Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

I need your insight on something.

Dick Grayson had been sitting at his desk at the Blüdhaven police department having coffee with his partner Amy Rohrbach after they’d just wrapped up the trafficking case they’d been working on for the past couple of weeks when the unexpected text message came through. His curiosity had instantly been piqued. It wasn’t too often that he saw Bruce Wayne’s name pop up on his cell asking him for help.

“Uh-oh. I know that look,” Amy muttered over her steaming styrofoam cup. “What mystery do you have to solve now, Grayson?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he glanced back at her. The look broadened as he sipped his own coffee— prepared with lots of cream and a sprinkling of sugar, just how she knew he liked it— relishing the warmth that spread through him. He really had lucked out to get Amy as his partner when he’d joined the Blüdhaven police force as a rookie. From the start, he’d wanted to get close enough to root out the corruption on the force, plenty familiar with it from seeing it first hand when he’d settled in his new home of Gotham City after he’d been taken in by Bruce. He couldn’t be more grateful to have been assigned to one of the few honest officers there were, one that had the same goal he did.

“Seems as though Bruce needs my help with something,” Dick replied. “He didn’t say for what, but it’s gotta be important if he’s reaching out.” And by “important”, it probably meant it was something Batman related, especially since he hadn’t elaborated in his message. Texts were too easy to track, after all.

“Well, that is a mystery.” Amy’s eyes gleamed as she stood from where she’d been perched on the corner of his desk, brushing a loose strand of her long brown hair behind her ear. “Why don’t you take that as a sign to head on home? Take a couple days. You were supposed to be out of here a while ago, anyway.”

“You sure, Ames?” Dick couldn’t deny a couple days off sounded amazing. But much like Gotham, crime rarely slept in Blüdhaven. It felt like he and Amy had been getting a steady amount of cases assigned to them lately, and there was always something to keep Nightwing busy when the sun went down.

Amy flashed him a bright smile she reserved only for people she liked. Which weren’t many. “Course I’m sure,” she answered. “I think we can survive without you for a couple days. Plus, I’d say you’ve earned it with how you found that lead to get the break we needed to finally crack down on that damn trafficking ring.”

At this, Dick couldn’t help but smirk ever so slightly. It had been serendipitous when he’d gotten a tip from Tim Drake, who’d been working on a case involving the same trafficking ring since they’d been starting to run their business through Gotham, where he’d been tracking their movements as Robin. Together, they were able to compile enough information for them to shut the group down completely on both ends.

“Besides, you’ve been looking exhausted lately, Grayson,” Amy continued, eyeing the dark rings under his eyes with concern. It was always an effort on Dick’s part to make sure most bumps and bruises Nightwing got on nightly patrols weren’t noticed by his partner, but his lack of a regular sleep schedule was a different matter altogether. “I think a little time to rest and recoup will do you good, I don’t want you overworking yourself. I don’t want to lose my partner anytime soon, okay?”

Dick snorted before he took another sip of his coffee. “Aw, I knew you cared about me.”

Amy rolled her eyes. “Nah, it’s just a hell of a lot of hassle and paperwork that I just don’t have the time for.” She gave him a playful smile and light nudge before the look softened. “Seriously. Go home, Dick. See what the big man wants. See your family. Spend some time with that lucky girlfriend of yours.”

A quiet chuckle escaped from Dick as he rose to his feet, phone and coffee in hand. “Believe me, I’m the lucky one,” he said, his gaze landing on one of the framed photographs on his desk— one of him when he was a teenager with messy black hair, a silver earring in his right ear similar to the one he still wore, and a bright smile as a girl a year older than him with red hair and glasses rested her head on his shoulder and flashed a peace sign at the camera. And he truly was lucky. Ever since they’d been kids, he’d thought Barbara Gordon was pretty amazing. It hadn’t taken them long to become best friends after he’d been adopted by Bruce all that time ago, she’d been a friendly face when his world had been thrown into turmoil, though he couldn’t deny that he’d crushed on her quite a bit even then. There may have been quite a few twists and turns and bumps and detours along the way— they’d both had some growing to do, they’d both had other relationships, they’d drifted apart, he’d had to find himself— but even after all that, the road had kept leading them back to each other. And he couldn’t have been happier that it had.

“But, uh, yeah, I guess I’ll take your advice and head out. See what Bruce wants my help with. I’ll see you next week, Ames.”

“Good. Get the hell out of here, Grayson.”

Which is how Dick found himself standing in the Batcave with Bruce as they looked over some files on the large monitors of the Batcomputer.

“The Abramovici twins?” the younger man asked as he scanned the images of the conjoined twins in question— two huge, muscular men attached at their shoulders. “What’s got you looking into them?”

“We spotted them on some of the cameras Barbara’s been able to tap into in Arkham City a couple weeks ago,” Bruce explained. “They were with Harley Quinn. She and Joker may have some plan for them. Perhaps trying to recruit them.” He turned to Dick. “Do you know them?”

Dick couldn’t help but smirk slightly. “I’m assuming you know at least a little about their background if you’re asking me that question,” he muttered. When his mentor’s look mirrored his own, he crossed his arms. “I mean, not personally. I never even saw them in person. But as a kid in Haly’s, I heard a lot of stories about the twins. They’re from… somewhere by Serbia, if I remember right. Dropped off at another traveling circus, quite the novelty act and staple of a freak show for a long time. But I always heard about how strong they are. I remember Haly wanting to make sure our strongmen were quite impressive too when those stories spread, making sure we were keeping up. A lot was probably exaggerated as those sorts of things tend to be, but I guess there was an actual incident once where a tiger used in one of the acts got loose and attacked the audience, and they killed it with their bare hands. So, with feats of strength like that, it wouldn’t surprise me if Joker was interested in having them in his gang. Guess he could have sent Harley to offer a sweet deal for them if the circus they belonged to agreed to it.”

Bruce appeared thoughtful as he typed something into the computer. “That fills in some gaps, and fits in line with what I was thinking.” A news article popped up on one of the large monitors, and he frowned. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

Dick’s gaze faltered when he saw the police photos his adopted father managed to pull up of who must have been the owner of the circus the Abramovici twins had belonged to dead with a knife in his heart, blood at the corners of his lips spread to look like a sinister smile. “Looks like he didn’t agree to the deal, huh?”

“There’s something else.” Bruce typed some more into the computer before pulling up two grainy images taken from video camera footage with different timestamps. Dick took a step closer to the large monitors, just to make sure he was seeing them clearly.

“They’ve been separated?” The younger man’s gaze passed over both men— one seemingly with green hair and a painted clown face with only his right arm, the other bald with only his left— carefully.

“Mm.” Bruce pulled up a file on another monitor. “There was an order under the name Jack White to hire a surgeon into Arkham City early last week.”

“So Joker hired…” Dick’s brow furrowed when he read the name. “Wait. Thomas Elliot? That sounds familiar. Isn’t that… your old friend?”

Bruce nodded. “We never spoke again after his father was killed in a car accident many years ago when we were kids. My father tried his best, he did all he could, but he couldn’t save him. Fortunately, his mother survived, he was able to save her. But I believe Tommy still blamed us, blamed my father, never forgiving him for losing him.”

Dick gave him a sad look before he typed something into the computer himself. “So maybe Elliot didn’t know it was Joker who’d actually asked him for help and went in. Or he did, and he still went to help anyway as it's all part of the job. And… split the twins?”

“I think so. He’s become a very talented surgeon in his own right. It wouldn’t surprise me if Joker hired him for the twins because he wanted the best, for whatever reason he has.” Bruce moved closer to the monitors. “This one.” He pointed to the man with green hair and a made-up face. “From what we’ve been able to tell, he’s stayed with Joker. Tim went into Arkham City a couple weeks ago to follow up on some rumors we’ve been hearing that Cobblepot’s got an underground fight club going, and the other twin seems to be with his thugs. He really did a number on Tim.”

The younger man frowned. “Great. Neither of them are people who should be so close to the general population of Gotham if they’re willing to run with Joker’s gang, or Penguin’s for that matter.” Dick glanced up at the monitor, not finding what he was looking for. “So there’s a record of Elliot entering Arkham City, but not leaving,” he muttered. “Think he’s staying? The municipal council has to let medical personnel be there for the inmates, right? Not sure why they went along with Strange with this project to begin with, but here we are.”

“Possibly. It’d be cruel and unusual not to have medical personnel for the inmates. And he is one of the best.” Bruce closed all the files he’d brought up on the monitors. “Though Tim’s noticed a disturbing pattern around Gotham the past week or so. Doctors, nurses, and interns have been going missing after their shifts at hospitals and emergency rooms. A lot of the leads he’s been following have gone nowhere, but some bodies have turned up.”

“That’s weird…” Dick continued to absently watch the footage from inside Arkham City playing on one of the monitors. “I can try to help Tim on that case, I have a friend who’s an intern at Gotham General. She might be able to provide some insight.” He glanced at the older man. “Think it might have something to do with all this?”

“The timing seems a bit too good for it to be a coincidence. But who wants them and why, I’m not sure yet.” Bruce gave the younger man a soft smile. “It’s good to have you around helping out. This whole Arkham City project has been a mess.”

“Yeah, well, y’know I help out if I can. And Amy did give me a couple days off to be here, so.” Dick returned the look. “Speaking of, you should probably get some rest. Your big night’s tomorrow.”

The news of Bruce Wayne planning to hold a press conference about the prison city had even made its way over to Blüdhaven. He, of course, agreed with his adopted father’s outspoken condemnation of the project— maybe it was because they had more experience with the people involved than most, but placing all of Arkham and Blackgate’s most dangerous inmates all together in the heart of Gotham was an objectively terrible idea. He had no problem advocating against it himself, either.

But Bruce just chuckled. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done something like this on not much sleep,” he replied. “I hate speaking in front of people, especially about politics since that isn’t really my thing, but this is important. I know we’re not the only ones against this project, there are going to be plenty of others there in support tomorrow, and the council needs to hear it.”

Dick smirked. “In that case, want me to go with you tomorrow?” he asked. “You know how I love being part of a good protest.”

Which is how Dick wound up approaching the gates of Arkham City, a step behind Bruce Wayne as camera flashes went off all around them and tried to catch their every movement on film. He’d gotten a text from Tim just before he’d stepped out of the limo, wishing them luck and expressing how he would’ve been there too, but he was busy following up on the lead Dick had given him about his intern friend at Gotham General.

“This is Vicki Vale reporting live from Arkham City, the controversial prison city built right there in the heart of Gotham. In a few moments, Bruce Wayne will be live on stage to explain his sudden interest in Gotham politics. Rumor has it, his prodigal son Dick Grayson will be joining him. The infamous playboy millionaire has never been one to—!”

“It’s billionaire, Vicki,” Bruce corrected when he and Dick approached her. “Millionaires are so last year.”

Dick smirked to himself at his adopted father’s sarcasm. Vicki was a reporter who was always a thorn in his side whenever he returned to Gotham as either Dick Grayson or Nightwing. He didn’t mind seeing her corrected on air in front of nationwide viewers in Bruce’s typical manner.

However, the look vanished as Vicki instead fixated on him, her annoyance vanishing as her eyes lit up immediately. “Speak of the devil, and young Mr. Grayson appears!” She reached out, latching onto the sleeve of his tuxedo jacket and making sure he was facing the camera with her. “So tell me, what brings you to Gotham now? What do you think of Bruce Wayne’s sudden interest in the Arkham City project? Do you agree with what he’s about to say? Do you back your father on his coming announcement?”

“Um.” Dick glanced over his shoulder when he heard more reporters calling out for the older man while camera flashes nearly blinded him as Bruce took the podium that had been set up for him.

“Thank you!” he addressed the crowd, waiting until they quieted a little before continuing. “Thank you, Gotham.”

Dick turned back to Vicki. “Sorry, I’ll have to get to your questions at a later time.” He winked at the camera before he pulled his arm away from her. He then began to politely excuse himself as he tried to make his way toward the podium to join his adopted father to support him.

Bruce gestured at the entrance of Arkham City behind him. “Behind these walls, gang leaders are fighting a bloody war in the middle of our once great city,” he continued. Every inmate from Arkham Asylum and Blackgate prison has been relocated to this facility. How can this be safe for the people of Gotham?”

Dick cursed softly to himself as a photographer stepped directly in front of his path, trying to get the best snapshots of the billionaire as possible. He thought he saw his mentor searching the crowd for him, but he set his jaw and continued on.

“Today, I’m starting the campaign to close Arkham City and make Gotham safe again. With the support of people such as my son, Dick Grayson, I’m going to…”

He heard the sirens of the approaching aircrafts before he saw them, drowning out whatever Bruce was saying. Dick turned to watch as armed TYGER guards leapt from low-hanging helicopters stationed over the news vans in the back of the crowd. Smoke grenades were thrown to try to shield their actions from the rolling cameras, and he quickly covered his nose and mouth with his jacket to protect himself as the crowd panicked around him, screaming and trampling each other in effort to get away. But even in all the commotion, he could hear the guards talking to each other, able to discern that Bruce Wayne was the primary target.

“On what charges?!” he demanded to a couple of the men rushing past him toward the platform. “This is bullshit!”

But his protests went unheard as a couple of guards stormed the stage, surrounding his adopted father with their guns aimed at him. Bruce raised his hands peacefully, showing no intention to resist. The guards weren’t going to be deterred.

A jolt of panic surged through him. This was a planned ambush.

Dick began to urgently push his way through the crowd again, fighting to get to the platform to help him. But Bruce’s gaze met his, and he gave a brief shake of his head before the butt one of the guard’s guns connected solidly with his temple.

He stopped abruptly as Bruce fell limply to the stage. More screams echoed around him at the violent display and as more armed guards combed the crowd, grabbing some high profile reporters including Jack Ryder, another outspoken man who was never afraid to go too far for a good story who’d been more vocal against Arkham City lately. He watched the guard who had knocked out Bruce pick up his unconscious form before he heard another order come from the radio of a guard somewhere nearby.

“Make sure to grab Wayne’s son, too,” the deep voice said. “He’s in there somewhere. Make him your highest priority.”

Knowing he couldn’t help his mentor if he were to be caught, too, Dick used the commotion to his advantage and began to backtrack his way through the crowd. None of this seemed right to him. Violent arrests of private citizens like Bruce, and even Jack, just for speaking out against Arkham City when any protests had been peaceful was dubious at best. He shuddered to think what would be done to them now, but if he didn’t get out of there, he wouldn’t be able to figure out what was actually going on or what to do next to help them.

A rough hand grabbed him from behind, and he caught sight of the long barrel of a rifle being aimed at his head. “Hey, I’ve got Grays—!” the TYGER guard began to announce.

But before he could finish, Dick quickly grabbed the man’s wrist holding the weapon and spun hard, causing him to cry out when the bone snapped before he slammed his knee into his stomach, causing the guard to fall to the ground, gasping for air. He was grateful for the smoke cover— as Nightwing, he’d be able to take these guys out no problem, though Dick Grayson wouldn’t be able to.

Somehow, he managed to duck through the rest of the crowd and made it to the relative safety of the news vans without being spotted. Dick coughed as he crouched down among the shadows, making sure to stay out of sight as he watched the guards bring those they were arresting— including Bruce— to the waiting helicopters with dread. He pulled his phone out of his dress pants pocket when he felt it vibrate, seeing a text from Tim.

Holy shit what’s going on over there? Are you and B okay??

Dick couldn’t answer. His gaze hardened as he watched one of the helicopters— the one with his adopted father on it— take off and sail over the walls of Arkham City and head for Wonder Tower, the tallest building in the heart of the prison facility. He then quickly sent his younger brother a text, telling him where Bruce was being taken and to meet him at the manor, before bringing up his contact list to call Alfred Pennyworth to come back and get him much sooner than expected.

If something hadn’t been sitting well with him about Arkham City before, it really wasn’t now. There was more to this than they’d known, and they were going to have to work fast to figure it out if they wanted to save his mentor in time.

Chapter Text

“So, the chemical that was in Joker’s blood, which he then infused B’s blood with, is what’s causing the mutations we’re seeing in B’s blood now?” Dick asked, studying the large screen carefully.

“Basically.” Tim, still in his Robin gear sans his domino, sighed as he leaned on the back of the chair in front of him. The blood sample Bruce had given him when he’d snuck his way into Arkham City on behest of Alfred since he was worried about him— as they all were after Joker had poisoned him— was almost done being analyzed by the Batcomputer, but the picture was already clear. Joker had wanted to force Bruce’s hand to find a cure for his Titan poisoning, and he’d certainly done so by giving him his Titan infected blood. That also explained why medical personnel had been going missing around Gotham— they’d been kidnapped, brought into the super prison, forced to try to cure the clown, and killed when they couldn’t. “I can’t lie to you, Dick, B wasn’t looking good when I saw him. And this?” He gestured to the analysis. “This looks worse.”

Dick crossed his arms almost protectively in front of him. His brow furrowed. “One thing I don’t understand,” he muttered thoughtfully. “Joker overdosed on the Titan formula about a year and a half ago when he staged that stunt at Arkham. And it’s only been in more recent weeks, maybe months, that he’s gotten so ill. But B’s only had the poison for a number of hours, not even half a day, and he’s… well…” His gaze drifted to another monitor that was keeping track of Bruce’s vitals through his suit. They weren’t good.

Tim followed his brother’s gaze, and his own faltered when he saw the readings. Whatever Bruce was doing tracking Ra’s al Ghul far beneath Arkham City, he had to do it quickly. He didn’t have much time before it would be too late for a cure. “That crossed my mind too, and I have some thoughts about that,” he replied. “Obviously, Joker had a pure sample of the Titan formula. And especially since he went overboard with it, it’s been in his blood this whole time, poisoning him, getting progressively worse over the last year and a half.

“But with B, he got the Titan via the blood transfusion from Joker, so a couple factors could play into his much more rapid deterioration. It was a contaminated sample of Titan, and let’s face it, we don’t always know the quality of Joker’s blood on a good day, which could’ve exacerbated the effects of the poison. But I think the biggest concern is the transfusion itself. Obviously, Joker wasn’t concerned with if his blood was a good match for B’s, he’s just in it for himself. Surprise, surprise. Some adverse reactions to transfusions that aren’t a good match can be fatal, and it can kill you pretty rapidly if not treated. From what I saw when I was with him, and from some of the numbers I’m seeing here in his blood and from his vitals, this could signal an acute hemolytic reaction. Which can kill you within twenty-four hours, which is what B's concerned about for anyone who’s already gotten Joker’s blood. And, I think, for himself.”

“He didn’t seem too concerned about himself, did he?”

“Not at all.”

“That’s when you worry.” Dick passed a hand over his face. “If he is having an acute hemolytic reaction to Joker’s blood transfusion, the good news is if others who’ve gotten the blood already are too, those can be treated. And we should be able to track them all down once this analysis is done and printed, and gather all unused samples before they can be.”

“That’s the one positive,” Tim agreed.

Dick’s shoulders slumped. “The glaring negative being the Titan poison in Joker’s blood.”

“Exactly. And that is quite the negative.” Tim eyed the analysis as it reached just shy of one hundred percent complete. “From what Alfred and B have told us about the cure Joker’s after, it sounds rather elusive. It doesn’t sound like there’s much to work with, and from what Victor said, it doesn’t have a long enough life to help the host. But, maybe B will get enough of what he needs from Ra’s to manufacture enough of that cure for him and Joker, and then maybe Victor can be convinced to help others infected. We can hope, anyway.”

While they found themselves on the opposing side to Victor Fries often enough, his motivations were usually only to benefit his cryogenically frozen wife Nora in some way. More often than not, despite his criminal methods, he was able to see reason. If needed, they could probably bring him around.

A quiet ding from the Batcomputer interrupted Dick’s train of thought and signaled the analysis of Bruce’s blood was complete. Tim took the report when it printed. “All right, I’m going to make the rounds to the hospitals and emergency rooms with this. I’ll also probably have it forwarded to the closest surrounding cities just in case some samples make it out that far. I’ll follow up with your friend from earlier, she should be able to help out.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Dick asked. “We can divide up locations, get to ‘em quicker.”

Tim slipped his black domino over his eyes and pulled up his hood before hesitating. “No, I think you should stay here,” he answered. “The other thing that has me concerned is that Strange knows B’s identity. I’m not sure why he hasn’t revealed it to everyone yet, and I don’t know if he knows ours, but it wouldn’t take much to figure it out if he doesn’t yet. Either of those could only be a matter of time. As much as I trust Alfred to hold down the manor in case of emergency, I think you should be here too in case Strange tries something. If I need you, I’ll call. And B knows I’m on standby for him, too.”

“And I’ll call if you’re needed here.” Dick watched as he began to head toward the spiraled steps that would lead him out of the cave. “Hey, Tim?” The teen paused, glancing over his shoulder. “I, uh, I probably don’t say this enough.”

Chuckling, Tim turned to fully face him. “Don’t tell me you’re going to get all sentimental on me now,” he said.

Dick smiled. “No, not so much,” he replied. “But really. You’re doing my old name proud, y’know. You’ve come a long way since you first approached Bruce and I with proof of our identities.”

Thinking back to a few years before, Dick realized he’d done one move during a fight— a quadruple somersault— without even thinking about it, the maneuver was so ingrained in him from his years at Haly’s that it was second nature. But Tim, who had idolized the Flying Graysons since he’d met them as a young child and had been following his and Batman’s escapades, had noticed the move that only they’d been able to pull off successfully. And since Batman hadn’t had a Robin then because of what had happened to the former one Jason Todd, and Dick had too many obligations as Nightwing to give that up, Tim had offered to fill in the role. Bruce wouldn’t even hear it at first, not after Jason, and it took Tim, with help from Alfred, getting both him and Dick out of a tight spot with Two-Face for Bruce to consider his offer.

Robin training hadn’t been easy for any of them, Dick knew that well. Not for him. Not for Jason. But especially not for Tim. For Dick, his acrobatic skills had given him a good foundation to start with; for Jason, spending most of his young life alone on the streets of Gotham had enabled him to be able to fight and defend himself. Tim hadn’t had any of that, having lived in the comfort and ease of Drake Manor right up the road from Wayne Manor, despite the issues that had come along with that. Combat hadn’t come as naturally for him, but he had worked hard to get it down from whoever had been training him at any given point. Along with that bit of a disadvantage, Bruce had applied the most pressure to his training, it’d been absolutely grueling at times, almost unfairly so. But he’d just had to make sure. He’d had to make sure that Tim could handle all that came with being Robin, he’d had to make sure that he could protect himself if he wasn’t at his side, he’d had to make sure that his emotions— especially rage— wouldn’t influence him, wouldn’t drive his decisions. Not after Jason. Not again.

But Tim had endured it all without complaint. He’d mastered everything Bruce and others had thrown at him. When his father, who he’d had a complicated relationship with at best, had been killed barely into his first year of being Robin, he’d been only more determined to do what was right for others, not to seek revenge. He’d impressed their mentor with his genius level intellect, showing more and more prowess as a detective. He definitely had Dick beat in that department, even though he’d always had a talented eye for it as well, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that his younger brother was as analytical as Bruce was, if not more so. He’d even been gracious, understanding even, every time their adopted father had slipped and called him “Jason”, the older man’s guilt over the son he’d lost always eating away at him. He’d had a longer by trial basis as Batman’s right hand than either he or Jason had, but Bruce had finally granted Tim the “R”. And Dick couldn’t have been more proud. The teen had really gone through it to get there, and he had only continued to prove that he was more than worthy and capable to be Robin the last couple of years.

Tim shrugged slightly, though he couldn’t hide the smile that was fighting its way to his face. “Yeah, well, I have looked up to you since I was two years old, after all,” he muttered. “Gotta make sure you continue to have a good name, right?”

Dick’s heart warmed. “Yeah, yeah. Get outta here now, do what you need to do. Save the day, Boy Wonder.”

“Do be quick, Master Tim.” Alfred had returned to the cave then, bearing tea and cookies. “But be careful.”

“Always am, Alfred.” Tim flashed him a grin, snatching a cookie from his tray before he hurried up the steps that would take him out of the cave.

“I do worry when he says he is always careful,” Alfred fretted as he set the tray down. “He can be a bit too reckless for his own good at times. He takes after you in that way I fear, Master Dick. Tea?”

“Please. You know you make it better than anyone, Alf.” Dick gratefully accepted the cup, allowing the warmth to ease the dread hanging over him. He took a small sip. “I’m not too concerned about Tim. Honestly, I think he may be the best Robin there’s been. But other than that, I think he’s the best suited for the task at hand. He’ll be all right.”

Alfred sighed, his weary gaze landing on the monitors showing Bruce’s blood analysis and rapidly worsening vitals. His face fell, sorrow in every crease of his face making him appear even older, more worn down. “Though I do suppose he is not the one I am most concerned about,” he admitted quietly.

Dick wanted to offer him comfort. It seemed only fitting after all the comfort the older man had given him since he’d been a child. But before he could figure out the right words— saying Bruce would be okay didn’t seem right since, as much as he hated it, that wasn’t something he could guarantee, as much as he also needed and wanted that for himself— there was a quiet crackle in his ear from his comms link.

“How are things over there, Hunk Wonder?”

Alfred cleared his throat, gesturing to his own comms link. Dick smirked.

“Well, Babs, Alfie made some of his world famous tea,” the latter answered. “But Tim finished analyzing B’s blood sample and is on his way to find more people who’ve received similar transfusions. After that, he’s going to round up all unused samples from hospitals around the city. It’s, uh… not looking good.”

“I didn’t think it would, especially with how his vital readings have been the last few minutes.”

“Have you heard anything from B?” Dick wondered. “He hasn’t reached out to Tim, Alf, or I.”

Barbara sighed. “Just that he was getting close to Ra’s and the League,” she told him. “But it’s been a little bit since then.”

Dick took another sip of tea. “Maybe he’s already with Ra’s?” he suggested. Not that that was ideal, but it was much more preferable to the alternative.

“Maybe,” Barbara agreed, though she didn’t sound too confident. “We have to hope so, otherwise—!”

Suddenly, a rapid beeping came from the Batcomputer, and both Dick and Alfred looked up to see that Bruce’s vitals reader was flashing red. He’d reached a critical point. Dire. He was…

“Master Bruce!” Alfred’s alarmed voice broke through the younger man’s panic.

“Bruce! Bruce! Can you hear me?” Barbara called. “Your vitals… they’re dropping, it’s like they’re in freefall. You need to find whatever you’re looking for now.”

“B?” Dick pressed when there wasn’t any response from his mentor. He had to be there. He had to be. “Bruce?!”

Finally, quiet gasps for breath came through the comms. “How long have I got?”

Bruce. Dick’s shoulders loosened ever so slightly. Alfred didn’t move from beside him, his hands still clenched tightly on the chair in front of him.

Barbara breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God.” She hesitated for a brief moment. “Look, I’m not going to sugar coat it, B. At this rate, I’d say minutes.”

Minutes.

Dick trusted Barbara implicitly, especially when there was some sort of data right in front of her. And the worrying vitals were right in front of her. She was incredibly brilliant, she always had been— he’d learned very quickly early on to never doubt Barbara Gordon about pretty much anything.

But she had to be wrong about this. Just this one thing. It had to happen at least every once in a while, right? Please, he thought to whoever or whatever out there that could hear him, let this be that one time she was wrong. Because even though he was seeing the same data on the large screens of the Batcomputer that his girlfriend was looking at on her monitors in the clocktower she worked out of— the data that showed vital readings dropping much too rapidly and critically to mean anything else— his brain still stubbornly refused to accept, much as his heart did, that Bruce Wayne only had minutes to live.

The man he’d spent the past fifteen years of his life with, who’d been a second dad to him since he’d faced unimaginable tragedy at nine years old, had almost always seemed untouchable, invincible, as not only Batman but also as Bruce. He’d faced it all with him, from his anxiety and panic attacks to the depression the holes his parents had left behind in him had caused; he’d weathered the storms of his struggles to find where he belonged in the constraints of the stationery world of Gotham City and his misplaced anger— taking it without complaint— when he’d lashed out because he’d needed a spot to put it, and he was the closest tangible thing. He may have been learning along the way, too, he’d never been perfect, but no parent was, and the most important thing to Dick was that Bruce had never given up on him. He’d opened his home, his arms, his heart to a scared, brokenhearted little boy who’d been suddenly left with nothing, had held his hand through all the ups and downs and guided him through all the uncertainty they’d both must have had through it all. They’d figured it out together. He’d given him a safe place when his shrinking world had felt anything but, he’d ensured he’d had all he needed and could possibly ever want, he’d shared his biggest secret with him and offered to train him when he was old enough to help him make sure that others felt safe when he’d been getting too restless. He’d kept him from making the biggest mistake of his life when he’d been faced with the man who’d taken his parents away from him. He’d made sure he was happy— that his grief, his rage, didn’t consume him and take over his life. Like it had for him.

This… this wasn’t right. Bruce had always been there, even if he didn’t always see him. He was still there. He couldn’t be…

He sat with his legs curled up to his chest in the center of the bright, colorful circus tent, thin shoulders shaking as tears spilled down his cheeks. This had always been a place of comfort for him— the bright lights, the colorful outfits of the performers, the deafening roar of the crowd— but now it all seemed so cold, so empty, so unfamiliar to him. The ropes and trapezes above him that they’d always used for their act, the same ones that had been tampered with this time, had been taken down. The crowd had all been ushered out after John and Mary Grayson had fallen so far— in all the commotion, he thought he’d briefly caught sight of the tiny boy with wild black hair and pale blue eyes, the one he’d broken his promise to, before he was lost in the shuffle, but it hardly mattered now.

His parents had been removed from the spot he was sitting in now, brought temporarily to Haly’s own caravan while the investigation continued. With them had gone his entire life. Even though the tent was open and spacious, everything was feeling much too tight, too claustrophobic, too restricted as everything instead felt like it was closing in around him, constricting him, crushing him into nothingness. He couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t enough air anymore. He buried his face in his arms, small body shaking with sobs, wishing to just disappear.

Why did his parents have to die? Why couldn’t he have gone with them? He didn’t want to be here without them. He didn’t know how to live in a world without them.

He didn’t hear the slow, soft footsteps approaching him, but he did feel the tuxedo jacket that was carefully draped around him— soft, warm, faintly smelling of fine cologne and fresh buttered popcorn. Protecting him from the cold, harsh reality that was trying to slowly squeeze the life out of him. He nestled into it.

He looked up through wet eyes as a large hand, strong yet gentle, landed on his back. He moved toward the touch a little, seeking the comfort it provided. It had a strength in it he felt could break the world, but could also hold it all together.

“Hello there.” The quiet voice was calm, deep. “It’s good to meet you. My name is Bruce Wayne.”

This couldn’t be the last few minutes that Bruce would be with them. Not when he was alone deep underground somewhere below Arkham City where they couldn’t reach him. That wasn’t right. None of this was right. It killed him that all he could do was listen to Bruce’s last breath over their comm links, that he could only watch his last heartbeat on a cold screen from many miles away when he couldn’t be with him, couldn’t find him…

He had to find him…

He gasped when a bright flash of lightning briefly lit the otherwise dark hallway before a deafening rumble of thunder shook the very foundations of the manor. He whimpered, shutting his eyes tightly as he hugged his stuffed elephant Zitka— a gift Bruce Wayne had let him choose before bringing him to his new home the first night, affectionately named after his best friend— closer to his chest. A pang of guilt seized his small frame. He’d been entrusted to take care of her, and now he wasn’t there to do so. He hoped she understood why he wasn’t there anymore, why he had to leave— he hadn’t had a choice, he hadn’t wanted to leave her, he hoped she wasn’t angry at him for not being able to take care of her anymore. He missed her so much it hurt.

It had been a little over a month since he’d come to Wayne Manor with his new guardian, and he still… wasn’t used to it. It was much too big— his new bedroom alone was even bigger than their whole caravan had been. He wasn’t used to only staying in one place all the time, he was restless. And while Bruce may have been trying his best to make sure he had everything he could possibly ever need or want— he’d never had so much stuff in his life— and Alfred’s kind but unflappable demeanor was welcoming— not to mention he made the best tea he’d ever had— they weren’t his parents. They never would be his parents. His parents were gone. His parents were never coming back.

And it was in moments like this where he felt their absence more than ever, where he felt more alone than ever. Storms had somehow seemed so much bigger, so much more , when he’d been at Haly’s. But he’d also never felt more safe than he had when enfolded in his mother’s arms as she told him a story and sang him to sleep when the world was so angry, or when his father made him hot chocolate to warm him against the unforgiving elements.

He’d lost so much, and it was in these moments where that loss was so much more palpable.

He wasn’t sure how Bruce had found him tucked away in the tiny alcove in the second floor hallway that led to the library, or when the man had joined him by sitting against the wall next to it. He’d just become aware of his presence when he heard his steady, quiet breathing; otherwise, he was as still and silent as the shadows around him. And still, he had the suspicion that if his new guardian didn’t want him to know that he was there, he wouldn’t be any wiser.

“It’s late.” Bruce’s deep voice was quiet as though he hadn’t wanted to startle him, but light. His words were merely a casual observation, not a reprimand.

He sniffed and tried to rub the tears from his eyes without success. “The sky’s too loud,” he mumbled, just as another rumble of thunder echoed through the halls. Maybe it was the open, spacious vastness of the manor that made it feel so much closer, so much more threatening.

A moment of silence followed, but when Bruce spoke next, he thought he could hear a hint of a smile in his voice. “When I was your age, I never liked it when the sky was too loud, either,” he said. “Do you want to know what helped me?”

He found himself starting to loosen up a little, his body not curled so tightly, as he moved a smidge closer to his new guardian to hear him better. “What?” he asked.

He felt more than saw the presence of the man shift closer to him. “Alfred would make me some of that tea I know you like so much,” he answered. “And then he would bore me to sleep with all of his old war stories.” There was a teasing fondness in his tone. “Or, if I could convince him, he’d act out a scene or two from some plays he’d used to be a part of as a bedtime story.”

A smile spread across his face as he laughed a little, Bruce even giving a small chuckle. “Really?”

“Oh, absolutely. Alfred’s quite the dramatic actor.” Bruce dropped his voice, almost conspiratorial. “And you know what? He always knows when boys can’t sleep because of a thunderstorm. I think he’s all ready to make some tea for us, and maybe even a couple cookies if we’re lucky.”

He thought it over for a minute, weighing his odds. “Can we go see if he’s down there now?” he wondered. The idea of tea and cookies and Alfred’s acting may have just been enough to draw him out of his hiding place.

Maybe, just maybe, he would be safe from the storm with them, too.

He watched as Bruce stood from his place against the wall as lightning once again lit up the hallway, wincing and hugging Zitka close again as furious thunder followed. He felt the man move closer again, holding a large hand out to him.

“Come on. We’ll go together.”

After another moment of thinking it over, he reached forward and set his much smaller hand in his new guardian’s, allowing himself to be gently led out of the alcove. He kept close to his side as they made their way to the warmly lit kitchen, promises of treats and laughter keeping him going as the storm rolled on around them.

And it was enough. Alfred had indeed been waiting for them to arrive with tea brewing and a plate of chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies on the counter. And he must have asked nicely enough, because the old butler had acted out some Shakespearian monologues for him, Bruce, and Zitka, causing the thunder and the rain to be all but forgotten for the night.

Dick wasn’t sure what exactly Bruce was looking for from Ra’s al Ghul, but as Barbara had said, he had to find it now. And he would. There couldn’t be any other option.

But as he watched the older man’s vitals continue to drop dangerously, how little time he had left was painfully clear. The minutes he had were going much too quickly, minutes they couldn’t even spend with him.

Stubborn tears pricked his eyes, but he closed them, trying to keep them at bay. He just had to keep hoping, just as he had been all night since his violent arrest, that Bruce would be all right, that he knew what he was doing, that he would find what it was that he was looking for. Before he…

“Seriously, Bruce.” Barbara’s hesitance was clear after all they’d gotten was silence on the other end of the comms. But taking care of the business at hand was her priority. Just as it always was. “You need to tell me what you want me to do here. What do you want Tim to do? Or Dick?”

At the mention of his name, Dick stopped breathing. He was grateful when Alfred took a small step closer to him, his quiet presence enough to ground him. But what would happen if Bruce wasn’t there to be Batman was a possibility he hadn’t even considered. What would he do? Where would he even begin?

“You know…” Barbara continued, clearly not wanting to say it. “If you don’t…”

“I’ll make it,” Bruce cut in. He sounded as certain as he always did. But there was a weakness he wasn’t used to hearing in his voice, and unless something changed in the next couple of minutes, his vitals were telling a different story.

Dick glanced over at the clear, cylindrical cases where suits that were retired or currently not in use were kept. An old Robin suit was also left on display in one of them, the last one worn by Jason, in memoriam. A warning. It was all that they had been able to find of him after what happened; Alfred had tended to the tears and tatters as much as possible, but some he couldn’t mend. Never meant to be worn again, it served as a constant reminder of what could happen to any of them at any point.

His gaze faltered. If Batman’s were to end up there that way…

“Come with me. I want to show you something.”

Dick carefully made his way down the spiraling staircase after Bruce’s broad-shouldered form, keeping up as best as he could after his long strides. But then, he paused with a gasp when he heard the squeaking of bats from somewhere up ahead of them that he couldn’t see.

Bruce smiled as he turned back to face him. “It’s all right. They won’t hurt you. They don’t really like to be bothered, actually.” He held a hand out to him.

He huffed in response. All he’d done is tell his guardian he’d noticed that he went out most nights and often didn’t come back until the early hours of the morning, even if he’d thought he hadn’t noticed, listing off a bunch of his theories— each more ridiculous than the last— about why. He hadn’t expected to be brought to some underground cave system that was apparently beneath the manor that could only be accessed by a few secret entrances, but here they were. As long as Bruce Wayne wasn’t secretly a serial killer, they’d be fine. So he set his hand in his, finding comfort in it against the unknown, as they continued to make their way down the steps.

