Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The most unsettling thing about Sam’s new predicament was the sky. It was clearly a nighttime view, with a lot of light pollution, slightly cloudy. A few scattered lights betrayed the presence of ongoing air traffic, but there was also closer proof of that fact. Since he had… arrived here, he had seen two helicopters and a blimp, for some reason. It didn't have a terrible mind bending meteor or a horrible void. It was the sky he would have seen any day, living in the city.

The problem with all this was that, just minutes ago, that hadn't been the case.

He cautiously walked across the deserted street he found himself in, ignoring the urge to close his eyes.

“Shouldn't we hhhhhhh shouldn't we get back inside?” Asked Joel as he walked behind him, clutching his teddy bear tightly in his right hand, the other one holding Sophie's own, as he had told them to do.

Sam turned, checking on the kids for a moment before sending a pleading look to the other adults in the group.

Maybe they knew something he didn't? Could they help him with this? He was not equipped to deal with this sort of thing. At all.

Hellen, clad in her mask, didn't even twitch while Dan clearly wasn't getting his silent plea for help. He didn't even bother trying with Leigh.

When he finally gave up, he cleared his throat, trying to sound as confident as possible.

“It seems safe for now,” was the first thing that came to mind. No extra limbs or… wormifications anywhere which was reassuring, at least. After thinking things over for a moment, he spoke again. “And we could still be inside. The building has gotten strange lately.”

Which was… sort of true, he remembered the way his landlord’s apartment had turned into an open warzone. His apartment could have evolved into a replica of a full city while he wasn't paying attention. The cursed mold also messed with someone's senses, making them see things that weren't actually there. That was another worrying possibility.

He wished he knew the true answer, that the fact that he had seen some people change after some time wasn't running through his head constantly, filling him with dread. He didn't even know what the outside looked like, maybe it seemed normal at first. Maybe it was too late for him already.

Just when he was starting to panic, a high, disjointed sound echoed around them.

Someone was singing.

It was close, more present than the distant whirl of –maybe fake– traffic and the scattered gunshots.

He braced himself, passing the baby to Sophie and making sure he had the furnace edge on hand as he walked to the head of the group, moving towards the voice.

He guided them a few meters across a worn down street that looked like it had been abandoned for at least a decade before arriving at the doors of an empty warehouse.

Without giving it much thought, he walked in.

The scene he stumbled into was bizarre, which strangely, felt reassuring to him. God knows he had grown used to weird situations by now.

There was only a single person inside, seemingly busy decorating the place. The man had interesting taste, judging by the way the walls were splattered with a whirl of intense, clashing colors. There was a theme going on; balloons were scattered around the place, shining confetti mixed with glitter covered the ground and a few empty piñatas were waiting on top of a table. There were a few paper hats and poppers set aside in piles. Beside the party decorations, there were also some strange items here and there. A few crystal, chemiluminescent boxes with a purple hue were neatly organized on one corner and green, glowing liquid filled two containers in the back, eerily giving the room a strange glow. They were connected to a strange metal contraption made of tubes Sam couldn't make heads and tails of.

If it weren't for the huge sign saying “Comeback party” he’d think this was a sci-fi themed child’s birthday party.

The man had been in the middle of painting a laughing face on the wall when they came in. Immediately, he froze, noticing them despite the distance and the fact that they had been trying to be as stealthy as possible.

Slowly, the man craned his neck to look at them, twisting his head over his shoulder while the rest of his body remained in place. That- that looked like it had to hurt and… it was extremely creepy. The man’s expression wasn't better, unnaturally white and with a big crimson smile. It reminded him of Leigh’s own, that edge hidden behind the expression. His eyes were vivid and expressive even from this distance, oddly intense.

Still, he was used to this… off feeling coming from some of the people that had seen the outside so he would still be polite and, unless attacked, he would not react with violence.

He was better than that. He had to be better than that.

Cautiously but emboldened by the fact that the man hadn't attacked yet, Sam approached him, making sure the kids were hidden behind the group.

