim nodded with every intention of never doing so. 

"And did you forget lunch again?"

"Maybe?"

Red Hood sighed, the modulator turning it into crackling static. "What do you feel like today?"

"If only the people knew that past the terrifying facade of crime lord, Red Hood was such a mother hen," Tim grumbled.

"I will order Sweet Greens," Red Hood threatened. "Pay the fifty dollars for delivery and everything."

"What do you want?" Tim asked. "I don't know the restaurants around here."

"Is there anything you don't like?" Red Hood asked.

"No," Tim said. 

"'Kay," Red Hood said. "And you have to take a nap today, too."

Tim stuck his tongue out at Red Hood, who flipped him off in return before leaving. He tried to turn his attention back to his Excel sheets, but today was a slow day filled with nothing but copying over formulas and data. His mind kept wandering to the question of Red Hood. 

He didn't distrust the crime lord per se. He had meant everything he had said. Red Hood was doing tangible good in Crime Alley. But, he didn't exactly trust him either. There were too many unknowns, further complicated by the fact that Red Hood knew his secret identity. How? Tim had done his best to keep his two lives separate. He had thought he'd done a pretty good job. Apparently not. 

Tim needed to level the playing field by discovering who was underneath the red helmet. He also needed to find out how Red Hood had figured out his secret identity. He had to. Red Hood held all the cards right now, and Tim couldn’t allow that.

Chapter Text

Tim tapped his pen against his Red Dragon notebook, mentally reviewing what else he wanted to touch on in the upcoming meeting covering Drake Industries' drug manufacturing. Red Hood had pulled together a team to tackle the issue, and today they were getting together for the first time to discuss priorities and sketch out a game plan. It wasn't going to be easy. The manufacturing was tied to a well-established legal business. Unfortunately, they couldn't simply blow up the labs and hope for the best. Their strategy had to focus on sabotaging results rather than the product, looking at how Drake Industries planned to profit from the drugs and ensure those plans failed. In a word, it was complicated.

The alarm on his phone rang. He turned it off and packed up his things into his briefcase. Since he was leading the meeting, he'd swapped out his energy drink for a coffee so gross he was wondering whether the caffeine was worth it and his tablet had been replaced by a nice notebook and a fountain pen. Even though Red Hood's business was much more relaxed than what he was used to, he still wanted to take everything seriously. He needed everyone else on the team to know that he wasn't an average fifteen-year-old — he'd spent quite a bit of time sitting by his mother's side in Drake Industries' boardroom meetings. Destroying a company from the inside out was in his blood. His mother had made sure of that.

He showed up to the conference room ten minutes early, enough time to set up his powerpoint presentation and ensure everything worked correctly. Red Hood was the next person to show up.

"Do you have time to stay afterwards? I want to talk about a few things."

"Oh?" Tim asked. "Anything the matter?"

"It's about two nights ago," Red Hood said. "And a few other questions I've been meaning to ask."

"Okay," Tim said slowly. He wasn't sure what there was to discuss about Red Hood bailing him out during that patrol and the subsequent identity reveal. It was one more thing for Tim to deal with that he didn't want to deal with, but he couldn't see how it would affect Red Hood for Tim to be aware of the fact that his and Batman's identities were compromised. 

"Relax," Red Hood said. "You aren't in trouble. So what's the plan for the meeting today?"

Tim clicked back to the slide on his powerpoint titled Agenda. "A brief overview of the situation, discussion of the preliminary data gathered on the situation, our current understanding of the products being created, and a run-through of how internal auditing works at Drake Industries."

"Good thing I brought donuts, then," Helena said as she joined them. She was in charge of the espionage. Already, not only had her team broken into a few labs and stolen some data, but had managed to bribe one of Drake Industries' lab heads. "Looks like it's going to be a long meeting." She put the two boxes of Dunkin' Donuts on the table and went to shake Tim's hand. "Glad to finally meet you."

"Likewise," Tim said. 

Aliyah showed up next with Noah. They were working on the issue from the tech side of things. Luke, Elena, and Natalia, who came in after them, were developing plans to mitigate the spread of the drugs as well as de-incentivize the development. Ryan, who showed up five minutes late, represented the chem labs.

Tim took a deep breath when everyone sat down. He knew this presentation inside out and the data he was discussing even better. It was still a little nerve-racking, though. Red Hood was dedicating so many resources to this issue, and he was in charge of the project.

"Welcome, everyone," he said. "The beginning of this presentation may be a review for those who've looked at my original pitch, but I thought it would be best to start everyone on the same page. Before I begin, though, I'd like to thank everyone for taking the time to be here today, and especially Helena for bringing donuts. We have a lot of ground to cover, but please feel free to interrupt me with any questions. I want to make sure there are no miscommunications about the developing situation." He clicked through to the next slide. "Here we can see a timeline of events so far. I only noticed the issue recently, but this project has about a year's progress behind it."

Everything felt a little unreal as he went through the presentation. Here he was, in front of one of Gotham's most notorious crime lords and several of his lieutenants and crew, talking about how to undermine his parents' company. Only fifteen years old and already a corporate traitor working for a crime syndicate. Not exactly how he'd planned this summer to go. At least he was getting good practice leading teams in a business setting and creating pitch decks. By the end of this internship, his powerpoint skills were going to be so good. Too bad he couldn't put the whole experience on his college application, though.

"Now, the question after discussing all of this is what is our most efficient course of action," he said, as he clicked through to the last slide. "As was hopefully apparent throughout this presentation, the hidden nature of this operation within Drake Industries will make our own actions that much more difficult to conceal. People are already paranoid. They are expecting shadows; they are concerned with the slightest disturbance. Helena and her team have done a great job so far of tackling this issue from an internal angle, but I predict it will only become more difficult. I'm looking forward to hearing everyone's suggestions. Thank you again for listening to my thoughts on the matter."

"Great job, Tim," Red Hood said, and everyone else echoed the sentiment.

"Thank you," he said, unplugging his laptop. He sat down heavily on his chair, taking a huge gulp of coffee. That had taken nearly forty-five minutes. He opened his notebook and got his pen ready for the next, much longer, part of the meeting.

"I'll start the discussion by bringing everyone up to speed on what Natalia, Elena, and I have been working on," Luke said. "Like Tim pointed out, this is a unique problem we're facing. But, just because it's unlike anything we've dealt with before doesn't mean that it'll be much more difficult than what we usually do."

He, Natlia, and Elena briefly reviewed some of the strategies they were considering: supply-chain issues, consumer demand disruption, and potentially boosting profits elsewhere in Drake Industries. Aliyah and Noah added their thoughts on how they could alter digital records in Drake Industries to make the drug manufacturing seem much less profitable than other sections of the company. This was in addition to the information they were gathering digitally to help Helena and her team. Ryan had a few ideas on what they could do to prevent Drake Industries from accessing the needed raw components. It was fascinating, honestly, to see how all the aspects of Red Hood's business — legitimate and not — could work together. 

Red Hood occasionally added his two cents to the conversation, but for the most part, he listened as everyone else debated the merits of various plans. He leaned back in his chair when the powerpoint was over, staring at the ceiling, but the prompting questions he asked made it clear he was paying attention. 

The meeting wrapped up after nearly two and a half hours. Tim had managed to shove the fact that Red Hood wanted to meet afterwards to the back of his mind, but when they were walking to his office, he couldn't help but fidget. What was there to talk about? 

"I didn't tell B," he said before he sat down at Red Hood's table. "In case you were worried about that. I haven't told him anything about what's going on here. He thinks I'm waiting tables at a Denny's."

"Grab a seat," Red Hood said, closing the door. Tim almost jumped. The modulator was switched off, and hearing the crime lord's voice was almost jarring.

"I won't stop trying to uncover your secret identity," Tim added, sitting down. "But I won't tell B once I figure it out. This isn’t a Robin situation."

"Wouldn't expect anything less," Red Hood said, joining him at the table. "If you figure it out by the end of the summer, I'll teach you how to shoot."

"Like a gun?" Tim clarified.

"You need some more life skills," Red Hood said dismissively. "This isn't about that, though. Remember when I asked why you didn't go to Batman at the Denny's?"

Tim nodded. "He'll tell the police, which can't happen. My parents can never learn about what's happening this summer."

"Well, you almost never go to Batman for any of your problems," Red Hood said. "And I'm just a little curious about that."

"Drake Industries is a Tim Drake problem," Tim said slowly, unsure of where this was going. "Not a Robin problem."

"So you're telling me that Batman doesn't care about Tim Drake?" Red Hood asked.

"No."

"What about Bruce Wayne?"

"Why would he? I'm just the neighbor's kid who inserted himself into part of his life without permission."

"But you're Batman's Robin. That should count for something at the very least."

"No, I'm a Robin working with Batman, until someone better comes along. He didn't ask me to be Robin, and I think he wishes I wasn't Robin."

There was a moment of silence as Red Hood studied him. Tim hated how it was impossible to tell what Red Hood was thinking about. The helmet obviously blocked off his face, but even his body language was impossible to read. The tones of his voice should've helped, but Red Hood mostly sounded exhausted. He wondered what it must be like, juggling vigilante work with crime lord duties. Red Hood was keeping Crime Alley safe and improving. That didn't sound like an easy task.

"Look, Timmers, you can tell me to fuck off and mind my own business, but you gotta understand how this isn't normal, right? I shouldn't be the only adult you can trust to deal with things."

"I felt you were the best option for this particular situation. Give me a moment." Tim pulled out his personal laptop and found his file on Red Hood. He opened one of the spreadsheets and flipped it around so Red Hood could see the screen. "I mapped out everything you've done since you got to Gotham. I know you're a good person."

"You shouldn't have seen some of this stuff," Red Hood said, staring at the screen and reading over the list of case names.

"I also talked to people about their interactions with you," Tim said. "I looked at how the lives of people working for you improved. I knew you would do the right thing, because you always tried to do the right thing."

"Except for the fact that I tried to kill you," Red Hood said.

"That was an acceptable risk," Tim said. He’d done the math. He had known exactly what he was getting into.

Red Hood sighed, sounding bone tired. "Okay, so what do you do if you have another kind of emergency? Like, if you needed to go to the hospital."

"If there's a situation and people start noticing that my parents aren't around, I have a fake uncle contingency," Tim said. "I know how to take care of myself."

"I don't want to know about the fake uncle contingency, do I?" Red Hood asked sounding a little frustrated. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear anything about fake relatives. Look, you're a very competent fifteen-year-old, Timber, but you are a fifteen-year-old. Somebody should be looking after you. I need you to understand that. 'Specially considering you're running around at night in one of the most crime-ridden cities in America."

"I feel like I've always done a good job caring for myself," Tim said carefully.

"Yeah, I've also looked into your history," Red Hood said. "Do me a favor, scrap whatever fake uncle protocol you have. If you have a problem, call me."

"I doubt Red Hood would help de-escalate a lot of emergency situations," Tim said. 

"I'll show up as a civilian," Red Hood said.

Tim stared at him in shock. Had Red Hood actually suggested that? What the hell? "Really?"

"I know you're going to find out sooner or later," Red Hood said.

"Can you tell me now?" Tim asked. He could always manufacture some kind of emergency, but that felt like cheating. 

"Nah, this is like enrichment for you, right?" Red Hood said. "I bet you already have a couple of conspiracy boards with red string and everything."

Tim had, in fact, pulled out his corkboards, although there was no red string quite yet. He still had to pour through the lists of Joker incidents and try to narrow down names. It was going to take a while. There was a depressing number of people who'd barely survived a Joker attack or lost someone due to one. 

"Is that everything?" he asked.

"What do you want for lunch?" Red Hood asked. "Guessing you forgot to pack something, again."

"I'll pay for it this time," Tim offered.

"Not a chance in hell," Red Hood said.

It suddenly hit Tim how strange everything was. The fact that Red Hood genuinely seemed to care about him was even stranger, maybe, than the fact that he was leading a team to disable a drug operation in his parents' company. He hadn't accounted for this happening when he'd been trying to figure out what would happen when he approached Red Hood with his Red Dragon pitch. It wasn't necessarily bad, though; he certainly appreciated the fact that he'd no longer have to be worried about getting shot every time he ran into Crime Alley.

"You always know the best places," Tim said, flipping around his laptop and closing out of the file. He shut it down and put it back in his briefcase. "Whatever you want."

Red Hood nodded. "Oh, and you shouldn't patrol tonight. Ellen's crew — Iron Unicorns — they're pissed about you crashing their operation."

"Riddler's still on the loose," Tim said. "And Firefly also got out when he escaped."

"Be careful, then," Red Hood said. "Got a lot of plans for tonight, and I don't want to have to drop them to bail your skinny ass out."

Tim gave him a mock salute. "Maybe you should follow your own advice, take the night off, and get some sleep. You sound so tired right now. How are you even standing?"

"Brat. Remind me why I hired you again?"

"I wouldn't take no for an answer. See you around."

Tim left the office and went back to his own. He'd been planning to type up all his notes and send everyone an email with what they'd reviewed. But that could wait. Instead, he opened his Red Hood file again and stared at the document of questions he had. What the hell did all of that mean?

Chapter Text

Tim should've listened to Red Hood. He really should've listened to Red Hood. Ellen's crew, the Iron Unicorns, were more than pissed. They were furious enough that they had faked a Firefly attack, and then ambushed him when he came to deal with the fires.

"I feel like you're overreacting here a little bit," Tim said, eyeing the dozen or so guys standing in front of him. With a brick wall behind him and so many guns pointed in his general direction, he was reminded uncomfortably of a firing squad. "I mean, we're just talking about cars here. It's not — actually, I do know a couple of people who would probably kill for their cars. But we're not even talking about entire cars; we're just talking about car parts."

He was starting to think that this was about much more than carjacking, but he could figure that out later. Right now, he was trapped in an alleyway and surrounded by burning buildings; he just needed to get out alive, preferably without getting shot.

"You really think we're that dumb?" one of the guys said.

Well, yes. "No. I didn't get a chance to see much in that factory."

The same guy sighed. "Don't know if you've noticed, but there's a bit of a situation here. So why don't we do this the easy way?"

"You know, the actual Firefly is out," Tim said, scanning the alleyway for anything that could give him an advantage. "Riddler's throwing a hissy fit downtown. Pretty sure he wants to go for the water supply this time. So why don't you let me go, and we can continue this later?"

"When the Bat's around?" another one of the goons said. "No fucking way. Our boss wants to talk to you uninterrupted. With Riddler keeping Batman busy, this is our best shot at catching a stray bird."

Ah, the fact that they knew he didn't have any backup wasn't good. Neither was the fact that this wasn't going to be a simple beatdown. This definitely wasn't just a simple car chopping crew. Tim racked his brains, trying to remember what he'd seen in between crashing through the skylight and being chased out.

"I feel like you should know," Tim said. "Red Hood won't be happy if you guys shoot me; neither will Batman. Do you really want both of them on your asses? You'll have to move out of Gotham. Hell, you might even have to move out of the United States. I've heard Siberia is particularly lovely this time of year."

"They won't find out," a third guy said confidently.

"The world's greatest detective won't find out," Tim said slowly. "Are you sure about that? Please don't tell me you're from Metropolis or something, 'cause any self-respecting Gothamite knows that Batman always finds out."

"You said it yourself," the first guy said. "Everyone knows we're a small group that deals in car parts. Nobody knows who we are. Nobody will know what happened to you."

"You're Ellen's gang, right?" Tim said. "The Iron Unicorns. Red Hood knows at the very least. So just consider it for a moment. The fucking Batman and Red Hood hounding you guys down. Do you really want that? No? I really  —"

He threw a smoke bomb down in the middle of his sentence and booked it for the fire escape on the opposite building. Rooftops were his only option at this point, even if they were slightly on fire. It was fine; thankfully, the Iron Unicorns had been careful about their arson, and nothing looked like it would spread. He started scrambling up the ladder rungs, all too aware that once the smoke cleared, he'd be a sitting Robin on the side of the building. 

Tim let go of the ladder rungs almost before the searing, white hot pain in his arm registered. He tried to brace himself for the impact, but there wasn't much time. He hit the pavement and tried to breathe. He closed his eyes. Then forced them open again and surged to his feet. Time for Plan B.

"Don't know why we can't be reasonable about this," Tim said, grabbing his vigilante phone. After yesterday's bizarre conversation, he'd added Red Hood's number to his contact list. Dodging a punch, he hit the call option and hoped the sounds of fighting would get the message across. 

"Get the phone," someone yelled as Tim tucked it into his pocket again.

"Please don't! They're expensive," Tim yelled back, sweeping the legs out from underneath the dude. "Batman is going to kill me if I lose another one on patrol."