When they reached the bottom, his face lit up with wonder when bright lights flickered on around them, as a vast keyboard with a couple of the biggest monitors he’d ever seen came to life. Nearby were a few tall, clear, cylindrical display cases, and in the one closest to them was…

His mouth dropped open as his eyes nearly bugged out of his head, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. He finally tore his gaze away from the familiar all black suit and looked up at Bruce when he heard him chuckling quietly. There was absolutely no way this was true. “You’re… you’re actually him…?” When he’d said that he thought he was Batman because of his nocturnal habits, he hadn’t meant it seriously. Not really. But if his second dad really was him…

Bruce nodded once. “It’s my responsibility,” he explained, looking over at the suit himself. “But I wanted you to know, I knew you would figure it out sooner or later. But if you’re ever looking for me and can’t find me, this is another place I might be. Now you know one of the ways to get down here, but if you forget or can’t find it, Alfred can help you.”

He slowly pulled away from the man, his eyes still wide as he tried to take it all in. There was just so much cool stuff to look at he didn’t know what to focus on first. After promising he wouldn’t tell a soul, he ran around excitedly, wanting to see it all. The Batmobile parked on a long driveway that stretched so far he couldn’t see the end of it but knew it must have led out of the cave another way. The training dummies, the exercise equipment, the targets for practice. Bruce simply watched him with his arms crossed and a small smile.

But then, he slowed to a stop when he caught sight of a corner with a high bar, parallel bars, uneven bars, ropes and a few trapezes hanging from the ceiling, blue gym mats on the floor, and a safety net secured high enough off the ground. “Is that…?” His mind took a minute to process what he was seeing. “Is that… for me…?”

He felt more than heard Bruce come up behind him— how quietly he tended to move suddenly made a lot of sense— and set a steady hand on his shoulder. “I had that installed not long after you joined us last year,” he told him. “I know that it still might be hard for you, that the memories of what happened that night might still be too painful or scary. I understand that you still might have that fear of falling. But whenever you’re ready, I wanted you to be able to have a way to fly again.”

“I… I, um…” Words were failing him. It was a gesture he never expected. One he could never have expected. A part of him wanted to try it out right away, but he could feel it in his core that it was too soon. He could still see John and Mary falling from high in the trapezes, and even though he’d been comfortable in them, he’d trusted them, for as long as he could remember, he still didn’t trust himself not to fall, too. Like they had. And that terrified him.

Bruce’s smile was kind, understanding. “It’ll be ready for you whenever you are. All I ask is you let Alfred or I know when you come down here to use it, okay? Just so we know where you are.”

He nodded. It was all he could do. Tears were rapidly rushing to his eyes, and he sniffed as he covered them with his arm to try to hide them. But he couldn’t hide the way his shoulders shook as he tried to keep from crying.

“It’s all right.” Bruce crouched next to him, rubbing his back.

He took a deep, shaking breath before he leaned into his guardian, wrapping his arms tight around his neck. He buried his face in his strong shoulder, hoping it’d be enough to convey how grateful he was to him for this.

It seemed to work as he was wrapped securely in Bruce’s large arms as the man hummed in response. “You’re welcome.”

Once he calmed down again, he asked if he could have a better look at the Batsuit. Bruce picked him up and carried him over to where it waited in its case. He looked it up and down in awe, trying to imagine his new dad wearing it, before he set a light hand on the glass over the cowl.

“So… does this mean that someday I’ll be Batman?”

Bruce’s brow furrowed before he gave him a small smile. “Hopefully you will never need to be,” he said. He arched an eyebrow thoughtfully. “Although, in some time, I might have an idea.”

It was after that first fateful visit to the Batcave— and after asking Bruce for a ride in the Batmobile— that he’d started creating the idea of Robin. The name— a blend of his favorite tales of Robin Hood he’d often heard around the campfire at Haly’s and wanting to be like him, and how Mary had always called him her “little robin” as a way to honor her. The colors— the reds and greens and yellows of the Flying Graysons, a part of his old life too important for him to let go of, a way for him to remember his parents.

Of course, Bruce hadn’t let him join him on patrols or missions until he was a bit older, and even then, nothing too dangerous until he was older still and was much better trained. That training, however, did start soon after he’d learned his guardian’s secret because he’d wanted to, and the rest was history.

His gaze moved to the corner of the cave where what Bruce had installed for him all those years ago was still stationed. He still used it all whenever he was staying in Gotham—a good way to return to his roots, keep his training up, or let some energy out— and it was still one of the kindest things he or anyone had ever done for him. It wasn’t just simply setting the trapezes up to remind him of what he’d had before and to give a little bit of that back. Bruce had given him a way to conquer the fear of falling he’d developed— one he’d nearly conquered when he could only watch as his parents fell to their deaths, one he still had buried deep down in him somewhere— and regain his wings to be able to fly since it was as natural to him as breathing. He’d given him himself back.

He couldn’t lose Bruce yet, not like this , he wasn’t ready to lose another parent…

Dick listened to his adopted dad’s labored breaths, his heavy coughs, for another moment. “B, I… I, uh…” He paused, clearing his throat when his voice broke with unshed tears before he tried again. “Bruce… I…”

But he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say in case this was the last time they ever spoke. He knew there was no way to ever really be prepared for that moment, but this was something he hadn’t thought would be in front of him for a long time yet. What could he even say?

Don’t leave me, not yet, I don’t want you to go.

I’m sorry for all the times we didn’t part on good terms.

Thank you for giving me the best, happiest childhood you could, I know you did your best.

I love you, Dad.

All things he wanted to say, all things he wanted Bruce to hear, but all things he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud. Not yet. They were all things that would make it too real, too final. And he wasn’t ready to accept that.

But, as he somehow always did, the older man seemed to be able to understand him. He chuckled quietly when he had a chance to catch his breath. “I’ll see you soon, Dick,” he muttered. “Save it for then.”

And then, both Bruce’s comms link and suit vitals reader went offline.

“Bruce!” Barbara’s voice cracked as she screamed through the comms link. “Bruce!”

Feeling lightheaded, Dick sank into the chair in front of the Batcomputer, grateful for Alfred’s steadying hand on the back of it. He leaned forward on the keyboard, dropping his face into his hands. For a panicked moment, his first thought was Bruce just didn’t want them to hear him die. But maybe , a deep, stubborn part of him persisted, maybe this meant that he’d found Ra’s, that he was just too far underground now to be picked up anymore…

But maybe that was just wishful thinking. Maybe that was his foolish heart just trying to cling to any last shred of hope that his mentor, his adopted dad, was still with them. That he wasn’t facing a harsh reality where Bruce Wayne was dead. Where Batman was no more. Where he might have to…

“Is… is he…?”

Barbara’s hesitant question brought him back down to earth mid-spiral, but even though he knew the question she couldn’t seem to actually be able to ask, he didn’t have an answer he could give her.

“What… what do we do now?” she pressed when neither he nor Alfred spoke a word, when neither of them gave voice to the fear they shared.

Dick slowly raised his head, staring blankly at the monitors in front of him. A few tears escaped and trailed down his cheeks, but he didn’t care. “I… I don’t know…” he breathed.

“Master Dick, if I may, you have some tough decisions ahead of you now,” Alfred spoke up from behind him. “But I will support you however I can, sir.”

“You always have, Alf.” Dick turned in the chair to face him, and his face fell when he saw the butler’s posture was even more rigid than normal, and while his jaw was clenched tightly, there were tears in his eyes. He couldn’t imagine the crushing grief the older man had to be feeling in the wake of Bruce’s death; he’d known Bruce since he’d been a baby, had raised him as his own after his parents were gunned down in front of him in Crime Alley, had supported him however he could in his crusade as Batman. He may have just lost a father, but Alfred had lost a son.

“Alfie…”

But Alfred cleared his throat, closing his eyes for a brief moment and taking a deep, steadying breath to compose himself before he continued. “Master Bruce has always held you in high esteem. He informed me some time ago that should anything happen to him that you would be the one best suited to carry on in his place, Master Dick.”

It took Dick a moment to register the full implication of his words. “He… he thought I could… be Batman…?” he asked.

Alfred gave him a sad yet proud smile as tears returned to his eyes. “I believe it would be a great honor for him, sir.”

Dick had to look away as a couple more tears fell from his own eyes then, his shoulders slumping under the weight of Alfred’s praise and the potential new responsibility about to fall into his lap. He then pushed himself to his feet, his restless pacing bringing him over to the cylindrical suit display cases. He looked at Jason’s for a long moment before stopping in front of one of Bruce’s old Batsuits that he hadn’t worn since he’d been Robin, lightly setting his hand on the glass over the bat emblem. He stared into the empty eyes of the cowl, trying to imagine himself wearing it. It just seemed… wrong somehow. He wasn’t Bruce. He couldn’t do what Bruce had been doing for Gotham all these years. He couldn’t abandon Blüdhaven and all the obligations he had as Nightwing. He couldn’t…

“So… does this mean that someday I’ll be Batman?”

“Hopefully you will never need to be.”

“I… I don’t think I can do it, Alfie…” Dick’s voice trembled as he took a step back from the suit. “I… I’m not him… I can’t…”

“You won’t be alone, Master Dick.” Alfred came up behind him, setting a secure hand on his shoulder. “I know you and Master Tim together will make him proud, just as you both have always done. You will do both him and I proud. He knew Gotham would be in capable hands with you both if he were ever not able to be here to defend her. You will have my unwavering support, you will have my help in any way I can give it as I’ve done for him, and you, for all this time.”

“And you’ll have me watching your back as always,” Barbara added. Her breath hitched a bit, and he could hear the tears in her voice. “Dick, you’re not Bruce. There’s no way you can be. No one can be. But you can be better. I know you can.”

Dick tried to blink his stubborn tears away. “I love you, Babs,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Hunk Wonder.” Barbara cleared her throat. “But, we are on a time limit. So what are we going to do?”

Damn, she was right. There wasn’t time for this now. Later. But right now, he had to focus.

Taking a deep breath to try to steady himself, Alfred’s hand on his shoulder going a long way to keep him grounded, Dick passed a hand over his face as he worked to sort through the situation at hand. “Okay. Well… I don’t want to distract him from what he’s doing because it’s important, but I’m going to have to get a hold of Tim and let him know that…” He still found he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it out loud, so instead he cleared his throat and pushed on. “Meanwhile, I think we need to hurry and pick up where B left off. Figure out what to do for Joker before he gets even more desperate. Figure out what Strange is planning with Protocol Ten and stop it before we run out of time. You’re right, we’ve only got a couple hours. And…”

“What is it?” Barbara wondered gently when he was quiet for a beat too long.

Dick swallowed thickly against the tears that were returning to his eyes. “I… I want to bring B home,” he said, a couple tears escaping anyway. “I want to go down there and get him, bring him back here. I’m sure we can follow his trail enough to get there, I just… He needs to be here, he can’t stay down there…”

He glanced over at Alfred when he heard his quiet, shuddering breath, watching as a single tear rolled down his cheek. “Thank you, Master Dick,” he murmured.

“Of course. I won’t leave him down there.” Dick grasped the old butler’s hand tightly.

“We’ll find him. I promise,” Barbara added. “We’ll bring him home.”

“We will.” Dick sighed heavily. “But first, we deal with Joker and Strange. I’ll go into Arkham City, meet up with Victor to see what we can do about that cure. Put a stop to all that Strange is up to. Tim can join me when he’s done at the hospitals. If you could alert him and catch him up to speed, Alf, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

“Very well, sir.” Alfred straightened his posture. “Will you be taking your suit? Or shall I prepare this one for you?”

Panic flared in his chest as Dick’s gaze moved back to the old Batman suit. He wasn’t ready to wear that, he still wasn’t quite sure he deserved to wear the bat emblem, but then again, he probably never would be ready for it. Not really. There would never be time to get used to it.

But before he could formulate his answer, some activity from the Batcomputer monitors drew his attention. He almost collapsed at what he saw; without the butler’s hand supporting him, he probably would have.

Bruce’s suit reader had come back online. And his vitals were stronger, normal even.

Alfred let out a broken, relieved sound as Dick ran back over to the computer. “Oh, thank God…”

“Bruce?!” Barbara’s disbelief was clear. “Where the hell have you been?! I thought you were dead! We all did!”

The quietest, briefest of chuckles came from the other end of the comms. “Sorry to disappoint all of you,” he replied. There was a bit more strength, more life, more humor, to Bruce’s voice again.
“Did you find Ra’s?” Barbara asked.

“Hold on,” Dick muttered, watching the screen carefully. “Your vitals… your suit’s readings are back to normal. Are you… are you cured?” He didn’t want to get his hopes up. But for the moment, he would take what he could get. His adopted father was alive, and that was enough.

“Yeah, what’s going on? What happened?” Barbara pressed.

“Ra’s and his forces are based underneath Arkham City,” Bruce explained. “They’ve found a Lazarus Pit source here in Gotham.”

Dick arched an eyebrow. “And you, what, took some of it?” he wondered. That would explain the drastic change in his mentor’s vital readings. But from dealing with the League of Shadows for as long as they had, they knew how dangerous and unpredictable the substance could be.

“He forced me to,” Bruce told him. “Even the small amount I ingested had a few nasty side effects, but prolonged exposure over centuries has driven Ra’s over the edge.”

“So, I take it you’re cured?” Barbara was hopeful, and Dick found it was one he shared. “From the Titan poisoning?”

But Bruce’s answer caused his stomach to drop.

“No. The effects are temporary, enough to only reverse the more immediate symptoms to give me a bit more time. Ra’s tried to convince me to use his Pit, which probably would have been enough to cure me completely, but the risks are too great. I didn’t do it.”

“So… now what?”

“I’ve got what I needed from Ra’s to give Victor to make the cure. We’ll get this figured out.”

“Okay. Then go straight to him, you hear me? No wasting time.”

“Don’t worry.”

Dick let out a long, shaking breath. Even if this was just temporary like Bruce said, this gave them the time they needed to get the actual cure for the poison. They could work with this. That little wiggle room was all they needed. That was enough. Bruce would be cured, and then, so would Joker.

“Glad you’re still here with us, B.” He chuckled, blinking rapidly to stop the tears threatening to rise to his eyes. “Not sure I could pull off the all black, pointy-eared look like you can. Not really my style.”

A couple minutes passed as Bruce made his way back through the sewers before he answered. There was a note of gentleness in it that Dick was only able to catch from having lived with the older man so long, so brief and subtle he would have missed it otherwise.

“I was never going anywhere.”

Chapter Text

“Master Dick, we have company.”

At this point, Dick wasn’t surprised to hear it. Because with how things had been going for the past few minutes, of course things would just keep getting worse.

While Bruce was tracking down the cure Harley had stolen for Joker and Tim was wrapping up hitting all the hospitals to track down the clown’s blood samples, he’d decided to get a little training session in while he was manning the Batcave. But with the launch of Protocol Ten looming ever closer with no sign of it being prevented anytime soon, he’d been spending the past fifteen minutes or so looking into all he could about Hugo Strange, what his connection to Mayor Quincy Sharp was, and for any information at all about what Protocol Ten could’ve been.

But while he was following a couple of leads, time had run out. Bruce hadn’t been able to stop Strange in time. And Protocol Ten had been launched.

Dick had watched in horror as the feeds Barbara was still tapped into, as well as reports from local news cycles on site, showed airships raining fire down on the occupants of Arkham City. It made him sick. There may have been some truly awful, maybe even evil, people within those heavily guarded walls, but they didn’t deserve that. And what about all the political prisoners and innocent people who were against the project? They certainly didn’t deserve that, they shouldn’t have even been in there to begin with. The municipal council had to see they were being deceived by Strange from the start now, right? That this purge had been the plan for him all along? At least Bruce had been convinced— despite his concern for Talia al Ghul, who’d handed herself over to Joker to save him— to, with some help from Barbara, figure out how to get some override codes to stop the slaughter before even more lives were lost. Before Arkham City was completely razed by hellfire.

But Alfred’s nonchalant warning drew Dick’s attention to the feed of the manor’s exterior cameras. His eyes narrowed when he saw a couple of helicopters hovering near the manor while a few groups of TYGER guards swarmed the grounds. The silent alarms were probably already tripped, but it always took the police some time to get out to them since they were outside the main city limits. Not to mention all that was happening down at Arkham City.

But luckily for Bruce Wayne, Nightwing was there.

“Stay where you’re at, Alfie. I’ll greet our guests.”

“Very well, Master Dick.”

By the time Dick changed into his suit, grabbed his escrima sticks, and snuck up into the manor through the entrance in Jason’s old room, he discovered that the guards had broken their way in through some of the high, many-paned windows in both the spacious living room and the second floor landing. A brazen move, but when all the men were brainwashed fanaticals doing Strange’s bidding, there wasn’t much room for logical thought in their actions.

“Our main priority is to find any of Wayne’s friends, allies, anyone who works for him who’s home, and kill them,” he overheard one of the men announce to the others. “ Especially that son of his. I’m looking forward to putting one between his eyes, I owe him one for breaking my wrist earlier.”

Dick couldn’t help but smirk to himself. Perfect. As a courtesy, he’d have to break his other one, too.

“Doesn’t Wayne have a few sons, though?” another man asked. “Like, two or three or something?”

“Three, I think,” another one answered. “But one hasn’t been seen for a couple years. Wonder what happened to him?”

“It doesn’t matter,” the first guard cut in. “We find Grayson, we find Wayne’s other brat, and we kill them both, along with anyone else who might be around, like that old butler of his. Boss wants ‘em all dead. Leave ‘em for Wayne to come home to if he ever makes it out of Arkham City. Not that he’s gonna get past Strange. But once they’re dead, we find that lair of his, steal all his secrets, and bring them back to Strange. Am I clear?”

As the rest of the guards agreed to the plan set in place, Dick thought it might just be the best time to cut in.

“May I make a suggestion or two, gentlemen?”

Dick leapt out of the shadows then, grabbing the gun of the man nearest him to disarm him, knocking him out with the weapon before tossing it aside. He let himself be amused by the shocked reactions of “What the hell is Nightwing doing here?!” for a moment before they were replaced by declarations of “Kill him, too, he’s with the Bat!” as they began shooting at him. Luckily, they were a little reckless with their aim in their fervor to end his life for Hugo Strange, making the bullets just that little bit easier to dodge. Though he inwardly cringed when he heard a mirror shatter and a decorative bust explode somewhere behind him as he rolled and took out a couple more guards. Bruce would have some redecorating to do when he got back later.

But also knowing that their gunshots would alert more of the invading guards and draw them to his location, Dick made quick work of the remaining few in this group, making sure to snap the good wrist of the one particular man set on putting a bullet between his eyes.

“Everything going well, sir?” Alfred’s voice came through the comms link in his ear.

“So far so good on my end, Alf,” Dick answered, crouching behind a suit of armor in the hallway leading to the library for cover. “What am I looking at?”

“There seem to be two more groups around the same size as the one you just neutralized,” Alfred told him. “One is headed for your location. The other is continuing to sweep the manor, I’d presume looking for whatever they’re able to find on Master Bruce and Batman, and… smashing things.” The displeasure in his voice was clear.

“Thanks, Alfie, I’ll take care of it.” Dick dropped his voice when he heard the heavy footsteps and raised voices of the second group looking for him drawing nearer. “Any ETA on the police?”

“Considering what’s happening at Arkham City, I suspect it may take them a little longer than usual.”

Dick sighed. “Right. Well, I’ll continue to hold these guys off, no problem.”

“Do be careful, Master Dick.”

“Always, Alf.”

Dick then crouched down a bit more when the second group came into the hallway. A quick head count revealed there were ten guys this time, a couple more than the last wave, all armed with rifles. That was okay. He could take ‘em.

“Come on out, Nightwing!” one of the men demanded. “Course you’re here for your ol’ pal Bruce Wayne. C’mon out, we’ll make it worth your while. We’ll bash your head in or put some lead in ya for your trouble of defending Batman!”

Well, if they insisted.

Thinking quickly because they still hadn’t spotted him, Dick carefully and silently maneuvered away from the suit of armor to an alcove on the other side of the dark hallway. He grabbed one of his escrima sticks and picked the best moment to let it fly, smiling to himself when it crashed into the suit of armor, toppling it on top of the nearest guard. That caused the others to panic as they all began shooting in that direction, and he took his time, sneaking up behind them before getting close enough to start taking them out.

Spooking them, making them jumpy, keeping to the darkness as he was taught all worked in his favor as he quickly made his way through this group as he had the first. Though this time, one of the men got a lucky shot on him. Thankfully, the bullet just grazed his left bicep, and he still managed to knock the wind out of the guard before taking his gun and subduing him.

Once this group had also been taken care of, Dick reached for his comms link. “All clear, Alf,” he reported.

“Are you all right, Master Dick?” the butler asked.

Dick rolled out his arm once. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he answered. “What’s this last group up to?”

“It appears they’re congregated near the wine cellar entrance, sir.”

“That’s getting a little close for comfort,” Dick muttered. The wine cellar was only one of the ways to get into the Batcave, and while the entrance wasn’t obvious or easy to find, he didn’t want them anywhere near it when there was even a miniscule chance they could stumble on it. “I’ve got it, Alfie.”

“Again, do be careful, Master Dick,” Alfred emphasized, sounding frustrated. “I’ve been notified the police should be here shortly.”

Dick smirked. “I’ll take that as a challenge.”

And he did. It was even easier to spook the last remaining guards with them all hovering in the narrow, tightly spiraled staircase leading down to the wine cellar. After subduing them, Dick dragged them all up to the main hallway before reaching out to Alfred once again.

“Threat neutralized. I’m heading back down to the cave to get changed and cleaned up.”

“Wonderful. What shall I tell the police when they arrive, sir?”

“Tell ‘em Nightwing happened to be in the neighborhood.” Dick chuckled, entering the study and hitting a few keys on the piano to open up another entrance. “Be back up soon, Alf.”

Back in the cave, Dick changed back into his casual jeans and tank top, settling in the chair in front of the Batcomputer. From what he could see from the Arkham City feeds that had survived the onslaught, it seemed that Bruce had been able to stop Protocol Ten while he’d been handling their guests— no more missiles raining down on the prison facility was a definite improvement. He’d check in with Barbara to make sure of that, but first things first. He should probably stop bleeding all over the Batcave.

Grabbing what he needed from a medical kit, he began cleaning the laceration on his left bicep. He winced as he cleared away the blood and saw it was deeper than he’d thought, cursing under his breath.

“Oooh, that looks nasty. Want some help with that? It’s hard to take care of it one-handed.”

Dick glanced up when Tim entered the cave through an exterior entrance, lowering his hood and removing his domino. “Sure, if you don’t mind,” he said. “How’d hitting all the hospitals go?”

“Pretty well.” Tim sighed as he perched at the edge of the computer next to his brother. “There are some confirmed cases of patients receiving the infected blood, but they’re all being treated. Some officers will be making the rounds to collect all the unused samples. And Gordon made the call to broaden the nets around the whole state, just to be absolutely sure that none of the samples get overlooked and slip through the cracks.” He glanced at the other man’s arm. “What happened to you? That have something to do with the helicopters outside?”

“Yeah, Strange sent some TYGER guards over to kill us and steal B’s secrets,” Dick explained. “Police should be here shortly to grab them.”

“Charming man, Hugo Strange.” Tim pulled off his gloves, quickly disinfecting his hands before reaching for some antiseptic from the medical kit. “This is gonna sting, but hold still.”

Tim wasn’t wrong about how it would sting, but Dick simply gritted his teeth. He was used to worse than this. “How’s it looking?” he asked.

“Not too bad,” Tim answered as he finished cleaning out the wound. “I don’t think you need stitches, packing it with a gauze strip should do it. It’s not too deep.”

It didn’t take long for the younger man to do just that and wrap it for extra stability and protection. “Thanks,” Dick muttered, rolling his arm out.

“No problem.” Tim packed up the medical kit before he stretched with a sigh, looking up at the Arkham City feeds on the large monitors. “Seems like B was able to stop Strange, though, huh?”

Dick sighed as he glanced back at the screens himself. “Seems so,” he said. “Otherwise—!”

“Dick? Tim? You guys there?”

The brothers glanced at each other as Barbara’s anxious voice echoed in each of their ears. “We’re here, Babs,” Dick replied. “What’s going on?”

“It was Ra’s. It seems he was the one working with Strange behind the scenes on this. Arkham City, Protocol Ten, everything.” Barbara’s words came out in a breathy rush. “B deactivated Protocol Ten, they’re all in Wonder Tower now. But—!”

Whatever she’d been about to say they’d never know because just as Dick quickly switched to a feed from a camera that had survived and showed the exterior of the tallest structure in Arkham City, they heard Barbara scream “Get out of there!” through their comms just before Wonder Tower itself exploded.

“Oh, my God,” Tim whispered, eyes wide in horror as he stood from the edge of the computer.

“Bruce!” Barbara yelled, her panic clear. “Bruce, can you hear me?”

When she got no response, Dick reached for his comms link. “B?” he pressed, fighting to keep his voice controlled. He knew Bruce was still struggling with the Titan poisoning despite getting what he had from Ra’s, which was still a pressing concern for him— one that wouldn’t matter if his adopted father had been caught in that blast… “Bruce, come in. Can you hear us?”

But he still got nothing in return other than some crackling from the other end of the comms.

“Bruce?” Barbara tried again. “You okay? Did you make it out?”

“I’m here.”

Dick let out a relieved breath, slumping back in his seat. Tim leaned against the back of the chair. “Thank God you’re all right, B,” the latter muttered.

“Ra’s al Ghul was the power behind Hugo Strange,” Bruce informed them. “This whole place was part of his bigger plan.”

“With a purge like Protocol Ten turned out to be, can’t say I’m too surprised,” Dick said. “Where is he now?”

“Let’s just say he’s going to need a trip to his Lazarus Pit,” Bruce deadpanned.

“And Hugo?” Tim wondered. “He sent some guys over here to take us out, but Dick beat ‘em to it.”

There was a beat of silence before their mentor answered. Worry, perhaps. “Dead,” he replied. “Ra’s killed him. For failing him.” His displeasure was evident.

“So… is that it?” Barbara asked, cautiously optimistic. “The municipal council isn’t going to be supporting the Arkham City project after what just happened. Hugo and Ra’s are dead. My dad should be there shortly…”

Before Bruce could say anything more, another familiar voice came through from his end of the comms. Dick covered his free ear to try to focus on it more, recognizing it as Joker, though he couldn’t quite make out what he was saying.

“I’ll get back to you,” Bruce said. “Something’s come up.”

“Let us know if you need anything,” Dick added. “Go get that cure.”

“I will.” Then, there was silence.

“Don’t worry, boys.” Barbara’s voice was a bit pinched in concern. “I’ll keep track of things and keep you updated.”

“Of course. We’ll follow along as best as we can, too, if there are enough cameras that haven’t been destroyed,” Dick replied, starting to sift through the feeds.

“Okay. Good luck.”

“While you’re doing the boring work, I’m finally gonna get changed out of this,” Tim announced as he headed toward where he’d stashed his t-shirt and sweatpants.

Dick smirked as he deleted a couple more feeds of just static as he worked to find ones showing Joker’s location or Bruce as he made his way there. “Go ahead. You’ve earned it.”

“Damn right I have.”

After a few more minutes of chipping away at useless feeds, Dick glanced up at the other monitor when motion was detected on the manor’s exterior cameras. “Cops are here,” he said.

“I’ll give Alfred a hand with them,” Tim volunteered as he came back. “Make sure all of Strange’s guys are rounded up.”

“Cool. The excuse he’s running with is Nightwing happened to be in the neighborhood.” Dick flashed his younger brother a broad, teasing grin. “You can say you helped him if you want.”

“Ha. Got it. Call me if something happens.”

“Will do.” Dick watched as Tim disappeared up the steps before he non-committedly answered a text from Amy checking up on him and asking if Bruce was okay since she’d seen the news of his arrest and Protocol Ten— saying they were still waiting for confirmation, which they technically were— and narrowed down Joker’s location with some help from the tracker in Batman’s suit. His eyes narrowed when he brought it up on the feed.

The old Monarch Theatre. Where Thomas and Martha Wayne had been killed in that dark alley.

He’d passed the place once years ago when he was a kid out with Bruce in Gotham Square for some shopping. He’d been drawn to the old brick structure and its large marquee even though it was no longer lit with life. But his adopted father hadn’t told him too much about it when he’d asked, he hadn’t even really given the building a second glance as he guided him along. It hadn’t been until later that he’d known why.

Somehow, especially with Joker, their lives always seemed to circle back to tragedy. But with the clown’s theatrical side and flair for the dramatics, he wasn’t too surprised that he’d chosen a place that he had no idea meant so much to Bruce but would be perfect for his doozy of a show of life and death.

“How’re you holding up, Hunk Wonder?”

A smile tugged at the corner of Dick’s lips as he leaned back in his seat. With Bruce in the theater with Joker, all they could do was wait. He was glad Barbara knew this was the worst part of any mission for him. “As well as can be expected,” he told her. He chuckled. “Does that marquee actually read Joker the Immortal?”

Barbara gave a chuckle of her own, but it had a bitter note to it. “Typical Joker,” she muttered. “Although… that does make me feel like he’s got some sort of plan for Bruce…”

“Of course he does. He wouldn’t be Joker if he didn’t have a plan for B.” Dick sighed. “But B’s used to them, I’m sure he’ll be okay. Besides, didn’t he say Joker had Talia? Maybe she can help him out of a bind, she does love and care about him in her way.”

“And something about her always makes her the center of B’s universe when she’s around. She could also be a distraction.”

“He won’t let that happen, Babs, not with Joker involved.” He smirked though she couldn’t see him. “If you’re waiting for me to say something about you being the center of my universe, I hate to disappoint you, but I could never be so cheesy.”

Barbara snorted. “No, Dick, never,” she deadpanned. “It’s not like you’ve ever used the ‘my shirt is boyfriend material’ line on me. Or the ‘I never believed in love at first sight until I saw you’ pickup line or anything remotely cheesy like that.”

Dick smiled. “Hey, that one worked, didn’t it?” And, for the record, it wasn’t entirely false.

“You’re just lucky you’re cute, Hunk Wonder.”

Companionable silence passed between them for a moment, both of them keeping a close eye on the feeds of the Monarch Theatre for any indication of what was happening inside before Barbara spoke up again. “Hey, was Tim right?” she asked. “Strange really sent some TYGER guards to the manor?”

“Yeah,” Dick answered. “He wanted them to kill anyone associated with Batman and to steal whatever secrets from here that they could. They didn’t take anything, though, and cops are escorting ‘em outta here as we speak.”

“You’re okay?” she pressed.

“Just a graze, but I’ll live,” Dick said. “Tim took care of it.”

“And you didn’t even complain once.”

Dick glanced over his shoulder as Tim rejoined him. “Everything go okay up there?” he wondered.

The younger man nodded as he casually leaned against the large computer, arms crossed loosely in front of him. “Yeah, all guards have been cleared out. By the sounds of it, Gordon’s calling all able hands to the gates of Arkham City.”

“That’s what I’m picking up from his radio feed,” Barbara confirmed. “They’re getting political prisoners, reporters, doctors, as many people as they can out. There’s a heavy media presence out there, too.”

Great. Just what was needed.

Tim looked up at the monitors. “What’s been going on here?”

“Nothing much that we can see,” Dick told him. “Neither B or Joker have come out yet.”

“The Monarch Theatre, huh? Kinda fitting…” Tim’s gaze faltered before he arched an eyebrow. “Seriously? Joker the Immortal? How conceited can ya get?”

“Joker,” was all Dick could offer in explanation. “But…”

His sentence trailed off when the doors of the theater opened then. Because of the angle of the camera, they couldn’t quite see who was walking outside. But they did see the large group of Joker goons, including Harley Quinn, parting to let someone through. Both Dick and Tim leaned closer to the monitor to try to see better, scrutinizing the feed to get any indication of who had left the building.

Then, they caught sight of the black costume. The pointed ears. Bruce .

“Oh, thank God,” Tim whispered as they both let out sighs of relief. “But… why aren’t they attacking him?”

That same thought had caused a nagging feeling of dread to form in the pit of Dick’s stomach. Something wasn’t right. “I don’t…” he began before his words abruptly cut off as his breath hitched when they finally got a clear shot of Bruce as he slowly walked toward the gates of Arkham City.

“What the hell?” Disbelief and confusion were both clear in Barbara’s voice. “Is that…?”

“Joker,” Tim finished for her. His eyes were wide as he stared at the limp body— the purple-suited, green-haired, white-faced, undeniable form of the clown— in their adopted father’s arms. “Is… is he…?”

“No way… He can’t be…”

Tim leapt away from the computer, reaching for his comms link. “Bruce?” Though he tried, he couldn’t keep the anxious tremble out of his voice. “Bruce? Can you hear me? What happened? B? B!” He waited for a moment before he cursed heatedly under his breath and turned to his brother. “Nothing…”

“I’m listening to my dad’s radio feed,” Barbara said, her tone still all business. “B’s left Arkham City. They’re saying that Joker… he’s…”

“... Dead?” Tim guessed, filling in the word she didn’t seem to want to utter. Her silence told them all they needed to know.

Remembering what she’d said about the heavy media presence, Dick pulled up some local news feeds on one of the monitors. He was unsurprised to see Vicki Vale already reporting fresh out of her time in the prison facility on the latest developments. But it was the surreal headline that sent a cold chill through him.

Joker Dead?!

On the screen was a grainy and unclear photo, probably from cell phone footage, though clearly seen were the black figure that could only be Batman and the shocking green, red, white, and purple shades of the Joker as they approached the blue and red of a police car.

Dick knew he couldn’t be seeing this right. There was no possible way that the Joker— a figure who’d defined his childhood in the worst way; the bleached, painted face that had haunted his nightmares for years— could be dead. He’d always seemed and felt too big for that, like something as normal as death couldn’t ever touch him, like the clown was beyond such a human concept.

Joker the Immortal.

A part of him felt as though he should have been elated that, if true, the man who had shot and paralyzed his best friend, the girl he loved… the man who had shot and killed his younger brother, the footage of his final moments still rattling him after all this time… was gone. But instead, he felt… nothing. Nothing at all. He was numb.

“Shit…” Tim breathed in disgust, his brow furrowed as he watched the news report. “They’re… they’re wondering if B did it…”

“No.” Dick’s response was immediate. Automatic. “B wouldn’t do that, he’d never.” He refused to believe it. Having grown up with the man, raised as Robin but even as his son, if there was one thing he could count on, it was that Batman, that Bruce, could never take a life. It’d be too easy for him to do— if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop. But even more than that, he couldn’t see him ever killing the Joker specifically. There seemed to be something that existed between them, some sort of need in their opposite but equal campaigns in Gotham, some need to keep the other alive. Bruce hadn’t killed the clown when he’d taken out Batgirl by paralyzing Barbara. Bruce hadn’t killed Joker when he’d ended the Robin that had followed him after he’d set out on his own and become Nightwing by shooting and killing Jason.

No matter what had happened between Batman and Joker within the walls of the Monarch Theatre, there was no scenario he could think of where Bruce would cross the one line he’d set for himself, the one line he’d always vowed to never cross.

“He didn’t do it, Tim,” Dick repeated, mainly to himself. His tone was calm, steady— at war with how his heart was trying to frantically claw its way out of his chest. Barbara. Jason. Joker had still been alive after what had happened to both of them, there had to be something more to this. There had to be. He refused to believe otherwise.

He was restless. He had to see this for himself. He stood, his body on autopilot as he made his way toward the steps that would bring him out of the Batcave. He could grab his helmet, hop on his motorcycle. If he could avoid lights and speed traps, he could probably cut down the time it would take him to get to Arkham City pretty drastically.

“Where are you going?”

His brother’s question caused him to pause, to try to slow down his racing heart, his racing thoughts. He passed a slightly shaking hand over his clammy face as he let out a shuddering breath. Bruce had probably already left Arkham City far behind him anyway, it’d be a pointless trip. “Nowhere,” he said. “I, uh… I just need to get some air.”

Tim nodded, his gaze full of understanding, before he turned back to the news story playing out on the monitors, posture rigid in concern. Dick turned and hurried up the steps, not stopping until he came to rest on one of the more secluded benches in the garden in the sprawling backyard. His rapid breath formed a cloud in front of his face in the cold night air, but he hardly noticed. He couldn’t even bring himself to move. With all the turmoil in his mind, his heart, his very bones, he just needed a moment to make his world stop spinning.

He listened, but didn’t respond, to the updates he was getting from Barbara and Tim through his comms link. They’d gotten direct confirmation from Jim Gordon that the Joker was indeed dead. How and why still remained to be seen, though a lot of people didn’t seem to care, focused instead on the more important point that he was now gone and out of their hair. All anyone seemed to know was that Batman had been the one to place the clown’s lifeless body on the hood of a police car before leaving without saying a word despite the questions thrown at him. He hadn’t pleaded his innocence.

Later reports turned up that Talia had also been found dead in the Monarch Theatre, shot to death. In the awful wake left behind by Protocol Ten, there were bound to be countless more bodies left to find.

As for Batman, no one had seen or heard from him since he’d let go of Joker. No one had said anything, anyway. Though the best guesses were that he’d left Arkham City. His tracker had confirmed this, but Barbara and Tim, or even Alfred, couldn’t say anything further since the man in question had turned off the device shortly after he’d left the perimeter, and he was still silent on comms. That didn’t settle Dick’s nerves any since the last time one of their own had done the same thing, it had ended in tragedy.

But despite all the uncertainty rising out of this as reporters weighed in on what it could all possibly mean, he still stubbornly refused to believe that Bruce had killed his greatest foe himself. While a tiny sliver of doubt had started to chip away at his resolve, he’d managed to push it back down. There was absolutely no way that Batman had taken the Joker’s life. Not on purpose.

That last thought caused him to reach for his own comms link. Things had shifted in a major way, he could feel it in the frigid air around him. No matter what had happened, Bruce couldn’t leave them alone with nothing, reeling in this post-Joker world. Just as they couldn’t leave him alone in a world without the clown in it.

“B, come on, I know you can hear me,” Dick said, beginning to shiver. “Look, I know about Joker, okay? But I also know it wasn’t you, that you didn’t do this. I know that, I promise. So do Tim, Alfie, and Babs. We’re here for you, but you have to give us something, okay? You have to tell us what happened so that we can all deal with this. Together. We’ll figure this out, I promise. But you’ve gotta give me something to work with here, B. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

Silence. Typical. Something he was pretty used to when it came to Bruce Wayne. Dick sighed, glancing down at his phone when the screen lit up with a text from Barbara.

Your voice is shaking. Go warm up in the manor, Hunk Wonder. Or come over here. Don’t worry, we’ll find him.