“Sorry for barging in like this but we are kind of lost. Could you give us some directions?”

The man's response to that was to fully turn around.

A shrieking, bone chilling laugh echoed inside the warehouse.

Oh, fantastic. This man had definitely looked outside.

“Oh~ you're lost? Poor little unarmed man, lost in Gotham, doesn't know how things work here,” the man said in a sing-song voice, visibly delighted as he walked closer and closer to him. “But sorry isn't gonna cut it, you know? This party is supposed to be a surprise for my old pal Batsy. I can't have you ruining it.”

The more he watched the man’s expression the more Sam started to worry about how similar he might be to Leigh. She made him very uneasy. He didn't want to deal with two of them! But… if there was one thing he firmly believed, it was that no one should have to bear this apocalypse alone. If the man needed help, if he wanted to join their group after this, he wouldn't say no.

Hey, maybe he and Leigh could focus on each other and… entertain themselves without causing trouble. That would be nice.

Just as he was having that thought, the man before him moved with impossible speed, pulling something from his jacked and making Sam jump with surprise.

He didn't have time to react before the gun went off and, out of reflex, he closed his eyes, expecting the familiar feeling of a bullet impacting his body. When that didn't happen, he opened them again.

The man was laughing like that had been the funniest thing he’d ever seen. The gun was still in his hand, a little flag with a sign saying “bang” was poking out of the barrel. The gun was a fake, then?

Ah… a prank.

Okay. Sam didn't like him much now. But that didn't matter. Some people just rubbed you the wrong way at first. You couldn't leave someone alone to die just because they had a terrible sense of humor and were ridiculously rude. He was aware that being cursed gave people… quirks.

“Oh, that was great!” The man laughed. “You know what? Maybe I can think of something. You get to be part of the surprise! Batsy is going to love this.”

With that, he skipped even closer to him, tugging a little plastic flower that was poking out of the lapel of his purple suit.

Sam, seeing the obvious prank coming, raised an eyebrow at him and opened his mouth to try to salvage the situation and get back on track.

“I really don't think–” his words were interrupted by a stream of acid shooting directly at his face.

Shit! Son of a bitch. Acid burns always sucked.

He was blinded for a moment which wasn't his favorite feeling but he was familiar with this song and dance already. They could work with this.

Their opponent was just a single man, but little Song was with Sophie and, despite knowing that Joel could handle himself, he preferred to have him stay out of this kind of danger whenever it was possible. That meant…

“Dan, the kids. Hellen, cover me. Leigh, go!”

“Heh heh heh,” came Leigh's familiar laughter, voice morphing into a deep inhuman growl as the transformation took place. “Finally something fun!”

The first thing he saw when he was finally able to open his eyes was the mass of mouths and limbs that was Leigh's beastly form tearing at the surprised face of their opponent.

For some reason, he was still smiling.

Murders were unsurprisingly common in Gotham. Yeah, crime capital of America yadda yadda. Despite his best efforts, Batman was still human, so it was impossible for him to dedicate his time investigating every single murder that happened in the city.

Usually, he let the police department take care of most of them unless they couldn't figure them out or there was possible involvement from the rogues or the gangs.

With the latest Arkham mass breakout, he had been too busy to even do that. Locating every rogue was extremely difficult and they all knew how to hide from the bats so these situations could take months to resolve.

All the team was busy. Oracle had been doing overtime for weeks, directing Cass and Steph to reported sightings of the escapees while Duke kept the fort during the day and made sure that any remaining elements of the “We are Robin” movement didn't bite more than they could chew. Dick had even come to the city for backup while Batman and Robin spent more time on the streets trying to put out metaphorical –and literal– fires than at the manor.

Tim, for his part, wasn't slacking or anything; but these kinds of operations were carefully organized. It wouldn't be the first time the rogues turned a breakout into a war of attrition, so they had to make sure they would last as long as it was needed. He had just finished his last shift, which meant that right now he was supposed to be resting and enjoying his –very limited– free time.