Okay, he just had to hold out against twelve guys with one arm out of commission until Red Hood hopefully showed up and showed them what they'd find when they fucked around. Tim wasn't thinking about what would happen if the crime lord didn't show up in time. He just had to stall long enough, and Robin was great at stalling. 

Another shot, just a graze, had Tim stumbling, tripping, crashing into the alleyway again. Someone yelled something about being careful with guns when Tim hauled himself to his feet again. 

"We can't have him passing out," someone said. That was never a good sign.

"He already hit his head," another guy added. "Boss wants him lucid."

Yeah, Tim needed to be out of this alleyway like yesterday. And as if in answer to his thoughts, the distant roar of a motorcycle grew louder until Red Hood was in front of the alleyway. There was a brief moment of panic; three guys hit the ground with shattered kneecaps before everyone else managed to pull their shit together and start shooting back.

Tim sank back down to the floor, applying pressure as best as he could to the gunshot on his arm. He closed his eyes because it was four in the fucking morning, and he was exhausted. And, if Batman asked him about what happened in the alleyway, he'd have some plausible deniability.

Eventually, the cursing and shooting died down. Red Hood tapped him on the shoulder, and Tim opened his eyes.

"I want ice cream."

It had been a long night. Tim felt like he deserved it after everything. He'd been ambushed like an amateur, and Batman was going to be frustrated about the fact that Tim still had no idea why the Iron Dragons wanted him so badly, and he'd been shot twice, and this was the fourth night he'd spent nearly the entire night patrolling and, well, there were a lot of ands. So, Tim wanted ice cream.

"You want ice cream," Red Hood said. "Sure, why not. I'll bring you back to a safehouse, patch you up, and we can hit a Batburger."

"No, I want good ice cream," Tim said, standing up and deliberately not looking around. "Like Haagen Dazs or Tillamook."

Red Hood sighed, the modulator turning into crackling static. "Fine, kid. I'll patch you up and swing by a convenience store. Give me a second, though. Gotta call my men to deal with this mess before everyone bleeds out."

"You didn't kill them?" Tim asked, before he could really think that question through. Was he really asking a crime lord why he hadn't killed a bunch of people?

"No," Red Hood said shortly. "I try not to kill lower-ranking members."

He tapped a section of his helmet. Tim assumed he was calling whoever he had to call, but the external audio was muted. He started trying to make his way to the street, but almost face-planted again. Red Hood caught him and helped him limp his way to the motorcycle. He pulled out a first-aid kit from a compartment and applied a couple quick pressure bandages, then leaned against the building wall while he finished up the conversation.

"Is the Bat going to jump me for kidnapping his sidekick?" Red Hood asked, after he hung up the call.

Tim shook his head and regretted the movement as the world spun and swayed. "Busy on the other side of town."

"Too busy to race over and help his Robin out?" Red Hood asked. 

Tim shrugged. "Didn't hit my panic button."

"Huh," Red Hood said, then got on the motorcycle. It was a quick ride to Red Hood's safehouse. When they got there, Red Hood eyed the rickety stairs in the building before asking, "You alright with me picking you up, kid?"

Yeah, Tim didn't think he was getting up there walking either. "Sure."

Red Hood was surprisingly gentle as he scooped Tim up in a bridal carry, mindful of the bruises blossoming on Tim's back from his short fall. The safehouse was on the fifth floor, right by the fire escape and the roof of a lower building.

The crime lord deposited him on a beat-up couch and disappeared into another room before returning with a huge first-aid kit, along with a pile of clothes.

"Do you want to change out of your costume?" Red Hood asked.

Tim nodded tiredly, taking the pile. He didn't want to get off the couch or move ever again, frankly, but the suit was gross and tight. So with a sigh, he limped over to the bathroom and changed. The sweatpants were huge on him, and the hoodie was more like a dress, but they were soft and exactly what he needed after such a long night.

Red Hood had also changed, swapping out the edge lord look for his own sweats. He had a baseball cap underneath his hood, a domino, and a scarf across the lower half of his face. Tim couldn't help but laugh.

"Yeah, yeah," Red Hood said, handing him a gatorade with a straw. Hearing his voice without the modulator just felt wrong. "Some of us still have a secret identity."

"I can't believe you figured it out," Tim grumbled, flopping back down on the couch and immediately regretting it as his bruises ached in protest. 

"Bruise cream first or actual bandages for the gunshot wounds?" Red Hood asked. 

"They're both going to suck," Tim complained, rolling over onto his stomach and pushing his sweatshirt up. "Bruise cream?"

"So you're gonna tell me why you didn't press your panic button?" Red Hood asked, grabbing the tube of cream. He started dabbing it on as gently as he could.

"Who was that gang?" Tim asked. He hissed as Red Hood brushed over a particularly sore spot. Oh, he was going to feel terrible in the morning.

"Weapon smugglers," Red Hood said. "Some of the best in the city. Mix in weapon parts with pieces of cars. So, panic button?"

"Are you going to tell me how you found out my identity?" Tim asked.

"Someone who knew you guys told me," Red Hood said. "You don't have to worry about them telling anyone else. But even if they hadn't, I would've still found out. You're not as sneaky as you think, Timmers. So, are you going to tell me why you trusted me over Batman?"

Tim sighed. "Are we really having this conversation again? Everything hurts right now."

"One of these days I'm gonna figure out what the hell is going on between you and Batman," Red Hood said. "But sure, this can wait until you're not black and blue 'cause you didn't listen to my damn advice."

"I feel like I've already explained it," Tim said. He didn't know how else to sum up the whole situation other than the fact that he was a Robin, not Batman's Robin. Nightwing hadn't wanted him to take on the mantle; Batman barely tolerated him; Agent A seemed to regret more and more each day allowing him to put on the uniform. 

"So, did you ever actually get around to reading Fahrenheit 451?" Red Hood asked.

"Huh?" Tim said.

"Those were some pretty bullshit takes you told me the other day," Red Hood said.

"I opened it the other day," Tim said. “I gave reading the book some serious consideration and everything before tossing it back on my desk.”

Red Hood huffed a laugh. "Always thought that the book was over-hyped; there are better dystopias out there, but there are one or two things that Bradbury does that are pretty interesting."

Red Hood finished applying the cream and then neatly applied stitches to his arm and leg, talking the whole time in a low, soothing voice about Fahrenheit 451. Tim slowly felt himself drifting off to sleep, hanging onto consciousness only by the fact that he really wanted ice cream, and it probably wasn't the best idea to fall asleep in a crime lord's apartment.

But Red Hood left a Fahrenheit 451 audiobook on when he ducked out to find ice cream at five in the morning, and Tim was exhausted. Thoughts of caution and sugar seemed so distant when all the aches had settled in, and the past five days or so of insanity caught up to him. The next thing Tim knew, Red Hood was shaking him awake. 

"Sorry, kid, but Batman's tearing up the city looking for you," Red Hood said, handing him a burner phone.

It was 10 AM. "Can I go back to sleep when I send him a message?"

"And after you meet up with him somewhere far away from my safehouse," Red Hood said. "Even if I'm going to be burning this place. Come on, up and at them. I'll bring your ice cream to work, okay? But I'd better not see you show up for the next few days. Take the time off to be a damn teenager for once, alright?"

There was nothing Tim wanted to do more than curl up underneath the very soft and heavy blanket Red Hood had draped around him when he was passed out, but the crime lord was right. He had to report back to Batman and explain all the ways he'd fucked up last night.

"Thanks," Tim said, rolling off the couch. At the last second, he remembered why exactly it was a bad idea to hit the floor hard. 

Red Hood thankfully caught him. "Don't go undoing all my hard work now. Your Robin costume is in the bathroom, and breakfast is in the kitchen. I gotta go run and take care of some things, okay?"

Tim blinked. "You're going to take down the Iron Unicorns, right?"

"Yup," Red Hood said. "Been meaning to do something about them for a while, but last night upped the timetable."

"Why?" Tim asked.

"There are rules in the Alley," Red Hood said, already halfway out the window. "One of them happens to be don't hurt kids. And unfortunately for them, not only did they go after a kid, they went after a kid I happen to care a lot about. Now go on. It's bad luck to keep the Bat waiting."

"Thanks again," Tim called as Red Hood disappeared into Gotham. For the rescue, for the patch job, for the food, apparently, and for making the situation more confusing than ever. Red Hood, it seemed, had switched entirely from considering Robin acceptable collateral in his fight against Batman to tearing through gangs for him. What had prompted that?

Chapter Text

Tim finished his verbal report of what had happened the night before in under ten minutes, knowing that it wasn't up to the exacting Bat-standards but not really wanting to linger over all the ways he'd messed up last night. Without the added context that Tim had been hanging out with Red Hood a lot recently, he knew everything that had happened sounded suspicious. He stared out at Gotham as they sped through the streets, not wanting to look at Batman while he got lectured.

But Batman didn't even grunt, let alone say a word, until they pulled up to the Batcave. When they got out of the car, he pulled Tim into a tight hug that left him feeling tingly all over. 

"I'm glad you're alright, Robin." His voice was even hoarser than usual. "I may not say it often, but I'm thankful you are here."

Then, like he hadn't said something completely inexplicable, he disappeared into the med bay. Tim watched him go in stunned silence, then realized that Batman probably wanted him to follow. He hurried after his mentor, wondering what was going to happen next.

Apparently, a blood test and about fifty pages worth of psychological questionnaires. Batman was worried that Red Hood had influenced him in some way; in fact, it already seemed like he was certain Red Hood had done something to Tim and was doing his best to determine precisely what. The questionnaires wouldn't have been so bad if Batman hadn't been staring at him practically the entire time.

"You're benched until the Red Hood situation is dealt with," Batman said when Tim finished up the last of the tests. 

"Dealt with?" Tim asked.

"Until he's in Arkham or Blackgate," Batman said. "And I would prefer it if you moved into Wayne Manor. The security is better."

Fuck. This wasn't good. Red Hood was talented, but if Batman made him priority number one? Tim gave it a month or two before the crime lord was brought in. He needed to find some way of convincing Red Hood to leave the city until things calmed down. Or, at the very least, he had to find some way of keeping him in check and generally be less dramatic. The murders weren't great, but could he at least make them unsolved cold cases that would pop up years later instead of turning them into public statements? At least he'd have all the time he'd normally spend patrolling to figure out how to pull that off. He could deal with Batman admitting that he wanted Tim as Robin after he handled this new clusterfuck.

"Yeah, I don't mind," Tim said through a yawn.

"Get some sleep," Batman said. "It's been a long week, Robin."

"I need to move all my stuff over from Drake Manor," Tim said. 

"Take a nap," Batman repeated firmly. "I'll bring your things over if you'd like."

Considering that Tim had left his fledgling Red Hood investigation spread out all over his room, that was a definite no. Maybe he should fake an emergency to discover Red Hood's identity quicker. He really didn't have time for one more problem.

"It's nothing super necessary. I'll grab it after dinner," he said. "I'll see you around, B."

He headed upstairs to the guest bedroom, which he always used. While he hadn't been over that much, he already knew the best route out of its window, which wouldn't trip any alarms or sensors as he left the grounds. So he made a big deal of telling Alfred how tired he was and how he would sleep until dinner, waited twenty minutes, and then ducked out. He ran over to Drake Manor and packed a duffel bag with the entirety of his Red Hood investigation. As tempting as it was to give up on discovering Red Hood's identity and just ask, he wasn't going to give in quite yet. And maybe figuring out who was under the red hood would help him with the whole issue of Batman hunting down Red Hood somehow. The last thing he did before finally going to sleep was let Red Hood know that Batman was gunning for him.

Alfred woke him up four hours later for dinner. Tim honestly felt like he could've slept all the way to the next morning, but there was no way he was going to miss Alfred's alfredo. Bruce forwent small talk in favor of staring worriedly at Tim, so he hurried through dinner and mentioned that he had summer work to keep him occupied for the evening. And after he grabbed the rest of his things from Drake Manor, he actually did work on some of the homework he had to do. Red Hood's commentary made writing the essay for English a lot easier. 

But about an hour after Batman left for patrol again, Tim slipped down to the Batcave. Having all of Batman's resources would hopefully make finding out who Red Hood was much easier. Batman kept a detailed record of every person he had failed to save from the Joker — whether they were dead or permanently injured somehow. After every situation where he just barely failed to stop the Joker in time, he spent hours reviewing the list before adding the new names.

Now, Tim had a sneaking suspicion that Red Hood was one of those people. That, or he knew someone on the list. It made the most sense. Everyone in the city hated Joker, but the particular vitriol that Red Hood felt towards Batman seemed deeply personal. 

His phone buzzed while he was compiling the names. It was a message from Red Hood.

RH: Thanks for letting me know 

RH: I’m guessing you’re benched for a while, now?

Tim: yeah

Tim: gives me more time to figure out who you are tho so not complaining

RH: How about I answer three questions you have about me?

RH: The fact that you’re grounded is kind of on me

RH: I should have sent you home right away

RH: And you gave me the heads up on B

Tim: really???? anything????

RH: Anything that isn’t too obvious like asking me what my name is

Tim stared at his phone. He had three questions, so he had to make them count. He glanced up at the screen; the list was depressingly long. Honestly, why hadn’t more people snapped and turned vaguely villainous after surviving a Joker encounter? 

Tim: this might be too personal

Tim: so feel free to ignore it 

Tim: but

Tim: Who did you lose to the Joker?

Red Hood didn’t reply for a long while. Long enough that Tim finished downloading all the relevant files to his computer and had headed back to his room to start piecing together the data.

RH: I did promise three answers.

RH: My family. I had a dad, a brother, and the best grandfather anyone could ask for.

RH: But if you’re committing felonies by hacking into some government record somewhere, you won’t find them.

Tim: What do you mean by that?

RH: Is that your second question?

Was it? Tim opened up a file on his laptop that had a list of questions he had about the Red Hood. They were ranked in order of importance, and while figuring out whatever the hell that cryptic comment meant would be useful, he had more interesting things he wanted to know.

Tim: No

Tim: Why did you become Red Hood other than to stop Joker and Batman? You’re talented enough that you could’ve broken into Arkham to just shoot him, and if patrol is any indication, you could have set up a sniper’s nest anywhere in Gotham and done the same to Bruce.

He deliberated about the question for a while, making little edits to make it as clear as possible. Then he sent it. Red Hood’s response took a while again. Tim wondered if he was crossing some kind of line here. He couldn't afford a fight with Red Hood right now.

RH: Damn kid, really going for the heavy hitting questions, aren’t you?

RH: I grew up in Crime Alley. And it wasn't bad until shit hit the fan, and let me tell you, it got real fucking shitty for a while there. But things turned around. I met some people that I don’t regret trusting, even if they did let me down in the end. To make a long story short, some really nasty stuff happened, and the Joker messed me up real good. I’m pretty fucked in the head in case you couldn't tell. For a while there, I blamed the Joker, blamed the folks I trusted, and blamed the big bastard Bat because he should’ve put that damn motherfucking clown in the ground already. I’m doing my best to be different now, because the folks around Crime Alley see me as a difference, you know? A chance to make this place what it should’ve been — Park Row.

Tim: I’m sorry

RH: For what? A fucking sob story like this is a dime a dozen in Gotham city. What’s question number three?

Tim: Is it alright if I hold onto it?

RH: Okay — can't say I'm look forward to it

He didn't want to keep pressuring Red Hood. Both questions seemed like they had crossed a line. His third question could wait until things had calmed down a little more. Besides, he'd gotten plenty of useful information to add to his corkboards: three related male victims, possibly a fourth male victim related to the other three, and a focus on Crime Alley-related attacks. 

Tim spent most of the night trying to narrow down his list into something more manageable, with little success. Red Hood's cryptic comment about how Tim wouldn't find his family in any records made him feel uneasy and worried. Did that mean the Joker had taken them, and no one noticed? Had that happened to other people? 

Around three, he finally gave up and went to bed, hoping everything would make more sense in the morning or whenever he woke up. It didn't. He rolled out of bed around noon when Alfred called him to lunch with a slight headache and the renewed conviction that no one should live in Gotham, but no clarity, unfortunately. 

Lunch was solitary. Batman had spent the night holed up in his cave to Alfred's immense disappointment. Tim didn't know how Bruce managed not to crumble under Alfred's disapproving glare; he was receiving it secondhand and still felt like he should apologize for everything wrong thing he had ever done in his life.

"Master Timothy," Alfred said, after he'd finished lunch and was heading up the stairs. "A word if you'd please. Master Bruce doesn't want you heading out unattended for the next couple of days, so let your work manager know. Also, that celery was not optional."