Letting out a frustrated sound, Dick stood and hurried back to the manor’s back door. He really was starting to feel the cold, and he had to admit his girlfriend’s offer was one he probably wouldn’t be able to pass up. Her clocktower residence was home to him as much as the house he’d grown up in was, and some time with her would really do him some good as he hadn’t actually seen her in person since he’d gotten back to Gotham. He’d just make sure to let Alfred and Tim know where he was going so that they wouldn’t have to worry about him, too.

Up in his old room, Dick slipped on his leather jacket and grabbed his keys and helmet. He didn’t bother packing an overnight bag, he had enough at Barbara’s place to get him through a night— a night that sounded like it was going to mostly consist of hunting for Bruce. But before he left, he leaned against the doorway, closing his eyes with one more imploring plea.

“You didn’t do it when you had every reason to with Barbara and Jason. I know you, Bruce, you wouldn’t do it now.” He waited a beat, hoping to hear something, anything, from the older man. But all he got was more silence. He stepped out into the bright hall, shutting the door behind him. “I’ll be spending the night at the clocktower, but otherwise, I’ll be staying in Gotham for however long it takes you to get your ass to the manor. I’ll see you soon, B.”

He wasn’t even really sure why he was still talking as though they were having an actual conversation. But with all the uncertainty, a small part of him wanted to hear his adopted father’s voice. To have him tell him he truly hadn’t killed Joker. When he got the expected no response yet again, Dick sighed and shook his head, taking the stairs down to the first floor.

But just as he reached the vast garage and was grabbing his motorcycle to head for Barbara’s place, he paused abruptly as he was putting on his helmet when he heard a single breath through the comms link in his ear, quiet and shuddering.

“Bruce?”

But there was only more heavy silence. He was gone.

Chapter Text

Dick's eyes drooped closed as Barbara ran a gentle hand through his dark hair. High above the bright lights of Gotham stretched out on the fold-out bed in her clocktower residence was the only place he felt like he could actually rest. Where he didn't have a care in the world. Here in this place, he didn't have to be Nightwing. He didn't have to be Officer Grayson. Hell, he didn't even have to be Dick Grayson, son of Bruce Wayne. Here, he could just be without any expectations or demands being made of him. It was too little peace in a life of all the roles he had to juggle and play at any given moment. All the roles that wouldn't allow him to slow down. But at least that little slice of peace was his, something he could hold onto, something that he could share with the person who'd always had his heart. He just wished he could have it more. But too many people needed him for that.

"You're gonna work yourself to death, you know. I'm worried about you, Hunk Wonder."

He sighed, even as his girlfriend's light touch eased the stressed creases in his forehead. He couldn't deny he was exhausted. But running back and forth between Gotham and Blüdhaven as often as he had been over the past couple of weeks would certainly do that. He couldn't stay in Gotham indefinitely— things may have seemed... oddly calm in the wake of Joker's death, there'd been some lashing out by the men who'd followed him since they all blamed Batman, but other than that, there didn't seem to be too much happening. Nightly patrols he'd helped Bruce and Tim on here and there had been relatively quiet, usually no more than street level crimes. He'd assumed some other big names— Dent, Cobblepot, even Nigma— would want to take over Joker's spot, but so far... no moves had been made to do so. All was quiet from them. It concerned him. But there was nothing he could do about it now.

As unusually quiet as Gotham was, the same couldn't be said for Blüdhaven. While he'd taken some days to stay to help out around the manor and just be a support for Bruce— thankfully Tim was well-versed with the ins and outs of running Wayne Enterprises behind the scenes, so he could help their adopted dad with those daily operations between his college classes, meaning he didn't have to add that to his already full plate, too— he had a job in his own city he had to do. Crime wasn't falling there, he and Amy had been getting a lot of cases across their desks. Nightwing was also being kept busy with people like Shrike having made another attempt against his life recently and whispers of Slade Wilson being involved in something that he wasn't sure of yet after Tim had encountered his new assistant stealing money meant for Batman from Wayne Tower. He was grateful for the nights when his brother was bored in Gotham and could join him on patrols, it eased his burden a bit there. But it was the nights when Blüdhaven was quiet enough when he could sneak away back to Gotham to spend some time with his family, or here in his favorite place, to be able to get some rest that he truly appreciated.

Though truth be told, one of the things that'd been draining him the most the past couple weeks was Bruce himself. It'd taken a couple days for the older man to show up at the manor after the night Joker died despite his, Tim, and Barbara's best efforts to find him before then. It had taken another day and a half— when Alfred had forced him to eat dinner with them— for him to start talking to them at all. But as was to be expected, their adopted father hadn't opened up to them about when Joker and Talia had died, what had happened to them, or how he felt about it. He hadn't mentioned them, even their names, over the last couple weeks at all; it was as if nothing had even happened. The most they'd really gotten from him were either small talk pleasantries or focusing on what was next for Gotham, both from a Wayne Enterprises perspective and a watchful Batman one.

It had taken when he as Nightwing, Robin, and Batman had witnessed Jim cremate the clown— something he felt gave him some foreign sense of closure, of relief, after all the times he'd dealt with him since he was a child, after all that he'd taken from him; it was something he’d once believed he'd never have— for him and Tim to learn that Joker had died from toxin left over in his blood from the Titan overdose in Arkham Asylum. He hadn’t gotten the cure. Batman truly hadn't killed him. He was just relieved that the infected blood samples the clown had sent out to emergency rooms around Gotham had all been tracked down because of Tim's efforts.

But Bruce's odd behavior with them was still frustrating and was starting to take its toll. As Batman, he and Tim were being held at arm's length, almost being pushed away, while their mentor insisted on handling whatever smaller scale issues that had popped up in Gotham on his own— the upside being that Dick could focus more on what Blüdhaven needed, and he had to admit Tim being able to work with him there on occasion was nice.

But as Bruce, he seemed to be holding them closer, almost as though he was concerned about what would happen if they were to leave his sight for too long. Tim was starting to get visibly frustrated by how the older man was acting, and while Dick understood because it was also annoying him somewhat, he also understood why their mentor was defaulting to that behavior. It had happened before. How after losing one son, he couldn't bear to lose another, how he'd been reluctant to gain yet another.

Between that and his pale complexion and the dark, heavy bags under his dim blue eyes— he really did look terrible— Dick hadn't seen Bruce like this since Jason had been murdered.

"Dick, I need your help. Please."

He jumped a little, unaware he'd been dozing off quite so much under Barbara's gentle ministrations. But the memory of his brother's trembling voice from the last time he had ever spoken to him caused a pang of regret, of fear, to grip his heart so tightly he could hardly catch his breath.

He sat perched on the edge of the rooftop, keeping a close, careful eye on Blockbuster's men below. He'd been following leads on his latest operation for a few days now, and he was finally getting closer to finding the big man himself and stopping whatever nefarious plot he had in store for Blüdhaven this time.

A quiet crackling in his ear caught his attention. He frowned, unsure of who would be trying to contact him right this moment since Barbara knew what he was doing and wouldn't reach out unless it was an absolute emergency.

"Dick? Are you there? You weren't answering your phone..."

"Jason?" Dick moved back from the edge. He'd been mindful to plot his location as carefully as possible to avoid being seen, but there was still enough daylight left for him to be spotted by one of his marks if he wasn't paying attention. He could hear traces of distress in his brother's voice. "What's going on, are you okay?" His mind reeled, wondering why the teen was reaching out to him instead of Batman since they were in separate cities. His chest tightened— he really couldn't let this job go, but if Bruce was incapacitated in some way...

Jason swallowed thickly on the other end of the comms line. "I... I have to do it..." he muttered. "I have to, Dick. He can't be allowed to get away with it this time..."

Dick's eyes narrowed. "Whoa, okay, slow down a sec," he said. "You have to do what, Little Wing? Who're we talking about?"

There was too long of a silence on the other end for his liking. He could hear from the way Jason was breathing, how quick and unsteady it was, that he was worked up about something. His brother was bright, very smart, and adept at this whole being a vigilante thing. But sometimes his temper, his rage, and his impulses could get him into a whole lot of trouble. He'd defied his orders when he'd stepped in to help mentor him when he was first starting out as Robin, he'd defied direct orders from Bruce on missions. And in more than one instance, he'd gotten himself hurt because of his rashness. He was concerned that if he couldn't talk him down from whatever this was that it was going to happen again.

"Jason?" he pressed.

"... Joker attacked a school today." Jason's tone was calmer now, but it was a forced calm. He could hear the anger in every word. "Dick, it... when B and I got there... I can't, it... it was terrible... You can't imagine what we saw... heard..."

Dick forgot to breathe for a moment. Barbara had alerted him about what Joker had done earlier and had sent him the information so he'd be in the loop. Fortunately, she hadn't sent along any images; the thought alone made him sick. "Jason, listen, I know how horrific it is, I really do, but—!"

"I'm going to kill him, Dick. Joker has to die for this. He can’t get away with it this time."

His blood ran cold. His brother's voice wasn't a forced calm anymore. This time, it was a deadly resignation. The tone of one who had made up his mind and knew there would be no coming back from it. And he had accepted that.

"Jay. Little Wing. Please." His mouth was dry. "Joker's done terrible things... unspeakable things... for as long as I've known him, for as long as B's known him. We—!"

"So then why is he still out and about? Walking free?" Jason demanded, his rising voice breaking. "If he weren't, then what he did today wouldn't have happened! But no. Every time B takes him in, he just breaks out again. And again. And again. And people die. Every fucking time, Dick. And it'll keep happening unless we make it stop! How many more people have to die before B understands what he has to do, huh? What, was what happened to your girlfriend not enough for you?"

Dick hissed, not expecting that last jab, even though he recognized it was coming from a place of pain and anger on the teen's part. He'd still been Robin when Joker had broken into Barbara's apartment and shot her in the spine, causing her to be paralyzed from the waist down and confined to a wheelchair. Even though they hadn't been dating yet, she'd still been his best friend, and Bruce had had to talk him back from the edge and prevent him from taking a similar road that Jason was now dangerously close to starting down. It was the same road his adopted father had had to stop him from going down when Dick had gone after Tony Zucco for murdering his parents. He'd been grateful for it both times. Bruce had ensured that his soul would be kept intact, whole.

He had to do the same for Jason. He had to talk him back from that ledge, to stop him from taking that step. But he couldn't. He found he couldn't formulate the right words. He didn't know what he could say to him to save his soul.

Jason sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. You know I love Barbie." His voice trembled. "Dick, I need your help. Please."

Dick hesitated. His brother was justifiably upset about what Joker had done; he was, too, and he could guarantee Bruce was. It was unthinkable, unforgivable. But with the state of mind Jason was in, he was going to do something he regretted. Something he wasn't going to be able to take back. "Little Wing, please. Wait for B. He'll—!"

"He's not going to do what needs to be done. I will. I almost did once. B should have let me then."

"Then wait for me." Dick hoped he was able to keep the desperation out of his voice. That deadly resignation in Jason's voice again caused his heart to lurch frantically. But the younger man trusted him enough to reach out to him for help, and that had to mean something. Jason's trust was something he didn't take for granted; it wasn't given easily. But he couldn't allow him to go off on his own to do what he had in mind to do. What he had almost done when Bruce had first met him. "Okay? I'm stuck in Blüdhaven on an important job right now, but I can try to get to Gotham tonight if things go well. Or tomorrow. But please wait for me. Okay?"

Silence for way too long. Dick's heart pounded in his ears. "Little Wing?"

"Okay, Dickiebird. I'll wait."

He should have been relieved. But something in Jason's quiet, almost dead tone gave him pause. Something still felt uncomfortably, almost unbearably off. "Yeah? I'll try to be there as soon as I can, okay? Just wait for me. I—!"

"Later, Dick."

A spark of panic that he couldn't explain shot through him. "Jay! Jason, wait!"

Dick's eyes snapped open with a gasp, his gaze shooting over to Barbara when she brushed some loose strands of black hair out of his face. "Hey..."

"You back with me?" she asked quietly. "You were muttering Jason's name..."

Letting out a long, heavy breath, he rolled onto his side to face her where she was still seated in her wheelchair next to the bed, all of her monitors open to keep track of the goings on in Gotham that night. It still seemed relatively uneventful. "Guess he just crossed my mind," he told her just as quietly. "With all this Joker stuff, what he did..." His gaze faltered. "If I had done something more..."

Barbara placed her hand firmly on his cheek. "Don't go there, Dick," she said. "I know it's hard, I really do. But Jason made his own choice..."

"But when he contacted me, it was a cry for help, Babs," Dick replied. "Not to help him kill Joker... he knew like B, I wouldn't. Not saying that Joker didn't deserve it, but... it was just for help." He shook his head. "He was just so angry, he felt like he was spiraling out of control, like he was going to do something that was going to destroy him, he didn't know what to do with it... He trusted me to help him, Babs, and I couldn't. I let him down. I couldn't be there, I couldn't get a hold of B in time..."

"Dick, please. It's not your fault, it's not Bruce's fault." Barbara smiled faintly. "Plus you weren't able to do either of those things, not right away, remember?"

He did, very well. Turns out Blockbuster had had eyes on him the entire time he'd been on his stakeout, and Dick had been ambushed when he'd been distracted by Jason. It hadn't been until the next morning when he'd recovered a bit where he was able to try reaching his brother again, but he hadn't answered his phone or his comms link. Feeling that something was wrong after their talk the evening before, he'd immediately reached out to Bruce. Though that hadn't made him feel any better, either.

Jason had turned off both his comms link and tracker before disappearing from the manor late in the night. There'd been no sign of him, and Bruce had had no luck in the places he'd looked so far. He’d just been gone.

As the weeks went by with no sign of Jason, the search had become more frantic. It wasn't the first time that the younger man had left without a word, but never for more than a couple days. With as long as it'd been that time and the terrible event that had started it, there'd been real reason for concern. Especially since Joker had been uncharacteristically quieter than normal. Dick had helped try to find Jason whenever he could make it to Gotham on the request of Bruce, keeping tabs on things in Blüdhaven as well in case anything had turned up there, even enlisting the help of his close friends Wally West and Roy Harper. But Bruce himself had barely been sleeping, hardly been eating, he’d just been following any lead he could turn up to try to bring his wayward son home.

It had been a couple months later that Tim had approached them with his evidence that showed he'd figured out their secret identities. He’d sworn to never tell, but he’d been worried about the noticeable and concerning change in Batman's recent behavior, having been more erratic and closer to crossing his one line since Jason had been gone and presumably in danger. He'd been so earnest in his belief that Batman needed Robin with him, so much so that he'd offered to take up the mantle when Dick had said he couldn't, he wouldn't. Bruce had been hesitant at first, not wanting anyone else to get close, but after months of grueling training, Tim had earned his place with them. Dick had felt better with the teen around since he couldn't be with Bruce all the time with his obligations in Blüdhaven; that his adopted father had someone to keep him grounded had eased the ever present dread hanging over them, even just a little.

But it had been six months after Jason had disappeared that the blow they had hoped wouldn't ever fall had finally come.

"Have you got something to tell the nice man, Jason?"

"My name is Jason Todd."

The footage from Joker had been some of the worst Dick had ever seen. Even though it had been so long since he'd seen it, it still made him sick to think about, it haunted him down to his very core. Little flashes of Jason, defiant as always even in the face of the clown's cruelty while tied to a wheelchair with barbed wire, convinced that Batman would come for him... Jason being beaten with a crowbar... Joker twisting his words, making Jason believe Batman had abandoned him, had replaced him with Tim... Jason hanging by his wrists from a hook on the ceiling... Joker branding a "J" on his cheek... Jason's awful screams and sobs and pleas, something he could still hear whenever it was too quiet if he was alone at night...

And then...

"Who do you hate?"

"Batman."

Jason was sitting calmly in a chair, blank gaze cast downward, no life in his voice, the scarred "J" prominent on his pale left cheek. Joker was pacing around a camera on a tripod, egging his captive on.

"Excellent! Of course you do."

The clown then turned his attention to the camera.

"Did you get that, Bats? Kid's not yours anymore. He's mine. Mine, mine, mine. To do with as I wish."

That taunting had cut Bruce deeply, exactly as Joker had known it would. Dick had paid close attention to his mentor while they and Tim watched the footage when it had arrived. While Bruce's expression had betrayed nothing of what he was feeling, he had seen him wince ever so slightly at those words. Not only had Jason clearly gone after Joker without telling him— that Joker had been able to keep his location under wraps for so long was something Bruce had never been able to forgive himself for— but with everything the younger man had been going through, alone, he had come to hate his adopted father, believing he didn't care about or love him, believing he wouldn't come for him, that he had left him to die. Joker had succeeded in taking Jason away from them.

"Hey, I never asked. What's the big secret? Who is the big bad bat? His name. Tell me!"

"Of course, sir. It's—!"

Dick had been horrified that Jason had been so willing to tell Joker Batman's identity, it had told him just how much his younger brother had been broken down. But time had seemed to slow down as his heart nearly stopped... as Tim let out a horrified cry... as Bruce's entire body tensed as he closed his eyes... as Joker quickly turned and shot Jason right before he could give Bruce Wayne’s name.

The chair flew back as Jason dropped heavily to the hard floor without a sound, unmoving. Joker walked back to the camera, muttering to himself about not being able to stand a tattle tale, about liking to work alone because then there was no one to spoil the punchline. The clown then took the camera, walking right up to the lifeless Jason, making sure to get a good close up view for Batman.

"You should try it sometime. After all, you've seen what happens when you drag your friends into this crazy little game of ours."

And just like that, the footage had ended. And just like that, the rescue mission had become a recovery mission.

But as one last cruel joke, just to twist the knife a little more to deny them closure, Joker had never given them Jason's body or told them where he'd kept it, even when he'd gotten more active again. He, Tim, and Bruce had searched for a short time more, Barbara and Alfred had scoured the video for any clues to his location, but they had turned up nothing. Defeated, they'd had to give up the search for Jason. They’d had to give up on bringing him home.

Bruce had never been quite the same since. It couldn't have been clearer that Jason's death had traumatized him— Dick was convinced that if he hadn't had Tim looking after him in the aftermath, the older man just may have lost himself completely. And just as he was now, Bruce had tried to keep them both close while pushing them away as Batman. He couldn't lose anyone else.

Then, Dick glanced over at the small nightstand when he heard his phone start ringing. Barbara watched as he reached for it with a sigh, her gaze lingering on the stitches over his collarbone and right ribs— remnants of Shrike's latest attack a few days before. Her hands weren't as well-practiced as Alfred's when it came to medicine and wound care, but she was glad to see they were still holding up okay.

A small, tired smile appeared on his face when he saw his brother's name on the screen, and he quickly answered the call. "Hey, Timmy, what's going on?"

"Not much." Tim paused for a beat. "Things still seem pretty quiet tonight?"

Dick glanced over at Oracle's monitors, still not seeing an unusual amount of activity. "Nothing that we seem to be needed for," he answered. "Nothing that the police and B don't seem to have under control."

"Okay, good. That's good."

He frowned. "You okay?"

"Oh, uh, yeah." Tim cleared his throat. "Well, today's my dad's birthday, and, um, I thought if we really weren't needed..."

Dick's gaze faltered. He understood. With how quickly all of their lives seemed to constantly be moving, hardly giving them a chance to slow down and breathe, it hadn't felt like it'd been that long since he'd gone to Jack Drake's funeral. He thought back to how he'd stayed with the teen once the service was over, simply observing the graves of both his parents, now buried together, a moment that had bound them through understood tragedy. How cursed their lives had been, he remembered thinking as he silently held Tim as he cried into him. First Bruce had watched his parents be murdered. Then he himself had watched his parents fall to their deaths when the trapezes for their circus act had been sabotaged. Jason's parents had been dead before he joined them. And now Tim's parents were both gone. Loss brought them all together, and it seemed it would keep them together the more they lost.

Tim wiped his eyes as he finally pulled away from Dick's chest, cried out and looking dead on his feet. "So, um, I meant to give this to you earlier, but today's been, well... a day," he muttered with a chuckle. He reached into his tuxedo jacket pocket. "I was looking for pictures to use for the memorial, and I came across this one. It's the first time we met. Do you remember?"

Dick took the photograph he was holding out to him, and his gaze faltered when he saw the smiling faces. It was from Haly's Circus, a night long ago that he'd never forget for as long as he lived. John and Mary Grayson stood close together with Jack and Janet Drake, all beaming. Little Tim was smiling up at a child Dick, who was grinning back down at him and holding his small hands. He remembered Janet had been concerned that the circus may be too scary for Tim, so Jack had asked for a picture with the Flying Graysons— the headliners— to make her feel better. Dick had been able to tell the younger boy had been a little nervous, so he'd promised he would dedicate his performance that night to him.

He hadn't gotten the chance. John and Mary had died just a couple hours later. Funny how the strings of fate and tragedy had brought them together, even all those years ago.

He smiled at the teen as he looked up from the photo. "Of course I remember."

"Good." Tim sniffed and returned the look. "I want you to have it."

The photograph, now framed, had a place of prominence on his desk at the Blüdhaven police department. Tim had his own framed copy on his nightstand next to his bed at Wayne Manor. And one day when he'd been cleaning Jason's old room, trying to keep everything how it had been, Dick had discovered a Flying Graysons poster rolled up under his bed. Maybe it wasn't just tragedy and loss that linked all of them after all.

"Take the night off, Tim," Dick said. "You deserve it, you've been doing a lot of work with how much you've helped me out lately. Can't really focus on being safe on a patrol on days like this, y'know?"

"I suppose not." Tim briefly hesitated. “It’s really okay?"

Dick chuckled. "You don't have to ask my permission, Timmy. I'm not mentoring you anymore, you're your own man," he told him. "Besides, I'm holed up at Babs' place right now with plans to go nowhere tonight, so."

"Okay." He could hear the relief in his younger brother's voice. "I owe ya one."

"Consider us even. You've covered for my ass more than once." Dick's smile broadened. "Is Steph busy tonight?"

"Uh, no, she had a lab for class, but she finished a couple hours ago."

Dick couldn't help but find how flustered Tim still got about Stephanie Brown adorable. They'd been friends and classmates since he'd started at Gotham High when he’d come back to the city, but it'd only been more recently that he'd finally asked her out and they'd begun dating. "Wasn't there some kind of science exhibition in Metropolis tonight you wanted to take her to?" he asked. "You nerds should totally go."

Tim huffed in response. "You really think I won't be needed here?" he pressed.

"I can't remember the last time Gotham's been this quiet," Dick told him, draping his free forearm over his eyes. "It'll survive without Robin for one night. Go have fun with your girlfriend and don't worry about us. If something pops up that needs more attention, I'll be able to help B out. Okay?"

"All right," Tim agreed. "Thanks, man. Talk to you tomorrow?"

"Sounds good, Timmy. Bye."

Barbara smiled as Dick ended the call. "Date night for Tim?"

"Yeah, and I'm sure it'll be absolutely thrilling for a couple of nerds." Dick grinned up at his girlfriend. "Meanwhile, a date night in sounds perfect to me."

"So, whatcha thinkin’? Pizza? Board games? Movie night?" Barbara returned the look.

"Mm..." Dick pretended to think it over. "How about some cuddle time first? Then we'll think about that."

"Sounds good to me, Hunk Wonder."

Dick had only scooted over to make room on the bed and Barbara had just started to move from her wheelchair to the mattress when an alert started coming through on one of her monitors. He perched himself up on one arm as she wheeled herself quickly across the room to investigate the beeping, blinking light, which according to the map was by the steel mill in the remnants of Arkham City.

"Sounds like Harley's taken some of my dad's men hostage," she announced as she tapped into the feed.

Sighing, Dick sat up and swung his long legs over the edge of the bed. So much for their date night in. "Okay, so I'll swing by the manor and grab what I need," he muttered, slipping his t-shirt over his head. "It shouldn't take me long to get over there if I get moving." He stood and made his way over to Barbara, leaning down and giving her a light kiss. A promise of a date night in when he got back.

Barbara nodded. "All right. I'll patch you over to B, and—!"

"No." Almost as if summoned, Bruce's voice came through her comms link. "I'll take care of this, Dick. Stand down."

Dick's brow furrowed. "Are you sure?" he asked. "You know how Harley's been ever since Joker died. She's more unpredictable than usual. She blames you, it could be a trap. Hell, it probably is a trap."

"Stand down, Nightwing."

And then there was silence.

Chapter Text

Two Days Later

“Yup, this was definitely a trap for B.”

Tim glanced up from where he was knelt on one knee, Batman’s utility belt in hand— safe for him to handle, not so much for enemies, as he and Dick had been amused to hear that some of Harley’s men had tried to take it. But between finding the belt and the information they’d gleaned from thugs as they’d fought their way through the steel mill, it couldn’t have been clearer that this had been a trap for Batman. And he’d walked right into it.

The younger man rolled his eyes beneath his hood. “Surprise, surprise,” he muttered. “He should’ve listened to you.”

Dick’s gaze faltered behind his domino. “I honestly don’t think he cared.”

The brothers stared at each other for a moment, the implication of those words hanging heavily between them. It hadn’t been since Jason’s death that Bruce had been so reckless like this. But their attentions shifted when Barbara’s voice came through their comm links.

“Tim? Dick? What’s going on? Have you found him?”

Tim sighed as he rose to his feet. “Uh. Kinda,” he told her.

“What does that mean?”

“We’ve got his belt,” Dick informed her. “Which…”

“Which he wouldn’t have removed if he’d had the choice.” Barbara let out a heavy breath. “Damn…”

Between how Bruce hadn’t been acting like himself the past couple weeks on top of having been silent since he’d gone to check on the cops Harley had taken hostage two days before, she’d finally been worried enough to ask Tim and Dick to make sure that the older man was all right. She’d certainly had reason to worry— he clearly wasn’t.

“Don’t worry, Barb,” Tim said. “I think we’re close. We’ll let you know, okay?”

“We’ll find him, Babs,” Dick added. “Promise.”

Barbara sighed. “I hope you’re right,” she muttered. “Keep me updated, boys. And be careful.”

“Always am,” Tim said as he secured Batman’s belt to his own. He then glanced at Dick, who was surveying the room with a frown. “What is it?”

The other man sighed as he turned back to him. “I don’t like any of this,” he told him. “I mean, yeah, it’s obviously a trap for B. But Harley’s in mourning, which is making her more unpredictable and unstable than normal. Means she’s more dangerous. She blames B for what happened to Joker, we know that. But what did she have in mind to start with by taking the cops? What if Gordon’s guys had been able to get through somehow? What if one of us had shown up first? What if…” He hesitated briefly. “What if B hadn’t bothered to show? There’s just too many variables. I dunno, Robin, I just feel like there’s more going on here than we’ve seen so far. She had to have more in mind than just trapping B. Something tells me we’ll have to be really careful here.”

Tim’s gaze faltered. With their adopted father’s headspace over the past couple of weeks, he couldn’t disagree with his brother’s assessment. Same with Harley’s; she likely had something big in mind. “All right,” he muttered. “Let’s find B as quick as possible so that we can figure out whatever else Quinn’s got planned and stop it. Hopefully he’s… well…”

“I know.” What state they would find Bruce in was a concern that had crossed Dick’s mind, too. But they just had to hope for the best that they weren’t too late. That Harley hadn’t rushed her revenge against the man she believed had wronged her in such a dire way. Two days could be a very long time in captivity. “Let’s just keep going. That’s all we can do now.”

“After you, ‘Wing.”

After double-teaming their way through some more of Harley’s thugs— who’d seemed to confirm Dick’s suspicions of some grander plan on her part— the brothers found themselves in a room that was nothing short of what they could call disturbing. The vast space was some sort of twisted tribute to Joker with creepy love messages, revenge messages about how Batman had to die, and illustrations of Joker coming out of his coffin and killing Batman scrawled across the walls in bold green, red, and black paint. A giant, dilapidated, metallic statue of a seated Joker adorned with dozens of lit candles was stationed across from them along the far wall. The grinning monument was holding a large, spherical object in its hands, but from their distance, they couldn’t quite tell what it was supposed to be.

“What the hell?” Tim murmured as he took a needed moment to take it all in. “She really has lost it, hasn’t she?”

But Dick didn’t answer, his gaze fixed on whatever the statue was holding. He began to cross the room toward it, making sure to keep on high alert in case it was some sort of trap or someone was guarding the makeshift shrine. Tim followed after him, keeping a watchful eye of his own. They were able to get near it with no issue, but it took Dick’s brain a moment to register what he was seeing before he gasped with horror.

“Oh, my God. B!”

The large, clear sphere was a sort of cage— Bruce, seemingly unconscious, was seated on the floor, legs crossed and head lowered with his hands folded in front of him. Dick glanced around at the robots that were situated, unmoving, on either side of the short staircase that led up to the statue, at the banners with Joker’s face on them draped behind it, at anything that could help them figure out how to free the older man.

Tim reached for his comms link from beside him. “Uh, well, we’ve found him,” he updated their third companion, his eyes not leaving the strange prison above them.

“Thank God.” Barbara’s relief came through to both of them. “Is he okay?”

“We’re not sure yet,” Dick answered.

“Quinn’s got him trapped,” Tim added.

“We’ll get him out of it,” Barbara assured them. “We’ll figure it out.” Dick had to appreciate her confidence. But of course they’d figure it out, they always did.

Tim sighed with frustration, eyeing what seemed to be some sort of pressure gauge attached to the mechanism. “Harley’s built some kind of monument to the Joker, and it’s stopping us from getting to B,” he explained. “Looking at this place, she’s crazier than we thought. We’ll search the area and try to work out how to save him.”

“If anyone can figure this monstrous thing out, it’s Robin here,” Dick said with a small smile. Tim returned the look, encouraged.

“Of course.” Barbara paused. “Let me know how it goes.”

“We will.” Dick watched as Tim took the couple carpeted steps up to the statue itself, following him to get a closer look at the gauge.

“Damn it,” Tim hissed.

On closer inspection, the gauge proved to be exactly what they’d been afraid of— an oxygen meter, ranging from zero to one hundred percent. From the eighty to one hundred percent rage, Harley had written “FUN CHART” in red ink; she had written “TICK-TOCK” in the forty to eighty percent range; and in the red zero to twenty percent range— which Bruce was getting dangerously close to at nearly thirty percent— was boldly typed “DANGER”.

“He’s really trapped in that thing,” the younger man continued, eyeing the metal clamps keeping the clear spherical cage closed.

“Looks like he’s entered some sort of meditative state,” Dick said, his brow furrowed. “Smart. It’s probably his way of conserving his oxygen for as long as possible.” He thought back to the long sessions he, Barbara, Jason, and Tim had all had with him about these sorts of techniques, knowing they came in handy.

“Either way, we don’t have much time,” Tim replied, nervously eyeing the dial of the gauge that lingered around thirty-one to thirty-two percent. “He’s running out of air.”

Dick’s gaze faltered. It wouldn’t be long before Bruce’s oxygen dropped to a critical level. There had to be a way to get that cage open before then. “What about that panel over there?” he wondered, nodding toward the Sionis Industries one at the bottom of the steps. “Does that control this crazy thing?”

Tim hurried down to get a better look at the panel in question, given the robot standing guard next to it a brief but suspicious glance. He studied the controls for a moment before he nodded. “Yeah, this security panel controls that ugly Joker statue,” he told him. His face fell. “But it needs a key to operate it. If we don’t find that key, ‘Wing… B will die.”

“No fancy tricks up your sleeve to override that thing or anything, huh?” When his brother gave a curt shake of his head, Dick let out a breath before he leapt over the side of the steps to join him. He set a secure hand on his shoulder, giving him a brief shake. “It’s okay, Robin, we’ll get it. S’pose we’ll just have to go find Harley.”

“And ask her for the key?” Tim looked back at him with a smirk.

Dick shrugged. “Eh, she’ll probably give it to us if we say please,” he muttered. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“How does it feel, birdbrains?” Harley’s voice taunted them over the intercom system as they made their way toward the door of the room. She was watching them. “Do you think he knows he’s going to die? I hope so. I want him to know how my Joker felt. That’s why I get to watch it happen from my secret room. You’ll never find us. You don’t even know that there’s a shipyard here. Do you?!”

A nervous sounding thug could be heard over the intercom then, mentioning that she had just let them know their location.

“Uh… You should ignore what I said,” Harley mumbled. “I was… I was jokin’. Yeah, that’s it… Bye!”

Tim chuckled. “She really does make it too easy, doesn’t she?”

“Lucky for us, since we don’t have the most time,” Dick said. “C’mon. To the shipyard.”

Between Tim’s bo staff and Dick’s escrima sticks, it didn’t take much work for the two brothers to divide and conquer the thugs securing the shipyard. They then made their way over to Harley herself, who’s usual blonde hair was dyed black while she wore a thin, black lace veil over her eyes in mourning.

“Get off me!” she demanded as Tim lifted her none too gently from the floor, pushing her against a metal railing.

“The key,” was all he hissed in response. Dick lingered close, another silent threat.

Harley struggled in the younger man’s tight grip on her arms. “You’ll never find it, dumbasses,” she snapped.

“Oh really?” Tim seemed almost amused. He reached out, smoothly slipping it from her red and black top. He studied the key card closely while Dick arched a curious eyebrow, still able to hold Harley back with one hand. “Yeah, this is exactly what we need.”

“No!” she whined, struggling even more as she tried to snatch the key back without success since Tim was holding it just out of her reach. “That’s mine! Let me go!”

Tim steadily met her gaze. “Whatever you say.”

Dick watched as his brother released her, causing her to topple over the railing by her own flailing. But a line from Tim around her ankle caught her before she could hit the water, causing her to hang upside down below them. “Well, that’s certainly one way to handle her,” the older vigilante muttered as she cursed up at them to get her down. “Also, that was quite the move there with the key. Is that something Steph—!”

“Shut up. Besides.” Tim rolled his eyes before he held up the card for the other man to see. “We got what we needed to save B, didn’t we?”

“That’s the important part,” Dick agreed. He glanced at the shipyard around them. “Let’s make sure the cops Harley took are okay and then get back to him.”

Fortunately, other than being a bit rattled and expressing concern about Batman since Harley had been talking about how he was dead, all the hostages seemed okay. As the two vigilantes prepared to leave to rescue the man in question, they heard a radio tuned to a local news station with Vicki Vale reporting, speculating what it could mean for Batman that Robin and Nightwing had been spotted entering Arkham City.

“She really needs to give it a rest,” Dick muttered.

“She annoys you too, huh?” Tim wondered.

“Always.” Dick followed his brother back into the steel mill. “Everytime I’m in Gotham, she hounds me.”

“I feel so sorry for you that the camera loves your face so much,” Tim snarked.

“Yeah, yeah. You hate it as much as I do.”

“Sure. But you’ve become somewhat of a novelty because you’re not around as often. The press is used to little ol’ me. I’m not so interesting.”

“They’ll tire of me eventually, I assure you.”

“Right. Like when we rescue B. That’ll keep them occupied for a bit.”

“So let’s hurry up and get him out of that cage.”

By the time Dick and Tim made it back to Joker’s shrine, a sizable group of Harley’s thugs were waiting for them, no doubt sent by the woman herself to intercept them and prevent them from saving Bruce. The group taunted them, threatened to break their wings and their necks— nothing they hadn’t heard before from people who had underestimated them. They nodded to each other, and Tim jumped in first, swinging his bo staff into the chest of the nearest man, knocking the air out of him. Dick followed closely behind, escrima sticks charging with electricity.

The fight started off well for them despite the array of weapons the thugs had brought to the party. That was until a Titan infected goon burst into the room.

“Oh, shit,” Tim mumbled, his eyes widening as he disarmed and knocked out the man rushing him.

Dick remembered all Bruce had told them about the Titan formula Joker had been experimenting with, and all that had happened with his human test subjects. He’d assumed anyone left infected had been rounded up and dealt with at the asylum, as had all the formula itself. Apparently not. “Be careful,” he warned, not taking his eye off the new arrival even as he knocked out a couple more thugs. “We’ll deal with him separately from the rest, together if we can.”

It was a good plan until the massive Titan infected man roared and charged into the crowd, taking out many of his own men while Tim and Dick both dove out of the way to avoid being trampled. “Yeah, sure, whatever you say, man,” the former said.

Sighing, Dick swept the legs of another man trying to sneak up on him. “Just be watchful.”

They each were able to take out a few more of Harley’s men each before it happened. Tim was distracted in a scuffle with a couple of thugs wielding large knives. Sensing an opportunity, the Titan infected man charged at him from behind. Dick easily dodged a heavy swing from a lead pipe before subduing the man who’d tried to take him out, looking up in time to see the younger man in the line of fire.

“Robin!” Dick leapt into action, rushing to throw himself between his brother and the giant barreling toward him.

Tim glanced over his shoulder in time to see the other vigilante charge his escrima sticks, jamming them both into the monster’s chest. The Titan infected man roared in pain, his large hands lashing out and knocking out some of the thugs. But his momentum wasn’t slowed, and the younger man moved out of the way just in time before the giant’s trajectory caused him to crash into the wall, crushing Dick against it.

“‘Wing!”

The Titan infected goon, dizzy from the shock and impact, fell to the floor hard. He thrashed a few times before growing still. Dick slid down the wall, landing beside him face down.

Tim swung his bo staff with a new intensity, fueled by concern for his brother. It didn’t take him long to subdue the remaining thugs, and he retracted his weapon before rushing over to where Dick had fallen. “Hey, ‘Wing, you okay?”

Dick groaned, wiping at a thin trail of blood at the corner of his mouth while the other man helped to keep him steady as he pushed himself to his knees. “I’m good, Robin,” he assured him, his voice breaking a bit. “Just… got the wind knocked out of me, is all.”

Tim rolled his eyes, recognizing his brother was trying to brush him off. “So much for being cautious.”

“Caution is my middle name.” Dick managed a small smile. “You okay?”

“Couple scratches, probably a few bruises, I think I’ll live.” Tim looked the other man up and down nervously. “Can you stand?”

“Absolutely.” And Dick was able to get to his feet with his younger brother’s support, though he was a little unsteady. “I’m okay, really. As I said, just got the wind knocked out of me. Go get B out. I’ll join you in a sec.”

Tim appeared ready to argue, but realizing they were wasting precious seconds for their mentor, he set his jaw and nodded. He hurried back to the control panel, seeing the oxygen gauge was even closer to that critical twenty percent stage as he inserted the key card. Using the levers, he got the giant, metallic Joker statue to drop the circular cage holding Bruce, causing the glass to smash as soon as it hit the floor.