This is what takes us back to the murder investigations.

Yes, most people wouldn't think of that as a relaxing activity, but Tim wasn't most people.

It felt like a puzzle to him, which made it an interesting way to pass the time and, most importantly, it made him feel useful, like he was doing something productive. He had tried spending time on his actual hobbies before, but it only made him more stressed out, knowing that he was wasting his time when he could be doing something important instead.

He knows that it isn't the healthiest way to deal with stress but if anyone had something against it, they could take it up to his non-existent therapist. Besides, the only people that knew about it were the rest of his family, and no one had room to talk about bad habits.

Stones and glass houses and all that.

Tim lazily scrolled through the substantial backlog of unsolved cases that had been forwarded to the bat computer, looking for something interesting.

Most of them had simple notes attached to them written by the commissioner: “in Black Mask's territory, found in the sewers, close to a Riddle’s former hideout, in a park, possible Joker involvement…”

The last one made Tim stop cold.

There was no way Bruce had missed this, was it? They were all on high alert for any possible info on the Joker's whereabouts. He hadn't shown any signs of his presence since the breakout, and he was planning something big. Tim had to take a closer look at this.

The date was… around the time Scarecrow had taken a primary school hostage but even then Bruce must have–

Ah, that made sense, the moment Tim opened the document a note greeted him from the top of the first page. “Suspected copycat”. The note had been made by Bruce. He had checked it, then.

Copycat murderers were ever present in the city. When you had a lot of mass killing maniacs that left very recognizable calling cards, some criminals had the brilliant idea to disguise their victims as “just another Gothamite in the wrong place at the wrong time” to hide the real culprit and motives. Some of the rogues were easier to use as a false flag than others. Poison Ivy, for example, got a lot less copycats than Two-face for obvious reasons. Another factor to take into account was how much the rogue in question appreciated imitators. A few of them were displeased by these setups and would express that sentiment with extreme prejudice to make an example of the unlucky perpetrators, while others took advantage of them, muddying the waters and obscuring their true location behind fake crimes on the other side of the city.

The Joker was a fairly popular option for this kind of thing since the calling card was easy to imitate. Just add a splash of color to any crime scene and voila! He didn't always hunt down copycats either. If he found the crimes funny, he would let them get away scot-free and enjoy the fear they caused the GCPD and the city as a whole.

Fortunately, there were ways to differentiate between fakes and the real thing. It depended on which rogue it was but once you got used to seeing the signs, it became fairly easy.

This case, for example, met every mark for being an impersonator.

Single victim, none of the usual spectacle, small scale, lack of direct provocation towards Batman, found hours after the fact, the only sign of the Joker being the way the crime scene looked…

Of course, that didn't mean the Joker never did those sorts of crimes but he had shown signs of planning something big before he disappeared. He was itching for a show and he was laying low before everything was ready. It wouldn't make any sense for him to prepare this scenario for a single victim and then vanish without taking credit. If he had wanted to brag about still not being caught, there would be a note addressed to Batman next to the body.

The date, lack of evidence and no further action meant that this was a one off so Bruce was probably right. The pattern didn't fit at all. It hadn't been him.

With the information that Tim had… It looked like gang members either settling a score or cleaning up. There hadn't been any missing person’s report related to this case, the culprit took a lot of care making sure the victim wouldn't be recognized and the body had remained unidentified in the hospital for 30 days. It fit.

The scene itself was perfectly copied, though. Whoever it was, they had done his research well. Probably had access to photographs of actual crimes done by the Joker, which was further proof of gang connections.

Well, an investigation in gang violence was a perfectly valid way to pass the time, wasn't it? So, with his new objective in mind, Tim got to work.

It took him less than an hour to gather all the info before he decided to make a quick visit to the GCPD.