Tim did the smart thing; he headed straight back for the dining room and ate the celery as quickly as possible before returning to his room. The temporary house arrest wasn't…great; he'd definitely need to head out to confirm leads at some point, but he could cross that bridge when he came to it. Right now, he had a lot of internet sleuthing and stalking he needed to do. It was for a good cause?

A knock startled him out of his work a while later. The door started to open. "Hey Tim —"

The door began to open; Tim swore it happened in slow motion. He did the only thing he could think of — grabbing his duvet and throwing it as hard as he could against the propped-up corkboard.

"Tim?" Dick said, looking at the mess of papers and strings covered by the blanket. 

"It's a surprise for B," Tim said. "I —" Think fast, Tim — "want to impress him with some of my detective work."

"Tim," Dick began gently. "You know that B doesn't handle surprises very well. And you're a very impressive kid, but Bruce isn't the most emotive person."

Wonderful. He'd just unlocked emotionally supportive Dick. Tim didn't need this. He needed him to leave so Tim could get back to work. But since that was less likely than Bruce smiling — Dick had that look that he knew something was up and he was going to find out — he needed to figure out a way to distract his brother. 

"Honestly, I wish you'd leave some of the cold cases alone," Dick continued. "You're just a kid; you shouldn't be seeing some of that stuff. I mean, look how I turned out. But no one can deny that you're the smartest Robin by far. Bruce might not say, but he is proud of you."

"So, what do you want?" Tim interrupted.

"You don't have to impress Bruce or any of us," Dick said after a moment. "You already have. Anyways, I thought we could hang out today! You've been so busy with your job; I feel like I haven't seen you in forever. How is working at Denny's going?"

"Great," Tim said. "What's up?"

"Really?" Dick asked, leaning against the doorway, crossing his arms. His smile was just a little too sharp to be genuine. "What are your coworkers like?"

"Really nice," Tim said slowly, unsure about where this was going. Something was up.

"Oh?" Dick asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"Yeah," Tim said. "What's up?"

"Look, Tim, I know you don't have a job at Denny's," Dick said.

Tim, for a brief, fleeting moment, thought about denying it. But this was Dick Grayson, the original Robin who'd done the impossible — grown out of Batman's shadow into a beacon of hope and light that the entire hero community looked up to. Tim could lie to Batman, no problem, but Nightwing?

"Please don't tell Bruce," Tim said.

"Of course," Dick said. "It's practically a rite of passage for Robins to sneak things behind Batman's back. But you have to tell me what's going on. I have to make sure you're safe."

"I'm safe," Tim said. "But I can't tell you what's going on."

"Generally," Dick said, walking into the room. "People don't say that about safe situations." He knelt down and lifted the cover off the corkboard. "Please don't tell me this is what I think this is." He was staring at a piece of paper that said Red Hood told me he lost his family, but no one knows?????? Other details about Red Hood's personality and stories that Tim had heard about the crime lord from his coworkers were scattered around it. Information that was personal enough that Tim could've only gotten it by talking to Red Hood.

Tim looked for the right words to say, but there really wasn't any chance of salvaging this situation. "So, hypothetically, you know, what would you say if civilian Tim Drake had a problem that he asked Red Hood to deal with?"

Dick sighed. "Hypothetically, I would say to start explaining."

"Hypothetically, please don't interrupt until I've finished explaining," Tim said. "And hypothetically —"

"Tim," Dick interrupted. "What the hell is going on?"

"I wish I knew," Tim said. He knelt down. "Mind helping me pick all of this up while I explain?"

"Happy to," Dick said. "This better be a good explanation, though. You've been hanging out with a crime lord, Tim. The same crime lord who decapitated eight people and left their heads for the GCPD."

"Drake Industries is selling drugs, and I didn't have a better solution than going to a drug lord to deal with that problem," Tim said. "And now I'm his finance intern, and a whole lot of other stuff happened, so I guess the best place to begin is that Red Hood, despite the whole crime thing, is a genuinely good person."

Dick surprisingly managed to stay silent during his entire explanation, even though there were certainly parts where he looked like he wanted to say something. When Tim finished with his story, Dick stared at the corkboards for a while before he spoke.

"Sounds like Jason would've loved this guy."

Tim froze. Jason was never mentioned. The last Robin, reckless and impulsive, was frequently brought up as a cautionary tale, and the memorial to a Good Soldier was visible from practically everywhere in the cave. But Jason? Jason's only memory was a closed-off room that Alfred visited monthly to clean.

"Everyone thought he was going to go to college for English because he loved reading so much," Dick continued softly, staring at his hands. "But that wasn't the case. We had a stupid argument once. Well, we had a lot of stupid arguments, most of them started by me. He really wanted a brother, you know? He kept trying even though I kept shutting him out. Well, one time, he called me up when he had a question about a math assignment. I made fun of him for trying so hard in school. It was stupid; I mean, I was a mathelete. Can't get more tryhard than that. But we started fighting about it; I asked him why he was trying so hard. You know what he told me? He was going to turn Crime Alley around. Go to college, become a lawyer and a businessman, and make things better. He would've found it hilarious that a crime lord is the one finally managing to do that, although he'd have hated all the drug dealing." Dick sighed. "He would've probably snuck out and confronted Red Hood about it, and then turn around and defend the guy to Batman. Look, Tim, I don't know what to do about this situation except apologize."

"For what?" Tim asked when the silence had stretched on long enough that it was clear Dick wasn't going to continue.

"For making it seem like you couldn't trust any of us," Dick said. He sounded almost on the verge of tears. "So the next time you're in trouble? Call me. I'll make it on time this time. I swear .  Last night, when I got the call from B that you were missing — look, I can't lose another brother. And I know none of us exactly welcomed you in, but you're one of us now, okay? I don't deserve to ask you to keep me updated on what's happening; I haven't been the best older brother, and I know that. But please, consider letting me know before you do anything else, okay? Or at least let me know when you're going to spend time with Red Hood."

Tim didn't know what to say to any of that. He didn't know what to do, either. But a quiet, "Okay," and a nearly silent promise of, "I'll do my best to stay safe," seemed like the right place to start. So did a one-armed hug, and letting Dick stick around for a while to help with the investigation.

Chapter Text

Tim waited three days before he snuck out. Batman might have benched Robin, but Tim Drake was a free agent as far as he was concerned. He packed his bag with his camera in case there was some interesting nightlife to photograph (although it wasn't on the to-do list, he wasn't going to pass on an opportunity to mess with one of the mobs if he saw it), and a dark hoodie to slip over his t-shirt once he'd gotten into the city proper, along with typical Gotham City survival gear — pepper spray, gas mask, pocket knife, and flash light. Tucked into his pocket was a list of five questions he needed answers to. While Red Hood only owed him one more, strictly speaking, there were other ways of getting information than simply directly asking someone. And Tim needed more answers.

Even with Dick's help, Tim had found nothing useful so far. All the information Red Hood had given them had done nothing but turn unmanageably large lists into slightly more manageable lists at best and confused them even more at worst. Tim still didn't know what to make about the comment that Red Hood's family had apparently disappeared, and no one had realized. The implication that Joker had been snatching people without anyone noticing had both Tim and Dick more than a little worried. Who else had slipped into the cracks?

That, however, was a later problem. After he found out Red Hood's identity, after he stopped Batman from arresting the crime lord, after he dealt with Drake Industries manufacturing drugs, Tim could start looking into that. Brushing off Joker victims made him feel like he wanted to throw up, but he couldn't handle another thing at the moment.

It was close to nine when he made it to Crime Alley, which gave Tim about an hour and a half to get to the docks. Tonight was a quiet night for Red Hood; he would be doing check-ins with various people this evening — street kids, business owners, dock workers, working girls, landlords, and other various inhabitants who enjoyed Red Hood's protection. The crime lord usually swung by the waterfront between ten thirty and eleven to check in on things there. This was assuming that Tim had predicted Red Hood's schedule correctly, but he was reasonably confident.

He made it early to the docks, but he had planned for that too. Since tonight had the chance of being a very long and boring stakeout, he'd swung by a convenience store on his way over to pick up some snacks. With all of Criminal Minds downloaded on his tablet and several portable chargers, he was set to spend all night on the warehouse roof if he had to.

"Waiting for someone?"

Tim yelped and almost dropped his soda. He whirled around. Nightwing strolled forward, arms crossed. Even with the domino, it was clear that he was really disappointed — capital D, 'are you really choosing to spend your life in this way? ', Disappointed.

"I'm just curious," Nightwing continued. "You know? Because I distinctly remember a promise that you would tell me if you were going to meet with Red Hood again."

"I knew you wouldn't let me go," Tim said and immediately regretted it. He didn't want to start an argument with Nightwing that would be dragged out. The last thing he wanted was for Red Hood to find them and pick a fight.

"Would I?" Nightwing said. "Guess we'll never know because you didn't ask me. Come on. We're going back. I won't tell B, but Agent A already knows you snuck out."

"Red Hood wiped out the Iron Unicorns," Tim said. "It's not like I'm in any danger."

"You're not in danger running around the city with the highest crime rate in the US with no protective gear and no backup," Nightwing said flatly. "Mind breaking that one down for me?"

"I did this for a while as a kid," Tim pointed out. "With even less training and less gear than I have now."

"It's a wonder you survived." Red Hood pulled himself over the edge of the warehouse roof. "Can't believe I'm saying this, but the big bird over there has a point. What the hell are you doing here? Why didn't you text me if you needed information?"

"Red Hood," Nightwing said evenly, one hand drifting to his escrima sticks as he turned to face the crime lord.

"Nightwing," Red Hood replied in that same tone, hand hovering above his guns. "Normally, I wouldn't tolerate the intrusion, but considering you're on baby bird pick up duty, I'll let it slide."

"I wanted to talk to you," Tim said quickly, taking a step forward between the two of them. If this turned into a knock-out brawl and his relationship with Red Hood soured, it would suddenly get much harder to help the crime lord evade Batman. "There was a reason I couldn't just text you."

"Yeah? About what?" Red Hood asked. From his tone, it was clear there wasn't a good answer. "You didn't even ask me if I had finished things up with the Iron Unicorns."

"Well," Tim said, mind racing to come up with a way to keep the situation from worsening. Nightwing and Red Hood looked tense as they eyed each other. "I knew that if I texted you, you'd just tell me to go home, and I wanted to confirm a few things by myself before I bothered you and —"

"To tell you the truth, I knew Tim was going to sneak out ever since Batman benched him," Nightwing interrupted. "I only let him get this far because I wanted to talk to you about Tim."

"What about me?" Tim said, looking at the two of them. "What's there to talk about?"

Red Hood considered them both for a moment. "I've got a feeling this is a conversation we don't want to have out where anyone can overhear us. You know the Knotty Oak? Cute little diner about twenty minutes from here?

Nightwing nodded, relaxing minutely. "After you."

Red Hood laughed, the modulator turning it to static. He climbed down the side of the building, and Nightwing waited until he was on the street before following. The crime lord had parked his bike next to the Nightbird.

"See you there," he said, swinging onto his motorcycle. "Park around the back."

Nightwing nodded. "Okay."

The ride over was uncomfortably tense. Tim almost wished he had asked to ride with Red Hood, although he felt that wouldn't have gone over particularly well. 

"How mad are you?" Tim finally asked when it seemed like Nightwing wasn't going to bring up the elephant in the room. Or car, he supposed.

"I'm not mad," Nightwing said. That was a lie. He was always moving — tapping his fingers, bouncing his leg, shifting in place — unless he was angry. A completely still Nightwing was never a good sign, and right now, he was staring at the road with a level of focus usually reserved for saving the world. 

"I'm pretty sure you're mad," Tim prompted. He'd seen the fights between Nightwing and Batman; he wanted to get the screaming over with, preferably before they showed up at the diner.

"I'm frustrated," Nightwing admitted after a moment. "With you, but also with Bruce and me. I know we haven't exactly proven that you can rely on us. You didn't have a reason to keep your promise."

"I'm sorry," Tim tried. What else could he say?

"I'm not mad," Nightwing repeated. "Not at you. Just frustrated, okay?"

"Okay," Tim said. 

Nightwing sighed and turned the radio on. "Seventies fine with you?"

"Sure," Tim said, feeling completely confused.

The rest of the car ride was even more awkward. It felt like forever before they pulled up to the Knotty Oak. Red Hood was already waiting for them, leaning against the side of the building. When they got out of the car, the crime lord knocked against the back door in a specific pattern. A moment later, a short, elderly woman poked her head out.

"Interesting company you're keeping tonight, Hood."

"It's a long story, Jean," he said.

"You want the room behind the kitchen?" she offered. "Usual order?"

Red Hood nodded. "Back room would be appreciated. Won't be ordering anything today, but the kid'll take waffles and a strawberry milkshake. Nightwing? Everything's good as gold 'round here."

"I'll take pancakes," Nightwing said. "And a coffee."

"Any add-ins?" Jean asked. "We got blueberry, chocolate, banana, and sprinkles."

"Sprinkles," Nightwing said. "Whipped cream if you have it."

Jean nodded and let them inside, taking them to a tiny windowless room. A table took up most of the space. Nightwing sat down between Tim and Red Hood, positioning his chair so he could keep an eye on the door.

"I'll knock before entering," Jean said. "Don't start a fight." 

And with that, she was gone, shutting the door firmly behind herself. Red Hood waited for a moment, then asked, "So, what's on your mind, finger stripes?"

"Tim's my younger brother," Nightwing said. "Do you think I'm exactly comfortable with him hanging out with the guy who left a bag of severed heads on the GCPD doorstep? You're a murderer, Hood. And a drug dealer and a weapon smuggler. You're not a good person."

"He didn't mean that," Tim said quickly. Was Nightwing trying to pick a fight? 

"Well, he'd be a shit older brother if he didn't," Red Hood said. "I'm not offended. I know exactly who I am."

"Good," Nightwing said curtly, leaning forward in his chair. "Now, why the hell did you agree to his plan?"

"I agreed to this initially 'cause I got to keep an eye out on Robin and got to knock out some local competition," Red Hood said.

"And now?" Nightwing asked.

Red Hood tilted his chair back, looking up at the ceiling. "What can I say? Kid grew on me. It's hard not to find him endearing. He stumbles into work, half-dead on his feet and ready to give it all. Dresses up in suits and pulls out a briefcase for work meetings. Loses fights with the company cat and has to be reminded to eat. One of the most determined, brilliant teenagers I've ever met, and the most recklessly stubborn to boot."

"You know, the Joker took Tim once," Nightwing began.

Red Hood crashed against the back wall. "What the hell?"

"I beat him to death," Nightwing said quietly. "He's only alive because Batman resuscitated him. If you hurt Tim in any way, I won't let Batman get in my way this time. Do you understand me?"

"I'd never hurt the kid," Red Hood said, righting himself. He held up his hands. "I swear."

"You never seemed to care before," Nightwing said lightly with a too-sharp grin. Then, like he hadn't just threatened to kill a crime lord and promised that no one ever found the body, he asked, "So tell me what my little brother's been up to."

"Did he happen to tell you right when he started working for me that he snuck out at night to get photographs of some of the labs?" Red Hood said. "Dressed in a hoodie and sweats."

Tim slunk a little lower in his seat when Nightwing gave him a sharp look. "I completely forgot about that?"

"How about I give you the highlight reel and you ask whatever you want," Red Hood said. "Can't promise I'll answer everything, though."

"Fair enough," Nightwing acknowledged. "So?"

"I explained all the important things," Tim said quickly.

"I want to hear it from Red Hood's perspective," Nightwing said. "I'm curious why he decided to save you both times on patrol."

Red Hood shrugged. "Somebody's gotta look out for the kid. I think we can agree on that, right?"

"Hey," Tim said, offended. He was fifteen, thank you very much. Decidedly not a kid and perfectly capable of taking care of himself. 

"I suppose I do have to thank you," Nightwing said. "For —" His phone rang. He pulled it out and frowned at the screen. "I have to take this." He got up and left the room. 

"I thought for sure this was going to turn into a screaming match,"  Red Hood said. "Nightwing seems a lot calmer about the situation than I would've figured."

Tim hesitated for a moment, but now was as good a time as any to try and get more information. "It's because you remind him of his younger brother."

"What was he like?" Red Hood asked.

"He was —" Tim froze. Wait, was? How did Red Hood know that Jason had died? Had the person who had told the crime lord all their identities told him about Jason, too? Or…had Red Hood known Jason? 

The pieces began to click together. Red Hood hated Batman in a way that seemed deeply personal. It was, but not just because Batman had failed to save his family like Tim initially had thought. He had lost a friend to Batman, too. And no wonder he hadn't liked Tim at first, if all he had seen was a replacement for his dead friend. It all made sense now.

"Train of thought crashed at the station?" Red Hood asked, sounding faintly amused.