For a moment, their adopted father appeared a bit disoriented by the jarring landing. His sharp gaze surveyed the room before he punched the glass panel in front of him, causing it to fall to the ground. He was free.

Dick limped forward while Tim approached the steps, both carefully watching as Bruce began to make his way down them. “What took you?” the older man asked.

Tim sighed, but he still offered him his utility belt. “Ever hear of ‘thank you’?” he wondered instead.

“You okay, B?” Dick wondered quietly as he joined them. “It’s been two days…”

Bruce’s gaze moved to his older son, and it faltered a bit when he saw he was favoring his side before it hardened again. “What happened to the cops?” he pressed them both, securing his belt around his waist.

Tim lowered his gaze, his face shielded by his hood. “I guess you haven’t,” he muttered.

Dick’s brow furrowed, about to say something to their mentor about how he could be a little more gracious despite how they were still on the mission since he and Tim had just been concerned. But he was prevented from doing so when the intercom system in the room pinged to life, and they all looked up at it as Harley’s angry voice came through yet again. Dick wasn’t too surprised that she’d escaped.

“You don’t have to worry about the cops, Batbrain,” she announced. “They’ll be dead soon. Oh, and so will you. All of you!”

A metal door along the wall slid open, revealing a red and white striped bomb hooked up to a timer.

“Shit,” Dick whispered. He’d been right, Harley did have a greater plan all along— to entomb them all within the cold confines of the steel mill, probably even herself. It was a big place, this probably wasn’t the only explosive.

Bruce immediately turned to his sons. “You both save the cops,” he told them, his tone authoritative. “Get them out of here. I’ll track down and handle the bombs.”

“Good luck with that, losers!” Harley taunted them before the intercom went dead.

Time was of the essence, there was no space to debate anything. So Tim and Dick nodded, meeting the other’s gazes before they hurried toward the door that would bring them back to the shipyard. The latter lingered in the doorway for a moment as he glanced back at the older man with concern.

“Go!” Bruce urged, already working on defusing the first bomb.

Sighing, Dick stepped out into the hall, leaving him behind. Tim was waiting for him, worry he couldn’t hide on his face. “He okay?” he asked.

“He’s already working on it,” Dick answered, gingerly making his way to his brother. “We’ve got a little over three minutes, which should be plenty of time to get to the shipyard and get the cops out of the mill. It should also be more than enough time for B to get the bombs defused, he should be able to find them all, Babs should be able to help him if he needs it.”

Tim looked away, though he could tell Dick knew that hadn’t been what he’d been asking. But, as he also knew well, time was of the essence and the mission had to come first. Even still, his gaze moved to Dick’s right side, which he was clearly favoring. “Are you okay?”

Dick grimaced but still gave him a small smile. “I’ll be fine,” he told him. “Let’s get the cops, and then I’ll take it easy, ‘kay?”

The only reason Tim didn’t argue was they only had a couple of minutes to make sure the hostages were safe. He gave a curt nod, and the two were off.

Fortunately, their path to the shipyard was clear, as most of Harley’s remaining thugs seemed more intent to stop Bruce or to escape a fiery fate. The cops seemed a bit better off than the last time they were there, which made it much easier for Tim to direct them back into the mill in a calm manner and guide them toward the nearest exit. Dick was happy to take a step back and let his younger brother take charge of the rescue mission— he was plenty capable even though they didn’t have much time. That and he was having a hard enough time catching his breath as it was.

“Tim? Dick? What’s going on? Report, please.”

“We’re good on this end, Barb,” Tim told her. “We’ve got the hostages, we’re almost out. Anything on B since we got him out?”

“Surprise, surprise, B isn’t really talking to me,” Barbara said. “But I’m able to see through some of the cameras, especially in that creepy shrine room. Looks like he’s defusing the last bomb and that you’ve got just under a minute to get the hell out of that steel mill.”

“The exit’s straight ahead for us,” Tim replied. “While I’m sure B will have no problem defusing that bomb, we’ll be out before then. Just in case.”

“Good.” Barbara’s relief was palpable. “And you’re both all right?”

From where he was behind the rest of the group, Dick watched as Tim glanced back at him from the front. “Uh, lover boy got rocked a bit saving my ass,” the younger muttered. “I’ll live.”

“Dick?!”

Sighing, Dick waved to Tim with a small smile, the look vanishing as soon as his brother turned around. He slowed to a stop, allowing the rest of the group to get a bit ahead as Tim ushered the cops down a short set of steps to the doors that would lead them to safety. He leaned against the wall for a brief rest when his ribs protested to all the walking. “I’m fine, Babs. Side’s a bit tender, but—!”

The footstep came from right behind him. Acting on instinct, he grabbed an escrima stick and spun, the weapon connecting solidly with the larger man’s sternum. But the man’s big hand closed tightly around his wrist as he stumbled back, pulling the leaner man with him, putting more strain on his ribs. As Dick reached for his second stick, the thug kneed him hard in the stomach as a last gasp to escape. He couldn’t breathe for a moment, the pain was so intense, but he gritted his teeth and managed to slam his weapon into the other man’s temple, subduing him.

Dick dropped to a knee, coughing as he attempted to get a full breath in despite how his ribs protested. He wiped a little more blood away from his mouth, knowing he’d have to have Alfred look him over as soon as they were able to get back to the manor.

“Talk to me, Dick, are you okay?”

When he was able to get enough air when his ribs stopped seizing, Dick chuckled. “Y-yeah. I’m okay…” he answered quietly. “Rib or two might be cracked, or broken…” He sighed. “How’s B doing with that bomb?”

The silence on the other end of the comms link lasted just a beat too long. “He’s down to about thirty seconds, a few of Harley’s guys tried stopping him,” she told him heavily. “Are you close enough to the exit? Can Tim—!”

“It’ll be okay, Babs.” Dick smiled gently, even though she probably couldn’t see it. “I know he’s not in the best state of mind right now, but… I trust B.”

“Dick, please, I’d feel better if—!” There was a brief pause before Barbara let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Oh, my God. Bruce got it. He did it. The bomb’s disarmed.”

Even though he really did trust the older man, Dick couldn’t deny the relief he felt, as well. They were safe. “See? Nothing to worry about. I’ll be outta here in no time.”

“I know, but I’ll feel better when you’re out of there, Hunk Wonder. All of you.” She typed a few keys. “Okay. So Harley’s back in that shrine room. Seems like she’s got something in mind. She’s calling Bruce back there. I don’t like it. I’m gonna keep an eye on this. Let me know when you’re both out.”

Dick’s eyes dropped closed as he leaned his head back against the wall behind him. “Will do, Babs.”

“And here I thought I was going to have to come and save your ass.”

With a smirk, Dick looked up as Tim approached and crouched down next to him. “My knight in shining armor,” he muttered.

“Shut up.” Tim grinned before his brow furrowed with concern when he looked at the unconscious thug next to him. “You okay?”

“I will be once this mission’s over.” Dick wrapped a secure arm around his midsection, realizing he probably looked as bad as he felt. “The cops?”

“Outside,” Tim told him. “Gordon’s been able to get through and is almost here. Sure they’ll all meet up soon.” He glanced around them. “I’m guessing since the mill’s still in one piece, B took care of the bombs?”

Dick nodded in confirmation. “Babs is worried, though. Quinn’s apparently got something else for B in the shrine.”

“That doesn’t sound ideal,” Tim said. “Think we should head over there to see what’s going on?”

“You can,” Dick replied quietly. Even the idea of just standing sounded unbearable at the moment. “Probably wouldn’t be a bad idea with the state of mind Harley’s in. But if it’s all the same to you, I think I’m going to just—!”

“Harley had another bomb!” Barbara’s panicked voice suddenly broke loudly through both of their comm links. “It’s set for five seconds! Get out now!”

Tim cursed heatedly as he met his brother’s wide-eyed gaze. His mind spun. Dick clearly couldn’t walk anywhere quickly, they had an extremely limited time to make it to safety. They were close to the door, but not close enough, not to make it easily. Still, he had to try to get them both out in time.

“Hold on, ‘Wing.”

Almost before he could blink, Dick was held close to Tim’s side, and the younger man used his bo staff to help propel them forward with a little more momentum. A deafening boom came from behind them from the direction of the shrine, the blast rocking the very foundations of the mill. Heat and flames billowed behind them, just as Tim reached the doors and threw one open. They both hit the ground hard and rolled further away from the building. Dick cried out as his ribs were jarred, the breath knocked out of him, and Tim used his cape to cover them both just as heat, broken glass, and embers showered down on them as fire claimed the mill.

They both stayed still for a few moments, just trying to catch their breaths, before Tim lowered his cape and looked back at the burning building. “Damn, we were almost in there,” he breathed, dropping his head to the ground. “Shit, that was close…” He raised his head again to look at Dick. “You okay? You look awful…”

Dick only nodded, but he clearly wasn’t okay. Every breath hurt more than the last, his ears were ringing from the explosion. But even still, he heard the crackling of his comms link, probably distorted from the intense heat.

“... Dick… Tim… Can you hear me…? Did you make it out…?”

“Yeah, Barb, we made it,” Tim assured her. “It was a close call, ‘Wing’s gonna need a minute. If you could let Alfred know he’s gonna need to be looked at when we get back to the manor with—!” He stopped abruptly, his eyes widening in horror as he quickly sat up. “Oh, God, did B make it out?!”

Silence.

Dick winced as he pushed himself up on one arm. “Babs… did B make it…?” he pressed, his voice faltering. If Batman, if Bruce , hadn’t survived…

“I… I can’t tell…” Barbara’s voice trembled. “The camera in the shrine room was taken out immediately by the blast, I couldn’t see Bruce or Quinn leave the room…”

Tim and Dick met each other’s panicked gazes. “He… he had to get out…” the latter whispered.

The younger’s lips set into a thin, stern line. The implications of their adopted father not surviving the explosion were ones he couldn’t bring himself to think about at the moment. “Okay. I’m gonna do a sweep of the perimeter,” he said. Keep moving forward. Act. One step at a time. Just as they’d been taught. “I’ll find B and Quinn. You stay here, and…”

“No.” Dick shook his head. “I’ll… I’ll come, too… Just in case…”

Tim frowned at him. “Can you even stand?”

“I’ll be fine… Just give me a hand, yeah?”

Sighing, Tim leaned down and grabbed Dick’s outstretched hand, slowly pulling the other man to his feet. Dick’s face paled as he made it upright, but he didn’t make a sound as he leaned heavily against his brother for a moment to gain his balance. “You sure this is a good idea?” Tim asked.

Another moment of Dick wheezing passed before he nodded. “Y-yeah, I’m good…” he answered. He then flashed a grin at him. “Guess you were my knight in shining armor after all.”

Tim shook his head, unable to keep a small smile from his face. “Shut up. Let’s go.”

They made it around the corner of the crumbling mill before a familiar, shrill woman’s voice drifted over to them. They stopped abruptly. “That’s Harley…” Tim glanced up at Dick hopefully.

“Go on, I’ll follow.” Dick watched as the younger man hurried ahead, taking a moment for the pain flaring in his side to ease even just a little before he started after him.

“See? It hurts, don’t it?!”

As Tim and Dick got closer, they saw Harley kneeling on the hard ground, gloating up at Bruce, who was intently watching the building continue to burn. Jim Gordon stood nearby, taking in the flames with dread.

Though at Harley’s taunt, Bruce slowly turned to face her. “What have you done?” he asked. While his deep voice was low, almost calm, there was also a dangerous note to it. One that Dick hadn’t heard in a long time.

Harley placed a hand on her hip, undeterred. “Now… now you know how it feels!” she screamed at him. “To lose someone you love like that… It’s only fitting that you lost both your birds! I’m only sorry that it was so quick. They probably didn’t even know they were gonna die. They didn’t even have time to think about it. They didn’t even have a moment of that fear. Shame. Oh well, I guess at least they died together, you can hold onto that.” She laughed a loud shriek of a laugh. “But y’know the kicker? They died trying to save your dumb ass! Of all people! What a joke! I guess that’s one last one for ol’ Mistah J. But he was right, y’know. Maybe your friends wouldn’t keep dyin’ if you didn’t keep draggin’ them into that crazy little game you two were playin’!”

“I’ll do a sweep of the perimeter, Batman,” Gordon told the silent, still vigilante. “My guys and I will find Robin and Nightwing, don’t worry.”

“Ha! Look all you want to. I’d love to see the look on your stupid face when you have two bodies you have to carry home and bury, Batbrain.” A cruel grin lit up Harley’s painted face, the heavy black circles around her eyes making them shine even more. “Then again, at least you’ll have bodies to bury this time, right?”

Both of Bruce’s fists clenched tightly as he spared the briefest glance at the gleeful Harley, his entire body shaking just ever so slightly as he turned back to the burning mill, searching it for any sign of life with the barest hint of desperation. Gordon was speaking into his radio, calling for backup to do a perimeter sweep for the two missing people, stubbornly refusing to even humor the possibility they were looking for bodies.

And with them both distracted, Harley Quinn took her final chance for revenge. She pulled something out of her back pocket. Something sharp. She then pushed herself to her feet and made her way straight toward the vigilante’s prone back, raising the long, sharp blade to sink right between his shoulder blades. Gordon caught the motion out of the corner of his eye as he heard her enraged scream, yelled out in warning to Bruce, and hurried after her, reaching for his gun. But he wouldn’t be able to get there in time.

And Bruce, who had to be aware she was coming, didn’t make a move to protect himself. He didn’t move at all.

Dick gasped in fear, though as he took another step forward, white hot pain jolted up his ribcage. He knew there wasn’t much he could do to protect their mentor. Tim noticed him falter, and he quickly reached for his belt, immediately letting one of his shuriken fly. Both brothers watched as it sailed smoothly to the trio, hitting its intended target as it knocked Harley out of the air just as she leapt to deliver the final blow. Dick sighed with relief as she hit the ground. The younger man caught the bird-shaped weapon as it came back to him, a bit of a smug smile on his face as both he and Dick slowly approached Bruce.

“So, you miss us or what?” Tim wondered lightly.

Gordon looked relieved to see them both. Bruce turned away from the flames, blue eyes intense as he drank in the sight of them both there, alive. But he betrayed none of what he must have felt after the worry of not knowing where either of them were, of being told they were both dead, of the low blow about Jason, as he instead cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders.

“Where are the cops?” he pressed, his tone never wavering in its authority.

Tim stopped with a sigh. “They’re safe,” the former assured him. “We got them out before the explosion.”

“It was a… bit of a close call, but we’re okay,” Dick added, gingerly coming to a stop next to Tim. “It’s gonna take more than the likes of Quinn to take us out.”

Bruce’s studying gaze passed over them, taking note of their dirtied faces, roughed up outfits, and the way Dick was favoring his right side before he looked away from them and turned back to Gordon. “I’m done here,” he muttered. He then pulled out his grapnel gun before swiftly leaving the area, disappearing onto another rooftop.

Gordon’s brow furrowed as he watched after the vigilante. “Hey, is he all right?” he asked, turning to Robin, who was closer to him.

Tim and Dick remained silent for a moment, the latter shaking his head slightly. “No, no he’s not,” he whispered to himself. Bruce may not have freely shown what he was feeling often, and he certainly hadn’t here. But he knew the older man well enough to know that Harley taunting him about their deaths, and the possibility itself, had really rattled him.

Meanwhile, Tim met the commissioner’s concerned gaze with more confidence. “Yeah, sure,” he answered with a small, reassuring smile. “Course he is.” He then glanced down at where Harley had yet to move while the cops they’d rescued began to gather. “You guys got her handled? I’d like to get Nightwing outta here, he got rocked a bit. We’re okay, but… it really was a bit of a close call for us.”

Jim returned his smile. “Don’t worry, kid, we’ve got her,” he assured him. He then glanced over at the older vigilante. “You all right, son?”

Dick nodded, trying to keep his face angled a bit away from him as he bent over a little, holding his side. He’d been to too many family dinners with him and Barbara that he was starting to have a nagging concern that Jim might recognize him one of these times. “Yeah… just a bit winded,” he confirmed.

“Mm.” Jim shifted his gaze back to Tim. “Thank you, both of you, for your help with getting my men out of there. We’ll take over from here. Take care. And watch out for Batman while you’re at it. Something tells me he’s… well, not handling things too well.”

“You got it, commissioner, he’s in our capable hands.” Tim offered the other man another tight smile as he shook his proffered hand before he wrapped his arm carefully but securely around Dick’s back. “Hold tight, ‘Wing.” He then pulled his own grapnel gun out, and the two of them vanished into the night, leaving the burning steel mill behind them.

“We’re on the way home, Barb.”

And Dick certainly was grateful to be back at the manor. Thanks to the heavy duty pain meds that were part of the IV Alfred provided him with, deep sleep claimed him while his couple cracked and broken ribs were tended and didn’t release its hold on him until late the next afternoon when he woke up in the large bed in his old room. It took quite a bit longer for him to actually get himself out of bed with how sore and stiff he still was, but he managed. And after some light stretching, he managed to make it gingerly downstairs.

“Lunch was served a couple hours ago, Master Dick, though I can make you something if you wish.” Alfred’s calming voice floated over to him from the direction of the kitchen when he got to the last couple steps.

Dick hesitated. He really wasn’t too hungry, he wasn’t even really sure if his stomach could hold much of anything down. But he also knew that he needed at least a little something in his system with all the medication; besides, the old man would insist otherwise until he agreed. “Uh, sure. Something light would be great, Alfie, thanks,” he replied.

Alfred gave him a warm smile from where he’d appeared in the kitchen archway. “Coming right up, Master Dick.”

Tim was lounging on the couch in a tank top and sweatpants, an arm draped over his eyes and a thick book resting open on his chest, when Dick wandered into the living room. The older man’s gaze faltered at seeing the stitches in his upper left arm and just how exhausted he looked. But still, he tried to put some lightness into his tone as he greeted, “Doing some light reading?”

He got a grunt in return as Tim lowered his arm and looked down at the book he’d been going through. “Oh, yeah. Totally. Advanced cellular biology, my favorite bedside table read for nights I can’t sleep.” He sat up and shut the book with a sigh before setting it on the couch next to him, passing a hand over his face as he rubbed his tired eyes. “Between tests to look forward to after break and some reports for Wayne Enterprises to look over, it’s kinda been a busy day. Going to take a break and go to Bernard’s later to play video games, though.”

Dick frowned. There were some things he missed about college, but tests were certainly not one of them. But he wasn’t sure why his brother was still doing so much for the company, not when Bruce was mostly back in his role there. He just knew he didn’t like it, especially since everything Tim was trying to balance in both his daily life and crime fighting was clearly taking its toll on him. He was glad to hear that he was going to spend time with his best friend that night, though, since he knew how needed a break was.

“How are you feeling?” Tim’s question broke into his thoughts. “Barb stopped by to see you earlier, but you slept right through it.”

Dick smiled faintly. “I’ll give her a call in a bit. I’m not doing too bad, though when the pain meds wear off, I’ll probably feel different.” The look faded. “Is B…?”

Tim lowered his gaze. “In the cave,” he told him. “He came back to the manor early this morning when Alfred was setting your ribs, checked on you and me without a word, then went down there and hasn’t been back up for hours. Alfred can’t get him to leave. No idea what he’s doing down there.”

“All right. I’m gonna go see if I can have a word with him. Hopefully I’ll be back before whatever Alf’s whipping up for me is done.”

The younger man arched a bemused eyebrow. “Think he’ll actually talk to you?” he wondered.

Dick shrugged. “S’pose we’ll find out,” he said. “There’s just… something that’s been on my mind for a bit.”

When he made his way down the spiraling stairs to the Batcave, he found Bruce where he expected to find him, seated in front of the Batcomputer. Keeping an eye over Gotham, silent but ever watchful.

“You should be resting.”

Dick wasn’t surprised when the older man spoke without even turning to look at him. As watchful over the city as he was, he was just as watchful over the manor. “You’re one to talk,” he said, coming to a stop behind Bruce’s chair. He gazed at the monitors that he was watching so closely, seeing that he seemed to be monitoring what was left of Arkham City. He let out a long breath. “What the hell was that, Bruce?”

His adopted father didn’t answer for a moment as he continued to go through the video feeds. “I did what had to be done,” he finally replied, his tone stern, authoritative.

“Did you?” Dick couldn’t stop his frustration from slipping through. “You almost died last night, B. If Tim and I hadn’t found you when we did, you would have.” He paused as he took a few steps back, creating a little distance as he gave himself a much needed moment to breathe. “Look, I know it’s been hard since Talia died, okay? I know how you felt about her. And… I can kind of understand how it’s the same with Joker. I know you blame yourself for his death as much as someone like Harley blames you for it, even though it’s not your fault. I know you. I know you won’t listen to me about that, I know you’re going to keep blaming yourself for it, I know you’re not going to talk about it.”

Bruce didn’t respond. He didn’t even move an inch. Dick wasn’t even sure if he was listening to a word he was saying, but he pushed forward anyway. Now that he’d started, it was too late to stop it. He’d been carrying it for too long.

“But… none of this is okay, Bruce. I’ve got duties in Blüdhaven I’m neglecting because I’m here, and even though I’m trying to spread my time in both places as much as I can, I can’t be in two places at once. Tim’s bending over backwards to get things done for Wayne Enterprises for you while working his ass off for his classes and making sure Gotham’s safe, the kid’s exhausted. Alfie’s worried about you. And these past couple days?” Dick shook his head. “I know you well enough to know that a part of you doesn’t care what happens to you, especially right now after losing people. I understand why you don’t want Tim and I to get involved, not after what’s happened before, not after thinking you lost us last night. But knowingly walking into a trap by Harley on your own like that? Not only did you almost die, but you nearly took us out with you.”

“I didn’t call you or Tim in.” Bruce’s voice was quiet, even. “Neither of you should have been there.”

“No, you didn’t, because you were completely silent on comms before you got yourself captured. But you had to know we’d still come for you. Because we do— we will— every damn time.” Dick took a deep breath, trying to steady it before his voice broke ever so slightly. “I… I don’t know if there’s a part of you that feels like you deserve this. You don’t. But you can’t keep doing this to yourself, to us, to Gotham. Shit happens, B, but you can't self-destruct like Jas—!”

A resounding silence filled the Batcave as Dick stopped abruptly, his breath catching as he realized what he’d just been about to say. Bruce stiffened in his chair. A moment passed before he half glanced over his shoulder at his oldest son.

“Go ahead. Say it.”

Dick turned away from him, taking a couple deep breaths as he passed a shaking hand over his face. He then set his jaw firmly and faced his mentor, frustrated tears pricking his eyes. He may not have been able to save his younger brother, his Little Wing, but he’d be damned if he let the same thing happen to his adopted father. And if this drove the point home, then so be it.

“You’re self-destructing like Jason did, and look where that got him,” he murmured. “If you don’t care what happens to you, fine. But you have Tim who needs you. You’ve got Gotham that needs you. Alfred wouldn’t know what to do without you. You’ve got…” He sighed, lowering his gaze. “I could still use you, too. None of us can have that happening to you. We’re your allies, B. Your family. We’re here to help you, but you have to let us.”

Bruce slowly turned back to his monitors.

“Fine.” Dick set a light hand over his ribs when a sharp pain shot through them. “I’m going back to Blüdhaven. They need me more than Gotham does right now. But I can’t stay here, B, not while you’re not only putting yourself at unnecessary risk, but Tim, too. Not until you get your shit together.” When, as expected, he got no response, he headed toward the steps to go back up to the manor, where Alfred was undoubtedly waiting with whatever he’d prepared for him.

“I’m going to stay with Babs until I’m more healed up, but please. If not for you, don’t do something that’s going to endanger Tim again. He’d do anything for you, we all would. But don’t pull a stunt like that again. I can’t have my other brother die, too.” Dick paused after the first few stairs, looking back at where his mentor was still staring intently at the screens. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was purposely ignoring him now. “If you need me, B— for anything— you know how to get a hold of me.”

The older man closed his eyes and lowered his head ever so slightly, but he didn’t speak a word. Dick waited for only a moment before he turned and continued his way up the steps, not looking back.

Chapter Text

Frank Sinatra’s “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” was playing in the lobby as Dick hurried into the Blüdhaven police department. It was actually his second time there on this incredibly busy night for them, not that anyone else in the station knew that. He was just glad that his apartment wasn’t too far from the station so he’d had adequate time to ditch his Nightwing suit, step in and out of the shower, and charge into his uniform when Amy had informed him he was needed.

All things considered, he’d been a little surprised to hear from Bruce earlier that night when he’d been on patrol; they hadn’t talked too much in the almost nine months since Joker had died and Harley had nearly killed Bruce out of misplaced revenge. He hadn’t been back to Gotham nearly as often as he’d like to either since Blüdhaven’s woes were keeping him so busy, too. But from what he’d been hearing from both Barbara and Tim, their mentor had been improving over that time, regaining his focus, not taking senseless risks with himself, but still keeping his brother at bay. Not that Bruce had called him in on anything either, even though there still hadn’t been much noise out of Gotham in the wake of the clown’s death. He wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to leave his city for long anyway with all that had been happening there— Blockbuster and Shrike had both been making moves, he’d been tracking the movements of a gun running operation that seemed to be operating between Blüdhaven and Gotham for the past several weeks. But one of the things that concerned him most was he hadn’t seen or heard from Deathstroke in months, and there was no trail giving any indication of his whereabouts or what he could be up to. Which was worrisome, he didn’t like his nemesis being so silent, it wasn’t like Slade Wilson to not be coming after him or trying to get in his way. It made him uneasy not knowing what he was up to but also being aware that it couldn’t be anything good.

Though he couldn’t blame Tim for feeling like he was still being pushed to the side by their adopted father. He understood that Jason’s death, that failure on his part to keep him safe, would probably never stop haunting Bruce, that he’d been rattled by nearly losing both of them when Harley had blown up the steel mill in Arkham City, that coming that close to losing all three of his sons had left another scar in him that he’d never talk about. He understood that all very well— Jason’s murder had left its mark deeply on them all, and one of his greatest fears was losing someone he loved that way again, that he’d be unable to protect them, like he’d failed to save his Little Wing from himself, from Joker.

But at some point, Bruce had to accept that they were his allies, that they were fighting with him, not for him. That he had trained them to the best of his abilities, that they could take care of themselves, that they were stronger as a unit. They’d all take a bullet for Bruce, as they knew he would for them, because they loved him. But despite his actions to try to keep them safe, there’d be less risk for them all if he fully let them in, fully let them be that team.

Dick didn’t mind being the one Tim vented all of his frustrations to, as had been one of the main reasons for their most recent video chat earlier that week. But from the sounds of it, Bruce had been keeping his brother rather busy with an important task, something crucial, for the past couple months while he handled any and all street level crime in Gotham.

“Ever hear of Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease?”

“Um.” Dick finished drying his hair before tossing the towel aside. He’d just gotten back to his apartment from the previous night’s patrol, just getting a quick shower in. The early morning sun was just barely starting to make its way in through the window, he wasn’t quite ready for questions like that. “That’s a… rare brain disorder that leads to dementia, right?”

“That’d be the one,” Tim confirmed.

Dick’s heart skipped a beat in panic. His brother surely wouldn’t be asking him that without a reason. “Is everyone okay?” he pressed. “Alfie…?”

“They’re fine, don’t worry.” The reassurance came quickly, but Dick wasn’t completely convinced since Tim still looked bothered as he sighed. “It’s something B’s got me working on.”

His brow furrowed. “What is it? What’s going on?” He could see how exhausted the teen was.

“You know how Joker sent his infected blood out to hospitals all over Gotham and further out in the state before he died?”

Dick set his phone down on the counter in his tiny kitchen as he opened his refrigerator. It seemed like he had just enough milk for one more bowl of cereal. Small mercies. “Yeah, you helped the police track it all down,” he said, grabbing the nearly empty cereal box. He’d been neglecting grocery shopping lately with how busy he’d been, and he was starting to regret it. But the long pause from Tim caused his gaze to shoot back to the screen. “Right?”

Tim looked down. “We thought so,” he replied quietly.

Breakfast plans forgotten, Dick leaned against the counter, all his attention on his brother. “What do you mean you thought so?”

“Well, we, uh… we missed a few.”

Dread flowed through him. “You… missed some?” he wondered. “How?”

“Y’know, hospital errors, transfusions going unrecorded, those sorts of oversights,” Tim explained.

Those were some mighty big oversights to have with Joker’s mutated blood involved. “How many?”

“Five people were infected," Tim told him.

Five. Five people who still had the infection who hadn’t been treated. “What are their symptoms?” he asked. “Is it anything like when B was infected?”

Tim shook his head. “No, not exactly,” he said. “B’s been having me run a hell of a lot of tests, and truthfully, Dick, I’ve never seen anything like this before. Because it’s been left untreated for too long, the blood itself has gestated too long, and it’s… it’s altering them.”

“In what way?” Though he’d asked the question, Dick wasn’t actually sure he wanted to know the answer.

“The easiest way to answer that is to show you, I’m almost to them now,” Tim continued. It was then Dick recognized the elevator in the old Panessa Studios building, evident by the Flying Graysons poster on the wall behind him. “But to prep you for that, it’s definitely a form of Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, but it’s mutated beyond anything B or I have ever heard of. Even beyond anything on medical record, I can’t find a case anywhere close to this. It’s not only altering their minds, their personalities, everything about them, it’s altering their physiology. They’re becoming… well, you’re about to see for yourself.”

Dick watched as Tim slipped his domino over his eyes, completing his Robin attire, as he stepped out of the elevator. He quickly grabbed a bowl for his cereal while he had a second, unable to ignore the growling of his stomach any longer. He finished off the milk and took a bite of his quick breakfast as he turned his attention back to his phone, just as the teen entered the vast space that he and Bruce had set up in the movie studios as a private workspace with a large computer with a similar setup to the one in the Batcave. But there were also what appeared to be isolation cells— five of them.

When Tim approached the first cell, a very tall, muscular man pounded two large fists against the clear door. “Let me out of here, you brat!” he demanded. “Let me out so I can break you for keeping me locked up in here! You’re nothing without the Bat, you hear me? Nothing ! He’s more of a challenge than you’ll ever be!”

“Good morning to you, too, Albert,” Tim deadpanned.

“Get that out of my face!” Albert continued when he saw the phone. “You’d better not be recording me! No free press!”

“He’s a real charmer.” Dick’s eyes narrowed, bringing his phone closer to his face to see better. “Wait a minute. Albert. Is that… Albert King? The Goliath? I remember watching him box when I was younger.”

“The one and only, boy!” Albert bragged from his cell.

“Same, my dad always made sure to watch his matches when he was home for them, I’d sometimes catch them with him,” Tim replied. “Shame he had to retire after that loss, he was supposed to have another big match here in Gotham in a few days.”

“So… what’s King’s story?”

“Not pretty.” Tim sighed. “From the records B and I were able to compile, he just went to have a routine treatment at Gotham General, which is when he got Joker’s mutated blood. According to a police complaint, the first sign that something was amiss was him challenging three of his family members to arm wrestling matches and tearing their arms off when he won. He’d painted a Joker-esque smile on his face with their blood when he was found.”

“Hell yeah, I beat them all!” Albert sounded quite proud of his accomplishment. “Just as I’m going to beat you as soon as you let me out of here, bird boy!” Tim ignored him.

“Holy shit,” Dick breathed. The strength this large man had to have to be able to actually rip a person’s arm off with his bare hands was astounding. To boast about it was despicable.

“Yeah, I know. Judging by his blood work, I’ve been able to determine he was the second infected by how far along the mutation is. I don’t know the guy personally, but he’s seemed to have developed the more violent and sadistic traits Joker used to have since he got his blood. But that’s not all. Look closer.”

At this, Albert once again grew frustrated. “What did I just say, you little brat?! Get that thing the hell away from me!”

Tim obliged, not wanting to aggravate him further. But it was enough. Dick had been able to just get a glimpse that patches on the dark skin of Albert’s chest, shoulders, and especially his face appeared to be bleached pale white.

“Is that…?”

“A physical manifestation of Joker’s blood,” Tim confirmed. “Here, you’ll be able to see it here better.”

“The big oaf didn’t want a camera in his face, huh? Here, Robin, I’ll take all the spotlight. I, after all, deserve it.”

“Watch your stupid mouth, boy!”

“These two argue all the time,” Tim muttered in explanation as he stood in front of the second cell. “Morning, Johnny.”

If Dick hadn’t known any better, he would’ve thought the Joker had a brother and that he was looking right at him. He watched as the man named Johnny took a bow with added flourish, an almost too wide grin on his bleached white face. His green eyes and hair were even the same shade as the clown’s had been, and his white jacket with red trimmings and purple shoes seemed to be pulled right from his wardrobe.

It was eerily uncanny.

Before he could say anything, a female voice came from the third cell. “Robin?! Is Bats with you this time?!”

Tim took a couple steps closer so his brother could see her. “Not this morning, Christina,” he said. “He’s got business elsewhere.”

Christina pouted. Like Johnny, her face was also bleached unnaturally white, her hair tied back in a neat bun and her eyes behind her glasses the same shade of shocking green as Joker’s, her full lips a blood red. “Shame,” she replied. “Normally, he just can’t stay away.” A cruel gleam appeared in her eyes as she grinned. “That’s not him you’re talking to, is it? You wouldn’t keep him from me, would you, little birdie?”

When she didn’t get a response, Christina laughed a cold, hauntingly familiar laugh. The sound gave Dick chills. “You know he doesn’t love you, right, little Robin?” she asked. “Not like he loves me. You’ll see, he’ll come back for me, he’ll show you how much he wants me! And if your blood is what it takes for him to realize that, then so be it! He won’t miss a little bird with broken wings who’ll never be able to fly again like you!”

“That’s… super creepy,” Dick muttered as she laughed again.

“Tell me about it.” Tim moved away and turned his back on the first three cells. “But Johnny’s megalomania and showmanship? Christina’s obsession with B? Albert’s violence and sadism?”

“They’re all taking on different aspects of Joker’s personality,” Dick said thoughtfully. He frowned. “But even more than that, they’re even physically… becoming Joker.”

“As I said, it’s not like anything we’ve seen before on medical record.” Tim sighed. “Christina Bell and Johnny Charisma were infected close to the same time according to their blood work, sometime after Albert. She required a blood transfusion after suffering a miscarriage. Three weeks later, she went to a shareholder’s meeting at the Queen Industries Gotham branch, where she was a board member. She went on to kill all eleven other board members with a knife, slitting their throats and carving smiles on their faces. Her husband died from a stroke a couple months ago, leaving behind their two children. She doesn’t care at all, she’s only fixated on B.”

“Oh, my God…” But Dick had to admit that behavior was perfectly in line with the clown. It also explained why Bruce had said Oliver Queen, who protected Star City across the country as Green Arrow, was planning on coming to Gotham soon since that was his company.

He was far more familiar with Johnny’s story. Last year, Amy had invited him and Barbara to one of the Messiah of Entertainment’s shows in Metropolis as a double date. The singer was all right, not really his cup of tea, but it was nice to spend time with his partner outside of police work. He was a performer familiar with controversy that, at that point, had included a string of drug offenses and a DUI. But it had been earlier that month when he’d seen on the news that Johnny had leapt off the stage mid-performance during a show in Gotham and beat a groupie into a coma. It’d been reported that he was seeking treatment at a private clinic after his psychotic episode, but he wasn’t surprised to see where he’d truly ended up since his behavior had been influenced by Joker’s infected blood.

“How about the other two?” Dick asked.

Tim’s gaze faltered as he crossed the room to where the other two containment cells were set up. In the first one sat an old man with receding gray hair. His blue eyes were clear behind his glasses, if not tired. There was nothing about his features that reflected the Joker at all, and his demeanor was rather calm compared to the other victims.

Dick recognized him from the news some weeks back. Henry Adams, former headmaster of Gotham’s prestigious McCallum Academy, who’d been reported missing not long after he’d had a necessary blood transfusion after a hip replacement. But he seemed… fine. Not like the others at all.

“How are you feeling this morning, Henry?” Tim asked as he approached.

The old man looked up, adjusting his glasses. “Are you here to finally let me out of here?" he fired back. “I was happy to cooperate with you when you and Batman told me what was going on. But you said it’d only take a few days! I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. I miss my wife, I want to go home. Why are you still keeping me here?”

“We’re close now, Henry,” Tim reassured him gently. “I don’t think it’ll be too much longer, we’re nearly at that breakthrough we need. You’ll be home soon.”

Henry turned his nose up at him in response. “So you keep saying.”

“Robin…” Dick’s tone carried a bit of a warning. Guilt pulled at his heart for the old man. He understood why Albert, Johnny, and Christina were being held in containment cells, but with Henry seemingly not displaying the same alarming symptoms, they really couldn’t hold him there against his will.

“I know, I know.” Tim moved away from the cell to have a little more privacy with his brother. “Believe me, I feel awful about this, I don’t like it any more than you do. But it really is important that we have Henry here. He was the first one infected, he’s had Joker’s blood in him the longest, but he’s still symptomless. B’s had me running a lot of tests to try to figure out why that is. He did come willingly, and B’s been making sure his wife has everything she needs while he’s here with us. We’re close to getting the answers we need. And when we do, we can figure out a possible cure to help the others. We can save all of them.”

Dick’s brow furrowed. It was definitely a mystery, though he knew his brother was right. If there was a key to immunity in Henry’s blood, they could cure the others who’d been infected. But he couldn’t blame the older man for being frustrated at being confined longer than he’d expected to be, no matter how cooperative and willing to help he’d been at the start. He hoped for his sake that he wouldn’t have to be kept there for much longer.

“What about the last one?”

“Well, see, that’s the thing.” Tim turned his attention back to the two cells, and Dick’s frown deepened. The one next to Henry’s was empty. “We haven’t actually been able to track them down yet. B seems to have a lead, he says they’ll be here soon, but so far…”

“Right.” Dick finally took another bite of his neglected cereal. It’d gotten soggy. “Keep me updated on how all that goes, Robin. If you need anything, if there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

“Will do. Talk to you soon.”

Since then, there hadn’t been any new updates on the status of the infected, the mystery and possible key of Henry’s blood, or the whereabouts of the fifth Joker victim. Both Tim and Bruce had been working hard on all of it, and he was sure they had to be frustrated that nothing seemed to be yielding the results they were hoping for. Next time he was in Gotham, he’d have to stop at Panessa Studios to see if there was anything he could help with. At the very least, maybe he could find a way to make Henry feel a little more comfortable.