The document hadn't given him nearly enough to narrow down the possible culprits. Probably because the cop in charge of this case had fully washed off their hands the moment they decided this could have been the Joker, so there weren't any lab reports or evidence photos other than a few close-ups of the graffiti and blood stained walls and the… Chunks of victim.

Infiltrating the GCPD building as a bat was practically a rite of passage at this point. He only had to wait for a couple of minutes before a newbie secretary saw him sitting on Gordon's chair and the man himself showed up, looking like he had swallowed something sour.

It was rude, but understandable since the newbie did spill the cup of coffee he had been carrying all over the office the moment he had caught sight of Tim.

He’d make it up to him some other time. He was busy right now.

“What is it this time,” Gordon said with all the resignation of an exhausted parent. Wow. What a tone. He really wasn't happy to see him. Not very professional of him to show it like that, in Tim’s opinion.

“I want to talk to Kyle Johanssen,” Tim replied, as if nothing was wrong. He handed the commissioner a copy of the report.

Gordon took it warily, brows rising in surprise as he read.

“Batman said it wasn't him,” he said. He brought a hand to his mouth in worry.

Seeing the way the man’s shoulders had tensed up, panic starting to gather behind his expression, Tim intervened. He immediately switched gears from the detached “aura of mystery” persona to a hero projecting calm reassurance.

“Our working hypothesis is that this is related to gang activity, not the Joker,” he said firmly. “I want to know about the scene of the crime. The report wasn't very detailed and I was hoping I could narrow things down.”

To Tim’s chagrin, it didn't seem to work. The worried frown became a creeped out grimace for a second before it simply pettered out into annoyance.

“You know,” the man said,narrowing his eyes at him. “The Justice League has been authorized to work with the police but there are very rigid limits to that. Batman and Robin aren't supposed to be able to stroll into the building and start demanding things from me. I like my plausible deniability and to pretend you're just informal… collaborators and informants.”

Gordon let his words hang in the air, the uncomfortable silence stretching as Tim waited, still as a statue.

After ninety seconds, Gordon finally cracked, breaking into a sigh as he gestured at Tim to follow him.

“I am not very familiar with that case. I was busy organizing the response to Scarecrow’s hostage situation,” he explained as they walked across the building. They got a few startled stares as they did, the many officers they crossed paths with hurriedly moved out of the way, whispering the moment they thought Tim was out of earshot. “Sent everything to Batman anyway when it got flagged for possible Joker involvement but after he got back to me with the results I didn't take another look. Too many things going on right now with the breakout.”

True to his words, the building was a blur of activity around them. The phones were constantly ringing, papers scattered all over the place being carried by haggard looking workers running from one office to another. Gordon himself looked like he hadn't had a good night's sleep in weeks.

They arrived before a closed door. Gordon knocked twice before opening it, not waiting for a response.

Inside, there was a single man. He had been in the middle of a phone call, apparently. His eyes glided over the two newcomers before he did a clear double take, expression freezing and pupils shrinking when he finally processed who exactly had walked in with his boss.

Hmmm… that wasn't the expression of someone who was surprised to see Red Robin walk into his office. It was more akin to the surprised fear of a bird caught in a trap, a scared, cornered animal.

Interesting

Chapter Text

Someone was calling Tim.

He checked the time on his wristpad and… sure enough, he had missed the meeting.

With a sigh, he moved higher up the building he was currently perched on, away from any possible listeners. He climbed carefully, trying his best not to slip as the rain poured down, forming artificial waterfalls on the edges of the fire escape. Once he was all the way up the roof, he pulled out his binoculars and brought a hand to his ear, activating the –thankfully– waterproof comm.

“Red Robin,” he said crisply.

“You missed the meeting,” was Oracle's swift response.

He was aware, thanks.

“I’m enjoying my time off,” he said grimacing as a very strong burst of wind splattered the torrential rain directly into his face. “I gave the all clear a while ago.”

“Yes, but we all know you love snooping in despite technically not being on shift,” she deadpanned in response. “You're lucky I told Batman you were busy bothering the GCPD or he’d be hunting you down by now. I’m guessing one of the cold cases was more interesting than you thought?”