"You knew Jason Todd," Tim said.

"What?" Red Hood asked.

"It all makes sense," Tim said. "You must have been one of Jason's closest friends since he told you our identities. You knew Jason Todd, and that's why you hate Batman so much. Because Batman made Jason Robin."

Red Hood's modulator turned his sigh into a crackle of static. "You're a smart kid, Tim. Tell me, how did you figure this out?"

"Am I right or not?" Tim demanded. "Did you know Jason Todd?"

Nightwing dropped his phone, freezing in the doorway. "Red Hood, you knew Jason?"

"Tim," Red Hood said, "I don't hate Batman because he gave Jason Robin. The kid loved being a vigilante. It meant the world to him. What did he always say? I'm Robin, and being Robin gives me magic. And then he was murdered by that fucking clown. That's what I have a problem with. Batman gave Jason so much hope but never delivered on a damn thing."

Nightwing picked up his phone and sat down. "I know it doesn't mean anything, but I'm sorry. Jason was a good kid. I wish I could've known him better. It's one of the biggest regrets of my life."

"Regrets don't mean a damn," Red Hood said. "You want to do better? Make sure the same thing doesn't happen to Tim."

"I'm right here," Tim said. He was tired of being talked about and over. Nightwing and Red Hood were acting like he was useless, like he couldn't defend himself. "I'm not going to let what happened to Jason happen to me."

Red Hood tapped the side of his helmet. When he spoke, the modulator was turned off. "You're pretty fucking stupid to think you let something like that happen to you. Death doesn't ask for permission. She takes. Especially when a psycho like that fucking clown is involved. You hear me?"

"I—"

There was a knock at the door. "Coming through." Jean entered, balancing a tray. "Let me know if you need anything else."

"Thanks, Jean," Red Hood said.

"Always a pleasure," Jean said as she left.

"I've got shit to do," Red Hood said, standing up abruptly. "I'll pay for dinner. Nightwing, convince the Bat to let my intern off of house arrest. He's damn good at excel, and we need him coming around again."

"Red Hood —"

"See you around, Tim," Red Hood said. "Nightwing. Can't say it was a pleasure."

"I'm sorry that you lost Jason," Nightwing said. "And it won't happen to Tim."

Red Hood stopped dead in his tracks. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

Then he slammed the door shut. Tim could only hope he hadn't screwed everything up. He stared at his food, suddenly not at all hungry. This was his fault. He wasn't sure what this was, but something had changed for the worse.

"We have to figure out who Red Hood is as quickly as we can," Nightwing said, taking a sip of his coffee. "For Jason's sake. His friend clearly needs help. I don't think Red Hood has anyone else left to lose but you, Tim."

"There are a lot of names we still need to get through," Tim reminded him glumly. "It'll take forever to figure out who's underneath the red hood."

"We'll figure it out," Nightwing said, and Tim almost believed the confidence in his voice. 

There were worse ways tonight could have gone. Not many, but certainly things could have shaken out more terribly. That thought wasn't much of a comfort. Tim had believed that having to face Red Hood after the whole secret identity debacle had been bad, but this was so much worse. But it wasn't like he could quit when Drake Industries was still making drugs. When had his summer turned into such a trainwreck?

Chapter Text

By the following Monday, Tim was allowed to go to work again. He'd spent a long night making sure all the trackers and panic buttons he had to carry would show that he was at a Denny's on the opposite side of the city from Wayne Enterprises. The only thing keeping him focused and alert was the fear of facing Red Hood after that disastrous conversation at the Knotty Oak. That, and the three energy drinks he'd chugged.

He'd planned to go straight to Red Hood, but Helena caught him on the way in before he got to his office. "Welcome back. Luke, Elena, and Natalia need to talk to you now."

Tim nodded. "Of course. What's the matter?"

"They need you to review some financials," Helena said. "And forge some data. Maybe blackmail? The timeline we'd been talking about got pushed up. Seems like someone in Drake Industries wants to see results sooner rather than later. The first prototypes are planned to hit the street in early September. Maybe even late August."

He took a deep breath. Really? Right now? Tim had been banking on having months to figure all this out. Maybe even a year. This was undeniable, irrefutable proof that the universe hated him. Why couldn't it be one thing at a time? He took another deep breath and shook his head because at this point, he didn't even have time to complain anymore. 

"Is Red Hood around?" he asked. "I need to talk to him for a moment."

"Planning on being out all day, last I heard," Helena said. "In fact, I don't think he's going to be coming around to the office all week."

"Yeah?" Tim asked.

Helena nodded. "You know he's antagonizing Black Mask, right?"

"No," he said. That was news to him.

"Hood wants Black Mask to break Joker out of Arkham," Helena said. "And Mask is getting close to desperate enough."

Red Hood wanted to do what? And why? If he wanted Joker dead, Red Hood could easily break into Arkham and shoot him in his cell. Making such a public spectacle would only bring trouble from other Rogues, mob bosses, and Batman. Once again, Tim found himself needing more information and context which he was likely to get. He really needed to figure out who Red Hood was and talk to him as person, not crime lord.

An idea started to form, but Tim put it aside as he entered Conference Room 2B. Everyone else was already hard at work — the corkboard at one end of the room was covered in papers, and the chalkboard on the other was scribbled over while a couple of members of Helena's team discussed some photos being projected on a screen by the third wall. 

Glass came up to him, winding around his feet before batting at his legs until he picked her up. The cat went limp in his arms, purring happily as he started petting her. Luke waved him over to the only part of the table with free space.

"Sorry to jump you on your first day back," Luke said. But —" he gestured to the room's chaos — "It's an all-hands-on-deck kind of situation."

"Helena told me what's going on," he said. "What do you need me to do?"

Luke pulled a computer out from underneath a stack of papers. "Red Hood said you had some experience with stalking people."

"Yeah," Tim said.

"Good," Luke said grimly. "This computer contains everything Helena and her crew could dig up on the project leads at Drake Industries. Find the most interesting items, send them to the relevant people, and ruin some lives. Don't hesitate to ask if you need more help or more information."

Tim glanced at the laptop. Blackmail, huh? Well, he had gotten pretty good at that over the years. He opened up the computer and glanced at the folder names. There were lists of contacts, countless spreadsheets showing who was connected to whom, and several files containing hundreds of pictures. This certainly beat sitting at his desk all day, hunched over an excel spreadsheet. And any other day, Tim would love this. But, right now, he had a crime lord to apologize to. He'd crossed some lines at the diner.

"Luke," Tim said.

His coworker looked up from his phone. "Yeah?"

"Red Hood?" Tim asked.

"Busy, and he'll be busy all week," Luke said.

"Do you know where and what he'll be doing?" Tim asked.

Luke shrugged. "My work is strictly on this side of the business. I don't do any field stuff."

"Do you know who might know?" Tim asked.

"No," Luke said. "What do you need? I could help, or probably Isa."

"Don't worry about it," Tim said, turning his attention back to the folder. "It can wait."

No, his meeting with Red Hood certainly couldn't, but neither could the developing Drake Industries issue. Tim could only work on one of those problems right now, so he tried to ignore his guilt as he poured over all the incriminating footage and evidence. And oh boy, there was a lot. After this was over, he would have to review every top-level executive at Drake Industries. 

At some point, somebody dropped off lunch for everyone. Helena made him take a break and eat. Luke told him that he had to take a walk around the building and stretch his legs a little while after that. But besides those two instances, Tim didn't move from his spot. 

It seemed every thread he pulled dragged along another complicated knot of shady action — most illegal, all highly immoral. It was well past his usual clock-off time of four when Natalia remembered that he was a part-time intern.

"I don't mind staying late," Tim said distractedly, skimming a dense report cataloging a very torrid affair. Someone had noted in the margins that it was a constellation of cheating, and Tim couldn't help but agree. It was making his head spin trying to keep track of who was cheating on whom because it seemed that everyone involved was cheating on multiple different people. He was going to have to draw another diagram, wasn't he? He distractedly reached for his whiteboard.

Natalia held it out of reach. "Come on, time to get going."

Tim tapped his report absentmindedly. "I want to wrap this up."

"It'll keep until tomorrow," Natalia said. "You need to get home and eat dinner. Your parents are going to be worried. I'm surprised they haven't called you by now."

"My parents —" Tim began. Then he remembered that while his parents didn't care what he got up to, Bruce Wayne certainly did. And, more importantly, Dick Grayson as well. He sighed in frustration. "Okay. Fine. I'll get going."

"You have someone to drive you?" Natalia asked.

Tim pulled out his phone. "I'll Uber."

"This late at night in this part of Gotham?" Natalia asked. "Hell no. I'll drive you if you're comfortable with it, or I know Isa would love to."

"Actually, a friend offered," Tim said, scrolling through Dick's increasingly frantic text messages. He texted back that he'd been held up at work, but he'd love a ride. The reply was almost instantaneous. Dick would be at the building in ten minutes. Tim hoped Red Hood wouldn't be too mad that he'd shared the office building's address.

"What happened?" Dick asked as soon as Tim hopped into the car.

"Drake Industries problem," Tim said. "Timeline got moved up. A lot. What did you tell Bruce?"

"That your coworker called out sick at the last minute, and you offered to cover his shift," Dick said. "Next time you want to stay three hours late, please let someone know. What's up with Drake Industries?"

"They've decided they want profits now," Tim said. "Prototypes on the street are expected by early September, and the stuff's nasty enough that nobody wants to wait around and let that happen. So all the planning we've been working on to take out that particular sector subtly went out the window."

Dick hummed in consideration. "Anything we could do from the Bat side of things?"

"Don't think so," Tim said.

"How was Red Hood?" Dick asked.

"He wasn't there," Tim said. "Busy dealing with Black Mask."

"Any idea of when you'll see him again?" Dick asked.

"Next week, hopefully," Tim said. Unless Red Hood had decided he had had enough of Tim Drake and stayed away until his internship ended. He really hoped that wasn't the case. It would make Tim's life so much more complicated.

The conversation stayed on Red Hood as they drove back to Wayne Manor, Dick walking Tim through everything he'd done so far to figure out the crime lord's identity. It was now his priority case, and Dick was throwing himself into it with his usual single-minded focus. Tim felt bad for letting Dick waste so much time, but he had a feeling that if Dick knew what he was about to do, then there was no way he'd let Tim go through with it. So he squashed down that guilt, too.

After he got to the manor and ate a quick dinner, he excused himself to his room, citing summer work as his reason. Dick gave him a strange look, but didn't press any questions. Tim did, in fact, head straight to his room and did some homework. He lived in a house with detectives who didn't understand the concept of boundaries; he wasn't taking any chances. 

Leaving several books and an open laptop on his desk so it looked like he was in the middle of something, Tim quietly snuck out of his room about half an hour later. If Dick found out what he was about to do, he'd be in so much trouble. If Bruce found out, he'd probably take Robin away. And if Alfred found out, Tim would have to deal with the butler's disappointment. He wasn't sure which of the three would be worse. So, he thought light thoughts and did his best to be inconspicuously unnoticeable. If he ran into someone, he wanted to be able to claim that he was just getting water or something.

Every creak, sigh, and twinge from the old house made Tim freeze in his tracks, sure that someone would find him. No one even visited the particular hallway he was heading to anymore. Dick had moved out of his old room and now stayed in the guest room next to Tim whenever he came over for the night. There was no reason Tim should be anywhere near the old bedrooms, and he kept waiting for somebody to catch him.

Somehow, he made it. The creak of the door's hinges made him wince as he slipped into the — well, he wasn't sure what it was anymore. It certainly couldn't be called a living space. If anything, it was a shrine rarely visited but carefully tended.

Laundry was still piled on the floor, washed but carefully replaced. The bed was still half-made. Homework on the desk, with a mug right beside. One book was opened facedown on the nightstand. Another had a bookmark two-thirds of the way through. Tim studied the room for a second. If he were Jason Todd, where would he have hidden his diary?

Tim began his search by slipping on a pair of gloves, hyper-aware of every little detail in the room. Under the mattress seemed too obvious, and Tim was right. The only thing under there was a couple of twenties. The closet was also a bust, and the bookshelf didn't contain any secrets either. Jason was too smart to pick anything that obvious.

Tim carefully sat down and closed his eyes. If he didn't trust Bruce or anyone else, for that matter, what would he do? What was one place that an adult wouldn't think to look? That was a dumb question. Bruce wouldn't leave a stone unturned. A better question would be, where was one place that Bruce couldn't get to?

He got up and went over to the desk. It was a heavily built wooden antique; moving it would take at least two or three people. Not even Bruce would be able to shift it. Tim shone his phone flashlight in the tiny gap between the wall and the desk. Bingo. He'd found a book.

It took some awkward maneuvering and bruising his arm pretty badly — there were decorative carvings on the wall and on the back of the desk, which meant he kept bumping into things — but eventually he got the diary out. Tim flipped through it to make sure before sliding it into his hoodie pocket. It was bulky, but if someone caught Tim, he could claim it was summer reading or something.

He hesitated before leaving. It didn't feel right just to waltz in and steal something so personal. He looked at a picture on the nightstand next to the book, a faded image of who he assumed was Catherine, Willis, and a young-looking Jason Todd. 

"I'm really sorry about this," he whispered. "Please don't come back and haunt me. I'm trying to help your friend out. I'm pretty sure Dick's right; Red Hood's completely alone and doesn't have anything to lose. He's going to do something stupid if we don't step in. Neither of us knows how to help, but hopefully, his identity will give us some clues. So I'm sorry for this. I'm sorry for everything. You should be here to help Red Hood out."

Still feeling like he'd desecrated a grave, Tim hurried out of the room and went back to his bedroom. He sat down at his desk, arranging all his supplies so that if anyone entered his room, they couldn't see what he was reading.

Tim had become a stalker at the grand old age of nine. He'd spied on countless private moments, stuck his nose where it definitely didn't belong so many times, and knew too much about too many people. Hell, he'd spent the entirety of today sending tips to tabloid rags and emails to people that would upend their entire lives. Somehow, reading Jason's diary felt worse than anything he'd ever done.

"It's for a good cause," he told himself, cracking open the notebook. He stared at Jason's spidery cursive unfurling across the page for a moment. "Red Hood needs help. Jason would want us to help Red Hood. This is the right thing to do."

The reassurance didn't help much. This crossed a line Tim didn't want to touch with a ten-foot pole. He didn't have a choice, though. If Red Hood and Jason had been such close friends that Jason would have shared his secret identity with him, then Red Hood's name was somewhere in this diary. All Tim had to do was find it.

Hours slipped away into the night as Tim poured over the entries. No matter how much it made his stomach turn, he couldn't afford to skip a single paragraph. The diary covered the four months before Jason disappeared. Things seemed like they were going alright at first, but then arguments with Bruce became more frequent. Tim had to stop reading when he got to the Felipe Garzonas case. The aftermath made him want to throw up. Bruce had never talked about any of this; to be fair, he rarely spoke about Jason, but when he did, it was about Jason's impulsivity. This didn't feel impulsive. It just felt like a lot of mistakes, several of which were Bruce's fault.

Tim put down the book when he got to the last page — or well, the last page with writing. There was no mention of a close friend, and if Jason had had a close friend, maybe things wouldn't have shaken out the way they had. So, who was Red Hood?

A person from Crime Alley who'd lost a brother, a father, and a grandfather to Joker. Someone with a lot of training. A master planner, a brilliant tactician, and an incredible fighter. How had Tim not seen it before?

Jason Todd was Red Hood. 

No wonder the conversation at the diner had been so personal. Death had certainly taken a lot from Jason, and Tim was holding proof of that. He was proof of that. Tim would've never become Robin if Jason had lived. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to cry. Instead, he turned his attention to other things.

Tim needed to check the grave to be sure. Everything was lining up too nicely to be a coincidence, though. And someone coming back to life? Well, Tim lived in a world with gods, demons, and aliens. He wasn't going to rule it out as a possibility.

Tim took a deep breath and opened a secure line of communication on his laptop. He mentally reviewed a list of people he knew wouldn't ask questions or give answers before settling on the Miller brothers. He sent them a quick message to dig up Jason's grave and to let him know when they reached the coffin before turning his attention to disabling the sensors Bruce had placed on the coffin. Tim tried not to think about how much trouble he was going to be in when all of this came to light. But, he was willing to lose Robin if it meant Jason came back.

The grave digging was all formality, though. Tim was 85% confident that he was right. So what was he going to do about it? Jason needed to come home; he hadn't for some reason. Why? Tim would've guessed it was because of himself, but clearly Jason had warmed up to him. So really, there was only one reason: the Joker was alive. And if Tim wanted to make sure that the family reunion between Jason and everyone else was a happy one, then he needed to get Joker out of the picture. Could he, though? Tim stared at the diary and thought about the past summer. What was one more line crossed at this point? He took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling instead. So, how was he going to kill the clown?