“Wanna see our new guest? Nightwing himself dropped her off a bit ago.”

Amy’s voice brought him out of his thoughts, and Dick offered her a small, tired smile. “Where are you keeping her?” he wondered.

“Lower levels, maximum security,” Amy informed him as they began to make their way there together. “It’s the best we can do until we ship her off to Blackgate and a safe transfer to Gotham can be arranged.” She smirked at her partner. “Can’t lie, Grayson, it’s convenient to have the commissioner’s daughter’s boyfriend on the force with us.”

Dick couldn’t hide a smile of his own. “I’ll give him a call once I see how secure she is,” he replied.

As he and Amy reached the basement levels of the precinct, he knew exactly who he’d see. After all, he was the one who’d caught her and brought her to the station and helped lock her away himself. He’d been alerted to her after hearing from Bruce through their comms, telling him that after an encounter he’d had with Bane— one where she’d saved his life because she hadn’t thought his death at the brute’s hands would be as worthwhile or profitable as other possible fates that could befall him— she’d escaped through the sewers and may have been headed to Blüdhaven. His mentor was certain he could handle it and apprehend her if she turned up; he would’ve done it himself, but Bane had broken some of his gadgets that would have allowed him to follow her easily. He hadn’t wanted her to get away.

And he had been able to find and bring her in without too much of a problem. Not that he hadn’t appreciated Bruce’s faith in him, as praise from him tended to be rare.

There were many officers stationed around the cell where they were keeping their temporary prisoner, and he was glad to see it, just as long as no one got too close to her. After all, Poison Ivy was a dangerous woman.

Her eyes gleamed when she saw him, giving him a sultry smile as he and Amy got a little closer. “My, you’re a pretty one,” she said.

Dick smiled smugly back. He’d dealt with Pamela Isley so often over the years that he was more immune to her verbal charms than most. “Too bad I won’t be staying,” he replied before turning to the officers stationed around her. “Keep your guard up with her, don’t let her get under your skin. I’m going to get in touch with Commissioner Gordon, and hopefully we can arrange a transfer for her to Gotham from Blackgate in the next couple of days at the latest.”

Ivy watched him carefully from her cell. “Say, you seem a little familiar. Do I know you?” she asked. “I always remember a handsome face like yours.”

“I don’t think so, Ivy,” Dick answered lightly with a shrug. He could almost hear his adopted father’s voice in the back of his mind. Don’t let her get to you.

He wouldn’t.

For a brief moment, a look of annoyance flashed across Ivy’s green-tinted face. She wouldn’t get to him, no matter how she pouted. Though her smirk, as well as gleam of recognition in her eye, returned when she read his badge. “Ah. Officer Grayson.” She leaned closer to the bars, almost beckoning him to her. He didn’t budge. “Gotham’s favorite prodigal son. No wonder you seem familiar to me.”

Dick didn’t react like she wanted him to. “Doesn’t matter if you know me,” he told her. “You’ll be back in Gotham soon enough.”

Ivy laughed. “Do you really feel safer at the idea of me being behind bars in Gotham instead of here?” she wondered. “Why? Because Batman’s there?” The smile on her face turned sinister. “It’s sweet you think that means anything. Soon, it won’t matter at all. Nothing you pathetic humans care about will.”

Despite himself, Dick took a couple of steps closer to her cell. “What do you mean by that?” he asked cautiously.

“Oh, you’ll see.” Ivy’s tone was taunting him closer. “Something’s brewing, a storm is coming, and none of you will be able to weather it. You won’t be safe, even here. Even your precious Batman won’t be able to stop it.”

Dick stopped when he felt himself about to move even closer to her. Gotham had been oddly quiet the past nine months, too quiet, as crime had fallen since Joker died. A knot of dread formed in his chest. He didn’t like it. Something wasn’t right. “What do you know?” he pressed.

But Ivy only turned her back on him, carelessly flipping her long red hair in his direction. A light pink petal fell out of her tresses, brushing feather light across his cheek before drifting to the floor. “That’s for you to find out, handsome.”

Knowing that he wasn’t going to get anywhere else with her but having the undeniable feeling that time was of the essence, Dick excused himself and hurried back up the steps away from lockup. He’d call Jim immediately, wanting to get Ivy’s transfer arranged as soon as possible, but he also wanted to let Bruce know that what she’d said had unsettled him. That something felt wrong.

But when he reached his desk, he was confused to see a large envelope addressed to him sitting on it that hadn’t been there when he’d come in not even ten minutes ago. He glanced over at a senior officer stationed at his desk on the other side of the room.

“Hey, did you happen to see who left this for me?” he asked, holding it up.

The other man looked away from his computer, gave the envelope one brief look, and shook his head before turning back to the screen.

“Helpful,” Dick grumbled under his breath. On high alert, he carefully undid the clasps and slowly pulled back the seal, just in case it contained an unpleasant surprise. It wouldn’t be the first time an officer had received something anonymously that had landed them in the emergency room.

But nothing of the sort was apparent from this unknown sender. But he wasn’t any more at ease by that fact as he pulled out what appeared to be simple photographs. Though their subjects caused his blood to run cold.

Batman and Robin standing together on a rooftop talking.

Batman carrying a lifeless Joker out of the Monarch Theatre.

Nightwing and Robin lying on the ground as the steel mill burned.

Nightwing, Robin, and Batman standing together in front of the burning steel mill.

Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth sitting in the back gardens of the manor.

Tim Drake standing near the gates of the driveway that led up to the manor, kissing blonde-haired Stephanie Brown.

Himself standing next to his motorcycle in the manor’s driveway, helmet under his arm and overnight bag over his shoulder.

He couldn’t breathe. Someone had been watching them. For how long, if they still were, he wasn’t sure. And that someone wanted him to know that they were being watched. The knot in his chest tightened even further when the implication that whoever was watching them knew their secret identities crossed his mind.

Stuffing the photos back in the envelope, Dick hurried back outside into the night. He looked up and down the sidewalk in front of the station, knowing it couldn’t have been long since they had been left on his desk. But there was nothing or no one to be seen. The night was quiet.

Holding the envelope tighter to him, Dick took his comms link he always kept in his uniform pocket and stuck it in his ear. His quick, nervous breath formed a tiny cloud in front of his face in the cool air.

“B? We have a problem.”

It all happened so fast after that.

Despite looking at security footage, Dick wasn’t any closer to figuring out who’d left the photographs for him. What he did find out was a young officer who was even more of a rookie than he was and had just joined the force a couple weeks before was the one who’d set them on his desk. But after he’d broken after only a few questions, it couldn’t have been clearer that he wasn’t the photographer.

According to the kid, he’d been arriving at the station for his shift when he was approached by a hooded man who’d offered him a pretty hefty sum and asked politely if he could deliver the envelope to Officer Grayson. The footage from the exterior cameras that night confirmed his story. Dick had watched as a man, whose shoulders hunched forward just a little bit, wearing a plain black hoodie— no identifying designs, smart— with the hood hiding his features approached the young officer as he drew near the station door. They interacted briefly before the officer took the envelope he was being offered, the same one that had been on his desk, and disappeared into the station. The mystery man waited, though it wasn’t for long for not even a minute later, the officer stepped back outside. Since he’d been down in secure lockup at the time, it’d only taken that short time for him to drop the photos on his desk for the job to be considered done, Dick realized. It was timed almost perfectly, almost as if the unknown man had an idea Poison Ivy was there then.

The two men interacted briefly again, the hooded stranger appearing very grateful as he firmly shook the officer’s hand and heartily patted him on the shoulder before offering him a smaller white envelope. The man then walked away down the sidewalk, but not without raising a hand and flipping off the camera— a gesture, Dick felt, was meant for him, as though the stranger knew he’d be watching— before he disappeared. The officer didn’t notice, too busy counting the bills he’d gotten before sticking the envelope in his pocket and going inside the station.

The kid didn’t get in trouble. He couldn’t have, as other Blüdhaven officers— most of whom were still on the force— had taken bribes for much, much worse. And by all appearances, this incident was harmless. It wasn’t like Dick could tell anyone what he’d been given, not even Amy, without giving himself away. Like most incidents that happened with this police department, it’d be brushed under the rug, not to be spoken of again.

What concerned him about the rookie officer’s story most, however, was that the hooded man had told the kid that what he had wanted to deliver might help Dick with the arms smuggling case he’d been working on. It was one he’d been tackling more as Nightwing the past several weeks than Officer Grayson, only furthering his suspicion that whoever this man was knew their secret identities. But he was taunting him with that knowledge rather than revealing it.

But, in the same breath, he had to give the mystery photographer just a little credit, as much as he didn’t want to. Mixed in with the photos of himself, Bruce, and Tim had been a snapshot that truly had given him the break, and the proof, he’d needed for what he’d been beginning to suspect himself— a man he’d been able to identify as a thug in Penguin’s employ lying unconscious at the docks of the shipping yard in Gotham with a truck bearing a logo he thought was for some refrigeration company.

Jackpot. He wasn’t sure how the hooded man had gotten that photo, or why he’d given it to him, but it wouldn’t take him too long to gather the rest of the information he’d need to crack down on the gun runners.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t had the opportunity to look into it right away like he’d wanted to.

While back on his normal patrol as Nightwing, just a couple short hours after he’d brought in Poison Ivy and received the photos, he’d picked up reports on his comms that Harley Quinn had broken into the Blüdhaven police department and was going for Pamela since her transfer to Blackgate wasn’t scheduled until the morning. By the time he’d arrived, Harley had just reached secure lockup, having left a lot of dead cops in her wake, and he’d been just in time to thankfully save Amy from the same grim fate. He’d kept Harley at bay easily enough, about to subdue her to allow her to be arrested, when Ivy had decided she was done with all the nonsense and unleashed her newest plant— which she had found the roots of sprouting through a crack in the cement floor of the cell, he wasn’t sure how he’d missed it when he’d brought her in— on him and the officers still alive, trapping them and nearly crumbling the building as she and Harley made their escape together. He’d hardly caught the latter talking about how they couldn’t be late to some “important meeting”.

Which led him to now, the following evening, freshly home after his day shift at the precinct, which had consisted of a lot of gushing from Amy about how Nightwing had saved her and a lot of him biting his tongue. Fall meant early sunrises, and he was planning on leaving for patrol sooner than normal because with it being Halloween, that tended to mean more trouble for him to deal with, and he wanted to get an earlier start.

But that was when the news out of Gotham hit.

Some sort of chemical weapon attack in Pauli’s Diner, a charming place with good food and even better service, one he and Barbara had gone to for a handful of dates, one he and Tim had been to quite a few times to catch up when he was in Gotham. He’d even treated Jason there pretty often for breakfast after a particularly rough night of patrolling or to get him out of the manor when Bruce had been driving him a little bit crazier than usual with his overbearing nature. He had fond memories of the place, he was sad to see it happen. The footage and images were horrifying, people tearing each other apart, a police officer shooting in a panic, quite a few left dead or seriously injured. The cause was clear when the man responsible took over the airwaves, claiming responsibility and promising more violence ahead.

“This devastation used just five ounces of my latest toxin. Tomorrow, this will seem like child’s play. Gotham, this is your only warning.”

Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, had reappeared in Gotham after the stunt pulled by Joker at Arkham Asylum a couple of years before, and by the sound of it, had a new and improved fear toxin that he was promising to release imminently. The city was in chaos.

“How’s the evacuation going?” Dick asked, making sure his comms link was secure in his ear.

“Pretty smoothly, all things considered. The last couple buses are being loaded up now,” Barbara answered. “Gotham’s about to be a ghost town.”

“Yeah, except for the people who love all the chaos and destruction,” Tim chimed in from his end of the comms. “It’s gonna be like Arkham City all over again, just… all over Gotham this time.”

Dick sighed, rubbing his tired eyes from staring at his laptop screen settled on his lap for as long as he had. “Sounds like it’s gonna be a hell of a long night,” he muttered. Like Halloween, in both Gotham and Blüdhaven, weren’t usually bad enough to begin with. Crane really did have a twisted sense of humor staging his attack this night of all nights. “I’m sure a lot of people are gonna be taking advantage of having free reign of the city, especially tonight.”

“Of course they are, and Gotham P.D. doesn’t have the resources and manpower needed to tackle all that, Dad’s stretched pretty thin as it is.” Barbara hesitated briefly. “He thinks I’m in Blüdhaven with you by the way, Dick. If I can make things just a little bit easier for him by not having him worry about me in all this mess…”

“I’m not gonna tell him any different, Babs,” Dick assured her, knowing his girlfriend was hunkered down in her clocktower residence fully prepared to tackle what the night threw at them. “Sounds like B’s got his work cut out for him.”

“He does, and it’s not like he’s gonna let me help.” Tim sighed with frustration. “He’s really, really determined that I figure out this cure. He says it’s too important for me to do anything else. He’s so fixated on it.”

Dick frowned. He’d always known Bruce to be a hard worker, to do what had to be done to finish a mission, but even he’d noticed the older man was borderline obsessive when it came to figuring out the cure for those suffering from Joker’s infected blood. But one thing that made him feel a little better was knowing that his younger brother would be safe in the lower levels of the movie studios should Scarecrow actually follow through with his plan of releasing his fear toxin all over the city. While Gotham was mostly covered in criminals at this point, Crane was also well aware that Batman wouldn’t be leaving in this crucial time, nor would Gordan and the rest of the police force; he could take them all out in one fell swoop this way, not caring about who else would fall victim to his toxin.

“Well, maybe I can swing by Gotham later, help out where I can,” he said. “Blüdhaven’s only a bit on the quieter side tonight for Halloween, nothing the police can’t handle. The action’s in Gotham tonight, and I think anyone who’d cause trouble over here knows that, too. Besides, I’ve got a feeling that the lead I’m following on these gun runners I’ve been busy tracking is gonna lead me there, anyway.”

“Honestly… I was sorta banking on you staying safe in Blüdhaven tonight, hun…” Barbara muttered. “I don’t like the thought of you, either of you, being out there in harm’s way tonight if Crane—!”

“I know, but if I can get these guys, I’m gonna,” Dick cut in gently. “This operation affects Blüdhaven, too, and I can’t have that, I have to protect my city. I’ve gotta make sure that these guns get off the streets. I’ll be fine, Babs.”

“I mean, you did just get your ass handed to you by Ivy last night,” Tim teased.

“By her plants, which she shouldn’t even have had access to,” Dick corrected. “Regardless, I’m gonna see if I can finish up this lead with North Refrigeration to shut the operation down. I’ve got their movements, just need to tie up some loose ends.”

“North Refrigeration?” Tim repeated. “Can’t say I’m familiar with it.”

“Me either, but it seems like it’s got some tie to Cobblepot.” Dick glanced at the photo sitting next to him where he was sitting cross legged on his bed, the one the mystery photographer had left for him of one of Penguin’s thugs unconscious at the docks. He still wasn’t sure why it had been left with the others, but he appreciated the lead all the same. “It seems he revived a deed for the refrigeration company, which is what he’s using as a front for the weapons caches, and as a way to transport the weapons.”

“Wanna touch base with me when you get here?” Tim asked. “You can use the computers to narrow down anything else in the city you need to.”

“Sure, that’d be helpful, thanks,” Dick answered. “You can also show me how the cure’s going then.”

“It’s… well, it hasn’t changed. We’re still close.”

“Why does that sound like it’s not a good thing?” Barabara gave words to what Dick had noticed in his brother’s tone, too.

“Because we’ve been close for a bit too long now,” Tim explained. “With Henry being infected the longest and showing no symptoms, there has to be something in his blood that’s providing that immunity that we can isolate and use to help cure the others. But we haven’t yet. With all the tests we’ve run, there should be something that stands out that we can start narrowing down on. But there isn’t anything like that, not yet. I’ll keep looking, but if it gets too bad out there, which it will, this can wait at this point. Gonna be hard to do anything else if Gotham’s literally falling apart.”

“B’s probably not gonna be too happy with us being out there with him tonight, but he’s not going to be able to handle everything by himself if it’s gonna get bad.” Dick rolled out his neck. “Like, I’ve been tracking the movements of these gun runners for weeks, narrowing down the locations of these weapons caches in Gotham, connecting it all to Oz. I can tackle these with B, take some of the load off his plate. Whether he likes it or not, he’s probably gonna need us out there.”

“As long as you boys are careful,” Barbara said. “All of you. It’s going to get nasty out there with what Scarecrow’s threatening…” Though her sentence trailed off, nothing more needed to be said, they all understood.

A tense silence hung between the three of them for a moment. “Do you think Crane’s actually crazy enough to set off that chemical weapon in the city?” Tim finally wondered, breaking it.

Dick took a deep breath. He didn’t say anything for another moment, but he knew all three of them had to be thinking the same thing. They’d all had their run-ins with Scarecrow over the years, they knew his obsession with fear had only grown since it was something he was no longer able to feel. From the video they’d seen, this was a different Jonathan Crane than the one they’d known— he had changed since all had gone to hell in Arkham because of Joker’s actions, his mauled face a morbid reflection of the straw mask he always used to wear. If it was the same Jonathan Crane they were used to dealing with for all this time, the one before he’d further lost his mind after he’d been nearly killed by Killer Croc in the sewers beneath the asylum, he would’ve felt more comfortable saying probably not. That Crane hadn’t had such an ambition, he hadn’t had the means to pull it off.

But this was a whole new Scarecrow, one who’d already created a devastating new fear toxin that had managed to shake Gotham to its core by releasing only a small amount of it. This Jonathan Crane was a whole new, unpredictable monster.

“We’ll just have to help B make sure he doesn’t,” he finally said. Neither his brother or girlfriend had a response to that, not that he could blame them, he hadn’t really given them an answer. “I’m just gonna do a quick sweep to make sure there’s nothing in Blüdhaven that needs my immediate attention before I head out. I’ll let you guys know when I’m on the way to Gotham.”

“Sounds good, I’ll still be at Panessa,” Tim muttered. “I’m gonna get back to this cure until things really start going down.”

“See you soon, Hunk Wonder,” Barbara added. “Be careful. I love you.”

“Always am. Love you, too,” Dick told her. “See you guys soon.”

As they each went about their business to prepare for the long Halloween night ahead of them, preparing for the worst outcomes, there was no way they could know that this night would be how the Batman would die.

Chapter Text

“We may have a bit of a problem, Hunk Wonder. Are you on your way?”

That wasn’t something Dick wanted to hear as he sped down the dark road on his motorcycle toward Gotham. It had taken him longer to leave Blüdhaven than he’d wanted it to; Blockbuster had sent Shrike after him yet again on the last part of his patrol route, and he’d had to fend him off before being led around to a few different locations for robberies, arsons, and other fun little surprises of the sort the big guy was all responsible for as a fun Halloween present for him.

But other than Blockbuster’s antics, the police seemed to be out in full force that night, all except him, able to shut disturbances down before they got too out of control. His gut was still telling him that the most action would be in Gotham that night, and he knew there was more he could definitely do there. He just wished he hadn’t been held up as much as he had been; he fortunately hadn’t really been injured with all the things Blockbuster had lying in wait for him, but he didn’t like leaving almost a couple hours later than he’d intended to. Not on a night like this.

“I’ll be there in about ten, fifteen minutes, traffic willing,” he said. It was pretty good odds considering there wasn’t really any traffic to speak of heading toward Gotham. “Talk to me, Babs.”

“Okay. With some intel B got from Ivy, things are going to get as bad as we feared,” Barbara replied. “Scarecrow might be calling the shots since this is his plan, but he’s got pretty much everyone involved. Nigma, Cobblepot, Dent, Quinn. I guess Ivy didn’t want anything to do with his ‘pathetic human games’ as she called them after all, despite Quinn breaking her out to bring her to their little planning session, so Crane had her locked up. But B got her, she’s now in GCPD.”

“Well, that’s one less thing to worry about, at least,” Dick mused, quickly and carefully changing lanes to get around a slower moving car. The sooner he could get there the better, it seemed. “So, let me guess. Their plan is to take over Gotham for themselves since Crane already emptied it?”

“Seems to be,” Barbara confirmed. “And to kill Batman.”

“Of course,” Dick muttered. That was always the plan for some of these guys. “I take it it’s not really to avenge Joker, though?”

“Other than Harley, I doubt it, too. Even when he was alive, there was a power struggle between these guys, and even then, there were rivalries between them all. Now that he’s gone, it doesn’t surprise me that there are finally moves being made to claim his spot. They’re all gonna want it, but only one can actually have it. They might be working together, on paper, right now, but honestly, I think Ivy backing out is only the start. Cobblepot and Harvey are hardly able to ever get along as it is, I’m sure we can work the cracks and tension between them to our advantage. It actually seems like Penguin’s already struck a nerve by wanting to do something to Harvey, someone left him a message, if what Ivy said about his complaining is accurate.”

The photograph of one of Penguin’s thugs unconscious at the docks flashed through his mind. The act would have certainly been a message that he would’ve clearly received. He suddenly wondered if it really had been intentional that he had gotten the picture. If someone who knew full well that he’d been on Oz’s trail gave him something that was the key he needed to tie it all together to crack down on it also wasn’t pleased with something Penguin had done, did that mean the mystery photographer was involved in this whole plan somehow? And if so, why risk losing Cobblepot by giving him exactly what he’d needed to take him down? Unless he’d already done what he needed to do for this so-called plan and wasn’t much of a loss? Or was it just pettiness among people who hated each other? He wasn’t sure.

“And Nigma’s ego and obsession with beating B should be easy enough to exploit,” Barbara continued thoughtfully. “Dent will never do anything without that coin of his. Despite how I feel when it comes to someone grieving, Harley wanting revenge on B would be her weakness.” She sighed. “As far gone as he is, Crane’s still smart. Really smart. He has to know these guys can’t get along and be a team. He may say this is the plan, but I bet he’s got his own plan in mind, even though he’s given everyone some sort of role to play.”

It was then everything clicked into place for Dick. “I’d bet anything it’s Oz’s job to supply everyone with weapons and ammunition tonight. That’s what he’s using the refrigeration company as a front for.” But even as the words left his mouth, a knot of dread formed in his stomach. “But he’s been running these weapons from Blüdhaven to Gotham for weeks . There’s no way there are that many people to supply… right?”

Barbara hesitated. “That’s where our problem comes in,” she told him. “Scarecrow’s got someone working directly with him, someone unexpected.”

Dick didn’t like the sound of that. “Who’s that?” he wondered.

“We’re not sure, which is the frustrating part,” she explained. “The most I’ve been able to dig up is from a black ops team operating in Venezuela, where they discovered a hidden training facility housing soldiers bearing this guy’s insignia, which looks like an Arkham Asylum logo. I can send it through to you.” He heard the quiet ding of a file come through, which he’d look at once he reached the city. “But there’s nothing but speculation on this guy who seems to be their commander. The only thing sources agree on is his name. He’s calling himself the Arkham Knight.”

“The Arkham Knight?” Dick repeated. “Who the hell would call themself that?”

“I don’t know, possibly someone who wound up in Arkham, or even Arkham City, because of B,” Barbara said. “But whoever this guy is, he has an entire army at his disposal. Soldiers, tanks, drones, you name it, he’s got it. Careful when you get here, hun, they’re all over the city by now and will absolutely try to shoot you down.”

“Shit.” That certainly explained where all the guns were going. There had to be a handful of caches where they were being kept all around the city to keep a militia that size armed. Fortunately, it probably wouldn’t take too much to track them all down using the resources at Panessa. “I’ll be careful.”

“There’s one other thing I can say about him,” Barbara muttered. “I’ve hacked into the Knight’s communication channel with his militia so that B and I can keep tabs on their plans and movements, and he hates Batman. Don’t get me wrong, I know a lot of people do, but this feels… I don’t know, this feels different. Like it’s personal for him.”

“Well, as you said, B has a lot of enemies,” Dick said, weaving between a couple more cars. “Since he’s calling himself the Arkham Knight, he’s probably got some connection either to the facility or the family. I guess we could start by looking into people who were sent to the asylum, or even Arkham City, directly because of him. People who hold a grudge against him for that. I know that doesn’t really narrow it down, it’s too wide a net, a lot of people probably hold him personally responsible for where they ended up. But it’s a start, at least.”

“Right, I just… I can’t put my finger on it, Dick, but listening to him talking, it just… there’s something behind this hate, something really personal, I just don’t know what it is yet,” Barbara replied. “It can’t just be that he wound up in Arkham because Batman caught him. But I’m going to figure it out. I can start—!”

Dick revved the engine, getting an extra burst of speed when the Gotham skyline came into view. “Babs?” he pressed when her sentence abruptly cut off.

“Sorry, just noticed that B’s trying to reach me,” she told him. “He’s at ACE Chemicals, working on stopping Scarecrow from releasing that fear toxin he’s been developing on the city. I’ve got to take this, but I’ll patch you over to the Knight’s feed in the meantime. Call me when you get here, okay? I love you.”

“I lo…” Dick started, but he trailed off when their comms channel was replaced by the chatter between the militia members taking over Gotham. He could tell her when he got there.

Most of the talking between the men wasn’t of much interest to him as a lot of it consisted of meaningless small talk as they waited for orders from either Scarecrow or the Arkham Knight. Things like being disgusted about what Crane had done to his face, debating about who’d they’d rather be working for if not for their current obligations, and wondering who the Knight could be. Which, so was he. There was quite a large suspect pool to pull from. From the sound of it, they truly didn’t know either, and they only seemed to really care that they were being paid well, which sounded about right with his countless experience dealing with thugs. It sounded like this Knight character was well funded, which could maybe help them narrow things down.

“I told you to keep him away from ACE Chemicals, Knight,” Scarecrow’s commanding voice came through then. It would take him some time to get used to how different he sounded after Croc had mauled his vocal chords, too. “He managed to contain the blast, and I’m sure he survived somehow. He’s like a cockroach that way.”

Dick gripped the handles tighter. They had to be talking about Bruce. But Barbara had said he had just been trying to reach her only a few minutes ago. He had to be okay, though he wasn’t sure how big the blast at the chemical plant still could’ve been. He’d check on his adopted father shortly, but he wanted to hear the Knight’s response first to try to get any little clue, no matter how small it was, out of their interaction. Anything at all could prove helpful.

“Of course he survived. He always does. This is no different.” Whoever the Arkham Knight was was clearly using some kind of voice modulator to hide what he actually sounded like. Dick strained his ears, listening for anything in his tone, his cadence, something that could give them any sort of indication of who they could start looking at as a suspect. “You should have just let me kill the old man when I had the chance. This would all be done by now.”

Dick gasped as he swerved into the opposite lane on his motorcycle, trying hard to make sure he stayed upright and didn’t spill onto the road as he brought himself back to where he should be. Old man. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. It really shouldn’t have. But he couldn’t ignore the cold sweat that had broken out on his face. He hadn’t heard anyone call Batman, call Bruce, by that name since…

“Bet ya can’t keep up, old man!”

“I swear, Dickiebird, the old man’s driving me crazy… Crazier than usual, I mean. I can’t deal with it right now.”

But it was impossible. He was dead. It couldn’t be…

No. It was a young, angry guy who had taken it very personally that he’d either been sent to the asylum by Batman or had had his life ruined by Arkham City in some way because of Batman. That was it. That was who they were dealing with. Nothing more. Not…

“Patience.” Scarecrow’s deep voice was a facade of being placating, even soothing. “You’ll have your chance once I break him. But for now, we must move on to the next phase of our operation. Are you ready?”

Dick listened hard as he crossed the city limits of Gotham. He wished Crane would slip up and give him a little something about who his partner was so they’d have something more to go off of, but he also knew it was just as likely that he didn’t know the Knight’s identity either since no one seemed to. And he knew it’d be too much to hope that either of them would let anything about their plan slip, neither of them would be that stupid.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve got her. I’ll be there soon.”

“Good.”

Her. Dick wasn’t sure who the Knight was talking about, or what he could have possibly had in mind, but he also knew Bruce was keeping a close eye on the situation. He was probably well aware of what was going on and was already planning what to do about it.

For his part, Dick switched off the comms link in his ear through his helmet so he could devote his full attention to trying to navigate as safely as possible. Barbara had been right, the Knight’s forces had certainly been busy. Tanks were patrolling the major roads, drones were weaving among the towering buildings overhead, there seemed to be militant outposts and barricades set up on strategic corners, he nearly hit a bomb buried in the street. The army was well on its way to occupying Gotham.

Getting to Panessa took him longer than it usually would have since he’d had to go slowly, he’d had to stick to side roads and back ways to avoid detection, but Dick was happy to see that their abandoned movie studio base itself was unoccupied when he reached it. He slowed his motorcycle to a stop and removed his helmet before he brought the bike with him up to the red, rusted door of the V.I.P. elevator. He leaned close to the speaker system off to the side.

“Open,” he projected clearly.

There were a couple of quiet beeps in response before the red light turned green, granting him access as the metal grate lifted to reveal a set of double doors. “Welcome, Nightwing,” an automated female voice greeted.

Dick propped open one of the doors so that he could get his motorcycle into the elevator too, closing it behind him again before hitting the button that would bring him down to the lower levels. He smiled slightly as he glanced around at the posters for old movies, like The Ghost in Gray, he’d watched growing up in the manor, though the look broadened when his gaze landed on The Flying Graysons poster in the corner. He wasn’t sure who’d added it to the studio’s decor after they’d taken it over, Bruce or Tim, but it warmed his heart all the same.

He then slipped on his domino just as the elevator came to a stop and the door slid open. Though not in full gear, he still didn’t want to risk any of the infected recognizing him. He brought his motorcycle up the few steps that would bring him to the main room with the containment cells and computer monitors, frowning when he didn’t see Tim. They’d planned to meet here, and he hadn’t heard that his brother had been called out to the city by Bruce.

Still wanting to get started with tracking down Penguin’s weapons caches, Dick steered his motorcycle through a set of parted red velvet curtains off the main room to another set of double doors— one propped open— that led to various old sets before he paused, hearing Tim’s voice up ahead. He peered inside, finding him tucked in a corner with his phone at his ear.

“I’m glad the trip was smooth and you’re getting settled in,” he said. “Yeah, so far so good, I’m okay.” He paused, listening to whoever was on the other end. “I know you would’ve, but really, this is better. And I’ll be fine, promise.” He laughed, a sound Dick hadn’t heard too much from him lately. “Deal, on me, when you come back. Okay. See you soon. Love you, too.”

Dick knocked lightly on the door so he wouldn’t startle the younger man as he brought his motorcycle through. “Don’t mind me, just bringing this baby here and getting changed so I can get started on my job for the night.”

Tim smiled as he put his phone away. “Glad you made it in one piece.”

“Barely. It’s a war zone out there.” Dick found an out of the way spot to store his motorcycle before stretching. “So, from the sounds of it, Bernard made it out safely?”

“He’s staying with some friends in Empire City,” Tim told him. “Steph’s been in Keystone visiting relatives, so she’s safe, too.”

Dick nodded. Tim’s relationship with Stephanie had been rocky to a point where they’d been off and on a few months ago, partly— he thought since he really hadn’t talked about it— because his work as Robin kept him so busy to be able to really contribute much time to a relationship. His brother had finally ended it amicably for Stephanie, even though she really hadn’t understood it. At least until she’d realized he had feelings that even he hadn’t fully known or admitted were there up until that point for another old school friend of theirs, and former childhood friend of Tim’s, Bernard Dowd. He was just happy that Stephanie had been so accepting of that and happy for Tim, and that they were still able to be best friends since they had been since he’d come back to Gotham a few years ago and still loved each other in their way. And while he didn’t know Bernard as well as the younger man’s ex-girlfriend, he could see this relationship was doing Tim a lot of good. He hadn’t seen his little brother so relaxed, happy even, in some time.

“Y’know, I’ve always liked that kid, ever since I came to pick you up early from school once since you’d gotten so sick from working so hard for your finals, and he was sitting outside to wait with you until I got there. He was very polite. And I’m still grateful that he was there for you the night your dad died. I think he’s felt this way about you for longer than you think,” Dick muttered. A teasing gleam appeared in his eye as he pulled his suit out of his travel bag when Tim tried fighting a smile at that. “When are you going to bring him around for a family dinner? I know B knows about him already. Oooh, or how about a double date with Babs and I?”

Tim flushed ever so slightly as he rolled his eyes in annoyance. “And let you lunatics scare him away? Never.” But the smile refused to leave his face.

Dick ruffled the younger man’s black hair as he passed him, heading toward a prop wall to quickly get changed. “Glad he got out okay and they’re both safe.”

“Yeah, so am I.” Tim sighed, his gaze faltering as he chuckled quietly. “Go figure, he’d figured out who I was even before we got together. And he still wants to be with me.”

“Well, now you know how B and I felt when you came up to us knowing who we were,” Dick teased lightly as he finished slipping into the black and blue Nightwing suit. He readjusted the silver earring in his right ear since he’d jostled it changing. He stepped out from behind the wall holding his black t-shirt, jeans, and leather jacket, a look of concern on his face. “But I didn’t know Bernard knew you were Robin.”

Tim attempted to smile back at him, an effort to stop him from worrying. “I didn’t either, not until right before he evacuated earlier when I tried to tell him I’d be staying with you in Blüdhaven, and he didn’t believe me,” he said. “He offered to stay tonight, you know. Despite Crane’s threats, he wanted to be here and make sure I’d be safe. I almost asked Alfred if he could stay at the manor and wait for me there, but that won’t be safe either if Crane’s somehow able to follow through. As close as I was to taking him up on his offer, as much as I wanted him to stay, I couldn’t risk it. That’d be too selfish of me. I couldn’t have him getting hurt because of me. Plus I can focus better without having to worry about him being here.”

Dick nodded, tossing his civilian clothes over the motorcycle’s handlebars before approaching his brother. “That’s one of the hardest parts about this life, Tim, keeping those we love safe,” he replied. “But you’re right, him being away from here tonight is better for both of you. Hopefully all this craziness is over by the morning so you can see each other tomorrow, something tells me he’s gonna speed back over here as soon as it’s safe to do so.” He smiled, giving his shoulder a reassuring shake. “But that’s quite brave of him for being willing to stay for you tonight despite all this shit. Shows how much he loves you that he’s being so understanding about this secret life you lead, and that he still wants to be with you through it despite that, not everyone would do that. Hell, most wouldn’t. God knows Babs and I have had our ups and downs over the years, and we’re both a part of all this.” He flashed him a bright smile. “But I don’t see why he wouldn’t want to be with you, Timmy, you’re a good kid. And you deserve to be happy with someone as good and smart as you since, y’know, he did figure out your secret identity and all.”

“Ha, thanks.” Tim smirked for a brief moment before leaning into his brother’s touch. “But he really does make me happy. Happier than I’ve ever been. Being with Bernard… it’s different than anything I’ve ever felt before. He brings out the real me, I think, who I guess I’ve never really known before. He makes me feel like… I don’t know, that there’s so much more to me than I’ve settled for so far. So… thank you. Really. I’m glad you, B, Alfred, Barb, Steph, everyone, are all so supportive of this.”

“Of course, Timmy. You’re happy for once. That’s what matters most to us. I don’t care who it is who makes you talk that way and have that smile, I’m just glad you’ve found someone who brings that out in you.”

Tim laughed as he pulled away after a moment before clearing his throat. “So, should we track down those weapons caches for you?”

“I’d say that’s an excellent plan, let’s get this show on the road. I’d have brought you some coffee since you’re working all these long nights, again, if, y’know, there were any coffee places, or anything, open.”

“I appreciate the thought.”

The two brothers had just stepped back into the room with the containment cells when Dick’s cell phone began to ring. His brow furrowed when he saw the name flashing on the screen before he answered the call and brought it to his ear. “Hello? Jim?”

“Did you know?”

Dick’s frown deepened as he backtracked toward the velvet curtains. “Did I know what?” he asked, glancing at Tim, who was watching after him curiously. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play with me!” Jim Gordon snapped. “ Barbara. Did you know she was working for him? Batman?”

A cold dread spread through him as he paused, though Dick was also taken aback by the commissioner’s ferocity. His mind reeled, trying to quickly determine the best thing to say. He wasn’t sure how the older man knew that Barbara was working for Bruce, though that would explain why he was so angry since he hadn’t even wanted his daughter to join the Gotham police force, but they could potentially be getting into dangerous territory if he told him the truth. He couldn’t risk revealing his and his adopted father’s identities. “No. No, I didn’t.” He just hoped he sounded genuine enough. “Jim, what’s this about—!”

“Then when were you going to tell me that she was still in Gotham when she was supposed to be in Blüdhaven with you?!”

His heart skipped a beat. “Jim, I don’t… Please, calm down, I—!”

“Don’t you tell me to calm down when Scarecrow has my little girl!” Jim nearly yelled.

Dick scrambled to keep his hold on the phone. He couldn’t have heard right. “Wait, what?! Scarecrow has Barbara?!” he demanded in a panic, his voice rising an octave. Tim’s eyes widened in horror as he turned and ran for the computers. He thought back to when he’d been listening to Crane and the Knight discussing their plans on his way there. I’ve got her. That’s what the Arkham Knight had said. But he hadn’t known he’d meant Barbara . How could they have known that she’d been in her clocktower residence, or where that even was? That wasn’t public knowledge. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to block out the overhead lights that were suddenly too bright. He couldn’t breathe. “Can… can Batman…?”

“I don’t give a damn about Batman, this is all his fault to begin with.” So clearly, Bruce for some reason revealing to him that Barbara was on his team hadn’t gone well. Jim sighed, trying to calm himself down. “Look, just stay safe tonight, son. Stay where you are, don’t do anything rash. I’ll get her back. I’ll let you know when I have any updates.”

“Jim, wait—!” But before Dick could formulate any other thoughts, the commissioner hung up.

Chapter Text

“She’s strong, Dick. She’ll be okay. But I’ll keep trying to track her. We’ll get her back.”

Dick sat at the edge of a rooftop overlooking the Ranelagh Ferry Terminal, his legs swinging restlessly over the side as he absently stared at the bright, neon orange sign bearing its name. He let out a long, deep breath, folding his hands as he rested his elbows on his knees. His head dropped as his eyes slipped closed.