Tim ignored the question, his attention fixed on another point in the conversation.

“Did you plant a tracker on me?” He protested.

He had left the “official” ones at home since this wasn't technically sanctioned bat-business. One thing was staying safe on patrol but a very different one was getting stalked in his free time!

Barbara snorted.

“No, I just spoke to my dad. He came home complaining about you dropping in the department to harass his employees.”

Ah, yeah. That… made sense. Right. Her dad. Duh. He should have thought of that. That was kind of embarrassing. He was supposed to be a good detective.

Feeling slightly flustered by the blunder, he parried the comment.

“Well, if he didn't want me harassing them he should have hired better ones.”

There was a full second of silence before she groaned.

“Goddamnit. Did the mob get an in again?” She asked. When he didn't deny it, the sound of typing took over the comm as Barbara probably pulled out employee files. Which was definitely illegal.

See? And then people accused Tim of being weird and invasive and paranoid!

“Who is it?” She asked

“Kyle Johansen,” a bit predictable in Tim’s opinion, with a name like that. It's like the sugar free version of Knife Mcmurderton. “Nothing concrete yet. He’s good at hiding his trail but he was acting shifty when I asked about a recent case so I dug a little and found a lot of inconsistencies in his reports and finances. Seems to always happen around the time when he's doing cleanup for rogue crime scenes too.”

“So what are we looking at? Sabotage or spy?” Barbara asked.

It was at that moment that, even through the thick rain, Tim saw a very familiar car park take a turn towards the building.

He smiled.

“That's what I’m about to find out,” he said, anchoring his grappling hook to the edge of the rooftop before letting himself fall. “I’m going to engage. I’ll keep you all updated on the case. Will probably have it sorted out by Wednesday.”

Just as Oracle's “good luck” came through the call, Tim landed silently behind his mark. He had yet to leave his car and was currently twisting his body to take his umbrella from the floor of the backseats while staying inside the vehicle, trying to keep himself as dry as possible.

Tim watched in silence, hidden in the shadows and not moving a muscle as the man was finally able to wrestle his umbrella free.

The man turned, facing the street but apparently too distracted and blinded by the sheer amount of rain to see Tim.

Kyle was in a bit of a hurry, it seemed, because without wasting a single moment, he started walking at a hurried pace, straight towards his home.

He was… very easy to follow, exaggeratedly so. At one point Tim even decided to test how far he could push it before he was noticed, even sharing the man’s umbrella.

He still didn't see him. Whoever Kyle was, it definitely wasn't the secret ace of a gang, that's for sure.

When Kyle stopped before the building’s entrance, pulling out his keys, Tim decided that enough was enough.

He cleared his throat to get the man’s attention and was incredibly successful.

Kyle jumped in place, dropping the keys with a start and swinging his umbrella down and to the side. The noise he made was also… interesting. A mixture between a gurgle and a screech.

Tim took a step back, letting the man take in the situation. When Kyle finally got his bearings back, his shocked startled expression gave way to one of dread and fear.

“Oh. Fuck,” he simply said, looking like he had been caught red handed.

In the end, getting all the info he wanted was surprisingly easy.

“It’s only sometimes! And it wasn't anything important… I just,” the man hurried to explain. Tim hadn't even had to employ any drastic measures. He just told him about his suspicions and the man started talking like he had a gun pointed at his head. “I just pick up anything interesting. Like those machines Freezer makes or whatever drugs Scarecrow leaves behind. I sell them around and give away some info, that's all! Nobody gets hurt.”

Right, except however ends up on the other end of the weapons the guy sells.

Tim was completely unimpressed.

“You aren't working for anyone?” he insisted, resting his chin on the end of his sturdy metal bo in a casual reminder.

The man shook his head frenetically.

“Nono. Of course not,” he stopped for a moment before paling. “I… I mean… the Penguin buys them most of the time but it's nothing formal.”