Chapter Text

On the way to the graveyard, Tim stopped by a 7-Eleven. The cashier gave him an odd look when he dumped half a dozen energy drinks on the counter, but this was Gotham. No one was paid enough to ask questions, let alone a minimum wage employee working a store at three in the morning.

Driving a motorcycle one-handed without a helmet was reckless, but hey, driving half-asleep was worse. So Tim chugged two of the energy drinks as he sped over to Gotham Cemetery. Thirty minutes ago, the Miller brothers had told him they'd hit the coffin. Tim didn't want the grave exhumed any longer than it had to be. He really hoped he was right about the Red Hood/Jason Todd thing.

He pulled up by the north side and quickly hopped the fence. Tim had only ever visited Jason's grave once — twice if you counted the funeral. It had felt disrespectful to visit after he became Robin. As a result, it took him a while to find the grave; the minutes trickled by, and Tim could feel himself growing more and more nervous. He wouldn't be able to talk his way out of this situation if Batman or (worse) Nightwing found him. 

Eventually, he found the grave and the Miller brothers. They'd done quick work in the dark, disrupting as little of the ground as they could. When they saw him coming, they stepped aside and let Tim approach. He often wondered what the three men thought of him — a teenager, wearing dark oversized clothing and sunglasses, who always had more than enough money for all the strange jobs he sent them on. That had to raise some questions, right? But the Miller brothers never asked. It was one of the reasons that Tim employed them so often. Trustworthy, silent muscle was rare in Gotham.

He knelt down by the hole and stared at the splinters of wood, shining his phone flashlight over the remains. Somebody had broken through the coffin from the inside; Tim didn't need to see the dark, rusted stains or the shredded, rotting fabric to know that. The pattern of the wood fragments made it clear. He swallowed down the nausea and did his best not to think about what that meant. 

"Triple your hourly rate," Tim said, standing up. He stifled a yawn. "Because this might bring the Bats down on you. Tell them the truth if they ask — you don't know your employer or why they wanted you to dig up this grave. Do your best to make it look like it was never disturbed."

There was a beat of silence. Then, hesitantly, Matt asked, "Shouldn't we let the Bats know Gotham has a zombie problem, boss?"

Tim shook his head no. "I'm handling it." He knocked back the rest of his third energy drink. "I might need you again soon, and everyone else you can trust to keep their mouths shut. Streets might get a little unsafe soon."

"Got it, boss," Matt said with a nod. He picked up his shovel, gesturing to his two brothers to do the same.

The three brothers returned to work, quickly but quietly, as Tim walked away. The grave had all but confirmed Red Hood was Jason Todd. The only way Tim could be a hundred percent certain would be to ask the crime lord, but he was saving his third question for when it really mattered.

Tim got back to the Manor without an incident, his motorcycle safety stored back at Drake Manor along with the clothes he'd worn to the graveyard. The three remaining energy drinks were stashed in his closet. 

He sat down at his desk and opened his laptop, rubbing his eyes when the harsh light made them water. Tim wanted a nap right now, but he had more important work to do. Helena had told him Red Hood wanted Black Mask to bust Joker out of Arkham, and that Black Mask was starting to consider it. Tim needed to get Joker out of Arkham before that happened, and the entire situation spiraled out of control even more. And no doubt tomorrow he'd be needed at Drake Industries all day to manage the bad press that was about to hit them. He didn't have time to sleep even if his bed was practically calling to him.

Over the years he'd spent wandering Gotham streets at night, snapping photos of Robin and Batman, he'd amassed a lot of connections and favors. He'd made sure to hide that part of his life from Batman and Nightwing. Tim wasn't an idiot. He'd seen what had happened to the first Robin, he definitely hadn't wanted to end up like the second one, and so he'd taken steps as the third Robin to ensure he had a crashpad when it all went to hell with Bruce. Now it seemed he'd be using all those favors and racking up quite a few debts to save the second Robin. Tim couldn't say he'd predicted that when he'd put the costume on for the first time.

The first person he messaged was Catwoman. She called him immediately. Tim sighed. He'd wanted to do this all over text messaging, but she would come looking for him if he didn't answer. So he opened his window and climbed out on the roof.

"Selina," he said, when he'd found a hiding place behind a statue. "I don't have time for questions."

"This an Alvin Draper thing?" Selina drawled. "Is the little Robin already flying the coop?"

"Might be if — when — Batman finds out what I'm doing," Tim said. There was no getting out of this unscathed; he might as well get used to the idea that by the end of the week, he wouldn't be Robin anymore. Maybe with more time to gather his resources he would’ve been able to pull this off well enough to fool Batman, but two days? That was almost no time at all.

"Well, you know my offer still stands," Selina said. "Catboy has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

"What do you need?" Tim asked, cutting straight to the point. He didn't have time for his usual back-and-forth banter with Selina, where she would try to lure him over to her side and he would point out all the reasons that it was a terrible idea, starting with Catboy being a terrible name and ending with the fact that he'd probably end up having to rob his own parents.

"Answers," Selina said. "If you want me to get Ivy and Harley on board, I'm going to need a hell of a lot more than —" She paused before reading off the message Tim had sent her, "— 'Joker's going to be out of Arkham in two days. I need a distraction. Can you get me P and H?'"

"I can get you answers later," Tim promised, yawning. "Not right now. There's too much going on. But Joker will end up dead by the end of this."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the line. "What?"

Tim debated for a moment on what to tell her. He settled for half the truth. "Red Hood's and Batman's conflict is going to burn this city to the ground if we don't get rid of Joker. We all knew that. Somebody had to do something, and I figured it might as well be me."

"Timothy Jackson Drake," Selina began, sounding furious.

"You knew Jason, right?" Tim asked, cutting her off.

"He was always my favorite Robin," Selina said. "No offense. But he was the most fun out of the three of you."

"None taken," Tim said. "This is for him, okay? I need you to trust me, Selina. He knew Red Hood, and he wouldn't have wanted this to happen to Gotham, especially not Crime Alley. We both know if Batman manages to take Red Hood in, the Alley will be the worst hit." He hesitated before adding, "I read Jason's diary. All he ever wanted to do was protect his home. I figure we at least owe him that if nothing else."

There was a moment of silence as Selina mulled things over. "If I were a better person, I'd come over right now and talk some sense into you. But if I had been a better person back then, I'd have taken Jason away from Bruce before things got as bad as they did. They weren't good for each other. They were both creatures of grief, shaped by the tragedies of their lives."

After everything he'd read that night, Tim couldn't help but agree. "So you're in?"

"Despite my better judgment," Selina said. "And if after this you don't give me answers —"

"I will," Tim said, interrupting her again. "I'll send you more information after all this is over. I need to go."

“Are you sure two days is enough?” Selina asked. “It’s not like you to rush into things.”

“I don’t have time,” Tim said. “Red Hood is goading Black Mask into breaking Joker out of Arkham.”

Selina hissed. “What does he think he’s doing?”

“Pissing off Batman,” Tim said tiredly. “Thanks for everything.”

"Make sure you get some sleep, Catboy," Selina said. Tim could practically hear her smirk over the phone. "You sound wrecked."

Tim pocketed the phone and climbed back to his room. That had gone over a lot smoother than he'd been hoping for, but now came the hard part. How was he actually going to break Joker out of Arkham?

He got another message from Selina. "If you don't sleep for at least an hour, I'll tell B what you're up to."

"How would you know?" he responded.

"Up to you if you want to risk it," she typed back.

Tim sighed, but got up from his desk. Selina probably would find out if he didn't take a nap. So he set a timer on his phone, tossed it across the room, and collapsed face-first on the bed. 

He felt worse when his phone woke him up an hour later. His eyes felt like they'd been glued shut, and everything felt muffled, like he was underwater. Ugh. This was why he didn't take naps. They just made everything worse.

Tim grabbed one of the energy drinks from his closet before shutting off the alarm. He sent a quick text message to Isa and Red Hood, letting them know he couldn't come into work since he had to manage things on the Drake Industry front. He wouldn't be getting angry messages from his parents and frantic emails from everyone else telling him to come in until around noon, probably, so that gave him about six hours to figure shit out.

He stifled a yawn as he opened his laptop and started a new file. Then he hesitated. Anything digital could be hacked, and it was imperative that no one knew what he was up to until he was done. Tim got up and grabbed one of his school notebooks, opening to a random page in the middle. He should probably note everything down in code since the weakness with paper was that it could be found, but his head was pounding. He could pull a Jason and hide it behind his desk.

Okay, what did he have to do? He'd already contacted the Sirens, so Tim wrote it down just to cross it out. Having one thing done made the whole project seem much more manageable. Then he wrote down Break Joker Out and then stared at that for a moment. This was insane. He was going to be in so much trouble. 

He jotted down the names of people and gangs who owed him a favor underneath that bullet point. When he ran out of those, he drew a line before adding everyone he could pay to help him. Finally, he sketched out a brief plan of how he would break Joker out personally. He knew Arkham plans inside and out, and doing it himself would make sure there were no hiccups, but he was going to be busy. Did he really have time to sneak into Arkham? Probably not, unfortunately. 

The following bullet point was Kidnap Joker. At least that would be easier to manage. No one in their right mind would want to kidnap the fucking Clown Prince of Crime. And if Tim broke Joker out of prison himself, it would be as easy as sedating him and dragging him to an empty warehouse. 

Tim hesitated before writing down the third bullet point: Kill Joker. He had two options: do it himself or pay someone to do it. Either way, he'd have blood on his hands. He would be responsible for the death of another human being. Could he handle that? Well, there really wasn't a choice or time for an ethical debate. And it was the Joker he was planning to kill. Somebody should've shot him years ago. Tim jotted down some quick notes and then moved on to his final bullet point.

Aftermath sounded too serious, so he scribbled it out and wrote down Recovery. With Joker gone, there was going to be a huge power imbalance. He had to put plans in place to deal with the ensuing power vacuum. And there was the question of what Batman would do with him after it was all over. Tim had no illusions that he would pull this off covertly, so it looked like he had four prison breaks to plan. One for the Joker and three for getting himself out of Arkham, Blackgate, and the Batcave detention cells. He didn't know which one Batman would be likely to choose. Oh, and he'd probably have to flee the country for a bit. That was fine, Tim supposed. He wasn't too attached to Gotham. And Selina would probably help out on that front. She'd find it hilarious.

Tim stared at his five to-dos, flipping pages in his notebook as he read through all his plans. Or tried to. His headache was getting worse. But he'd pulled off riskier operations with less sleep before. He could take a nap while he was sitting in prison or something. Two days weren't a lot of time to completely upend Gotham's underworld.

There was a knock at his door, and Dick poked his head in. "Tim, what are you doing up already?" There was a pause as Dick clocked the empty energy drink and a disappointed sigh. "You haven't gone to sleep yet, have you?"

Tim casually flipped his notebook to the front where his summer math work was written out. "I took an hour nap earlier. I just wanted to finish this."

Fuck. He was so screwed if Dick started asking questions. Or worse, started flipping through the notebook. He should’ve stuck to digital. Why hadn’t he stuck to digital?

"Well, you can finish it later," Dick said, walking over and swiping the notebook.

Tim almost had a heart attack as he tried to grab it back. "This can't wait."

"Sure it can," Dick said, standing on his tiptoes and walking backwards. "You'll get it back when you sleep for at least six hours."

"I can't," Tim said. "Remember work yesterday? I'll need to be at Drake Industries by twelve thirty at the latest."

Dick shrugged. "It's seven o'clock, so let's say four hours then. And you have to get a full eight tonight."

"Dick," Tim whined. "Stop being such a dick. Give me my math homework back"

"Very original, Tim," Dick said with an eye-roll. "If confiscating your homework gets you to sleep, I'm going to steal all your books. I didn't know you were such a nerd."

"Says the mathlete," Tim said, suddenly lunging forward to grab the notebook. 

Dick dodged to the side. "If you're so worried about it, I can look it over and make sure everything is correct."

"Don't!" Tim yelled, then froze. Shit, too desperate. He frantically thought of why math was so important to him, suddenly. "My dad. He used to be a mathlete, too. I want to prove I can do all this stuff by myself. I get algebra and calc, but geometry is just so weird."

"Jack Drake, a mathlete?" Dick said. "Can't say I see it."

"Please, Dick," Tim said. 

"You'll get this back later," Dick said, stepping back into the hallway. He tucked the notebook underneath his arm. "I'll let Alfred know you're sleeping in and won't need breakfast. Four hours, Timmy. I'll wake you up for work."

Then he closed the door, and Tim slumped at his desk. Why was everyone so insistent that he get some sleep? He was going just fine with power naps and energy drinks. He flipped off the door, wishing Dick would spill coffee on his shirt. Why was he even still around? Didn't he have a job in Blüdhaven?

But he got up and stomped over to his bed. There went twelve hours of his two days. Great. Just wonderful actually. Tim would figure it out, though. He had too. He could totally plan and pull off a prison break and a murder in a day and a half. Everything was fine.

Chapter Text

With a slow, dawning horror, Tim realized that dealing with all the scandals surrounding top executives at Drake Industries wouldn't be quick. In the half hour since he'd arrived to be his parents' proxy at an emergency meeting, the only thing that had happened was that the whispered, furious allegations various board members were throwing around — everyone was trying to figure out who had spilled all the information — had escalated to near-shouting, petty, personal shots.

"I'd love to say this was a shock to me, Joanne," Theodore practically snarled. The COO was practically foaming at the mouth. "But we all know what type of person you are."

He made eye contact with the lawyers sitting across the table, mouthing, "How long do you think this will take?"

One of them — Tim was pretty sure his name was Matthew — shrugged. "At least all day. "

"Me?" Joanne demanded. The CIO looked ready to murder someone. "I'd be careful about throwing stones in glass houses, Theodore."

"Oh shut up, the two of you," Apricot snapped. The CFO didn’t live up to her bright and cheery name. In fact, Tim didn’t think he had ever met someone so dour in his entire life. He had actually spent an hour once, when he was a little kid and bored in his dad’s office, looking up all the nastiest words he could in a dictionary to describe her. "If you could pull your act together, we'd all appreciate that."

Tim barely resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands. He didn't have all day for everybody to get the infighting out of their system and realize that Drake Industries needed to provide a unified front in order to manage all the bad press. He had to bring Jason home and deal with a brewing, city-wide street war.

Nobody was paying attention to him except the lawyers, so Tim pulled his laptop out of his bag. He quickly began composing an email to the Gotham Gazette and Gotham Cable News, attaching files exposing Drake Industries' drug ties along with a short statement about what had been going on. Tim knew this was the nuclear option. Would his parents ever forgive him for this? Probably not, but it didn't matter at this point. He had tried to settle the whole matter quietly, but no longer had the time for that. Tim read over the blurb once, then hit send before he could talk himself out of it.

Seconds later, he got an email from Matthew with the subject line: Should I Be Worried? Tim glanced up at the lawyers on the other side of the room and opened the email. It was short and to the point, bluntly asking him what he'd just done. Tim sent the files and the press blurb over, noting that he'd try to get them all a raise. This wasn't fair to them.

Then he stood up. "I'm going to…grab lunch."

Nobody paid attention except for the lawyers, who'd all gone ashen-faced as they crowded around Matthew's laptop. Matthew looked up briefly, horror written across his face clear as day. Tim hurried out of the office, nodded to the secretary, and tried to look busy and on a mission as he passed by the security guards. 

Tim took the elevator directly to the garage. His parents kept a car on the premises, and it wasn't like he could make them even more mad, right? There were people he needed to talk to, operations he wanted to check in on in person, and he had some gear to pick up. He had settled on personally breaking Joker out of jail, and it wasn't like he could do that in his Robin uniform; it had too many trackers. And it would be, like, bad PR if Robin was caught breaking a terrorist out of jail to kill him.

Tim sent messages alerting his suppliers and people that he'd be swinging by sooner than expected. Then he powered down his phone. He briefly debated 'accidentally' losing it — there were enough paranoid people in his life that Tim wouldn't be surprised if there was a tracker buried somewhere inside — but decided that he needed the convenience of easy communication later over the security of not being found right now.That did mean he was unprepared for the bad news when he pulled up to his meeting with El. 

"Can't get a suit in your size 'till the end of the week," El said, not looking up from whatever he was tinkering with — a large hot pink piece of cloth covered in tiny wires. Tim didn't know who else went to El for suits and had long ago decided it would be better not to ask. "Not something bulletproof and with all the fancy shit you want at any rate. Sent you a message 'bout it."

"Just anything bulletproof and flexible, then," Tim said. He'd take anything, even whatever the hot pink thing was.