While he knew what Tim had said about Barbara was true, while he trusted his brother would do what he could to help find her, as much as he tried to cling to those words and hold them close, it didn’t ease his worry about her. He wasn’t sure what Scarecrow and the Knight wanted with her, how they’d even been able to find her, and his mind was reeling with all the possibilities of what they could have in mind for her instead of focusing on finding Penguin’s weapons caches. He was well aware that his girlfriend could take care of herself and didn’t doubt that, that she’d want him to focus on what he had to do instead, but it didn’t make it any easier. He was just glad that he’d had Tim’s calming presence next to him as he’d used the computer at Panessa to input all the information he had already from tracking the gunrunners’ movements for weeks to narrow down where the caches could be throughout the city. Which had brought him here to one of Cobblepot’s thugs’ main staging areas to arrange transporting weapons.

Not being able to reach Bruce hadn’t eased his anxieties about Barbara, either. Talking to Alfred before he’d left the studio had a little bit, as it always had for him since he’d been a kid.

“What happened to her, Alf?”

“We’re not sure, Master Dick,” Alfred answered. “But I’m sure you’re aware that she has to be as angry as we all are that she allowed this to happen.”

Dick couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, I really am,” he muttered. Then, he frowned. “How’d they even know where to find her?”

“I don’t know, but she’ll give them hell, that I am sure of, sir.” Alfred’s tone was kind. “Rest assured, I’m doing what I’m able to track her down.”

“Thank you, Alfie. Tim’s working on it, too.”

“Splendid. I’m certain we’ll find her in no time, Master Dick. In fact, Master Bruce already has a lead.”

Dick’s heart leapt. “Really?” he asked. “What did he find?”

Alfred cleared his throat. “He contacted me just a little bit ago asking for all I can find on a refrigeration company one Oswald Cobblepot is using as a front to distribute weapons to the Arkham Knight’s militia forces around Gotham called North Refrigeration,” he answered. “The Knight is on his way to pay Mr. Cobblepot for his services. For now, he’s our best lead on finding Ms. Gordon.”

The computer pinged just as the data tracked one of the main staging areas Penguin’s thugs were using to distribute the weapons they’d been smuggling in from Blüdhaven. Dick arched an eyebrow. What were the odds? “Well, Alfie, it just so happens that I’m in Gotham working on the same case,” he said. “They’ve been running the guns here from Blüdhaven for weeks now, I’ve been tracking them, and I’m currently working out where the caches are so I can take them out and put a dent in their supply. Tell B I’ve got the intel he needs to find Oz.”

“Very well, Master Dick.” Alfred’s tone was notably lighter. “Would you like me to send your information through to him?”

Dick input the address of the staging area into his tracker. “Nah, Alf,” he replied. “Tell him to meet me on a rooftop overlooking the Ranelagh Ferry Terminal. I insist.”

The old butler hesitated for only a brief moment. They both were well aware of how well that was going to go over. “Very well, sir.”

That Bruce thought his case of tracking down Penguin’s trucks was a lead to finding Barbara was the main reason he’d been able to leave Panessa instead of staying behind with Tim to help his brother try to find her. The sooner they could get to Oz, the sooner they could get her out of harm’s way, the sooner they could land this blow to the Knight.

Dick slowly opened his eyes with a brief smile when he felt more than heard the near silent swish of a cloak behind him. “I’m glad you showed up,” he greeted.

“You shouldn’t have come here. Not tonight.”

Something in his adopted father’s stern tone got under his skin a bit more than it normally would have. “Are you kidding me right now, B?” He quickly pushed himself to his feet and rounded on the older man in one fluid movement. “I came here anyway to follow a lead for a case I’ve been working, that you’re also now following, but now that I’ve gotten an angry call from Jim about Babs being taken by Scarecrow, I—!”

“North Refrigeration.” Bruce’s authoritative tone remained. “Tell me what you know.”

Dick sighed, briefly lowering his gaze before he looked away. Of course. The mission. “Oz has been using freezer trucks to smuggle weapons out of Blüdhaven for weeks now,” he told him. “He’s stockpiling them in caches around the city for this Arkham Knight character’s militia. I’ve been using the resources at Panessa to narrow down their locations.”

“Good work.” Dick arched an eyebrow at Bruce’s compliment. “Cobblepot’s the best lead we have on Barbara. If we want to find her, I need to find these weapons caches. If I can intercept one of his trucks, it’ll lead me right to him.”

With Penguin being the best lead they had to finding his girlfriend, he was even more glad that he’d been following what he’d been up to for as long as he had. That whoever their mystery photographer was left him the photo that proved to be the key. And he trusted Bruce. Since he was now working the same lead he was, they could find her together.

He smirked. “Huh. If only you knew someone who’s been tracking their movements.” He turned and walked to the edge of the building, Bruce following after him. They both looked down at the nearly empty parking lot below, just as a teal colored truck with a lobster outline printed on the top and a North Refrigeration logo on its sides pulled in and slammed on the brakes. Right on schedule. He dropped to a crouch. “What? You didn’t think I’d come here without a plan, did ya? You know me better than that by now, B. This is one of their main distribution sites I’ve found, which should bring us straight to a cache.”

“I’ll handle this from here, Dick,” Bruce said. “You’re needed back in Blüdhaven.”

Dick shook his head slightly. “C’mon, Bruce,” he muttered. He rose to his feet again to face him. “Look, I know you’ve got Tim at Panessa doing something important that will save lives, but let me help you. Blüdhaven’s fine without me tonight, it’s much quieter than normal for Halloween, the police have everything under control, I made sure of that before I left. And now with Babs, I…” He paused, setting his jaw. “You can’t do it all on your own. All the action’s here tonight. I can help. If not you, then I can help find Babs. I can’t just leave when she’s in trouble, B, I’m not.”

But Bruce, in all his stubbornness, shook his head. “Not tonight.” He took a step closer to the younger man, not leaving much space between them. Dick didn’t back down. “I can’t have your judgment being clouded or have you distracted because of Barbara.”

At this, Dick took a small step back from him, almost as though he’d been slapped. But just for a second, there’d been a flicker in his mentor’s eye that he wasn’t so sure of, one that didn’t suit him at all. It didn’t settle well with him, it made him uneasy. But as quickly as it was there, the look was gone. He gave a bitter chuckle of disbelief. “What, you don’t think it’ll be worse for me to be further away in Blüdhaven where I can’t do anything to help her?” he demanded. “At least here, I can do something.” His gaze faltered. “After all this time, you don’t trust me to keep my head, Bruce?”

A moment passed before Bruce sighed. “Dick, it’s not you I don’t trust. It’s too dangerous. Barbara was taken by Scarecrow to get to me, it wasn’t because she’s Jim’s daughter, that’s clear. The Arkham Knight knows she works for me, they’re threatening my family. With everything going on in Gotham tonight, I can’t be certain someone else won’t harm you or Tim or even Alfred to get to me, too.” He paused ever so briefly. “It wouldn’t be the first time it was you. But I won’t risk losing you or anyone else tonight.”

Not again.

While the words were silent, his implication was clear. With Barbara in danger, there was no way Jason’s death wasn’t crawling its way back to the forefront of Bruce’s mind, again why his adopted father was trying to keep both him and Tim at arm’s length, to try to keep them safe. To keep them alive.

Dick’s gaze faltered. He thought back to a time early on in his own Robin career, maybe a year or two in, when he’d been captured by Two-Face. He’d been defenseless, hands tied behind his back, beaten brutally, mercilessly by the former district attorney. First with his fists, then with a bat. All right in front of Batman, who’d been restrained and unable to reach him. His head had been pounding, he could hardly take a breath with how white hot pain spread through his whole body, as he’d bled. He’d tried not to make a sound, he hadn’t wanted to give Dent the satisfaction, but he couldn’t hold back a scream when the bat first connected with his ribs. He’d instinctively called out for Batman, clinging to the thought that he was there and would do something, anything as the strikes kept coming.

“Ha! The boy can’t take a hit!”

While Jason’s agonized screams and pleas for death to come from the Joker’s hands haunted his dreams much more often, Harvey Dent’s cruel taunting after a fist would land or the bat would strike him crept into his mind every once in a while. It’d been why it’d taken him some time to get over his fear of him, to be able to face him again. But once Bruce had been able to free himself from the restraints and Dent’s thugs, Dick had been almost sure for a horrifying moment that he was about to cross the one line he’d vowed to never cross when he’d gotten his hands on Harvey. His adopted father had never been so enraged, so terrifying, not before that incident and not since. But he’d been able to pull himself back from that ledge, Two-Face had lived to see another day. He himself barely had, and he didn’t remember anything after Bruce had gently but securely carried him to safety until he’d woken up a couple days later in his bed at the manor with Alfred tending to him, Bruce asleep in a chair on his other side.

“That was a long time ago, Bruce. I’m not a kid anymore.” Dick gave him a small, understanding smile. “We’re all in this together, we all signed up for this, we all knew the risks. And I’m willing to take them. We work with you, not for you. You don’t have to handle this all on your own, and with how things are going to be tonight, you’ll need us with you. You know you do.”

Bruce appeared to be about to argue, but instead, his lips set into a thin, stern line before he turned away to look back at Penguin’s thugs with the refrigeration truck below them. “Blüdhaven needs you,” he muttered. There was a note of finality in his tone. “I’ll be fine. But I don’t know what would happen there without you.”

Dick resisted the urge to throw his hands up in frustration. But he knew his mentor wasn’t going to budge. “All right, all right. I get it, I can take a hint.”

“Good.” Bruce glanced over his shoulder back at him. “Don’t worry, Dick. I can handle this. I’ll find Barbara. You’ll have her back safely.”

“I know.” And Dick meant it. He watched as the older man leapt off the rooftop to track the truck to one of the weapons caches Penguin had set up throughout Gotham. He waited, watching from above as the thugs got spooked and sped off, Batman following at a distance so they would lead him right to where he wanted to go.

He did believe Bruce could handle tracking down Cobblepot, that he could find Barbara, he truly did. But he’d also meant what he’d said about not leaving until she was safe and that he’d do what he could to help make that happen. After giving his mentor a few minutes’ head start, Dick propelled himself off the roof with a front flip before grappling up to another building to follow after him.

It didn’t take too long for him to track Bruce to the old Harold’s Repair shop, a location on a short list of possible caches in this area of Gotham he’d been able to narrow down at Panessa. The other man had already taken out all the security measures and guards, so he had no problem getting inside. He took the same hatch door in the floor Bruce had to get to the secret lower levels under the shop, amused when he saw the glowing Iceberg Lounge sign Penguin must have brought with him. This had to be only the first of a few more of these in the city.

From where he was perched up in the rafters, Dick could see Oswald and his thugs playing in the piles of money that must have been the payment from the Knight for providing all the weapons. Which meant they were too late to catch the mystery man and get Barbara back. His hands tightened into fists, but he forced himself to stay where he was. He couldn’t just rush in without a plan, and he wasn’t even sure where Bruce was. But Penguin was looking much too happy for his liking, and he’d love to give him a well deserved punch to the face.

But that was when Bruce came up through the grates right behind the short, stout man, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him into the pile of money he’d just been sifting through, sending bills flying everywhere. Dick couldn’t keep the smirk off his face at Cobblepot’s startled cry. This was better. He certainly didn’t seem nearly so confident now.

“The Arkham Knight! Barbara Gordon! Tell me where they are!” Bruce demanded angrily, not even sparing a glance to the thugs that were gathering around them.

“So… that’s who ‘e had?” Cobblepot asked, struggling to speak, much less breathe, with Batman’s hand clamped around his neck. Though he didn’t seem concerned about the vigilante’s free fist poised above his face. “The commissioner’s little girl?”

One of the thugs— a tall, broad-shouldered bald man— rushed at the pair to save his boss. But Bruce punched him forcefully in the stomach before following with an uppercut across his chin, sending him sprawling backwards. He then turned his burning gaze back to Penguin, lifting him up a bit by the throat and prepared to throw another punch.

“I’ll break every bone in your body, Cobblepot,” he threatened, not at all affected by the other man’s attempt to free himself. “Tell me! Now!”

“They… they were going to see some geezer called Simon Stagg!” Oswald stumbled over his words a bit as he frantically tried to relay the information he knew. “I think he runs a pharmaceutical company or something!”

Dick’s brow furrowed. Simon Stagg. He wasn’t familiar with that name, but it was one he’d have to keep in mind.

Another of Penguin’s thugs rushed them then, and Bruce only spared him a brief glance to elbow him hard in the face and kick him away before he lifted the small man high above his head by his white dress shirt collar with both hands.

“Do not lie to me!”

“I’m not! I swear!” Cobblepot’s feet kicked frantically in the air. “They said he’s about to leave Gotham. Those airships over the west river belong to ‘im!”

Dick tensed, prepared to move at a moment’s notice when a couple thugs aimed their guns at Bruce. “Put him down! We’ll shoot, Bat!”

But Bruce, in his typical way, was not concerned. Without missing a beat, he tossed Oswald at them, knocking them both over and sending the three of them sprawling. But at the same moment, two more men rushed him from behind, grabbing him by the arms and pulling him down, pinning him to the floor.

“It won’t do you any good!” Penguin boasted as he scrambled to his feet. Bruce struggled to escape without success as a large, metal grate slid open, creating a way for Oswald to run. “Scarecrow’s going to break you! You are going down , Batman!” He laughed, shuffling away with one of his thugs as the grate closed again behind him.

Which is when Dick moved, quickly and silently as he made his way down from the rafters without being spotted since the remaining men all had their attention on his adopted father. He wasn’t too concerned about Penguin at the moment— he didn’t have Barbara, but he had given them the next lead on where to find her. And he was sure that Cobblepot would inevitably help lead them to more of his caches.

“Hold him steady, fellas.” The first man who had tried to attack Bruce was back, this time holding a bat as he smacked it against his palm in a threatening way. “I’ve been working on my swing. Watch and learn. Gonna knock his head right outta the—!”

Show time.

Dick whistled to announce his presence and get his attention. It worked like a charm since the man quickly snapped his head in his direction in confusion. With the thug’s attention now off Bruce, Dick launched one of his escrima sticks at him, satisfied when it struck him squarely in the chest and knocked him backwards. He then leapt out of his hiding place and landed on a knee in front of his still trapped mentor, picking up his weapon and shooting him a smirk.

“So, this is you handling it, right?” he wondered lightly. “Don’t worry, you can thank me later!” He then stood and ran into the waiting group of Penguin’s thugs, hitting the one nearest him across the temple with one of his escrima sticks before kicking another forcefully in the knee to bring him down. He glanced back, watching as Bruce freed himself by striking one of the thugs holding him down across the face before taking down the second, the older man sending him a smirk of his own as he joined him in the fray.

Dick had to admit that he and Bruce hadn’t missed a step when it came to fighting together, despite his quip about his mentor slowing down. They weaved and danced around each other with ease and precision from years of practice, they only needed to exchange a few words to take a thug down together. And he had to admit, despite himself, that it felt good. It was almost too easy.

“We can’t let any of these weapons get onto the street,” Bruce said after knocking out the last of Penguin’s men. “This cache needs to be destroyed.”

“Well, that is what I’m here to do, B,” Dick replied.

Bruce glanced back at him before he entered through the gate that brought him to the weapons storage. Dick sighed, starting to gather some of the loose bills scattered everywhere. Hundreds mostly, he noticed. There wasn’t any doubt the Arkham Knight had access to money, and a lot of it.

“Incoming.”

Dick looked up in time to see Bruce finish sliding the heavy vault door closed, and they both stepped back a bit as he detonated an explosive, the blast safely contained. But then, his eyes narrowed when he watched the older man wince ever so slightly and briefly set a hand over his side as he took a step toward him. “You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” When Bruce noticed where his gaze had rested, his gaze hardened. “I’m fine, Dick. The Knight got a lucky shot in, that’s all.”

“A lucky shot, huh?” Dick repeated, arching an eyebrow. But he couldn’t fully hide his concern. “Y’know it’s pretty much almost impossible to get a lucky shot in on you with that armor. How’d he know where to—!”

“I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. It changes nothing. I’m fine.”

“Well… doesn’t it matter at least a little that he seems to know a lot about you, including your weaknesses?” Dick wondered. “More than most, anyway? That could help narrow down our potential suspects.”

However, Bruce ignored the question as instead, an irritated look flashed across his face. “I had this under control,” he said. “I told you, I need you back in Blüdhaven.”

“You really just aren’t letting yourself get it, are you, Bruce?” Dick turned to face him fully, trying not to give in to his own frustration. “I know you’re trying to keep me, keep us, away from all this, but look. Scarecrow, these weapons, this all affects Blüdhaven, too. I’ve been working this case with Oz for weeks. Until all these caches are found, until we find Babs, the best place for me is here.” He paused, gesturing to the vault behind his adopted father. “With the amount of weapons Penguin has been running into Gotham for all this time, this isn’t all of it. I’m working on finding the other caches at Panessa with the data I’ve got already. It shouldn’t take me too long to track them. Let me handle it.”

Bruce quickly thought over his words. It was encouraging, at least he wasn’t trying to push him away immediately again. But he wasn’t sure if his mentor actually thought working with him on this was a good idea, or if he was just more worn down than usual from the events of the night. “All right. Scan this place for evidence. It should help us locate more of Cobblepot’s refrigeration trucks.”

Us. Dick gave him a brief nod, a smile fighting its way onto his face. “Can do. I’ll let you know when I find more caches.”

The older man returned the action. “While you do that, I’m going to track down Stagg and make sure he doesn’t leave Gotham,” he muttered. “I’ll let you know when I have Barbara.”

“Thanks, B.” Dick watched as Bruce grappled up to the rafters of the old shop before glancing around at the spacious room. He had his work cut out for him.

Though it didn’t take him all too long to track down the next location using the resources at Panessa.

“Hey, B. I’ve got a present for you. Found another one of Oz’s caches. I’m just too damn good at this.”

“Good work, Dick. Let me know the location. I’ll meet you there.”

“Age before beauty, Bruce. I’ll keep my entrance understated. As always.”

The next weapons cache at Sionis Industries went as well as the first one had— Bruce infiltrated the place and set the tone, and Dick followed up with a flourish. Working together, they took down all of Penguin’s thugs, though there was no sign of the man himself at this location. The younger man made his way over to the North Refrigeration truck they had tracked, starting to scan the interior for anything of note that could give them a clue to the next location while his mentor detonated the cache.

Dick chuckled a little when Bruce joined him at the truck. “Y’know, I’d almost forgotten how well we work together,” he muttered.

“I hadn’t,” Bruce replied softly. “I only work with the best.”

Dick smirked, about to crack a joke about how he likes his new job too much to make this allegiance permanent, how the work was good, how he gets to decide his own hours, and how best of all, he’s got no boss looking over his shoulder. But instead, he lowered his gaze, the look melting into a genuine smile. He wasn’t sure why Bruce was so complimentary that night, but it was nice to hear nevertheless.

But when he looked back up at his adopted father, his brow furrowed when he saw his gaze was faraway, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere. And now that he thought about it, he’d noticed Bruce had seemed to be putting more force behind his punches than usual this round, he hadn’t shown quite as much restraint when they’d been taking out Cobblepot’s men. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

Bruce’s gaze sharpened immediately as it moved to him. “Fine. Just focus on getting these weapons off the street.”

Dick knew the older man well enough to know when he was avoiding something personal when it was bothering him, when something was wrong, but he also knew when he could get away with pushing the matter and when he couldn’t. And this, he could tell, was the latter. So instead, he nodded once, turning back to the interior of the truck. “Hey, B. Promise me that when we catch up with Oz, I get some one on one time. He needs reminding Blüdhaven’s off limits.” When he just got a noncommittal noise in response, he sighed and faced him, gesturing at the spacious room around them. “This isn’t over yet. It’s going to be a long night, Bruce.”

A beat passed before Bruce gave him the faintest smile. “I’m used to it,” he told him. “Let me know when you find the next one.”

The younger man smirked as Bruce turned away. “And here I thought you might give me a real challenge!”

Tracking down the third cache, this one at The Grinning Fishmonger, went much the same way with Bruce and Dick taking down Penguin’s thugs together before blowing up the weapons. Still no sign of Oswald himself, but the younger man knew they had to be getting closer to catching up to him and grabbing him, putting a stop to his operation for good. With the close tabs he’d been keeping on the weapons being smuggled out of Blüdhaven, he figured there had to only be a couple more storage places left. And there was no way Cobblepot wouldn’t be around to make sure they didn’t mess up his plans, not when he was being paid so well for his services. If they kept going, he’d step in eventually to stop them himself.

“Come on, Bruce. Admit it. You’re having fun tracking these down and taking ‘em out with me,” Dick muttered when Bruce joined him at the truck after he detonated the third stash of weapons.

Bruce shot him a look. “I won’t be satisfied until I bring Penguin to justice,” he said, his strict tone one of all business.

Dick took a deep breath as he stood, rolling out his ankle. He’d tweaked it a bit in a weird landing fighting free when one of the larger brutes in Penguin’s employ had grabbed him from behind, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t just walk off. “You always were great at killing a party,” he quipped dryly. He passed a gloved hand through the wayward strands of his black hair falling into his face. “I can’t imagine Oz is too happy with us right now. He can only have a couple of these weapons caches left.”

“Keep looking,” Bruce told him. “Let me know as soon as you find anything.”

“Of course I will.” Dick flashed him a grin. “I wouldn’t miss seeing the look on his stupid face for the world!” But then, the cheerful look faded. “Hey, B? I know you mentioned you got Stagg, so he’s not fleeing Gotham like he wanted to. Any update on Babs? Was she on his airships?”

If he hadn’t been watching him closely, he would have missed the way his adopted father stiffened ever so slightly, the way his gaze briefly faltered. His eyes narrowed. “Bruce?” he pressed.

But his mentor’s usual cool, stern demeanor returned as he met his gaze. “Let me know the moment you find Penguin’s next cache,” he repeated.

Dick stepped closer to the older man as he turned away to leave. “B, wait. If something happened, I—!” But he stopped with a frustrated growl when his mentor grappled up to the rafters to leave the building. “Of course. Every damn time.” He then reached for his comms link. “Hey, Timmy. I’m on my back to Panessa. I think we’re closing in on Cobblepot. See you soon.”

Chapter Text

Meanwhile

“You look exhausted, Tim. You doing okay?” Bernard paused, a small, teasing smile appearing at the corner of his lips. “Steph’s not keeping you up too late, is she?”

Tim glanced up from his chicken scratch notes he was jotting down from his open textbook, chuckling a little at the jab as he rubbed his tired eyes. He must have looked worse than he thought. Despite how major crime had fallen in Gotham ever since Joker had died a few months ago, there’d been plenty of street level crime to keep him busy on his patrol the night before— an unusual amount that had kept him from helping Dick in Blüdhaven like he’d been able to do lately. Since he had a bit of time between school, his duties with Wayne Enterprises, and patrol that night, he was glad it’d worked out for his best friend and lab partner to start on their genetics project that evening.

“No, no, that’s not it,” he muttered, smiling at the blond teen on the video call on his open laptop screen. “I, uh… I actually haven’t seen her too much lately.” He set his pen down and stretched, clearing his throat. “Anyway, I’ve just been busy. Bruce has got me doing quite a bit, that’s all. No big deal.”

Bernard nodded, and though he still looked a little concerned, he didn’t say anything as Tim reached for the tea and warm white chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookies Alfred had just brought into the warmly lit study for him. He then curiously chewed at the cap of his own pen. “Is your necklace new?” he wondered. “I don’t think I’ve seen it before.”

Tim glanced down at the necklace he hardly ever took off, visible since his tank top had a lower neckline than what he usually wore on campus. He lifted the gold pendant— a gold tree of life symbol— so that Bernard could see it better. “This was a birthday gift from my dad when I was, like, seven or so that he brought back from one of his excavations in Egypt. He was an archaeologist,” he explained after swallowing a mouthful of cookie. He wasn’t really sure why he was going into it, he hadn’t really talked to the other teen about his late parents too much before. At least not this part, this part that didn’t seem like much, this part of them being gone all the time that he’d only recently realized was a source of trauma for him. Plus they had a project to work on. But now that he’d started, he felt compelled to keep going. “It’s supposed to symbolize unity, connection. I don’t know, I guess it made me feel a little bit better thinking about that when he and my mom left me at yet another boarding school while his work brought him somewhere else in the world.”

“I’m sorry,” Bernard muttered with a frown. “I didn’t know that. I guess I just didn’t realize that they left you behind, I always assumed that since you weren’t around here, you’d gone with them.”

But Tim shook his head with a small smile and a shrug, taking another bite of his cookie. “They weren’t bad parents, I was pretty lucky to have them, actually. When I saw them. They just… weren’t around much, y’know? So I wish I could’ve had them longer to have more time with them. But my dad just had a hard time sitting still in one place for any length of time, he always had to be going someplace new, he had to find whatever exciting thing he could. When they had me, I was too young to go with them, and as I got older, they didn’t want to interrupt my schooling. So I studied as hard as I could, hoping that someday, I could be useful on one of their trips and wouldn’t have to stay behind.” He laughed. “I’m quite fortunate that he was somehow able to stay in Gotham long enough to meet my mom, otherwise I probably wouldn’t be here.” Genetically speaking. Like the project they were supposed to be working on.

Bernard grinned brightly. “Can’t say I’m not happy about that either, life would be a bit more boring without my best friend in it.”

Tim wasn’t sure why that comment made his stomach flutter ever so slightly, deciding to chalk it up to that he hadn’t had too much for dinner that night. He grabbed the steaming cup of tea to sip on. “This bracelet was a gift for my tenth birthday,” he said. He showed the black beads with a silver triquetra symbol pendant that encircled his left wrist. “Dad brought it back from a trip to Ireland where he was studying some ruins. It was too big for me back then, but I kept it. It apparently means protection for those who wear it.”

“It probably made your parents feel a little better, in a way, that you had that while they were away from you,” Bernard replied. He held up his left wrist, revealing a blue-beaded bracelet with a silver turtle pendant. “My mom believes turtles are a symbol of protection. She gave me this when I started college.”

“Maybe it did,” Tim agreed quietly. He didn’t necessarily believe in such things, but it was a nice sentiment regardless. Just like Bernard’s mom with her turtles. He took a sip of the tea, finding the warmth to be a salve. “The only time my dad ever stayed still was after my mom…” His sentence trailed off, but he didn’t have to finish. Bernard knew about how his mother had passed away after being poisoned on one of their trips. “And as you know, he wasn’t here much longer after that… I guess part of me still regrets that we had never been able to connect, not for lack of trying, when he was here in Gotham after that. It’s like… I’d lost him before I actually lost him, y’know?” He tried to ignore the look of understanding on Bernard’s face when he nodded. He thought back to that night that he and his dad had had one of their worst fights, how his dad had been stabbed through the chest when a corrupt loan shark had come to collect, how he’d begged for Tim to be left unharmed, how Bernard had dropped everything and had been one of the first people there for him along with Bruce and Alfred, how it was only then he’d felt like Jack’s blood hadn’t been on his hands anymore.

“I was just lucky to have Bruce offer to take me in for real then,” Tim finished, keeping his tone light. “He’d been kind enough to let me stay at the manor when my dad was in a coma when my mom died, but staying here permanently has been nice. It comes along with an annoying older brother, too, but overall, I can’t complain.”

“Yeah, no, I don’t think being adopted by one of Gotham’s most notorious billionaires is too bad of a deal for you,” Bernard joked.

Tim smiled. “No, not a bad deal at all,” he muttered, glancing around at the spacious study. “It is nice having a more stable place to call home, though, rather than jumping around boarding schools and what not, gotta say. I’ve got quite a few trinkets that finally have a permanent place in my room that my parents brought back for me from all their trips. I’ll have to show you sometime.”

But it was a statement that caused him to nearly choke on his tea, and he managed to laugh after his coughing died away. He didn’t know why that felt so forward, but it did. It’s not like he hadn’t spent time at Bernard’s house, and now apartment, in his room and had crashed at both. “Wow. Sorry, that was uh… that was weird. Not sure where that came from. Sorry about that. Didn’t mean it. Sorry.”

But Bernard simply smiled in return. “No, it’s okay," he assured him. “I want to see them. They sound cool, of course, but obviously, they mean a lot to you.”

A moment passed before Tim returned the look. But before he could say anything, maybe suggesting that they continue with their genetics project or figuring out a time for his friend to come visit the manor so that they could work on their genetics project in person, there was a small commotion from the living room not far away. He glanced away from the screen, brow furrowing, on alert. “Hey, uh, I’ll be back in a minute, Bern. I’ve gotta check on something quick.”

“Take your time. I’ll still be here. Putting notes together.”

Tim got to his feet and left the study, crossing the hall to the dim living room, lit only by the roaring fireplace. His bare feet warmed the closer he got to the couch, where Bruce had settled in to go over some Wayne Enterprises reports earlier that evening while he’d gotten comfortable in the study for his homework. His adopted father had dozed off at some point— which he was glad about because the older man absolutely needed it—  stretched out across the cushions with the paperwork scattered all over the floor. But it was clear his dreams weren’t good with how he was muttering quietly to himself as distress crossed his face.

“B.” Tim scooped some papers out of the way into a manilla folder before he dropped to a knee, reaching out for his adopted father. “Hey, it’s okay, Bruce.”

But he had only lightly touched the older man’s arm when Bruce’s eyes snapped open as he shot up, grabbing the teen’s shoulders tightly in a vice grip. Tim looked back at him, wide-eyed, holding his breath. But his mentor appeared not to see him, not really, still lost in that nightmare haze.

“I… I killed him…”

Tim’s brow furrowed at the panicked, whispered words. “Killed who, Bruce?” he asked, deciding to go along with it until he was more awake. He knew that Joker’s death had been weighing heavily on his mind all this time; it wouldn’t be unusual for it to haunt him in his sleep as well.

But he wasn’t prepared for Bruce’s hands to tighten their hold on him, to shake him as though he were desperately trying to get him to understand. For a moment, he could have sworn the older man’s eyes appeared a bit on the greener side, knowing it had to just be a trick in the flickering light from the fire. Though he also wasn’t prepared for his next words, even more frantic and rushed than before.

“I killed him… Dick… I killed him… It was me… I killed him… broke his neck… Dick… My son…”

Tim managed to set a firm hand on Bruce’s toned arm. “No, B, Dick’s fine. I talked to him earlier before he started his patrol in Blüdhaven tonight. He’s okay, Bruce, you didn’t do anything to him, I promise.”

He hoped that he’d be able to get through to his adopted father, but it still seemed he wasn’t fully there with him yet as he anxiously shook his head.

“... Dick… Jason… screaming… I couldn’t… I couldn’t save him… He died because of me… Jay…”

Tim’s gaze faltered. The second Robin’s murder was something that had haunted Bruce ever since Joker had sent him the footage, and they all witnessed what the clown had put him through before finally taking his life. He didn’t really know what he could say to reach him on this— he hadn’t even known Jason, not personally, and watching his brutal torture and death at the hands of the Joker had torn him apart. Seeing it had made the consequences of this life he'd chosen all too real for him. He couldn’t imagine the weight on Bruce’s heart from that. He didn’t know how he could help him with that guilt.

“... Tim…”

“Yeah, B?” For a moment, he was hopeful that his adopted father was coming out of his nightmare. But his gaze was still too far away, looking right through him rather than at him.

“... Tim… I trapped him… got him killed, too… My son died because I… Croc…”

The teen winced. Death by Killer Croc sounded terrible, but he brushed that thought aside. How much guilt was the older man carrying that he was losing all of his boys in his nightmares?

“No.” Tim got both of his hands on his mentor’s arms, shaking him just a little bit but not enough to startle him. He had to be careful. “Bruce, it’s me. It’s Tim. I’m right here, okay? I’m alive, B, I’m all right. You haven’t done anything to me. Bruce, can you hear me?”

When he still didn’t get any response, he sighed. With one hand, he managed to pry one of Bruce’s off his arm and set it on his chest instead, over his heart so that his adopted father could feel the beat of it, hoping it’d be enough to get through to him. “That right there? I’m alive, I’m right here.”

He took a deep breath when there was still nothing, deciding to try one more thing. “Dad?”

A brief moment passed before the panic started to drain from Bruce’s face as his gaze finally cleared. His short, ragged breathing started to slow and even out. His tense muscles started to loosen. And it was probably just a trick of the minimal light, but whatever green hue had been in his eyes was gone, and they were back to their normal bright blue. But they appeared no less haunted by what he had dreamed as he met the teen’s intense gaze. “Tim?”

A small smirk appeared on Tim’s face. “Welcome back, B.”

“Are you all right, son?”

Tim shook himself out of his wandering thoughts before glancing at Henry seated on the gurney set up next to him. “Sorry, yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered, turning back to the large computer screen in front of him. The latest test of the older man’s blood and brain scan was still running through the system, and he must have just zoned out watching the numbers calculating since he knew the results were just going to be the same as they had been the past couple times. He really wished he could be out there helping Dick and Bruce with more pressing concerns throughout Gotham instead. This was a waste of his time; they were getting nowhere.

Henry hummed in response, beginning to fidget restlessly with a loose string on his vest. “How much longer is this all going to take?” he pressed. “Surely there aren’t many more tests you can actually run, are there?”

Tim briefly hesitated. That was the same concern that’d been on his mind for quite some time now. But he didn’t want to worry the older man, so he gave him a small, hopefully reassuring smile. “I’m not sure, Henry,” he told him. “But right now, you’re a lot safer in here than out there, trust me. From the reports I’m getting from both Batman and Nightwing, it’s an actual war zone out there, it’s worse than we thought.” Hopefully, the occupation of Gotham would be enough to placate him for the time being. But as soon as this was all over, he was determined to let the old man go back home to his wife, no matter what Bruce said. There wasn’t much more, if anything, that he could help them with. There was no sense in keeping him locked up against his will anymore.

“Well, as long as all three of you are being as safe as possible in all this mess.”

“Always are, Henry.”

Tim then took a couple steps away from the computer and checked his cell phone when he felt it vibrate as a text came through. He normally didn’t keep it on him when he was Robin since there was far too much personal information to be linked to his identity and loved ones on it, but he wasn’t out in the field, he was cooped up as much as Henry was, and there were people outside of Gotham he wanted to keep tabs on and update on his own safety. His heart warmed when he saw it was a picture from Benard of a black beaded bracelet with a silver triquetra symbol pendant around his wrist, right next to his blue-beaded turtle pendant bracelet. Along with it was a message.

Hope its protection reaches you too since it’s yours and you’re just lending it to me. I’m taking good care of it for you

He still wasn’t really a believer in such things, but Tim couldn’t really explain his compulsion to give it to his boyfriend before he’d left Gotham. Maybe, like his parents before him, it gave him a little peace of mind knowing that he had it when he was away from him, when the best way to actually protect him was to keep him further away. He would have found the irony hilarious if the situation wasn’t so dire since he hated that’s what Bruce was doing with him in all this mess that had started earlier that night.

Tim brushed his fingers against Bernard’s from where he was sitting across the table from him, looking over the menus their server had just brought for them. This burger restaurant was a new spot for both of them, but the dim colored lighting, spooky decorations, and live band playing Halloween classics like “Thriller” currently had won him over pretty quickly since it put him in the holiday spirit. It hadn’t been their first choice, but this had turned out to be quite a bit of fun.

“So, what do you think looks good?” Bernard wondered, taking a bite of the chocolate peanut butter pumpkin-shaped candy he’d grabbed out of the trick-or-treat bowl at the entrance.

“Honestly, I might just go for the classic bacon cheeseburger and a vanilla malt,” Tim said, looking over his options carefully. “Although… this teriyaki burger also sounds quite interesting…”

Bernard smiled. “I’ll split the malt and a large order of cheese fries with you.”

Tim looked up at him with a grin. “Such a tempting offer. You know me too well.”

“I think I know how to win you over by now.”

“Just give me cheese fries, and you’ve got my heart.” It was one of his favorite cheat meals.

"Can't believe it's that easy." Bernard tightened his hold on the other teen’s fingers briefly with a chuckle as he looked down at his own menu. “I’m leaning toward the cheddar ranch chicken sandwich myself.”

Tim glanced at it on his with a nod. “Not a bad option.”

“I’ll be sure to let you try it.” Bernard met his gaze curiously. “So, what are you thinking about doing after dinner?” he asked. “I know we got those Halloween party invites, but I’m not really feeling it. I don’t even have a costume this year.”

Tim hesitated briefly. Since Gotham’s streets tended to be a bit more unruly on nights like Halloween, Bruce would be on patrol shortly if he wasn’t already. He was lucky that things seemed quiet enough so far where he could enjoy a dinner date out with his boyfriend before anything went down and his mentor would need him, or he’d want him to do some more testing at Panessa Studios even though he didn’t think they’d yield any results they didn’t have already. He couldn’t guarantee the same for after they ate.

“I don’t know, but I’m not really feeling that party either,” he answered. “Maybe, if we do anything, we could just watch some scary movies while handing out candy to trick-or-treaters or something?”

“That sounds pretty perfect to me.” Bernard traced Tim’s healing knuckles lightly with his thumb. “My roommate’s gonna be out at that party with his girlfriend, so it’d just be us, optimal for watching scary movies, if you wanted to go to my place. We could make apple cider or hot chocolate. And we get a lot of kids in my neighborhood, so we could stop by the convenience store on the way back and pick up any leftover candy.”

Tim couldn’t stop the broad smile from spreading across his face. “That does sound pretty perfect,” he agreed. He desperately hoped that Bruce didn’t need him for patrolling that night so they could actually have their Halloween date, though he was grateful he wasn’t bothering him while they had dinner at the very least. “Worst case scenario, I could call up Alfred and ask for a few bags of candy to hand out. We’ve got loads, and it’s the good kind, too. You’ll be super popular this year.”

Bernard laughed, and Tim couldn’t deny it was one of his favorite sounds in the world. “Do you guys get many trick-or-treaters out there?”

“Oh, yeah. Tons. So many kids, and their parents, want to get a closer glimpse of Wayne Manor, it’s kinda ridiculous. But it’s one of the only chances they get.” Tim chuckled. “Alfred’s usually the one who hands out the candy, he enjoys it. I think it’s good for him. Reminds him of Bruce and Dick when they were that age, I’m sure. There’ve been years where Dick and I have done it with him if we didn’t have plans with Bruce, he makes it fun despite his oh so sunny disposition.” If Gotham had been quiet enough where they hadn’t needed to patrol with Batman, that is.

“Sounds like quite the life you must lead.”