Jesus Christ. He was glad he found this out early enough to nip it off the bud but this was going to become a headache and a half to clean up, wasn't it?

“You only sell afterwards? No requests for messing with specific things?”

The man looked at him confused for a moment before Tim rolled his eyes and explained.

“You tampered with a murder case approximately a month ago. The one I asked you about in the station. Was it under request?”

The wheels finally started to turn in Kyle’s mind. He grimaced for a second before clearing his throat.

“Was that… was that how you found out?”

Tim crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at him.

The man got the hint, thankfully and even seemed embarrassed by the slip up.

“Uh, right. Sorry that's. That doesn't matter. No. I just got everything that looked interesting and stashed it away, you know? The purple and green glowing tanks. Was planning to sell them. I usually don't like to deal with joker sh– stuff but since you guys said it was just a copycat…”

Alarm bells started to ring in the back of Tim’s mind and he froze. Honed instincts built on years of fighting pushed him to brush away the feeling of faint boredom to fully focus on the man before him.

“Where are those… “glowing tanks”?”

Kyle blinked, taken aback and he fidgeted in place, noticing the sudden change in Tim’s attitude.

“I… I have them in my basement. That's where I keep all the contraband.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed further and he picked his bo again and pointed it slightly at the man, fully serious.

“You are going to show me where they are,” he said. It was not a request.

Tim didn't carry enough materials to analyze random chemical compounds on the job. Especially not when he was supposed to be resting.

Patrolling with a full chemistry lab on one’s back was very inefficient, after all.

Usually, unless they were on the scene suspecting a specific substance, they carried a few kits in the batmobile and some strips on their belt, nothing more than that.

The best method to make sure you knew exactly what kind of substance you were dealing with when you patrolled a town like Gotham, was to take a sample back to the batcave.

Despite the unusual concentration of crazy mad scientists in the city, the batcave had been built by a paranoid billionaire with alien –and magical!– contacts, so whatever new unholy abomination against the spirit of science the rogues managed to come up with, the bats could usually figure out what it was and how to neutralize it.

They also had a database with every known compound used by each rogue so, if Tim had –for example– bumped into a terrifying amount of a possible new joker venom variant, then the batcave would be the best place to check.

Tim’s problem was that the cave was currently a blur of activity and nobody needed the added stress of finding out that Tim’s “fun free time” activities had accidentally unearthed a crazy conspiracy in which the joker collaborated with the mob and supplied random city gangs with his horrible new concoctions while… they pretended to be him? For some reason?

Was this his play? Should Tim ring the alarm right now?

Half the city had burned just a day ago and everyone was being pushed to their limits. They were focused on other things at the moment…

Besides, what was he supposed to say? Sorry everyone! Something is happening but I don't know what it is or who is actually involved! Stop doing your very important jobs and pay attention to my complete lack of concrete information.

Yeah… he only had a few scattered thoughts. He couldn't leave this investigation half assed and then push it to the rest of the team. He could at least do the analysis himself.

He managed to calm down by the time he arrived at the Nest and got everything ready. –He had dried himself slightly before getting to it, since dripping all over the place was not good lab etiquette–. So he had time to think about the situation carefully

He’d handle it. He told Barbara he’d figure it out before Wednesday. That meant he had two days. The situation had been stable for at least a month so unless something drastic happened –at which point he would immediately inform Batman–, then waiting until he gathered more information would be for the best.

He would uncover everything he could and then present the actual facts to the rest of the team. He would use his personal hideouts for this investigation. Keep things low-key and when he found out who was behind the mysterious violent murder and why they had those tanks of supposed joker-made substances then he’d share this with the team.

Besides, it could be a fake too, couldn't it? Despite looking… exactly like something the joker would make nothing guaranteed that to be the case!

A couple hours later and after repeating the tests ten times… Tim only had one thing to say when he saw the results.

In Kyle's wise-in-hindsight words…

“Oh. Fuck.”