"Nah," El said. "You're tiny. This shit doesn't come out of thin air. You want a suit? Gotta wait till next week."

"I can't wait until next week," Tim said a little desperately. 

"Sorry, but I can't think of a single person who could offer you something more than a basic ass bulletproof vest and a prayer," El said with a shrug. "Look, I owe you, kid. Got me out of a tight spot right before shit hit the fan. If I could, you know I would…Do you want the vest?"

Tim sighed. "Better than nothing."

"First locker on the left," El said. "Make sure you slam the door on the way out or the lock won't engage."

Tim sighed again, but at least he had a vest now if he was truly desperate. He grabbed it and made sure to shut the door firmly behind him. If El didn't know anyone else he could turn to, then Tim didn't have a chance of finding a suit. What was he going to do?

The rest of his preparations went more or less smoothly. Tim had done his research a long time ago about which Arkham guards were the most likely to accept bribes, and thankfully, the information held up. The right people were armed, others were informed, and Tim gathered all the equipment he needed. He dealt with everything he could at the current moment, and it only took him six hours. It was…concerning that planning an Arkham jail break and kidnapping was so easy. Alarming was a good word for it. Terrifying, honestly.

On his way back to Wayne Manor, he turned his phone on. Twenty-seven missed calls and close to a hundred text messages from Bruce, Dick, and, surprisingly, Jason. The latest voicemail was from him, actually. Tim hit play.

"What the hell are you doing, kid? What the actual fucking hell? Thought you were planning to do this covertly . And now you're not picking up your phone? What are you up to, Tim? Ain't like you to do something like this and drop off the grid….Just, please pick up the damn phone. I'm starting to get worried."

Tim winced at the frigidly furious tone. Jason — if Red Hood was Jason and wouldn't it be hilarious if he was wrong about that? — didn't sound at all happy with the situation. He hit play on the next voicemail. It was from Dick, and he sounded fine. A little stressed, a little worried, but overall fine.

"Hey, Tim. Just checking in again. I'd really appreciate it if you picked up your phone. I don't know what's happening right now, but I'd love to talk through whatever's bugging you. Uh, please don't leave the state without letting someone know. Red Hood actually reached out to me, asking if I knew where you were. We're meeting up in the city to go looking for you, so I'd really love it if you let us know how we can help you."

Tim listened to it again before he powered down his phone. On second thought, Dick sounded like he was barely holding it together. Oh, everyone was going to be so mad at him when this was over. But they were going to be angry together, and that was the important thing. Dick's and Jason's first brotherly bonding activity could be yelling at him for committing — killing Joker. It would be great.

He dropped the car off at Drake Manor and walked the rest of the way to Wayne Manor, taking the overgrown paths in the back woods. Bruce had covered the area with sensors and cameras, so it took Tim longer than he would have liked to make it to the house. 

But after that, it was child's play to sneak into the house. The first time Tim had ever stayed over, he'd spent the entire night mapping ways to get in and out of the house without tripping alarms. Subsequent times he'd spent the night, he had improved those routes, so now it was practically second nature to sneak in and out. He grabbed his laptop and notebook and was out in ten minutes, even though he also stopped to leave Dick, Jason, Bruce, and Alfred notes in case things went really wrong. Then he did something incredibly stupid. Instead of heading straight back for Drake Manor, he made his way to the Batcave.

Right about when Tim's Batman phase had started, he decided to map every cave tunnel in the area — the joys of an unsupervised childhood. Somehow, he didn't get lost and die a slow, suffocating death in the endless labyrinth beneath their feet, and he did accomplish his goal: find an entrance to the Batcave. Not only that, an entrance that Bruce was unaware of and would never be able to use because he was too big.

Tim, however, could easily fit in the tiny, twisting tunnel. He had to walk practically bent double, and sometimes, he had to crawl, but eventually, he found himself in a shadowy, rarely used part of the cave. He crept slowly towards the central part, pausing every time he heard a bat flutter by or water plink into a puddle. Thankfully, no one was in the cave; even better, the Batmobile was gone. So no one was around to stop him as he took an entire box of batarangs and filled a duffel bag with gear.

Then he went to the armory, pausing before the huge metal door. Was he really doing this? Did he have a choice? Like with most things that had happened during this summer, the answer was a resounding no. Tim used Dick's code to open up the vault. If he had more time, he would’ve found a way to bypass the security completely without having to alert the system of a presence. He made a beeline for the only suit in the place that would fit him: Jason's old backup Robin suit. It wouldn't have trackers, and it would be bulletproof (and resistant to a whole lot of other things too).

"I am sorry about this," he said out loud to no one in particular. But he felt like he had to apologize for stealing a dead person's things, even if said person had come back to life. Tim opened the case and took the uniform out — heavier than newer models, smelling like musty leather, just a little too big for him. “If I could do anything else, I would.”

He folded it carefully, placing it on the top of the duffel bag, before making like a bat out of hell.

An hour later found Tim standing in a safe house, questioning his life decision as he stared at the old Robin costume. But, not getting shot was on the top of his to-do list for the next couple of days, and a simple bulletproof vest wasn't going to cut it. He pulled everything else out from his duffel bag, running through each part of his plan as he handled the gear for it. 

In the middle of that, his takeout was delivered. Tim hurriedly threw the Robin cape over the most dangerous-looking items before opening the door. He still tipped the delivery guy sixty bucks to help him forget anything suspicious. While he absentmindedly worked his way through a carton of udon noodles, he flipped through his notebook and jotted down notes about who was helping with what. Honestly, he was lucky that the uniform was the only real snafu he'd had.

Right around when he finished dinner, a police scanner crackled to life. Looked like the Bronze Giants and Hornets had started some small-scale mayhem right on schedule. Tim had slightly bribed, mostly blackmailed several smaller gangs around the city to keep Batman, Nightwing, and Red Hood just distracted enough that they couldn't completely devote their attention to finding Tim. He wrapped up the gear cataloging, then took a nap because he needed to be at the top of his game the next day.

Three hours and two energy drinks later, he was on the move again as he headed to Poison Ivy's hideout. He trusted Selina, but he needed to make sure Ivy and Harley Quinn both knew their roles. Tim didn't want anyone to get hurt, but he knew that was a pipe dream, so he mainly was aiming for no serious civilian injuries. 

He made it a grand total of three steps into a quaint little house where Ivy was holed up before a vine wrapped around his ankle, yanked him upside down, and brought him none-too-gently to the Rogue. Another vine yanked his bag out of his hands. Poison Ivy studied him curiously for a moment.

"So Selina wasn't joking," she said at last, stepping forward to tap him on the nose with a long, bright red manicured nail. "What's a brat like you getting involved in something so nasty like this?"

"Figured someone should do something about the Joker problem," Tim said, desperately trying to sound casual.

"And so that person is going to be you?" Poison Ivy asked, sounding highly amused. "You think you can outsmart Batman?"

"Well, I've had this plan for all of a day," Tim said, trying to shrug upside down. It was harder than it looked. "So it's not exactly going to be the most well-thought-out, logical, smartest way of doing things. And it's not like anyone would predict somebody is going to kidnap and kill Joker on a random Wednesday afternoon, right? So I've got that going for me."

Poison Ivy huffed a laugh. "Really."

"And you're not the first Rogue I've made a deal with, either," Tim said quickly. "Could you please put me down? It's kinda hard to have a conversation like this."

"Yeah, put the kid down, Ives," Harley said, strolling in with Bud and Lou. "Doesn't seem polite and all to keep him hanging like that."

Tim yelped as Poison unceremoniously dropped him. He eyed the two hyenas nervously as they circled around him. 

"So you're the kiddo Selina sent our way," Harley said. "Man, you really are as insane as she said you'd be, walking into our house so late at night."

"Sorry for waking you up," Tim said quickly. "I lost track of time. I wanted to make sure the two of you knew the plan for tomorrow. And I wanted to ask if you could be careful with the civilians. Property damage I care less about, but I don't want anyone ending up in the hospital if you can help it."

"You're asking for a lot of favors," Poison Ivy said drily, staring down at him.

"But we'll do it," Harley said. "If you're gonna off Mista J, then we're in."

"Thank you," Tim said, standing up. "I owe you guys, like, a lot. And as a token of my appreciation, I've brought you guys a USB of the five groups using Ms. Ivy's pollens in their toxins and drugs. It's in the bag you grabbed from me. Feel free to keep it. I swear, reusable bags multiply. Every time I go to the store, I never bring enough, you know?"

"Awww," Harley cooed. "Ms. Ivy. That's adorable. You're just the cutest, kiddo. Anyone ever tell you that?"

"Thanks," Tim said brightly. "And I stole a few million from Falcone and donated it to the ASPCA in your name, Ms. Quinn. Your civilian name, that is."

He really hoped that they'd appreciate the peace offerings. While Selina could do plenty of damage alone, only the Gotham City Sirens could completely occupy Batman, Nightwing, and Red Hood. 

"You can cut the act, kid," Poison Ivy said flatly. "I know you don't give a damn about the environment or animals; I'm only doing this because Harls asked me. She thinks it's hilarious you're going to try the impossible. And frankly, I'd appreciate it too if that blight were pruned. So don't mess this up. Watch out for the Bat, watch out for Black Mask's thugs. You're not the only one who wants to break Joker out of prison, you know?"

Tim nodded. "That's why I'm rushing everything. I know Red Hood wants Black Mask to break Joker out of prison. And it isn't completely an act. Might've played it up for you two, but honestly, if you cut back on the murder, I think a lot more people would be on your side, Ms. Ivy. Can I go now? I want to check in with a couple of other people tonight, too."

"Door's at the end of the hall," Poison Ivy said, gesturing to it. 

"Stay safe, kiddo," Harley added. "Sounds like it's about to get dangerous out there."

About to? It already was, but Tim managed to keep his mind off things as he ran around the city. Before he knew it, he was eating a bagel as he watched the sunrise over the Sprang River. Tim headed back to his apartment after breakfast for another quick nap and then grabbed all his gear. He got dressed in the Robin uniform, threw on some sweats over it, and then spent a couple of hours connecting with people. When he got the check-in from Selina letting him know he had half an hour before the Sirens started causing chaos downtown, he left for Arkham. Right before he got to one of the bridges connecting the prison island to the rest of the city, he pulled his car over and powered on his phone. He had countless more missed calls and text messages, and not just from Bruce, Dick, and Jason — Luke, Isa, Alfred, Helena, and a couple more numbers he didn’t recognize.

He dialed Red Hood, and he immediately picked up. "Where the fuck —"

"You said I could ask you three questions," Tim interrupted. "And I have one left, right?"

There was a beat of silence. "Sure, kid."

"Jason, what's stopping you from coming home?"

"Tim, what—"

"Is it the Joker?" Tim asked, ignoring Jason's spluttering. "Because he's going to die in about three hours."

Then he threw his phone into the harbor and started running. If he stopped now, Tim didn’t think he’d be able to keep going.

Chapter Text

It was concerningly easy to break into Arkham Asylum. Bribing the right people had left a kitchen window open that Tim could barely squeeze through (his duffel bag almost didn't make it in with him), and an orderly uniform lying around in the laundry room across the hall, along with an ID. Tim put it over his clothes, grabbed a bundle of clothing from a bin, and then curled up in the bottom of the cart, clutching his duffel bag with the clothing on top. It was cramped and stifling, and the explosives in the duffel dug into his side. But he didn’t really have a better option.

A couple of minutes later, another person walked into the room. Tim didn't know much about Kylie, except she was working as an Arkham orderly to pay for med school and really didn't want to do that anymore. Tim could sympathize. No amount of money could have him working at the asylum. For $450,000, Kylie was more than happy to get him in and out of the higher security areas. She glanced inside the cart, adding another handful of clothing on top, but didn't say anything as she started pushing the cart down the hall to the cells.

As instructed, she did her usual rounds and collected clothes from the minimum security cells before venturing deeper into the asylum. Kylie was relatively new but well-liked, which was the perfect combination for this case. None of the guards at the various checkpoints thought to question her as she made her way to the higher security parts of the prison, where most of the Rogues were kept.

When they finally reached their destination, she left the cart and went to the bathroom. Tim gave it a couple of minutes before getting up, and after a quick stretch, continued pushing the cart down the hall. Most of the cells were empty, which he was grateful for, even if it did make the whole place a little spooky. The last thing he needed was to be recognized by a Rogue.

Joker was at the end, staring at his hands and humming quietly. He paused when Tim stopped in front of the cell. "You know, I was told the fine folks out there were getting antsy. I've got a name stealer running around, and it's making some people real nervous. Didn't —" He looked up and frowned. "Well, you're certainly not one of Black Mask's men. Not unless he's hiring out of daycares now." He leapt to his feet, clapping his hands. "Well, I don't care who gets me out as long as I get out, you know? So, how we doing this, chief?" He suddenly leaned forward, pressing against the glass as he studied Tim. He was suddenly very grateful that part of the orderly uniform was a KN95 mask. "Wait… don't I know you? Hmmmm, you look almost familiar."

Tim, despite himself, took a step back. His hand clenched around the syringe in his pocket, the plastic ridges digging into his palm. Everything suddenly became painfully real. He was breaking a terrorist out of prison. To kill him, yeah, but he was still breaking him out first. If Tim messed this up, so many people would end up hurt. So, he didn't have any other option than succeeding.

"Do you want to get out or not?" Tim was surprised at how level his voice was.

Joker shrugged. "Nope!"

Tim blinked. "What?"

"Well, you're not Black Mask, and you're not one of mine," Joker said. "But I do know you know from somewhere. Which is making me nervous. You see, I don't like getting myself into situations that I don't know the outcome of. Well, I do. Chaos is a lovely, wonderful thing. But this time? No way, Jose. Getting bad juju from this whole thing."

"Come on," Tim said, stepping forward to open the door. "I'm breaking you out. We don't have time for this."

"Nuh, uh, stranger danger," Joker half-sang, covering his ears and skipping backwards. "I'm gonna scream if you make me go."

"Good thing I'm not giving you the chance to scream," Tim said, lunging forward as the door slid open with a hiss. He pushed Joker against a wall. Before the Rogue had time to recover, Tim slammed the syringe into Joker's neck and pressed the plunger.

One, two, three seconds of struggling later, Joker slumped over.  He glared balefully up at Tim for a moment before passing out. Tim handcuffed his wrists, elbows, and ankles before wrapping them up and Joker's hands in duct tape — this was Joker, after all, there was no such thing as overkill — and dragging him into the laundry cart. He carefully arranged the clothes on top, and then wheeled the cart to the bathroom.

He walked out of the higher security area of the prison, focused on a tablet in his hands with a stressed, busy look on his face. No one gave him a second look as he swiped through doors and nearly ran through the hallways. After all, if someone was inside, they must've passed the checkpoints already. 

Tim headed directly for the elevator, stepped inside, and started working on overriding the security protocols so he could select the option for the sub-basement. This was the riskiest part of his plan. If someone called the elevator before Kylie, there was no way he'd be able to talk his way out of being elbow deep in wiring, clearly getting up to no good. But thankfully, after ten minutes, Kylie wheeled the cart into the elevator. She frowned when she saw him.

"You're a lot younger than I thought you'd be," Kylie said. "What are you, twelve?"

"Don't worry about it," Tim said. "The money will be in your account by tomorrow. If it isn't, well, you know what I look like and my first name." 

Tim hadn't wanted to give out the information, but it had been the only way he could convince her to work for him. She didn't want anyone to get hurt, so Tim had pointed out that if everything went to hell, she could turn him in to the police quite easily. And since she was pulling an overnight shift, there was no way someone could silence her.

She nodded. "Good luck with whatever you're doing." Then she walked out. Tim selected the lowest floor — the foundations of the previous asylum. The elevator didn't take long in reaching the floor. After replacing the panel over the electrical wiring, he stepped out into a shadowy place barely lit by flickering emergency bulbs. There was nothing down in the abandoned basement except some ancient equipment. If the mostly empty hallways of the max-security area had been creepy, this was downright haunted.

Tim didn't waste any time. The elevator automatically went back up to the levels that were in use, so when he forced the elevator doors open, he found a short ladder leading to the cable pit. He hauled Joker out of the laundry bin, kicked the cart into the hole, and somehow managed to climb down the ladder without dropping the Rouge. Then he unceremoniously dumped Joker back into the cart, blew the hinges off the steel door leading to a contractor tunnel, and started wheeling Joker out. 