“You have no idea.” He glanced out the window as a group of costumed teenagers happily walked by on the sidewalk, amused when he spotted a boy wearing a Batman face mask and cape. He had to hand it to the resilience of Gotham’s youth, not letting something like rain damper their pursuit of free candy.

Then, their waitress came up to their table with her notepad ready to go. “All right, boys. What can I getcha?” she wondered, looking at Tim first.

“Um…” Tim leaned forward, having one more quick internal debate about which burger he was going to end up going with. “I think I’ll take—!”

But then, Bernard grasped his hand fully, tightly as he gasped. Tim quickly looked up, alarmed, seeing his face had drained of color and his wide eyes were resting on something behind him. “Oh… oh, my God…”

Tim quickly turned around to look up at the television in the corner above their booth, and his heart plummeted when he saw the news headline about some sort of chemical weapon attack that had people tearing each other apart at Pauli’s Diner. He tightened his hold on his boyfriend’s hand. That had been where they were initially going to go for dinner but had decided to try elsewhere since it’d been quite crowded. They were still only a couple of blocks away.

They had almost been there…

Well, there went their date.

Panicked chatter began to spread through the restaurant as the band stopped playing mid-performance of “Love Potion #9”. When a video sent in by Jonathan Crane began to play, warning Gotham that this was only a small demonstration of his new fear toxin and that they only had the night to leave since he’d flood the city with it in just a few hours, people began screaming and making a mad dash for the door. Tim turned to Bernard, forcing himself to remain calm as he met the other teen’s still wide eyes.

“We have to go.”

What the HELL?????

Do NOT engage

Tim glanced at the two texts he’d gotten in rapid succession, the first from Dick and the second from Bruce, but didn’t respond to them yet as he led Bernard out of the restaurant, holding his hand tightly as they quickly made their way through the rain to where they’d parked a block or so away from the burger joint. Closer to Pauli’s Diner, he noted, since they’d just walked over from there. He unlocked the car and slid behind the wheel while his boyfriend kept an eye on the news on his phone from the passenger seat next to him and answered the flurry of messages he was getting.

“Commissioner Gordon’s giving a press conference,” Bernard said hoarsely once they were able to actually get onto the road and a bit further away from the chaotic downtown area. “He says Gotham’s being evacuated… They’re pooling buses to get as many people out as possible that way.”

“Okay, just try to stay calm,” Tim replied, trying to keep a level head himself while he gripped the wheel so tightly with slightly shaking hands his knuckles were white. This had never happened before that he was aware of, not to this scale, at least not while he’d been partly responsible for keeping the city safe. He had no idea what to do, he didn’t know what Bruce had in place for things like this. He could only start breathing a little easier when they got out of congested traffic and took the road that led toward the outskirts of the city. Toward Wayne Manor, somewhere he trusted and knew was safe.

“Where can I bring you?" the dark-haired teen pressed. "Do you have somewhere you can go to get out of Gotham tonight?” Worst case scenario, he’d have his boyfriend lay low at the manor for a while.

Bernard tried to take a couple of deep breaths, not quite able to manage it. Tim reached over and grabbed his hand, lacing his fingers through his and squeezing tightly. It was meant to ground him as much as his boyfriend. “Um… well, a friend of mine in Empire City is offering for a few of our mutual friends to stay with her there,” he muttered. “We’re figuring out where to meet to drive out there, they don’t want to take the buses.”

“Okay. Okay, good.” His breathing eased a bit more knowing that at least Bernard had a safe place to go. And Stephanie was already out of town for a short trip to Keystone, so he didn’t have to worry about her. “Can they meet us out here? The roads out of Gotham here won’t be as busy as the bus evacuation route, it’ll be easier for you guys to leave.”

“Uh… yeah, okay. I’ll let them know.”

It only took about twenty minutes for Bernard’s four friends to meet them about a mile from Wayne Manor. Tim handed him an overnight bag he’d quickly thrown together for him out of his own belongings with help from Alfred— a couple shirts and sweatpants he hoped would fit at least okay since his boyfriend was taller than him, an extra toothbrush, deodorant, and other essentials to last him for a couple days. Hopefully, he wouldn’t need more than that, but he could get anything else he might need out in Empire City. He watched as Bernard handed the bag over to his friends to pack before making his way back over to him while they organized the trunk with all their luggage. He reached out as soon as he reached him, taking both of Tim’s hands in his.

“Come with us,” Bernard murmured. “I know we don’t have room in the car, but you could follow us out there…”

Tim gave him a small, kind smile. He wished he could. “Thank you, but I’ll be all right,” he said. “I’m getting out myself, I’ll be staying with Dick at his place in Blüdhaven tonight.” It was an easy enough story to go with, one that rolled right off his tongue.

Bernard chuckled, lowering his gaze. “Liar,” he whispered.

“What are you talking about?” Tim wondered lightly, arching an eyebrow. “Sure my brother finds me as annoying as I find him, but he’s not just gonna not let me crash with him in an emergency like this. He’s not heartless.”

A moment passed before his boyfriend raised his eyes back to his. “No, I know you’re staying in Gotham because you have to,” he continued, his voice still low so only the other teen could hear him. “It’s your job, Robin.”

Tim’s heart nearly stopped in surprise. His mind spun, frantically attempting to figure out a way to refute his statement. But he realized that right now, it didn’t matter. His reaction, or rather a lack of one, was likely a dead giveaway. Besides, they didn’t have time for him to play dumb and try to dispute him at the moment. “How… how did you know?” he asked weakly instead. If Bruce knew someone had figured him out…

Bernard smiled. “You think I haven’t noticed your nightly schedule these past couple years after how long I’ve known you?” he posed. “Or sometimes how you’d have a bruise or scratch that would match something that had happened to Robin the night before? That only confirmed my suspicions after Robin saved me at Pauli’s in that hold-up a couple years ago after my childhood best friend Tim had supposedly been knocked out, and I was still trying to make sure he was okay in all that commotion but couldn’t find him.”

He couldn’t argue that. He just hadn’t realized that Bernard had been paying that much attention to him to notice. Or that even with a gun at his head that Bernard’s first concern had been him. He thought there’d been just the right amount of commotion for him to sneak away unnoticed to grab his Robin gear from his car; he’d been wrong. Tim returned the look despite himself, his cheeks flushed a bit. “Then you know I’ll be fine,” he said.

“I do, and I do know you have to stay, I really do, even though I’d hoped you wouldn’t. Not with this.” Still, he appeared worried. “But since you are, I want to stay here with you. Just to make sure you’re safe. If something were to happen to you…”

Despite how a jolt of panic rushed through him at the thought of the other teen staying in Gotham, Tim’s heart warmed. How he wanted Bernard to stay with him, to not be far from him. The manor was right down the road, he could just ask Alfred to let him stay there where there’d be some degree of safety if things went south. But he couldn’t allow that. He couldn’t be that selfish, it would put Bernard needlessly in harm’s way, and he couldn’t do that. Not to him. He couldn’t take that chance with the person he loved. He’d be safer out of the city with what Scarecrow was planning to do.

“Thank you for being willing to stay here with me tonight,” he muttered. “But you’ll be safer in Empire City with your friends. And I’ll be a little safer here knowing you’re not in danger.” He smirked. “Besides, I’m the one who’s been trained by Batman himself, I’ve dealt with Crane before, I’ll be fine.” But the look vanished as soon as it appeared, he was too worried about his boyfriend to maintain it, and he squeezed his hands. “Please. I’ll keep in touch.”

A brief moment passed before Bernard nodded, letting out a long, deep breath. “Okay,” he agreed, but it was clear it wasn’t okay. “I don’t like leaving you here, but as long as you keep me updated…”

“I will, I promise.” Tim then let go of Bernard’s hands, slipping his triquetra bracelet from his dad off his wrist. “Here. Since I can’t be with you to keep an eye on you tonight.” He took his boyfriend’s left hand, slipping the bracelet on his wrist next to the turtle one from his mother.

Chuckling, Bernard looked back at him. “I thought you didn’t believe in that sort of thing,” he teased.

“I really don’t,” Tim told him, smiling faintly. “But it makes me feel a little better knowing that a part of me’s with you anyway while I do what I have to here to protect you.”

A thin line of tears formed in Bernard’s eyes as he reached out with his free hand, pulling Tim closer by his leather jacket into a soft kiss. “Be careful,” he whispered against his lips, brushing a few wayward strands of the other teen’s wet black hair back from his face.

Tim’s smile broadened. “Always am.” He then kissed his boyfriend deeply, running a hand through his blond hair to bring him just that little bit closer.

They pulled away a moment later when Bernard’s friends called him over. They needed to leave. “Let me know when you get there,” Tim said.

“I will,” Bernard replied, giving his hand one last squeeze before he let go. “Let me know what’s going on with you when you can.”

Tim nodded, waving to the group as Bernard turned away and hurried over to them. He leaned against his own car, watching as theirs pulled away and disappeared from sight before he got back behind the wheel, speeding toward Wayne Manor to meet with Bruce to figure out how to handle Scarecrow’s threats. He stuck his comms link in his ear, tuning it to the right channel.

“I’ll be there in a minute, B.”

But as he approached the gates, waiting until they opened for him, there was a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t quite shake. He just hoped that it was nothing.

The sound of the elevator arriving brought him out of his thoughts this time, and Tim looked up in time to see Dick step through into the main room. “Hey,” he greeted his older brother, slipping his phone back into his suit. “Getting the third cache go okay?”

“Yeah, we got it.” Dick’s tone was a little short, but it usually was when he was focused on a mission, or when something was bothering him. He felt like this case was a little bit of both. “How are things here?”

Tim gave a long suffering sigh as he glanced up at the computer monitor, still running the most recent test, and at Henry, still sitting on the gurney nearby. He turned back to Dick, his gaze faltering. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to do this, ‘Wing,” he admitted quietly.

Dick frowned, steering him a bit further away from the old man so they could talk privately. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean…” Tim sighed, gesturing back at the screen behind them. “I’ve run pretty much every conceivable test I can think of to find what it is about Henry that’s different from Christina, Johnny, or Albert that’s making him symptomless. And nothing of note is coming back, nothing I can use to create this cure to save them. We’re close, we’re almost there, but I just can’t find this damn thing that’s going to be the break we need. We’re never getting any closer. Henry’s getting frustrated, and I can’t blame him. He’s been here much longer than we said he would have to be, he’s done everything we’ve asked of him, and there’s nothing to show for it. And five people are going to die if I can’t find it.”

The teen took a deep breath, pressing his eyes into the heels of his hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, ‘Wing… I really don’t,” he whispered. “There should be something here, and there just… isn’t. I can’t find it. I should have by now. If it’s there, I should have found it. B’s expecting me to figure this out, to make this cure to save these people, there’s a lot riding on me to not fail, but I just… I can’t… And I don’t know what B’s going to do when I tell him I can’t, but… I can’t, ‘Wing, I just can’t…”

“Hey.” Dick reached out, grasping both of his shoulders to keep him from spiraling further. “Look at me, Robin.” He waited until Tim slowly raised his gaze up to his before he continued with a kind, patient smile. “I know B expects a lot from us at times, and it can feel like it’s too much, it’s overwhelming. Trust me, I know that very well, I’ve dealt with it for years. But I find that most the time, he expects that from us because he knows we can do it. Because he’s trained us, or because he knows our strengths, or whatever it may be. He may not always be grateful for it, but y’know, it’s B. But I truly don’t think he would have you working on this cure if he didn’t think that you could do it. And I know you can, you’re the smartest person I know, Robin. Don’t tell Babs.” He chuckled before becoming serious again. “Regardless, if anyone can figure this puzzle out, it’s you. It doesn’t help us to put added pressure on ourselves when we already have that expectation on us. I know you always tend to put more pressure on yourself than you need to for anything you do anyway. But please, give yourself a break on this one. Take a breath, relax those shoulders.”

Tim tried to follow his brother’s suggestion, taking as deep a breath as he could manage while Dick massaged the tight muscles in his shoulders. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Dick said, patting him on the side of the head before they both returned to the computer. His gaze passed over the analysis still being run before glancing at the still image of the Arkham Knight taken from CCTV footage they had set up on the other side of the monitor. He studied the military grade suit for a moment, though the detail that intrigued him the most was the metallic decal on his helmet that resembled the pointed ears on Batman’s cowl. He wasn’t sure if he was just obsessed with the vigilante like his hatred suggested, or if he was possibly trying to be a better Batman than Bruce was. He had mentioned something about his actions saving Gotham.

“Do we have anything more on this guy yet?”

“Alfred’s been searching through records from both Arkham Asylum and Arkham City, but even with how B’s trying to narrow it down, those lists are still quite long. A lot of people hate him, not as many have these sorts of connections or training, but it’s still too much to bring down to any definitive suspects yet,” Tim told him. “But a lot of people don’t know his weaknesses like this guy does. That’s something.”

“Right. Like taking Barbara because she works with him, not because she’s Jim’s daughter.” Dick sighed, turning his attention to the map of Gotham they also had on the screen. “I asked B if he had any leads on her from Stagg’s airships, but he didn’t have an answer for me. Are you having any luck with tracking her?”

“Hm.” Tim leaned forward, quickly typing something in to bring up some footage. “CCTV cameras caught a brief glimpse of the Knight in Chinatown not too long ago, maybe within a half hour to forty-five minutes or so. That may be worth checking out, see if you can find some clues there.”

“Chinatown, huh?” Dick leaned closer to the screen. “From my tracking of Cobblepot’s trucks, it seems like another cache is in the sewer system somewhere down there, too. I could check both things out at once.” He glanced at the younger man. “Send me the address of where the Knight was spotted?”

Tim nodded. “Of course. I gotcha.”

“You boys all right?” Henry wondered, brow furrowed in concern as he watched them.

Dick waved back, giving the old man a friendly, charming smile. “We’re good, Henry, thank you!”

And that was when the map of the city began blinking red and beeping in alert, and Dick and Tim both watched, wide-eyed, as CCTV footage caught the Iron Heights prison facility airship fall from the sky and crash into the Gotham Bay far below.

Chapter Text

“B, you’ve got a problem. A big one. Heard of Iron Heights? The prison airship? It just fell out of the sky and crashed in Gotham Bay. You could have casualties, or possibly escapees. Y’know, like we needed anything else to deal with tonight.”

“Meet me there, Dick.”

His mentor arrived at the crash site first— Dick absolutely blamed it on his own lack of cape to travel with, and that he hadn’t been expecting to be asked to go with him to the fallen airship— and asked for any intel on Iron Heights Penitentiary. Fortunately, he and Tim had done a little digging before he’d left Panessa.

“Well, what can I say?” he said, grappling to another building as he reached Gotham Bay, able to easily spot the downed aircraft. “Imagine the worst prison in the whole world.”

“That bad?” Bruce wondered.

“Eh, no,” Dick replied, carefully approaching the airship to search for a good way inside. “But it’s still pretty bad. What I can’t figure out, though, is what it’s been doing in Gotham airspace. It usually isn’t. Must’ve picked up someone around here that we don’t know about. Which, not ideal.”

“I’m headed in to find out.”

“I just got here. See you inside in a bit, B.”

As Dick made his way through the interior wreckage of the airship, he couldn’t deny the uneasy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. He made sure he could easily reach one of his escrima sticks if needed as he slowly made his way past the dead bodies that littered the floor, nimbly avoiding pitfalls and broken hardware and lumber. The only sound aside from the creaking of the airship threatening to collapse in on itself was the crackling of flames from almost every direction.

Something big must have come through if it caused all this to happen. This didn’t seem at all like regular engine or mechanical error, or even user error. No, whatever had happened was much, much worse than any of that.

“Help… help me…”

The weak voice barely carried up to him from below where the aircraft was flooded. Squinting, he could make out a couple of lit flares on some of the floating wreckage where who appeared to be a couple guards were struggling to keep from sinking.

Without hesitation, Dick leapt down to a sturdier surface still attached to the wall, the space narrow but easy enough for him to get solid footing and a good vantage point to help get them to safety. He crouched down, starting to reach for the guard nearest him.

“Please… help me…” the one further away from him repeated his plea.

“Don’t worry, I gotcha,” Dick assured him. “Just try not to struggle too much. Stay as calm as you can. I’m coming.”

He leaned forward just a bit more, relieved when he grasped the arm of the guard closest to him. “All right, I’m gonna pull you over here, but I need you to work with me, okay?” The man didn’t respond, and with how he didn’t move either, Dick had to assume he’d possibly passed out either from his injuries or shock. He’d have to work carefully but quickly to move him. “All right, that’s okay, we’ll still make this work.” Checking to make sure his center of gravity was good enough to lift someone’s dead weight, he began to pull him away from the floating wreckage he was clinging to.

Something was wrong, very wrong, he knew it immediately. The guard was much too light for someone of his size, he was too easy to move. His fear was confirmed when the second guard let out a terrible, horrified scream as Dick pulled his partner’s torso out of the frigid water… and only his torso.

“Shit!” He instinctively dropped the top half of the man’s body, stumbling back into the wall behind him as he watched, wide-eyed, as what was left of him dipped beneath the water. His heart raced, his breathing was ragged. While he’d only gotten a brief glimpse of the man’s remains, he had seen his body hadn’t been cleanly cut in half, so it was likely it hadn’t happened in the crash. Rather, it looked more like something had torn, maybe bitten, him in half while he’d been in the water.

“Oh, my God… No no no no…” The second guard was starting to panic. “I knew it… I knew this wasn’t a good idea…”

“What wasn’t a good idea?” Dick managed to ask, focusing on calming his breathing and heartbeat down. “Who did you pick up in Gotham?” Though from what he’d just found, he had a sinking suspicion he already knew the answer to that question. And he didn’t like it.

But the man seemed to be beyond comprehending him as he began to flail, nearly losing his grasp on the wreckage he’d managed to hold onto. “He’s still out there, Nightwing… he’s toying with us, hunting us…” He turned his wide, panicked eyes to him. “You’ve gotta get me the hell out of here, Nightwing… please… I had nothing to do with what the warden was doing to him, I swear it… We shouldn’t have been doing that testing…”

“What are you…?” Dick began, but then he sighed. “You know what? Never mind. Let’s getcha out of here, and then you’re going to explain everything. Deal?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever you say. Just get me outta here! Please!”

Dick took a deep, steadying breath before he leapt to the piece of floating wreckage the first guard had been holding onto, landing as lightly on his feet as possible. He still had to give it a moment to even out so he didn’t fall into the water himself before he moved carefully to the other side so he was closer to the second guard. Keeping himself steady, he reached a hand out toward him. “Okay, man. Just grab my hand. “C’mon now.”

The guard started to move closer to the vigilante, grimacing in pain as he pulled himself along the wreckage. “I… I broke my leg in the crash, Nightwing…”

“Okay, it’s all right.” Dick held his breath as he moved a little closer to the edge of his own piece, reaching out as much as he could toward the guard without losing his balance. That wouldn’t do either of them any good. “That’s as far as I can go. C’mon, you can do it. You’re almost there.”

“Yeah, yeah… Okay…” The guard moved closer to the edge of his own piece of wreckage, reaching toward Dick’s gloved hand when he was close enough. The latter leaned forward just that little bit more to try to bring the other man to him faster.

But their fingers only brushed against each other when the guard cried out in panic, his eyes wide with fear. “No, no, no!”

And before Dick could even wrap his mind around what he was seeing to try to stop it, the man was swiftly pulled beneath the water’s surface.

Immediately, he grappled his way back up to a higher level of the airship before he could be grabbed, too, rolling out of the way of flames that were burning away at the metal pieces. He stretched out flat on his back to catch his breath for a moment, knowing how close of a call that had been. He just regretted that he hadn’t been able to save either guard, and that their escaped prisoner had gotten to them first.

But what the warden had been up to with him, which didn’t sound good, was a question yet to be answered.

“So, any progress on finding out who they’d picked up in Gotham?” Tim’s voice came through his comms link.

Forcing himself to take a couple more slow, even breaths, Dick ran a hand over his clammy forehead. “Well, if I had to venture a guess at this point, I’d say they picked up Croc,” he muttered.

“Oh, damn. Seriously?”

“My guess is a very educational one, Timmy.” Dick glanced over the side of the ledge, seeing the water far below was now still. But he knew their reptilian nemesis could still be close by, watching out for him. “Having him on a prison airship sounds like a terrible idea, by the way. Can’t say I blame him for not being happy about it. No wonder he’s tearing this place apart.”

“Great,” Tim muttered. “Y’know, B had a nightmare a few months back that I got killed by Croc.”

Dick arched an eyebrow. That wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. “Really? I had no idea.”

“Yeah, well, how often does B share things like that with us?” Tim chuckled. “Regardless, even though it was me and not you who faced death by the jaws of Croc, I’d use it as a general advisory to just be careful here.”

Despite himself, Dick cracked a smile. “Gee, thanks,” he deadpanned. “Couldn’t have figured that one out for myself, Timmy.”

“Just doing my duty to save your ass.”

Dick chuckled before his comms link signaled another call. “Hold that thought, B’s trying to reach me.” He switched channels. “Yeah?”

“Nightwing. This ship was holding Waylon Jones, he’s on the loose. He tore the engine apart, brought the craft down. He’s hunting down the crew. Be careful.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Dick replied with a heavy sigh. “I found a guard.” He winced. “Well… half of one.”

“Keep moving. We need to find him. Fast.”

“Yeah, will do, B. You be careful, too.” Not that hunting down an enraged Killer Croc sounded like a fun time by any stretch of the imagination, but hey, it was all part of the business.

Dick leapt to another platform across from him, clearing the water far below effortlessly as he made his way deeper into the belly of the airship. Every creak, every splash from below had him on edge, looking over his shoulder, in case Croc was looming. He knew it was pretty likely Jones knew that he and Bruce were there by now, but unless his adopted father was quiet on comms because he’d been eaten by the big man, it seemed like they weren’t his main targets. At least, not yet. There must have been something more pressing he was after to bring down the whole craft like this, especially since he hadn’t escaped it when he’d had the chance to. He was definitely hunting for something.

He turned a corner and found himself in a corridor of cells. He quickly moved to each one, seeing in the flickering red flights that they were either unoccupied or the prisoners inside were knocked unconscious— hopefully— in the crash.

Then, he gasped when a loud clang came from the bars of the cell he was just approaching, the man inside having thrown himself against them as a dirtied hand desperately grabbed at his arm. “No… don’t take me back in there…” he begged, trying to reach out even further as Dick took a step back from the cell. “Please… No more tests… I-I can’t take anymore! Please!”

“What kind of testing?” This was the second time someone had mentioned testing of some sort, and though he wasn’t exactly sure what kind, it was pretty clear that the guards had been doing something that probably wasn’t ethical or maybe even legal to the inmates. “What happened to you?”

But the only response he got from the man was an agonized groan as he buried his head in his arms and rolled onto the floor. “No no no… please… No more… I can’t anymore…”

Dick’s brow furrowed. “You’re safer in there for now with what’s going on out here,” he muttered, though he was pretty sure the other man wasn’t hearing or understanding what he was saying. “I’ll come back soon and get you out. I’ll help you, don’t worry.”

“Help me!”

Dick quickly looked up at the new cry and hurried down to the end of the hall, seeing it overlooked another flooded area far below. But still, the guard trapped beneath a metal grate frantically reached out for him when he saw him. “Please! I can’t hold on much longer!”

“Y’know, I almost have half a mind to leave you down there for a little bit longer,” Dick replied, crossing his arms. “Or lock you up in one of these cells up here. What the hell was being done on this airship? What sort of testing were you doing on the inmates here? Were you doing it on Waylon Jones, too? No wonder he crashed this thing and is hunting everyone down!”

“I swear, it wasn’t me! I didn’t do anything with any testing!” the panicked guard called up to him. Pleading. “Nightwing, please, I have a pregnant wife and two little girls already. Please! I swear, I wasn’t involved! Get me out of here, and I promise I’ll help you however I can!”

Dick sighed. Of course he wasn’t going to actually leave the guard down there to die. But it seemed like he was much more willing to talk at that possibility, which is exactly what he wanted him to do. Seeing there really wasn’t a stable surface close enough to him below to land on, he shot his grappling hook high into the rafters above him, attaching the other end to the belt around his waist. He stood at the edge and took a deep breath. But just as his muscles tensed to make the leap, his body froze. His breath caught in his chest as a cold sweat broke out on his forehead, his vision swaying.

For most of his life, flying had been simple, as effortless to him as walking, as breathing. It was a part of his very being, all the way down to his very core. He almost felt more comfortable in the skies than on the ground. It was the most natural, most freeing feeling in the world for him.

But deep down, buried beneath that ease, that love, that freedom it gave him, nestled that fear of falling. It was one he normally had under control to a point where he wasn’t even aware of it, that he could forget was there, but sometimes…

He took a deep breath from where he stood on the platform his parents used during their routines, glancing down at the white powder that coated his palms. He rubbed them together one more time, counted to three in his head, and leapt toward the trapeze ahead of him without hesitation. Just as he’d heard his father say was the trick to successfully flying many times.

“You never know if you can fly unless you take the risk of falling,” John always liked to say.

But his small hands only brushed against the wooden bar before he tumbled toward the ground with a panicked cry. Luckily, it wasn’t set up as high as it usually was since it was only practice, but pain still shot up his arm as he landed on it awkwardly underneath him. He screamed until a pair of comforting arms wrapped around him, his mother’s soothing voice in his ear as she tucked him close against her chest.

“It’ll be all right. You’re just not quite ready yet, my little robin.”

“I know you want to join us up there, son,” his father’s voice chimed in encouragingly. “And you will, you just need some more practice first. Then, you will soar.”

Dick blinked repeatedly, trying to clear the memory. He’d fallen before he’d ever touched the sky. But that had been a long time ago. He had no reason to fear that now. Not anymore. He was being as safe as he could be, someone needed him now…

He stood, trembling, on the wooden platform under the heat of the circus lights, his scream blending in with those of the crowd around him as the trapezes snapped under the weight of his parents, only able to watch, helpless, as John and Mary Grayson plummeted toward the ground far below…

“Nightwing! Please!”

The guard’s frantic plea brought him out of the spiral he was heading down, and Dick briefly closed his eyes for a moment to take a deep breath. Once he calmed down a bit, he opened his eyes again to test the grapple line to make sure it was secure before he rolled out his neck and leapt over the edge without hesitation. He twirled through the air, his descent slowing as he neared the metal grate the other man was trapped beneath. He straightened his body out until he was upside down, undoing the latch to free the guard. With one hand on the line to hold him steady, Dick reached his other gloved one down to him. The other man immediately reached out to grab hold of it, and Dick clenched his jaw tightly as he helped to pull him out of the water.

“Thank you…”

“Hold on,” he muttered, making sure his hold on him was secure before he used the grapple to start to pull them back up.

But they’d only made it about halfway when a loud splash came from below them. Dick looked down, eyes wide, while the guard cried out in panic as Killer Croc himself burst out of the water, tearing apart the metal grate. He appeared even more reptilian than the last time he had seen him with more defined scales, a longer and thicker tail, and even deadlier claws and teeth. He almost appeared to be smirking, though it was a little hard to tell, thrilled with the challenge of the hunt as he reached for the guard with a roar.

Dick met his bright yellow eyes before he twisted his body, moving the other man even further out of the way of his sharp grasp. But he held back a pained sound as one of Croc’s long claws sliced down his left leg, still managing to grab one of his charged escrima sticks to connect solidly right between those predator eyes with a mild shock. It was a strike that didn’t do much damage to his large assailant, but it halted his advance at the very least, and that was saying something.

However, his haunting laugh still echoed around them. “I have the taste of your blood now, little bird.” The deep, gravelly voice of Waylon Jones reached his ears as the reptilian man dove back into the water below while the grapnel brought Dick and the guard up to the corridor of cells.

“Damn, that was way too close, Nightwing,” the older man said, his voice shaking. “I saw my life flashing before my eyes for a minute there. Thanks for saving my ass.” His brow furrowed with concern. “Are you okay? He gotcha pretty good there.”

Dick hissed as he checked the laceration that traveled down his thigh a little past his knee. “Uh, yeah, it’s not deep. Just a scratch,” he muttered before turning his full attention to the guard. “Now. What’s been going on? What sort of testing was being done here? Why’s the big guy so angry?”

The other man shook his head. “I was telling the truth when I said I wasn’t involved in any of it,” he told him. “All I know is that it was a bad idea… Ranken was playing with fire involving Jones.”

“Ranken?” Dick repeated. “The warden?” It was a name he thought he remembered from the reports he and Tim had found about the prison airship at Panessa.

The guard nodded. “I wish there was more I could tell you about it, but that was above my pay grade.”

Dick nodded, though he swore inwardly. He was really hoping for more information. “All right. Well, stay here, stay watchful. And probably keep away from the water. Batman and I will make sure you get out safely once we apprehend Jones.”

“Thank you, Nightwing. Be safe out there.”

“I will.” Dick grappled over to another ledge across the way, dropping to a knee in a dark, narrow hallway. He looked down at his leg again. While the cut wasn’t deep, it was a bit jagged and bleeding steadily, and it stung quite badly. He reached for his comms link.

“Hey, B,” he said through a wince. “I found Croc. He’s looking a bit… bigger and meaner than I remember.”

“I just saw him, too,” Bruce replied. “Make your way to my location now. He took the warden.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dick stood slowly, not able to completely stifle a hiss as he began following his adopted father’s signal through his tracker. “I’m close by. I’m on my way.”

“Are you all right?”

Dick chuckled. “I’ll live, B. Croc just scratched me,” he answered as he made his way to the end of the hall. “I think there’s more going on here than we thought. Sounds like the warden was doing some testing on the inmates, including Croc. The one I saw didn’t seem to be in good shape. Can’t blame the big guy for being angry enough to crash this thing.”

“That’s what I’ve been hearing, too,” Bruce said. “We’ll figure it out when you get here.”

“Good thing I’m just about there.” Dick looked down into the spacious, brightly lit recreation room that had accommodations like weight stations and a ping pong table below him, watching as Bruce entered. He leapt down, trying not to put too much pressure on his injured leg. “Need a little help there, B?”

Because just as they’d entered, a few cells just off the room opened up, and a group of inmates that had been cooped up flooded into the space. Of course.

“Welcome to hell!” one of the prisoners yelled as he led the charge against them.

Bruce and Dick exchanged a look and brief nod before they each took half the room. The latter used his escrima sticks to knock a couple out before mildly shocking another, kicking yet another in the gut and causing him to stumble over one of the weight lifting benches.

The man looked up at him with rage. “What? Come to hurt us, too?! You know what they did to us?! This is nothing!”

Dick hesitated. Just what had the warden put these inmates through? But he didn’t have time to dwell on it when another prisoner jumped on his back from behind, and he flipped him over and through one of the ping pong tables. He then knocked out the man who’d spoken to him before rejoining the fray with Bruce.

It didn’t take them long to finish off the remaining men working together, and Dick flipped and caught one of his escrima sticks before putting it back in its proper place on his back. Bruce turned to face him.

“Jones took the warden, why not just kill him and escape?” he mused.

“Maybe he likes a long lunch,” Dick quipped before he shook his head slightly. “I don’t know, B. There’s a lot going on here that we don’t know about. Testing on the inmates, which includes Croc. He wants Ranken to pay, I’m sure. And from the sounds of it, I don’t blame him.”

“We’ll have to investigate that further, what’s been going on here won’t be ignored, that I promise,” Bruce assured him. “But let me see where Jones got you.”

Before he could show him his leg, another voice called out to them from above. “Hey, Batman! Nightwing! I’m up here in the control room!”

Bruce and Dick exchanged another look, and the latter nodded before the former led the way up a short set of stairs to get to the control room. The former pushed open the heavy metal door with the sign reading “authorized personnel only”, stepping inside the small space.

“The inmates have been dealt with, you’re safe,” the older vigilante informed the lone guard.

“Man, thank you,” the guard muttered as he left the control station and approached them. “Both of you. When I heard those cells unlock, I thought that was it.”

“There’s a security door beneath us that’s locked,” Bruce continued. “That seems to be the direction where Jones took the warden. I need access to that door.”

The guard shrugged. “It uses key cards, two-men rule,” he explained. “As soon as this bird took a nosedive outta the sky, they bailed. Lucky bastards.” He placed his hands on his hips, glancing around the control room. “Fortunately, we do have a spare set in case of emergency. Kinda like this. Let me just find those. The spot they’re kept in changes regularly.”

While the man began looking for the cards, Bruce turned to Dick. “Sit,” he said, nodding toward the chair in front of the computers.

Dick wanted to argue, but the laceration on his leg was starting to sting even more than it had before after all the action, so he did without complaint. Bruce crouched down to get a closer look at it. He didn’t say a word as he reached for something on his belt, and the younger man hissed when he suddenly sprayed it with an antiseptic.

“You could give a guy some warning, B…”

“I don’t think you want to mess with water from the Gotham Bay,” was all Bruce offered in way of explanation. He then packed the cut with gauze. “This should do for now, you’re fortunate it wasn’t deeper. Still, check it when you get back to Robin, just to make sure.”

“Will do,” Dick replied. “Thanks.”

The guard came back over to them, and both men rose to meet him. “Here,” he said, holding out two key cards to them. “This should get you through down there. Hopefully you can get the warden back safely.”

Bruce took both cards without a word, handing one to Dick as they approached the controls that would unlock the security door. “Work on finding survivors and getting them off this airship,” he told the guard.

“You got it, Batman.”

After the man left, Dick and Bruce swiped the key cards at the same time, hearing the door they needed unlock from below them. “Now we can head deeper into the airship,” the latter muttered.

“Yeah,” Dick agreed as he followed his adopted father back out into the recreation room. “Wouldn’t wanna keep the giant, man-eating escaped convict waiting. Though I’m not gonna lose sleep over letting the warden squirm a little.”

Together, they made their way through the security door and down another level to what appeared to be some sort of laboratory, an emergency light flashing. The place was upended, materials and equipment spilled all over the floor. Someone had definitely ransacked it.

“We tracked the subject back to its den, located beneath the Founders Island Lighthouse,” the voice of Warden Ranken came through a monitor, playing a video log. “It suffered minor injuries during capture. Fortunately, wounds did not impede immediate testing.”

The video switched from the warden himself to a video of Waylon Jones confined to a monstrous chair, a blade being lowered as it cut off his left hand, causing him to roar with pain. Dick’s eyes widened in horror. There was no love lost between him and Killer Croc, but he didn’t deserve that sort of treatment. No wonder he was so angry. “B…”

“I see.” The anger in Bruce’s tone was clear despite how it remained level.

“The creature’s regenerative healing factor is quite remarkable, superficial lesions can repair almost instantaneously, and the subject’s hand is now fully regrown past amputation. Further surgeries have been scheduled to see whether tissue growth can be accelerated.”

The video feed was then replaced with one of inmates being strapped down to tables. “Human trials are underway, stabilizing the recombinant DNA is our next step. We have lots of work ahead of us. As an aside, the subject’s physiology is altering, possibly as an adaptive response to trauma. Sedatives are becoming less effective. Termination, although undesirable, must be considered.”

“That’s what the warden was experimenting on Croc and the others for,” Bruce muttered, glancing around the lab in disgust. “He was trying to weaponize his condition.”

“And planning on killing him if they couldn’t control him anymore,” Dick continued just as quietly, carefully maneuvering around the lifeless body of another crew member. “He didn’t even consider him a person… Seems like Croc wants payback. Can’t say I blame him for it.” He shook his head. “B, the things they were doing here… To prisoners. To Croc. Bastards.”

“We’ll handle them, Dick, I assure you,” Bruce told him. “They must be directly ahead, I’m picking up Jones on my sensor. Let’s go through the grates, we have to approach this carefully.”

Dick nodded. “Let’s do this. After you.”

As the two of them silently made their way into a back room, the same one where all the testing was done, via the floor grates, the raucous sound of prisoners reached their ears. Over all the noise, they could pick out the panicked cry of Warden Ranken.

“Let me go!”

“You made it worse! Fix me!” The deep, gravelly voice of Croc was filled with anger, with anguish.

“I already told you, I can’t!” Ranken, confined to the same massive, monstrously-designed chair with razor blades attached to it that he’d trapped Croc in, protested. “Your mutation is aggravated by trauma. There’s nothing we can do!”

“ Liar! You said you would!” Croc roared, punching the metallic chair above the warden’s head. It caved beneath the force. The prisoners gathered around him threw up cheers of “kill him!”, excited by the mere possibility of it.

“Rip his head off!” another inmate threw in. “See if it grows back!”

Waylon Jones turned to the group around him. “He suffers first,” he announced to them. “Like us! Like all he did to us!” All the men cheered in response.

“Animals!” Ranken cried in fear. “All of you!”

“Let’s show him what animals can do!” one of the inmates yelled.

But Croc ignored him, turning his attention back to the warden. “But first, you will fix me!” he demanded. “Or else!”

“I can’t!”

“He’s lying!” one of the men shouted.

“I think he needs convincing to tell the truth!” another added.

Croc growled, leaning over the petrified warden. “You won’t hurt us anymore!” he threatened. He raised a clawed hand high, his intentions clear.

“Now?” Dick whispered, glancing at Bruce. He was all for letting Ranken squirm as much as possible, but if Croc ripped him apart now, he wouldn’t be able to face justice for what he’d done. And that didn’t settle well with him either.

Bruce nodded to Dick, and they both leapt out of the floor grates at that moment to stop Jones from murdering Ranken. Dick gritted his teeth as he wrapped himself around his large, scaly arm, trying to hold him back, while Bruce ran up his back and landed a punch to Croc’s face. With an angry roar, the larger man threw them both aside.

“I know your scent, Bat!” Croc snarled.

Dick twirled both escrima sticks, charging each of them as he rose to his feet. “It’s that distinct aftershave of his,” he quipped. “It’s hard to miss.”

It wasn’t easy to take the big guy down, especially with the other prisoners trying to stop them. But between the electric shocks from Dick’s weapons and many double team maneuvers with Bruce, they were able to subdue him. Croc took one more swipe at the older vigilante with a whimper of a roar while the younger knocked out the lost inmate, and then he collapsed heavily to the floor in a heap, causing it to shake.

“Well, that went well,” Dick muttered, returning his escrima sticks to their spots on his back.

“We’re not done yet,” Bruce said, voice and step full of purpose as he made his way to where the warden was still trapped in the massive chair. Dick followed behind him.