He'd briefly considered killing the Joker in the abandoned basement, but there were too many risks. Tim didn't know how much time he had before someone noticed Joker was missing, and the entire place was put on lockdown while police and SWAT teams combed through the building. He couldn't be caught until Joker was dead, cremated, and the ashes were scattered all over the city. (This was Gotham he was talking about. He wasn't taking any chances.) And, he wanted to get rid of all the evidence tying the crime to other people. The last thing he wanted to do was implicate Kylie and everyone else who had helped him. No, it was better to let everyone wonder how he'd broken in and out with the Joker. The only evidence Tim wanted to leave behind was the broken-down steel door. 

Besides, it wasn't like wheeling a sedated, tied-up Joker out from underneath the Asylum through the older service tunnels was that much more difficult than wheeling out a dead Joker. Even if Tim's breath caught every time he heard a noise, sure that Joker was waking up, he knew this was the best plan.

The contractor's tunnel ended in a ladder leading to the Arkham grounds. It was a safety measure; no one wanted to be wheeling power tools in and out through the main building. Unfortunately, though, the security was top-of-the-line for the gardens so this wasn't going to be easy. On his way in, avoiding the cameras had been a piece of cake. Lugging someone around while he was docking and dodging? Nearly impossible. Looping the camera footage would be the only way, but there were systems in place that would notice that if it went on too long. 

He pulled the Joker out of the bin and took off his orderly uniform, putting the sweats back on. Then he set about dismantling the cart. He put the dirty clothes in his duffel and packed Joker into the drawstring bag stretched over the frame. After dismantling the cart’s metal skeleton, he scrubbed each pole with rubbing alcohol and dumped the rods into the duffel as well. Then he started the climb up.  It took him a lot of time and an embarrassing amount of effort, but soon enough he was texting his security contact to loop the footage and getting ready to sprint across the grounds. This was the second riskiest part of his plan, but with the Gotham City Sirens tearing up downtown, all the attention would more-or-less be focused inwards just in case some of the inmates started getting other ideas as well.

Somehow, Tim made it to the bridges connecting the island to the city proper. His arms were shaking from the exertion, and the spot where the duffel strap had dug into his shoulder was going to bruise. But, judging by the lack of sirens, no one had spotted him.

He climbed down the steel beams supporting the bridge from underneath. The duffel, weighed down by the extra explosives Tim didn't end up using and the metal poles, sank immediately when dropped into the water. Then he ran across to the other side, where a car was parked. It wasn't his from earlier; in fact, it had just arrived five minutes ago. The old one was already wrecked. Having a car parked too long by Arkham would've raised too much suspicion.

Tim locked Joker in the trunk and stared at the car. What the hell was he doing? He didn’t dwell on it for long, though, because Arkham had taken a little more time than he'd liked. The break-in had also been pretty sloppy, relying heavily on chance and people keeping quiet. It was only a matter of time before Joker's disappearance was discovered. 

Given enough time to iron out a plan and gather the best information and resources, Tim was sure he could've come up with a foolproof method for breaking in and out of Arkham. But he had had a little under three hours, outdated data, and a rapidly dwindling budget. All things considered, he'd done a good job. Just not great to fool people for long. There was also the fact that the sedative was going to wear off soon.

So he got in and drove across the city towards Miller Harbor, taking the roads at a speed that was just shy of dangerous. With the Gotham City Sirens raising hell — the radio helpfully informed Tim that several members of the Gotham Museum of Fine and Classic Art who'd dodged charges of collecting pieces illegally and were known for their proclivity to yacht around and fly around the world on a whim in their private jets, were having a truly terrible day — no one cared about another speeding driver. Tim made it to the abandoned motel he'd picked for this without incident. 

He took a deep breath when he pulled over about a block from the hotel. It took him a moment to let go of the steering wheel; when he did, he noticed his hands were shaking. He clenched his hands into fists, digging the nails into his palms. Second thoughts weren't an option anymore. Joker had been broken out. There was no going back, and Tim didn't want to really. This was for the best — Jason would be back with his family, and Tim didn't have much tying him to Gotham anyway. The last couple of years of being Robin had been fun, but those years shouldn't have been his. He owed it to Jason to pull this off, not only because Jason had helped him with Drake Industries but also because Tim had slotted himself into Jason's place. Still, he figured some nerves were warranted.

Tim popped open the glove compartment and stared at the gun and holster inside. He was going to kill someone. That someone was Joker, but he was going to kill someone. He grabbed the gun before he could think it over anymore and got out of the car. Before he set everything up, he wanted to do one last check of the place to make sure they were truly alone. 

He buckled on the gun, popped the trunk, and applied a plain black domino. After taking another deep breath, he got out and grabbed Joker, dumping him in the nearby dumpster just in case someone decided to steal the car. He wasn't leaving anything up to chance. Tim jogged over to the hotel and clambered up a dangerously rusted fire escape to enter through the second-story window. Rooftops were getting to be just as predictable as the front door, which was a shame. 

He swung into the room silently and crept into the hallway. The thick layer of dust had been disturbed, and the mildewy carpet had been torn up in some places where particularly heavy feet had gone through. Tim followed the trail, sticking to the shadows and holding his breath at every noise. It led to another room with a partially opened door. At least three guys were sitting around a table. One of them was cleaning a gun; he couldn't tell what the other two were doing.

"Why the hell are we here again?" one of the guys said.

"Shut up," the one cleaning his gun replied evenly.

"Just saying," the first guy complained. "No one's batshit insane enough to break Joker out of jail. Mask got bad information."

Oh, fuck. They knew he was coming. Tim started quietly backing away. Creepy abandoned warehouse it was, then. It was more obvious than a motel — if Red Hood was searching for him, he'd be looking at those first — but this clearly wasn't an option anymore.

"Black Mask was going to break Joker out of jail," Gun-Guy pointed out mildly. "You calling him crazy? Sides —" The door slammed open, revealing at least nine or ten men and women. Gun-Guy casually pulled out a holstered gun and pointed it directly at Tim. "Seems like the crazy is already here."

OH FUCK. Tim turned around and bolted. He sprinted down the hallway, gripping the corner as he swung around and ran for the room where he'd entered from. One or two people tried shooting at him, but Gun-Guy yelled at them to stop because Black Mask wanted Tim alive. Which was terrifying.

He dove through the window by the fire escape feet first, arms across his face to shield it from glass, and half-climbed, half-jumped down the staircase and ladder. The impact twisted something in his knee. He didn't have time to care. Tim booked it down the street towards the car. Distantly, he could hear shouting as the fire gave way with a crash.

When Tim got to the dumpster where he'd stashed Joker, the Rogue was awake and looking pissed. When he saw Tim, though, a grin almost split his face.

"Well, I knew I recognized you from somewhere," he said delightedly. "Just wasn't used to seeing only the top part of your face, Robin. Are you gonna tell Uncle J your worries and your woes?"

Tim yanked him out of the dumpster and dragged him over to the car. "Shut up." Great, now the Joker knew what he looked like. Fantastic. At least the Rogue wouldn’t be able to do anything with the information because Tim was, well, going to kill him. So really Joker knowing who he was was the least of his worries.

Joker cocked his head, frowning as he listened to the distant yelling and threats. "You're not very good at this, are you? Do you want some tips? Sounds like this whole thing got away from you, sonny boy."

"Shut up," Tim hissed, shoving Joker into the backseat of the car before throwing himself over the center console and slamming the pedal. 

"And a gun too." Joker sounded like Christmas had come early. "Something tells me Daddy Bats doesn't know where you are." He half sang the last part, popping his head on the center console.

Tim pushed him back on the floor. "I should've taped your mouth shut."

"But you didn't," Joker sang.

Tim ducked as shots shattered the back window. He risked a glance over his shoulder. Looked like Black Mask's men had figured things out. He swerved hard around a corner and floored it. Where could he go?

He could figure it out after he lost Black Mask's men. Getting shot was not on his to-do list for the afternoon, and neither was losing Joker because Black Mask needed him to draw out Red Hood. Cars honked and drivers yelled as Tim sped down the street. He blew through a red light, narrowly missing a couple of cars. Black Mask's men were getting closer. 

“Oof, someone's in danger,” Joker said. “Watcha gonna do about it, Rob?”

“If you don’t want to die in a fiery crash, I suggest you keep quiet," Tim hissed. The car tipped slightly as he took a sharp left. There was a screech as a bullet grazed the side. Another blew the side mirror clean off. How had it all gone so wrong? Well, maybe because he was trying to murder somebody. Fuck, he was trying to murder somebody. 

“Well, seems like you’re planning on shooting me in the head,” Joker said cheerfully. “So I’m gonna die right away, and honestly, fiery crash seems like so much more fun. It has more pizazz, you know Rob? Hey, do you mind if I call you Rob? Don’t know you quite as well as the old one. He was so much fun. Feel like we built up quite a camaraderie."

And that was why he was planning to murder somebody, because that someone was Joker. Joker who’d killed Jason. Who’d ruined his life and was still ruining it. If Jason was coming home, the clown needed to be out of the picture.

Maybe he should turn around and shoot Joker now, before Black Mask's men got closer. But they were practically tailgating him. Tim didn't think he could risk taking his hands off the wheel, turning around, pulling out a gun, and shooting Joker. Not without crashing or slowing down enough that Black Mask's men could catch up to him.

The car suddenly spun with a screech, listing to one side — a bullet through the wheel. He was almost thrown through the windshield. Tim frantically scrambled for his gun and the door handle, trying to get loose. 

"Oh boy, a plot twist," Joker said brightly. "What's our poor little bird going to do?"

"Hopefully shoot you," Tim said, twisting around in his seat as the door finally kicked open. Was he really going to do this?

"Hell no, kid," Gun-Guy said, yanking the gun out of Tim's hand. "Black Mask wants both of you fuckers alive."

Tim glanced up at the crowd of people surrounding the car. He thought for a brief moment of trying to fight his way out of this. But he was one unarmed vigilante — could he even be called a vigilante anymore? He had just tried to kill someone — against ten or so supremely pissed off gangsters. Alright. Okay. That was fine. He’d just have to escape later.

Chapter Text

Tim took a deep breath. He knew he should be paying attention. Joker was missing. Black Mask was monologuing right in front of him. There was no way this situation could possibly get worse. But he'd been drugged on the way over which was making his head was pound and that was more fun to focus on than thinking about whatever Black Mask had planned for him.

"Did you really think your plans would go unnoticed?" Black Mask said as he paced back and forth. He'd been going on for a while. "Stirring up Rogues and talking to Arkham guards? You need to get more loyal men, boy. They sold you out without hesitation."

Unfortunately, they weren't taking any chances with him. He'd been hoping to wake up with his hands handcuffed behind him and maybe his legs duct-taped to a chair. Something he could get out of. Nope! He was tied so thoroughly to a metal chair bolted to the floor that he doubted even Batman could get out.

"Are you even paying attention to me?" All of a sudden, Black Mask was right there. Holding his chin, forcing Tim to look up at him.

He blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Honestly? No. I have a pretty bad headache, and the flickering lights aren't doing it any favors.

Tim really, really wished they'd duct-taped his mouth, because he had a feeling here that his default snark wasn't going to help the situation. This was going to get ugly — he had no illusions he was getting out of here without a trip to the hospital — but at least he could do his best not to make everything worse.

Black Mask scoffed, letting him go. "Let's see if you can keep that attitude days from now."

Well, that was an incredibly ominous statement. Why hadn't he just shot the Joker when he had a chance? Now the clown was loose, Tim was trapped, and no one knew what was happening because Tim had designed things that way. The only person who even vaguely knew the whole story was Selina. And, oh, Black Mask was talking again. Tim forced himself to pay attention.

"As much as I'd love to make you scream, Joker wants you," Black Mask said. "I need to thank you for breaking him out by the way. Saved me a lot of effort."

Then he strode out of the room, slamming the door shut and leaving two disinterested guards behind. Tim almost didn't hear it over the thudding in his ears as his breathing got away from him. Black Mask — well, he wouldn't have been fine. But at least Tim had a chance with Black Mask. Joker, though? Joker knew he was Robin. The semi-hysterical thought that his parents probably wouldn't even notice him missing, with the chaos at Drake Industries happening, struck him. He pushed that aside. Bruce, Dick, and Jason would, though, so Tim just had to hold out until then. He was Robin. Or well, had been. There was no way Tim could keep the uniform after he tried to kill someone.

Time passed. He wasn't sure how long it had been, but a lot. Enough time that all the distractions Tim had put in place would've died down. Someone must've noticed that Joker was missing by now. What were Bruce, Dick, and Jason thinking? How mad were they? Had they connected the dots? Did they know everything Tim had done during the past couple of days? Jason probably would never want to speak to him again after he found out Tim had ordered his grave to be dug up. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Tim had been planning to tell them everything after he was out of the country and living under a new name. Even prison would've been a better alternative. Why hadn't he just shot the Joker when he had the chance?

Four burly dudes entered the room after a while. Without a word, they knelt down and unscrewed the bolts connecting the chair to the floor. Two of them picked up the chair. The other two took front and back, guns drawn. The thought, “Oh shit, I'm going to die," pounded in his head, but Tim also couldn't help but feel a little impressed with himself. He had made Black Mask and Joker this paranoid? Hell yeah.

They bolted the chair to the floor of a van. The windows were tinted enough that Tim couldn't see where he was going, but the lack of supervision gave him a chance to test how secure his restraints were. The answer? Very, unfortunately. His initial impression that they could even keep Batman down was correct. It was honestly kind of funny how overboard they'd gone. Tim couldn't even shift in the uncomfortable seat he was so trussed up in chains, handcuffs, duct tape, and rope.

The van eventually stopped. Tim hadn't bothered to keep track of time. No doubt they'd taken the long route to confuse him. Before he could get a good look at his surroundings, one of the guys stuck a bag over his head. After some light arguing that Tim couldn't quite make out, the chair was picked up again. They carried him for a while and then dropped him with a thud. Tim heard the squeak of bolts being tightened, some more whispered-shouted conversations, and four people leaving an echoing room.

When the bag was yanked off his head again, Joker was way too close to him and grinning like it was the best day of his life. 

"Hello, Robin," he sang, tapping a knife against the palm of his hand. "Ready to have some fun?"

Tim glanced around the room. No windows. One metal door. Nothing to let him know where they were. A long table with too many trays filled with too many sharp instruments. He took a deep breath.

"All things considered, I did break you out of Arkham." He was surprised how steady his voice sounded. "Maybe you could do me a solid too?"

Joker cackled, throwing his head back. "Oh, I like you, Rob. Which is why I think I'm gonna make you my own little sidekick. What do you think of that, hmmm? But first —" Lightning quick, he tore through Tim's sweatshirt with the knife to reveal the Robin logo underneath. "We've gotta get you in costume."

What the hell did Joker mean when he said he wanted a sidekick? That Tim was going to be his sidekick? He took another deep breath and shoved his panic to the back of his mind. If he wanted to get out of here alive, he needed to be at the top of his game. "Kinda hard to do that when I'm so tied up, isn't it?"

"True, true," Joker said, abruptly leaning back and spinning around. "You'll be no fun all tied up like this. But…” He stretched out the word as he wandered over to the table. "You're a slippery little fellow, aren't you? Unpredictable. Nothing like your predecessors. I mean —" He grabbed a crowbar, flipping it once, twice, testing its weight. "You were going to kill me. Which is such a delightful twist on the usual events."

Tim forgot how to breathe as the Joker came back, circling the chair and eyeing Tim in a way that made him feel ice-cold to his bones. 

"The thing is," Joker continued. "If I loosen those chains of yours, I'm afraid you'll try to fly away. And we can't have that, can we? So —" He swung suddenly, wildly with the crowbar. Snap. Burning, blinding pain. Tim screamed. Joker clapped a hand over his mouth. "Nuh uh. I don't want any yelling yet. You hear me, Rob? You make a sound when I take away my hand, and I'll break your other leg."

Tim forced himself to breathe through the nausea and nodded. He bit down on his tongue. Adrenaline was on his side. The sharp flare of pain hadn't dulled, but it was distant. And if he wanted to escape, he needed to have at least one good leg. That was a pretty good motivator.

"There we go," Joker said happily, tossing the crowbar aside. "You're a much better listener than the middle Robin, which is going to make this so much more fun."

He got to work untying some of the ropes and undoing some of the chains, humming Pop! Goes the Weasel underneath his breath. Then he started cutting away the rest of the sweatshirt and the sweatpants, leaving Tim in the old Robin uniform. He wondered about whether Joker ever got tired of playing the clown, because any other thought led back to the fact that he was trapped in a room with Joker. With a broken leg. And no guarantee anyone would be able to find him. Breathe, he reminded himself.

"So how do you wanna start this partnership off?" Joker asked, turning back around to the table. "Opinions on stabbing? Slicing? Dicing? Blunt force trauma is always fun. Orrrrr, hallucinogens? Hmmm, no, it's too early for that. Can't have you shattering on me right now."

Tim let Joker's prattling wash over him as he tested the remaining bonds. He could move his hands now. That was good. It meant he had a chance of reaching his lockpicks. Breaking the duct tape would be easier if he could get the handcuffs off. Then it was just a matter of breaking out of the building and finding a camera. Oracle would notice him, Batman, Nightwing, and maybe even Red Hood would all swoop in to save him, and everything would be fine. That was what, three things? Tim could totally manage three things.

"You're not paying attention to me." Joker, all of a sudden, was too close for comfort again. He was frowning, never a good sign. "I just asked you a question, and you didn't answer. That's not very polite of you, Rob. Guess I'm gonna have to teach you some manners. Right or left?"

"What?" Tim managed to get out.

"Right hand," Joker said slowly, as if patiently explaining an extremely difficult concept to a five-year-old. "Or left hand. It seems like I'm going to have to break some fingers."

"What?" Tim asked.

Joker tsked. "I thought you were the smart Robin. Guess I'm gonna have to break both."

"Like hell you are," a familiar, mechanized voice snarled. Joker spun around. A gunshot resounded. Joker crumpled. Tim looked away. 

"Red Hood?" Tim asked. "Jason?"

Red Hood yanked his helmet off. Jason Todd stared at Tim. Then he turned to one side and threw up. His hands were on his knees, his arms shaking, and even at a distance, Tim could hear his wheezing, fast-paced breaths. 

"Robin," Nightwing yelled, skidding through the door. He took in the scene at a glance — dead Joker, Tim tied up, Red Hood barely standing. "Jason? Little Wing?"

He took a step forward, and Red Hood straightened up. "Stay away."

Nightwing held his hands up. "Okay. Alright. What do you need me to do?"

"Take care of Tim," Red Hood said. Then he bolted. 

Nightwing stared at the door and then hurried over to Tim. Quickly, he started undoing the rest of the ropes and chains. "I'm going to get you to Leslie's as quick as I can, okay? It's closer than the Batcave. I know this is going to suck, but only for a little bit."

Tim nodded, biting down on his tongue again as Nightwing helped him out of the chair and got him to the car. The ride was a blur. He didn't remember Leslie patching him up. The next thing he knew, he was waking up in the Batcave infirmary.

"How are you feeling?" Dick said, handing Tim a glass of water. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week.

Tim took a sip and croaked out, "Floaty."

"Good," Dick said with a tired smile. He leaned in, voice dropping low and deadly serious. "Bruce has no idea about all the shit you pulled. I only know about all the shit you pulled because Jason told me, but we don't know if we have the whole story. So here's what's going to happen. You're going to tell me what the hell you were thinking, then we're going to get Jason back, and Bruce is never, ever going to find out that you were the one who broke Joker out, okay?"

Tim nodded. That was fine by him. He had no idea why Dick was covering for him, but he wasn't going to question. But there was one thing he needed to know right away. "How mad are you?"

Dick exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "Furious. Do you have any idea what the past couple of days have been like? You threw Drake Industries into chaos and then disappeared, leaving us cryptic notes about how you needed to make things right. And then Red Hood — and you couldn't have told me he was Jason earlier? — gets that damn phone call about how you're planning to kill Joker. Tim, I've aged about a decade. I thought I was going to lose another brother."

"I didn't know Hood was Jason for certain until I dug up his grave," Tim said quietly. “And I didn’t do that until I had most of the plan in place.” He took another sip of his water, bracing himself for the rest of the lecture. 

"You what?" Dick said sharply. "You know what? Nevermind. I don't want to know. Just tell me how you pulled all of this off, because neither Red Hood nor I could figure it out. And if a sleep-deprived teenager with like a week of prep —"

"Two days," Tim cut in. "Well, a little less than that."

Dick sighed again. "If a sleep-deprived teenager with two days of prep time managed to break out the most heavily guarded prisoner in Arkham, there are some serious security flaws that need addressing."

"Aren't you going to yell at me?" Tim asked. "Tell me how I'm not Robin anymore? Tell me how I screwed up?"

Dick shook his head. "Like I said, I'm furious. And there are going to be consequences, because what you did, Tim, that was batshit insane and could've gotten you killed. But I'm not going to take away Robin, and right now isn't the time for a lecture. You just woke up. The only reason everything hasn't hit you is because you're on drugs. I'm honestly impressed your this coherent right now."

"I had contacts," Tim said. "A lot —"

Dick held up a hand. "You can me everything later. You should probably go back to sleep."

"Okay," Tim said. He took another sip of water. "My math notebook has most of the plan written down."

"Go back to sleep," Dick said, standing up. "I'll be here when you wake up again, or Bruce or Alfred."

Then he left, leaving Tim very confused. He stared up at the ceiling. What had just happened? But he was tired and probably going to have a lot of time on bedrest to reflect on things. He could figure out why Dick was being so weird later.

Chapter Text

It was a truly terrible plan — something that Tim probably wouldn't have done a couple of months before. Now, though, he had gotten a lot of experience with those over the past summer. After taking down the drug operation using his parents' company as a front by asking a crime lord and orchestrating the events that had led up to Joker's death, showing up uninvited to Jason's apartment with Dick really didn't seem like such a bad idea. He could slam the door in their faces and refuse to see them ever again or he could let them in, but there was only one way of finding out.

It had taken them three days to find where Jason was living, mostly because he and Dick had to go behind Bruce's back. It was the three longest days of Tim's life, trapped in the infirmary with a hovering, overgrown, vaguely bat-shaped shadow because B refused to take off the cowl. He was too busy to be Bruce at the moment, heading out whenever Tim was asleep to handle Gotham City. Because it was in chaos. With Joker dead, everyone was scrambling for power. The only reason it hadn't slipped into a full-on city war was that Red Hood was pushing himself even harder than Batman.

The minute they had a confirmed address, Dick broke Tim out of the infirmary. Alfred, of course, immediately caught them.

"Sirs?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. His arms were crossed, and he was standing in front of the basket with the keys to Dick's beat-up, ancient Toyota. "I assume there's a good reason for this."

"The best," Dick said, giving a thumbs up.

Alfred waited, staring down at the two of them. It took Tim all of a minute before he crumpled. "We're catching up with a friend. It's important. I swear. And nothing even really hurts anymore."

"Does this little excursion have anything to do with recent events?" Alfred asked.

"It really is important, Alfie," Dick said pleadingly. "Please. We can explain later."

"I will be eagerly awaiting that explanation," Alfred said drily, stepping aside. "But very well. Carry on then."

"Thanks, Alfred," Dick said, grabbing the keys. 

There wasn't any reason to rush. In fact, there was a good chance Jason wasn't even home. He could've been snatching a catnap in some bunker between patrols. Dick still took the streets at a frankly terrifying seventy miles per hour, slipping down to fifty when the roads narrowed and roughened as they entered Crime Alley.

Jason's apartment was right at the heart, located on the top floor of a crumbling brick building. Tim stared up at it, counting stories. Seven floors on crutches, and they'd stop to pick up some things from the grocery store. He'd insisted on it; it was only polite, and he needed to apologize. While flowers, ice cream, and a pretty nice charcuterie board couldn't exactly make up for the disaster of the past couple of weeks, it would hopefully be a start. 

"The elevator isn't going to be working, right?" Tim asked.

"Nope," Dick said, popping the 'p.' "Piggyback ride?"

With breaks at every landing to rearrange things, they managed to slowly make their way up the steep and winding stairs without dropping anything, although it was a close call with one of the crunches at one point. 

"You've been working with him all summer," Dick said, gesturing to the door.

"You're his brother," Tim pointed out.

"You're also his brother," Dick said flatly.

"Okay, but you knew him for longer," Tim said.

"He killed Joker for you," Dick said.

"More like I forced him to kill Joker."

"Fair. Well, he saved your life a couple of times."

"You threatened to kill him."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"What the hell is going on?" Jason asked, opening the door. He looked terrible — eye bags, bruises across his cheek, bandages on his arms. If Tim wasn't done putting his foot in his mouth, he'd say Jason looked like a zombie fresh from his grave. 

"Hi," Dick said cheerfully, kicking out one of Tim's crutches. Jason lunged forward to catch Tim. "Thanks for inviting us in."

"What?" Jason asked, but he stood aside to let them enter. 

Dick dumped the groceries on the first horizontal surface that wasn't the floor — a very stained, beat-up couch — and turned around to face his brother. "I need to ask you something."

Jason tilted his head in a go-on gesture, hooking the crutch on the floor with his foot and kicking it into the apartment. He closed the door. 

"Can I give you a hug?" Dick asked.

Jason stared at him. "What?"

"Can I give you a hug?" Dick said evenly, enunciating every word clearly. It was at odds with how his hands shook, and he seemed ready to dive out the window. "And apologize. I don't need you to forgive me, though."

"Sure, Dickie, I mean —"

Dick lunged forward, wrapping his brother in something most people would call a stranglehold. Jason staggered a little, but readjusted to carrying two people. He walked over to the couch and nudged some of the groceries off before sitting down.

"Dick, I can't breathe," Tim complained.

"I never thought I'd get a chance to hold both of my little brothers," Dick said, tears starting to fall as he tightened the hug. Jason looked as horrified by this development as Tim felt.

Jason managed to free one hand and awkwardly started rubbing circles on Dick's back. "It's alright."

"Yeah, because you're here," Dick said brokenly. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Jason asked.

"For being a shit older brother," Dick said. "I wasn't there when you needed me. If I'd been better, you might've gone to my apartment when things got rough with Bruce. You —"

"You were pretty good, all things considered," Jason said gently. "And you did a hell of a lot better with Tim."

"No, I wasn't —"

"Nuh uh uh. I came back from the dead, so I'm automatically right about everything. You did your best, you learned from your mistakes for Tim, and that's a hell of a lot better than most people do."

Dick flinched like he'd been hit, curling impossibly tighter around the two of them. They sat like that for a moment before Jason gently said, "Dickie, as much as I love this touchy-feely shit, I think you're gonna strangle our baby bird if you don't let go soon."

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry, Tim," Dick said, scrambling off Jason. 

"Can't believe you threw me at a crime lord," Tim muttered, straightening his shirt.

Jason snorted. "Pretty devious, Dick. Want to put the groceries away before the ice cream melts?"

No one made a move to get up from the couch. When Jason finally did, Dick got up with him and kept one arm slung around his shoulders.

"What's up with this anyway?"

"The start of an apology," Tim said, hopping behind them on one foot. "I'm sorry about dragging you into dealing with the Drake Industries mess, I'm sorry about the last couple of weeks, and I'm really sorry about digging up your grave."

"You dug up my grave?" Jason asked, freezing in the middle of putting the ice cream away.

"I had to know," Tim said quietly.

Jason sighed. "We can't leave you unsupervised, can we?"

He sounded exhausted, worn-out, stressed beyond the point of caring. But he didn't sound mad. Well, not entirely furious at any rate. And Tim would take that.

"We'll just have to take turns keeping an eye on him," Dick said, with a laugh that sounded just a little hollow. "And if you're curious about how he pulled everything off last week, he has a notebook where he planned everything out."

"Huh," Jason said. "So what now?"

"Batman doesn't know," Tim said suddenly. "About any of this. About you."

"Really?" Jason asked, sounding skeptical.

"It's your life," Dick said. "I know we barged in. I know you have your reasons for not coming back. We barged in, but if you want us gone, we'll leave too."

He sounded like the last sentence was shattering him into a hundred million pieces; he sounded terrified out of his mind; he sounded resigned.

Jason flicked him on the forehead. "Hell no. You two can stay. Even if the chaos gremlin loves to find ways of making my life a living hell."

"Sorry," Tim repeated.

"Don't sweat it," Jason said. "Otherwise things would get boring around here, and that's a hell of a lot worse."

They went back to the couch and collapsed on top of each other. Dick didn't seem like he wanted to let go of either of them for a while, so they sat in silence. Three brothers who were never supposed to be three brothers. Never supposed to know each other all at the same time. That had met at different points independently. And yet somehow they were together. 

A quiet snore and a gentle rumble alerted Tim to the fact that Jason had fallen asleep. He wriggled out of the pile. Dick glanced at him questioningly.

"I'm going to finish putting the groceries away," he mouthed exaggeratedly. "And order dinner. Then I'm going to see if he needs any help with his operations."

Dick shrugged his shoulders in a silent gesture of, "What?"

"Skipped work for a while," Tim responded. "So I figure I should help out now,"

Dick nodded. "I'll finish putting the groceries away."

So Tim sat down and started going through all of Jason's paper files, making notes about connections across different cases and jotting down ideas about how to deal with issues. Meanwhile, Dick started cleaning, finishing up with the groceries and straightening up the place before joining Tim at the table.

Jason woke up when the delivery guy knocked on the door. He glanced at the two of them, huddled over a file. "Huh?"

"You needed the sleep," Dick said.

"Thanks," Jason said through a yawn, getting up and grabbing the food. He brought it over to the table and started handing out containers. "What do you think?"

"That I'm so glad I'm not Red Hood," Dick said fervently. "This seems like a nightmare."

"Not gonna talk me out of being Red Hood?" Jason asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dick shook his head. "If I ever had the right to tell you what to do with your life, I lost it a while ago."

"And, like, you're doing a lot of good," Tim said, sliding a piece of paper across the table. "Hey, what are these symbols in Joker's file?"

Jason glanced at it. "You think I was just going to bury the fucker? Hell no. Cremated him, mixed the ashes with concrete, and scattered the blocks around the area with protective runes."

"Protective runes?" Tim asked curiously. "You can do magic?"

Jason shrugged. "A little. Not on the level of Constantine or Zatanna, but I could hold my ground against a demon or two."

Tim turned to face Dick. "I'm sorry, but Jason's the cool older brother now. He had guns, and he can do magic."

"Betrayal," Dick gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "It's been a day, and you're already choosing Jason over me? How could you?"

"Easily," Tim said flatly. "Jason can cast spells and shoot people. And his motorcycle is way cooler."

"You take that back," Dick said, swiping Tim's carton of Udon noodles and holding it above his head. "The Wingcycle is a thing of beauty."

Jason rolled his eyes, stealing the carton from Dick and dumping half of it on a takeout lid. "What have you two been doing?"

They talked over the case files during dinner, because that was easier than bringing literally anything else up. Tim desperately wanted to know so many things —  how Jason had come back, where he'd been, where he'd learned to do everything, why he hadn't come home, why he'd heard him out and hired him. But that would have to wait. Maybe forever. And Tim didn't really care anyway, because he was sitting in a crappy apartment, eating pretty mid-Chinese food, watching his two (2!) older brothers trade quips about case management.

The summer had been a trainwreck. Tim still wasn't quite sure what the hell he'd been thinking when he'd gone to a crime lord for help. The internship had been insane. He probably should've talked to Dick way sooner. And yet, here he was, somehow. Two brothers, Joker dead, and nothing worse than a broken leg and some scrapes to show for it. 

"Oh no, Tim's thinking again," Dick said, elbowing him. "Should we take cover?"

"Gonna take over the damn city?" Jason asked.

Tim flipped them off. "Just thinking about how crazy this summer has been."

"Yeah, well, things could've shaken up worse," Jason said.

Dick nodded. "We're all together and that's what matters."

"Don't be so cheesy," Jason said, shaking his head. "So what's going to happen next?"

"Probably some explosions or a gas attack," Dick said thoughtfully. "It's Gotham after all. Once the city shakes off Joker dying, it'll be back to the usual chaos, mayhem, and murder."

"About us, dumbass," Jason said.

"I'm planning on showing up at your apartment all the time, so you might as well give me a key," Tim said. "And I'd like to continue the internship?"

"Oh, I want to see what your workplace is like, Jaybird," Dick said excitedly. "Can I shadow you for a day?"

Jason sighed. "I'm not going to get a moment's peace anymore, am I?"

"We'll give you space if you want it," Dick said. "Do you?"

"Hell no." There was a beat of silence. "Hey, get that sweet and sour chicken away from that file. That's active. I don't want to have to rewrite anything."

"Jason, you really need to start digitizing everything," Tim said, rescuing the folder. 

"No," Jason said flatly. 

They started bickering again about the best way to run a crime empire and manage vigilantism without Bruce's network. It felt familiar, even though it was the first time. It felt comforting, even if Tim hadn't been sure where he stood with Dick and Jason a month ago. It felt like something he wanted to get used to, that he wanted to take for granted. Yeah, the summer had been a summer from hell. He'd thought he was going to die more than once. He hadn’t expected things to work out well. But they had. He’d gotten hands-on experience with some of the worst Gotham had to offer, and after reflection? There wasn’t a better way for his summer internship to have wrapped up