“Help me, Batman… please, help,” Ranken begged as they drew closer.

Without a word, Bruce pulled a lever on the side of the monstrous contraption, which released the latches of the iron straps holding him in place. The warden stumbled out, dropping to his knees on the ground. “Thank you,” he said, meeting Bruce’s gaze as he got to his feet after a moment. “That monster deserves to be put down.”

However, Dick smirked as Bruce grabbed Ranken by the front of his shirt, causing a startled cry to escape from him as he easily lifted him off his feet. “There’s only one monster here,” his mentor murmured dangerously.

“You’re insane!” Ranken protested. “Get your hands off me!”

“You experimented on Jones,” Dick added as he approached them, too. “Tortured these men! You’re not the good guy here, Ranken. Not like you think you are.”

But the warden remained defiant. “I’m not begging forgiveness from you,” he growled. “From either of you!”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed into slits. “I don’t forgive.” He then headbutted Ranken square in the forehead, causing him to go limp in his grasp. He dropped him on the ground next to the unconscious Croc. Fitting, Dick thought.

It took some effort between both Dick and Bruce, with some added help from a few guards that were still on the airship, to bring Croc out of its depths. The older vigilante called in the Batwing to carry both Croc and Ranken away from the downed aircraft and get them to where they belonged.

“I’m going to bring these two to GCPD,” Bruce told Dick after both prisoners were secured. “Let me know when you have any more leads on Penguin’s weapons caches.”

“I actually found the next one before the airship crashed,” Dick replied. “It’s located in the sewers under Chinatown. I’ll send you the address of the likeliest closest entry point.”

Bruce nodded. “Good. Meet me there.”

“I will. Oh, and make sure those two get cells right next to each other. Y’know. For me.” Dick watched as his adopted father climbed into the Batwing to fly Croc and Ranken to the police precinct, holding up a hand to try to block the rush of wind in his eyes. He watched as the craft vanished into the night before grappling to the rooftop of a building nearby to leave the downed airship, heading toward Chinatown with the address his younger brother had provided him with before he’d left.

But he didn’t make it too far before, speak of the Devil, Tim’s voice came through his comms link. “Hey. Thought you might wanna know CCTV footage caught Penguin down by the old AmerTek building,” he told him. “Might be his hideout. Or maybe his last cache if he’s trying to protect it himself.”

Well, that was a good development. With Bruce heading to the cache in Chinatown after dropping both prisoners off, and knowing he could handle that on his own, they’d be able to take down Cobblepot’s operation a lot faster if he went after this other one now. And then, he could focus solely on finding Barbara. “Great! Send me the address, Timmy. I’m heading right over.”

“You got it. Be careful.”

“To steal your favorite phrase, always am.”

“Ha. You’re funny.”

Dick smirked. “I’ll let you know when it’s all said and done.”

The towering, multi-windowed building was quiet when Dick arrived. He landed silently on the roof, weaving his way past the large, still crane and cargo boxes scattered around. He took out a few armed guards before they even realized he was there, but other than that, there really wasn’t anything of note. He approached an elevator entrance that would bring him down to the lower levels and likely to where Penguin was stashing his weapons, finding that the security was simple enough to hack his way into.

But he’d only started to crack it when the long, narrow end of an umbrella jabbed forcefully into his lower spine, bringing him to a knee. He started to reach for an escrima stick, but he paused when the barrel of a gun came to rest against his temple.

“One more move, bird boy, and your brains will be splattered all over this rooftop,” Oswald Cobblepot snarled from behind him. He then moved his black umbrella so it was across his captive’s throat, cutting off his airway. “You and Batman have been taking from me all night. Now it’s my turn to take from ‘im! And you are just the perfect payment for all I’ve been losing because of you two! You’re in my territory now, boy. You should ‘ave been more careful.”

“Aw, I didn’t know you valued me that much, Oz,” Dick managed to chuckle. “I’m flattered, truly.” Despite his predicament, he smirked to himself. Penguin had confirmed exactly what he’d wanted him to about this being his main hideout, and with as well as he knew the stout, rotund man, he was certain he wouldn’t be able to keep from gloating to Batman about capturing him. And with his tracker on him, it would lead Bruce straight to him and the last of his weapons, enabling them to be able to take Penguin’s operation down completely. This wasn’t exactly the way he was planning on going about it, but he’d run with it instead of fighting his way out.

He’d let Cobblepot have his fun. But really, this couldn’t have worked out any more perfectly.

Chapter Text

“Good news. I found Oz.” Dick spoke into a camera shoved into his face that had a computer monitor set up at the other safe house locations. With the intel Penguin had been getting since he’d been with his captor, Bruce would surely get this live call. “He’s right where we want him.”

He braced himself as Cobblepot’s fist connected with his jaw at the bit of a jab while the henchman in front of him took a few steps back to reveal that the vigilante was tied to a chair, at their mercy, while Penguin loomed threateningly over his shoulder. His head dropped to his chest. It hadn’t been a bad hit.

“Cocky little bastard,” Oswald growled, grabbing his hostage’s black hair at the back of his head and roughly yanking it back up. Dick winced despite himself, his neck aching from the rough treatment. “You always did need to learn a little respect.” He then looked at the camera directly, the heel of the bottle stuck around his left eye catching the light almost ominously, and shoved Dick’s head away again just as roughly. “You been takin’ from me all night, Batman. It’s time I did a little takin’ of my own! I’ve got your boy here, your little prodigal son. You know what to do if you want him back, Batman. But I can’t guarantee you he’ll still be breathin’ by then. So you’d better hurry if you want to see him alive!”

When Penguin’s voice dropped dangerously on the last threat, Dick quickly looked up at the camera again. “B, I’m fine!” he said. He sold it pretty well, he thought. Just enough of an urgent edge without being too panicked. Besides, he could handle a little rough handling by Oswald and his thugs until Bruce got there. Because he would come, there was no way he wouldn’t. He knew his adopted father wouldn’t leave him to die at Penguin’s hands. “Don’t worry about me. I—!”

But he was interrupted when the long, narrow end of Cobblepot’s black umbrella connected squarely with the center of his chest, and all the air rushed out of his lungs as he tried to take a full breath but wasn’t quite able to. Penguin chuckled, brushing some of the hanging strands of hair out of his face almost tenderly— so Bruce would be able to have a better view of his pain, no doubt— before he turned to the camera over his shoulder, a wide grin on his face.

“Time’s a wastin’ for him, Batman,” he sneered. The short man then nodded to the henchman holding the camera for the broadcast, signaling for him to shut it off, which he did abruptly.

Dick coughed a few times when he was finally able to start drawing in fuller breaths, and he flinched away when Cobblepot patted him hard on the same cheek he’d punched earlier. “You did well, boy. You’re a natural, the camera loves you,” he taunted with a boisterous laugh. “Don’t worry, this’ll be over soon. There’s no chance that Batman won’t come for you. And when ‘e does, well, I’ll hit two birds with one stone, then, won’ I? You’ll both regret takin’ from me. So just sit tight and relax for just a little bit longer! Until then.”

A moment passed before Dick raised his head again to see all the thugs that had spread around the spacious room busying themselves with menial tasks had all started to gather around them. Some were cracking their knuckles, some were rolling out their arms and necks, but every gaze was resting solely, almost ravenously, on him. They were ready to tear him apart.

Penguin turned to them all with a cruel smirk. “Have your fun, boys!” he told them. “But remember, he breathes until the Bat gets here. As soon as he does, I’ll kill ‘im myself! Batman deserves to see the light stolen from his boy’s eyes after all ‘e’s taken from me tonight.”

The group around them cheered as Oswald wandered away, cackling all the while.

“There are much more fun ways to pass the time than this, surely,” Dick supplied lightly as one of the larger men first accepted their boss’s invitation and approached him.

The comms link in his ear crackled ever so slightly. “Hang on, Dick. I’m coming for you.”

But whatever shred of comfort he’d gained from his adopted father’s quiet, calm reassurance left him when the large fist connected solidly with the side of his head, causing his vision to sway and darken dangerously.

“My brother’s in prison because of you,” the man snapped, leaning close to his face. “I’d watch that mouth of yours if I were you, boy.”

Dick took a few deep breaths to try to reorient himself before he chuckled. “Yeah, well, I’m sure he deserved it,” he muttered. He braced himself for the next strike, which landed on his stomach. He never had been great at taking those sorts of directions.

And so it continued, the thugs taking turns using him as a punching bag, landing strikes and kicks on whatever part of him they could reach, taking out their pent up anger and frustration from years of having him and Batman and Robin ruin their lives on him. All the while, he was forced to listen to the laughter and jeering at his expense, hearing them saying how “the young ones can take it” while they watched on. And he could take it, especially since he could tell that they were all holding back a bit due to the fear of what Penguin would do if they took things too far. This was definitely the least pleasant part of letting himself get captured so Batman would be brought right to Cobblepot’s hideout, but he’d continue to play his part until his mentor got there. He was just grateful that he was set up with the way too big, garish portrait of Oswald Cobblepot standing over a fallen Batman, the vigilante’s head beneath his foot, behind him— having to look at that massive eyesore would have been a special torture all its own.

“How do you like this, Nightwing?” one of the men in front of him taunted. He swung one of his own escrima sticks he gripped tightly, grinning when it connected solidly with the side of his captive’s face. “All us scumbags right here, messing up your pretty face, and you can’t do nothin’ about it!”

“Yeah, I bet it’s just eatin’ you up, huh, Mr. Hero?” another thug added.

The first man backhanded him with the escrima stick, the blow landing on the other side of his face this time. Dick’s head dropped as he took a moment to compose himself while the pain slowly died down. He chuckled. “I wouldn’t expend too much energy on forming words,” he said. He wasn’t going to give any of these henchmen the satisfaction of seeing him in pain, especially pain inflicted on him by his own weapon, though that definitely stung his pride a little. No, instead, he was going to grin, bear, and quip his way through this. “That double negative already shows you might be exerting too much, that was painful. You’re going to need that energy later.”

The weapon struck the left side of his head once again before connecting with his chest, causing him to gasp for breath. “I don’t think you understand that you ain’t getting outta this, you little punk! You’re gonna die in here! And the boss man is going to take so much pleasure in ending your pathetic little life.”

Another man who hadn’t hit him in a while laughed. “Damn. There’s nothing like beatin’ on Batman’s friends.”

“You know, I’m sensing some hostility here,” Dick muttered, going back to work on loosening the knot that secured his hands behind the chair now that he could focus a bit more because the ringing in his ears was dying down. Slow, discreet so these idiots wouldn’t notice, but sure. He wanted to be prepared for when his mentor arrived, and it was easier to work on without Penguin hovering over him. “You guys got enough fiber in your diet?”

Another thug took the escrima stick and rammed him in the ribs with it. Dick clenched his teeth, finding it a little harder that time to keep a pained sound that wanted to escape back. That hit was well placed and had some real force behind it. It just sucked more that it came from his own weapon. “You think you’re a comedian?!” he snapped. “We can beat you all night long, Nightwing! We don’t get tired!”

Dick grinned when he got his breath back, at least mostly. “Oh, so this is a beating?” he asked lightly. “I wish you’d had said somethin’. You guys want me to act like I’m hurt?”

One of the men who was further away stormed up and wrapped his large hand around his neck, squeezing tightly. “You gonna let him talk to us like that?” he roared. “Go on, hit him!”

The escrima stick connected with his ribs again. Hard. At least they didn’t know how to charge it.

“Harder!”

It connected with his ribs yet again, and this time, he couldn’t stop a pained whimper from breaking through his lips, impeded by the fingers crushing his windpipe.

“Son of a bitch!”

The man holding him landed a punch on the side of his head, and Dick’s vision faded for a moment as his chin dropped against his chest. The thug released his throat, and Dick coughed forcefully as air rushed back into his body. His eyes fell closed as they began to water a little, the world around him spinning violently.

… Bruce…

“Hey, ease up!” another one of the men chided. “Boss wants to finish this one off himself, remember?”

“Right.” The man who’d been choking him grabbed strands of his black hair and yanked his head up to face him. “Hear that, Nightwing? We’re gonna keep you alive for a little bit longer.”

Dick opened his eyes, glad the thin line of tears had vanished, and mustered up a smile for him. “More stimulating conversation,” he deadpanned, defiant as always. “Great.” He didn’t make a sound as his head was shoved away.

“Aw, lemme hit him, please?” the man with the escrima stick implored, frustrated as he began to aim for the vigilante’s temple.

“Hey! What did I just say?” the thug who’d spoken up for him a minute ago, just to keep him alive for Cobblepot, snapped, setting a hand on his arm to stop his comrade.

The first thug gave a long suffering sigh. “I know, I know, the boss wants him alive,” he groaned. He nearly pouted. Dick would have chuckled, but self-preservation was finally starting to kick in, and he continued working on loosening the knot around his wrists instead. “It’s just his face, it’s so… hitable!” He aimed the weapon at the vigilante’s forehead.

“Look at it this way,” the other man tried to console him. “It’s something to look forward to. Right before the boss man ends him.”

“Yeah, I guess so…”

Dick couldn’t say he wasn’t relieved that it seemed like Penguin’s thugs were backing off, at least for a little bit. A break would be much appreciated, if anything so he could get further with the knot around his wrists, which he could feel beginning to give.

“Be ready.”

The sound of the barely heard, whispered voice in his comms link caused him to pause. Dick strained his ears to be able to hear what his mentor was saying over the loud sound of the thugs chattering.

“I’m here.”

Dick couldn’t stop the smirk from tugging up the corner of his lips. He pulled at the knot a little more, feeling the rope loosen from around his wrists. He didn’t budge an inch, not wanting to give that away. Show time.

“What are you smirking about, pretty boy?” the man with his escrima stick demanded, approaching him again. “What are you even doing here? You got no reason being in this city! This is our city!”

The vigilante tilted his head slightly. “Oh yeah? That so?”

What happened next happened so fast Penguin’s men couldn’t even comprehend it, not right away.

The portrait of Oswald Cobblepot shattered, splinters of wood flying in every direction, as Batman burst through, heading straight for Nightwing. Dick pulled his arms as loose as he could get them, bracing himself as Bruce grabbed the back of the chair he was trapped in and swung around so he was in front of him in one fluid motion. In the brief second they had, the two vigilantes exchanged a knowing look— Bruce expressing what he was about to do, Dick showing he understood. It wasn’t the first time they’d done something like this to get him out of a similar situation. He could do it.

His adopted father then flipped the chair back over his head, the impact causing it to implode as Dick pulled his arms free and rolled through, picking up his escrima sticks Penguin’s thug had dropped in panic before he came to a stop crouched on one knee. He smirked back at Bruce as he charged his electric weapons. It felt good to have them in his hands again.

“Knew you’d show up eventually, B.”

Bruce met his gaze but didn’t have a chance to say a word before the henchmen swarmed them. Dick kneed the man who approached him forcefully in the stomach before knocking him out with one of his escrima sticks. He then hit the tips of both of them together, sending an electric shock out to the few thugs surrounding him and taking them out. He smiled, working with Bruce to knock out a couple larger brutes. There was something just a little satisfying about a bit of karmic payback after having taken the abuse from them while tied to a chair.

It didn’t take them long to clear the rest of the room, Dick throwing one of his charged escrima sticks over Bruce’s shoulder, where it connected with the last man’s forehead as he was rushing at his mentor from behind.

“Are you all right?” Bruce asked quietly after the thug went down.

“Ah, yeah, just some bumps and bruises, I’ll live,” Dick answered, wiping away some blood at the corner of his mouth. He rolled out his neck, bending over to grab the escrima stick he’d thrown before putting both weapons back in their proper spots on his back. “They were softening me up but saving me for Oz, so they didn’t show me their worst.”

“What did you think you were doing coming here alone?” Bruce demanded.

Dick sighed at the other vigilante’s change in tone. “Y’know, a thank you for finding this place would be nice,” he muttered. “I knew what I was doing, B. You should be happy, this is Penguin’s last cache, and where he’s been hiding out. This was our chance to get him. Cobblepot’s finished. We prevented a lot of weapons from getting out onto the street tonight. That’s not a bad thing.”

Bruce turned to face him. “We still need to find him,” he pointed out.

“Honestly, he’s probably not too far,” Dick muttered. “He wanted to be around to kill me himself when you showed up. If he were smarter, he’d probably have taken off, but who knows?”

His adopted father stiffened ever so slightly before he looked away, approaching the cache to detonate it as he had the others. Dick dropped to a crouch, the position a bit easier on his sore ribs, as he stretched his still stiff arms out a bit. The sooner Bruce did away with the cache, the sooner they could leave, and he could work with Tim and Alfred to find Barbara.

He would later blame his head still being faintly fuzzy from the hits he’d sustained while held captive for hearing the shuffling behind him a split second too late. Before he could grab his escrima sticks or call out in warning to Bruce, who’d just shut the vault door to be able to take out the cache, a black umbrella was resting in front of his throat and pulling him back against its owner's round body. He nearly lost his balance before realizing the barrel of a gun was resting against his temple. Again.

Oswald Cobblepot cackled, looking down at the younger vigilante. “Well, now ain’t this cozy!” He grinned as Bruce turned to face them. “You really need to keep an eye on your boy here, Batman. ‘E’s a bit too careless for my liking. Or maybe just careless enough for me to get my hands on ‘im!”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he made his way toward the short, rotund man, stopping abruptly when Penguin applied pressure with the umbrella, causing Dick to whimper as it cut off his airway. He pressed the gun harder against the side of his captive’s head.

“Not so fast, Batman. Come any closer, even just one more step, and you get to see the contents of ‘is head!” Cobblepot taunted. He looked down at Dick. “Although, your boy here is an acceptable payment for all you’ve taken from me tonight, wouldn’t you say?”

Dick struggled to get a full breath in, grimacing when he was unable to. He looked up at Bruce through the black spots starting to obscure his vision. “... B…” he managed to gasp out.

It only caused Penguin to laugh. “That’s right, you’re about to suck down your last breath, boy, if I let you. I’d make sure you say goodbyes if I were you. If you can, that is!” He turned his cruel gaze to the older vigilante. “You ‘ear that, Batman?! Your boy is mine! You’re gonna wish you never messed with me! You’ve ripped me off one too many times tonight. Now it’s my turn! Nobody takes from Penguin. You hear me?! Nobody!” He pushed the barrel of the gun harder against Dick’s head, starting to pull back on the trigger.

A couple things happened in quick succession then— it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, Dick reasoned, though to him, it had felt so much longer. But as soon as Cobblepot’s trigger finger twitched, making his intentions for the younger vigilante clear, Bruce lunged in a swirl of fury and black cape, covering the distance between them effortlessly. Dick instinctively moved down as far as he could, despite the umbrella at his throat, just as the gun went off. His eyes widened, feeling the heat and rush of air through his hair as the bullet missed his head by inches, the sound causing his ear to ring as he dropped to the ground, coughing forcefully as air rushed back into his lungs. Above him, Bruce tackled Penguin hard into the floor, the smaller man screaming out in pain and surprise before the long, narrow end of his own umbrella was rammed forcefully into his chest.

“What are you doing?!” Oswald demanded angrily, though also with a dash of fear. “Get the bloody ‘ell off me, you freak!”

Dick willed his racing heart to slow from that call that was way too close as he propped himself up on an arm to watch his adopted father beat down Cobblepot. But something felt off as he watched him strike the rotund man with his umbrella a second, a third time, as he landed a forceful blow to his good eye, as he took the umbrella and pressed down on his neck with it. He watched as Penguin’s face began to turn red from being unable to breathe as his cries were abruptly cut off, as he struggled underneath the weight of Batman.

Memories from when he’d been younger, captured by Two-Face and nearly beaten to death, flashed through his mind. It was then, when Bruce had finally gotten his hands on Harvey, that he thought his adopted father had been the most terrifying he’d ever seen him. It was the only time he’d ever been afraid that the man would cross the one line he’d vowed he never would.

Until now.

“B!” His voice was still hoarse, but Dick scrambled to his feet and stumbled over to the two men. “B, no!” He fell against his mentor, wrapping his arms around his broad, strong shoulders, trying to pull him back, to ease him off Cobblepot. The smaller man’s eyes were nearly bugging out of his head, his face starting to turn an ugly purple color as he continued to thrash desperately.

Something was wrong. Dick had never seen the extreme rage that was now on Bruce’s face before as he applied even more pressure to Penguin’s neck. He appeared to not even be thinking about it, some deeper, more carnal instinct taking over instead. And maybe it was the lighting in the hideout, but he could have sworn Bruce’s eyes appeared more green than blue as they glared furiously down at Oswald.

He pulled on him with as much strength as he could muster, but the older vigilante hardly budged, too focused on his mission— which was apparently to take out Penguin for good. “B, stop!” he tried imploring again. “B, I’m all right, I promise. C’mon, enough. Oz isn’t worth it. Please, don’t do this!”

When his efforts still weren’t enough to get through to him, he sighed in resignation before slapping Bruce across the face as hard as he could. “Batman, stop!”

For a moment, it appeared that did the trick as his adopted father blinked with surprise and eased most of the pressure off Cobblepot’s neck. Immediately, the smaller man started gasping and spluttering greedily for air. Dick let out the quietest sigh of relief.

But then, Bruce turned that rage-filled gaze to Dick, who stumbled back away from him a bit, instinctively reaching for one of his escrima sticks. Just in case. “B, enough!” he snapped. “Damn it, it’s me!”

His mentor glared at him for a moment longer before he closed his eyes and put a hand to his head, shaking it briefly. He grimaced, pulling further away from Penguin but keeping a knee on his chest to ensure he stayed put as he tossed the umbrella far away from him. Bruce took a few deep breaths before opening his eyes again, and Dick lowered his arm and relaxed a bit when he saw his eyes were their normal bright, smoky blue. The terrifying rage was gone.

Bruce cleared his throat as he looked down at Oswald, who was now trying in vain to angrily get away from him, cursing up a storm while doing so. “Right. Let’s finish this,” he said calmly, pulling out the detonator for the cache. In all the craziness of the past few minutes, Dick forgot that he hadn’t even blown it up yet.

Cobblepot started struggling even more when he saw it, trying to reach for the detonator but coming up short. “No! Stop!” he yelled hoarsely. “I’ll kill you!”

But Bruce seemed unbothered by his threats, frowning angrily down at him as he hit the button, the last cache going up in flames behind him.

“You bastard!” Penguin roared. “I swear to God, you better finish what you were trying to start and kill me, Batman. Otherwise, I’m gonna kill your boy, then I’m gonna kill you! I’m gonna—!”

But Dick would never know what else Penguin was going to do, because his mentor punched him in the temple, knocking him out cold.

“Y’know,” Dick muttered, dropping to sit on the floor as he coughed a couple more times. “I was just gonna suggest you do that.”

Bruce didn’t respond as he rose to his feet, turning to face him. He then walked over to where he was sitting, holding a hand out to him. The younger vigilante sighed before he accepted it, allowing him to pull him to his feet. He leaned against his adopted father for a brief moment until he felt steady on his feet. “So, I’m assuming this is the part where you finish telling me off, right? Though after the shit you just pulled with Oz, I don’t think—!”

“I’m proud of you, Dick.”

It took Dick a second to wrap his mind around what Bruce had just said. That was the last thing he’d been expecting to hear. “Are… are you feeling okay?” he asked. Though with whatever he’d just seen in his violent display against Penguin, he didn’t think the answer was yes.

Bruce met his gaze, and Dick froze under the intensity of it. Something still wasn’t quite right, he just wasn’t sure what. “This is it,” his mentor continued quietly, seeming to come to some sort of silent conclusion as he took a step away from him. “This is the last time we’ll meet.”

Dick’s brow furrowed as he followed him, taking that same step closer to him. “Hey, B, don’t talk like that,” he said, a jolt of anxiety coursing through him. “We’ve had our rough patches, but that doesn’t matter. I’m still here. I’m not planning on leaving until this is all over. And all that’s going on tonight? It’s not your first time dealing with Crane, and we’ve dealt with the likes of the Arkham Knight before. This won’t stop you. Nothing stops you. And whatever’s going on with you…? We’ll figure that out, too.”

The rage on Bruce’s face, the odd green glint in his eyes he may or may not have actually seen, as he’d nearly strangled the life out of Penguin flashed through his mind. It didn’t matter what that was. They could figure it out, he was sure of it.

“Keep Blüdhaven safe. Help protect Gotham when she needs it. Promise me, Dick.” Bruce’s voice was almost gentle.

The younger vigilante was about to make another lighthearted quip to try to ease some of the tension that was settling in the room, to try to ease his anxiety. But something in Bruce’s tone, something that contained an edge of anxiety of his own, gave him pause. This didn’t sound like the man he’d grown up with. Something was undoubtedly amiss, there was something the billionaire wasn’t sharing with him. Something important, something detrimental. But he had his doubts that he would tell him, despite how a not so small part of him wanted his adopted father to assure him that things were okay.

“I won’t let you down, Bruce.”

“I know you won’t,” Bruce replied. “You never have.”

Dick wasn’t sure about how complimentary Bruce was being, not because he didn’t appreciate hearing it, but because it wasn’t normal for him to be. Not like this. Deep down, this felt like it was some strange sort of goodbye. He didn’t like it. “B, please, tell me what’s going on,” he implored gently, stepping closer to him. “I’m here, I can help you with what you’re dealing with. We can get through whatever it is together.”

A moment passed before Bruce dropped his gaze. “Dick, there’s… something you have to know,” he said. A few different emotions flitted across his face, almost as though he was in conflict with himself about how to proceed. Or even if he wanted to tell him.

“What is it?” Dick wondered patiently. “I’m here, Bruce.”

But something began to gnaw away at him when his mentor refused to look at him, even when he reached out and set a gloved hand on his arm. He tried to ignore how Bruce struggled not to flinch away from his touch.

“It’s about Barbara.”

Dread struck Dick’s heart as he slowly lowered his arm. “What… what about her?” he stammered. That hadn’t been what he expected him to say. “Is she…?”

“She’s dead.”

Dick staggered back away from him, the breath knocked out of him as if he’d been punched in the chest. His mind crashed to a halt. He shook his head. No. That was impossible. She couldn’t be… “N-no… you’re wrong, Bruce, she…”

“I’m sorry, Dick.” Bruce’s quiet voice remained even, matter-of-fact. “I was there. She…” He paused. “Scarecrow was punishing me. He killed her. Barbara’s dead because of me…” His voice wavered ever so slightly, so much so that the younger man nearly missed it. “I’m sorry this hurts you, too. That you’re caught in this crossfire. None of this should have happened. To either of you.”

Barbara’s dead.

Those were the words he heard the loudest as the ground seemed to drop out from under him, leaving him untethered to anything. He couldn’t see anything around him, couldn’t hear anything else. The words didn’t make any sense. How could she be dead when he’d trusted Bruce when he’d said he’d get her back safely…?

He felt his adopted father lingering close, somehow too close yet too far. He felt his gloved hand firmly grasp his shoulder, trying to ground him. Each heartbeat didn’t feel right, it hurt to breathe. “You… you said you’d…” But he couldn’t seem to string together any more words than that.

No, it wasn’t possible. She couldn’t be…

He sat tucked in a dark corner of the spacious museum foyer, knees pulled up to his chest, to get away from all the people fawning over him, to get away from all the meaningless noise. It was all just too much. He understood why his new guardian was expected to be at these sort of charity functions, but he didn’t see why he couldn’t have just stayed home with Alfred. He really didn’t understand all the fuss about him being Bruce Wayne’s orphan case. It’s not like he’d asked for any of this— he hadn’t asked for his parents to die, for the billionaire to be put in a position to take him in. And besides, the suit Alfred had tailored for him still felt much too suffocating compared to what he was used to wearing in front of a crowd. This was a performance he was woefully unprepared for.

“So. You’re the one Bruce is frantically searching for, huh?”

He quickly looked up, seeing a girl who appeared to be around his age in a long-sleeved purple dress and black Converse with her red hair pulled up in a ponytail looking back at him studiously. He thought he remembered seeing her come in with Commissioner Jim Gordan earlier. “He’s that worried about me?” he wondered.

“I don’t know why he wouldn’t be. You just sort of took off when he was cornered by old Ms. Contwell.”

He made a face. “Her perfume smells funny, it’s way too strong,” he said. “And she kept pinching my cheeks too hard and saying weird things about me.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “She’s been on Bruce for years, I don’t know how he puts up with it,” she replied. “Him oh so selflessly taking an orphan in probably only made her love him even more. Sorry that the weirdness seems like it’s going to rub off on you, too. That’s unfortunate.”

He looked away. He could hear that she wasn’t being too serious aside from her regret that this woman was going to be his problem now, too. Which he appreciated, but it also just made him dread what he’d have to end up putting up with as Bruce’s ward even more. There were some people like Ms. Contwell who’d come to see the circus when they traveled, too, but this seemed different somehow, like something different was expected of him. “It’s… okay, I can deal with people like her, I have for a long time,” he muttered, peeking back up at her. “Are there… more people like her at these things?”

“Oh, yeah. Being a hot, young, billionaire bachelor like Bruce will get you that sort of attention.” She raised her hands defensively when he arched a questioning eyebrow at her. “So say all the widowed or divorced socialites. That’s not coming from me. But I can try to help keep ‘em away from you at these things if you’d like.”

“I think I’d like that a lot.” He chuckled before it trailed off with a sigh. “I suppose I should go find Bruce so he stops worrying about me, huh?”

She gave him a thoughtful look. “Sure. You probably should. Or.” He glanced up when a hint of mischief entered her voice. “I can show you where they’re hiding the ice cream for later while we look at the restored T-Rex skeleton they’re planning to unveil tonight.” She grinned, the look matching his as she held her hand out to him. “I’m Barbara Gordon, by the way.”

He took her hand, letting her pull him to his feet. “Dick. Dick Grayson.”

Dick hissed and pulled away from Bruce, not even able to look at him. “You said you’d… you’d get her back safely…” he whispered. “You said…” He turned back to him, his eyes narrowed. “You were there? Yet you didn’t save her…?”

“I’m sorry. I tried.” While Bruce fought to keep his voice even, there was still a slight waver to it. “Damn it, Dick, I tried. I wish I could have gotten through to her… I wish it had been me instead.”

“How?” It was a question that Dick didn’t really want to ask or know the answer to, but part of him had to. “How did she…? How did Crane…?”

Bruce’s gaze faltered. “Crane’s fear toxin,” he told him. “There was a gun. She shot at me first, she was afraid of me, but she couldn’t hit me because she was locked in a containment cell. So she… took the gun and…”

He ran down the hospital hallway until he came to the door that he’d been directed to, not even hesitating as he reached out and opened it. “Babs?”

Barbara was leaning propped up against the gently inclined bed, her gaze resting blankly on the television across from her. But when she heard his voice, a small smile appeared on her still paler face. “Hey, Boy Wonder.” Her eyes narrowed in confusion when she saw the balloon in his hand. “What…?”

He glanced sheepishly up at the red, heart shaped balloon with the words “Get well soon xoxo” printed on both sides. “Hey, so, when I swung by the gift shop, this was the only design they hadn’t run out of, and I guess I thought it was better than nothing. Sorry.” He shut the door behind him with his foot before letting go of the balloon, watching as it bobbed along the ceiling, directed by the slowly circulating fan above. “Anyway. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, you know. They’ve got me on some heavy duty pain meds, so I’m not feeling much of anything right now,” she told him. “But… not being able to move my legs is still quite a thing to get adjusted to.”

His face fell. Barbara was one of the strongest women he knew, he hated that this had happened to her. He’d seen a couple of the pictures Joker had taken of her after he’d shot her in the spine, even though he was certain Bruce hadn’t wanted him to, and it all just made him so angry, so sick. There’d only been one other time where he’d felt such a strong urge to take a life, and that was when he’d gone after Tony Zucco, the man who’d killed his parents. He wanted to do the same to Joker now, there wasn’t a day that’d gone by since he’d attacked his best friend where he hadn’t thought about it in great depth, which is why his adopted father was benching him as Robin for a little while unless he was absolutely needed. He hated it, but he understood why— he had to bring himself back under control, and that helped him cope with it a bit easier.

Seeing Barbara like this now, though…

Well, no, she still looked like his best friend he loved so dearly, no matter how frustrated and worn down she appeared. That will, that strength, was still in her, he could feel that. That’s something the clown hadn’t been able to take from her.

Her smile broadened slightly when she noticed that he was also carrying a brown paper gift bag. “Whatcha got there, Dick?”

“Oh, this?” He glanced down at what he was carrying before he smiled. “Just a couple things to make my best friend in the whole world smile,” he answered. He approached the bed and sat in the chair beside it, starting to dig through the bag. “So first off, there were some beautiful bouquets to choose from in the gift shop. But there was also an incredibly pleasant woman selling plants on the corner about a block or two down, so I figured I’d stop there instead. And I think this fits you a lot better, anyway.”

Barbara’s curious look melted into a smile as she saw the potted plant. “Feed me, Seymour,” she joked.

He grinned back at her. “Thought you might do better with your own little Audrey instead of, like, roses or lilies,” he replied, setting the Venus flytrap on the table near her head. “There. That should get some sun.”

“Thanks, Dick. I love it. Really,” Barbara muttered, her smile lingering. She’d only recently made him sit with her and watch Little Shop of Horrors, one of her favorite musicals, after a patrol one night since he’d never seen it before. Plus, this took the misery off herself a bit and gave her something to take care of. “I’ll do my best to keep her alive.”

“You’re capable, I’m sure you’ll take good care of her.” He continued through the bag. “I also got ya a couple solve-your-own mystery puzzle books in case you, y’know, get tired of watching TV all day,” he continued. “And I know you’re gonna burn through these like nothing, so this is just a start. You can always let me know when or if you want more of ‘em.”

“You know me too well.” Barbara eagerly took the three books he held out to her, setting them on the bed next to her. There was no doubt she was going to start on these as soon as her visitor left. She was already starting to get tired of the CSI, Law and Order, Supernatural, and Modern Family reruns.

“Your favorite.” He held up four bags of sour gummy worms.

“Oh, my God, you are an absolute lifesaver,” Barbara told him, tearing open the one he handed her as he set the others within easy reach on the table next to her plant. “The food is the worst part of being here. Other than, y’know, all the testing that never says anything different.” Her gaze fell. Her mobility was one problem sour gummy worms weren’t going to be able to help her solve, like they did nearly every other one.

But then, she noticed that he was still gazing into the gift bag, seeming almost a little hesitant. “What is it?” she wondered.

He quickly looked up at her with a quiet chuckle. “Oh, nothing,” he muttered. “There’s, uh, there’s just one more little thing in here.”

Barbara arched an eyebrow. “Is it worse than the heart balloon?” she teased lightly, offering him the bag of candy.

He broke out in a grin as he took one of the gummy worms, but slight color rose to his cheeks. “No, not as bad as the heart balloon,” he said. “It’s just, uh… well, it’s stupid, now that I look at it…”

“I doubt that,” Barbara replied. “You can show me.”

He let out a long breath, stuffing the gummy worm in his mouth to buy himself a moment. “All right. So.”

Barbara watched as he reached into the bag and pulled out the last little gift, and her heart melted when she saw the small, stuffed robin. “Thought it might be a fun little inside joke,” he told her sheepishly. “It is really soft, though, so it has that going for it. And it tweets if you squeeze it.” He paused to demonstrate. “Which will probably get annoying fast. So there’s that. But y’know what they say. Robins mean good luck.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle, cradling the robin close and making it lightly tweet again. His comment about robins being good luck brought her back to a couple weeks before when the two of them had scoured the abandoned Seagate Amusement Park when Joker and Harley Quinn had taken her father and his unit hostage in some crazy plan to kill both her and Robin to cure Batman of his “baby brain” for a twisted Valentine’s Day gift. Apparently the clown had missed the vigilante, claiming he hadn’t been himself since he’d gotten sidekicks.

But then, her gaze faltered when Joker’s parting threat to her after she’d tackled her best friend out of the way of a bullet the clown had fired his way echoed in her mind. “Next one’s for you, kiddo!” He didn’t know her secret identity, but damn. His words had been right on, even though he had just gotten lucky…

How had that been such a short time ago? How could so much have changed so drastically in such a short time? They all knew the risks when they’d signed up for this life, they knew what could happen to any of them at any time, but for something like this to happen to her… The two of them wouldn’t ever be able to work together the same way ever again, and that broke her heart.

Trying to force back the tears that were threatening to rise to her eyes, Barbara took a deep breath and smiled at him. “I don’t think it’s stupid at all,” she assured him quietly. “I could use a good luck charm with all this, really. Besides, it’s like having a tiny you with me to keep me company. Besides the part of you that’s with me at all times, of course.” She absently reached up to the necklace she never took off, her fingers brushing over the cool metal of the pendant. A blue and white striped circus tent with a golden “FG” in the middle, the silhouettes of a pair of acrobats soaring through the air on either side of it— the symbol of the Flying Graysons.

She initially hadn’t been able to accept it when he’d first given it to her for her birthday a couple years before— not because she didn’t love it, she did, she’d always been in awe of what the Flying Graysons had been able to do in their performances— but because of what it meant to him. Before he’d offered it to her, he’d always worn it himself, never taking it off. He’d told her that the night his parents were killed, another performer had given it to him before he’d been taken by Gordon and Bruce so that he would always remember Haly’s and would have a piece of John and Mary with him in his new life. But he’d insisted, wanting to share this part of himself, his heart, with her because of how much their friendship meant to him. He’d entrusted her with it, and she’d promised to keep it safe for him.

Hearing how her voice broke a bit on the last sentence, he frowned as he reached out and took her hand at the necklace. “I’m here, Babs.” He gently rubbed the back of her hand with his calloused thumb when he felt her grasp his tightly.

“I know, and I’ve never doubted that.” Barbara rubbed at her eyes when a couple stubborn tears escaped despite her best efforts. “I’m just… so tired already of people looking at me with pity. It’s not like I can tell anybody I used to be Batgirl, but… I don’t think that’s a look I can ever get used to… I don’t think I could deal with seeing that look from you…”

He tightened his hold on her hand. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he told her. “You, Bruce, and Alfie are the only ones who never looked at me with pity after my parents died. And…” He sighed. “I know this is a huge change. I mean, you’ve been told you’re probably never going to walk again. That would be devastating for anyone to hear. But you’re one of the strongest people I know, Babs. Stronger than me, I don’t know if I’d be handling all this as gracefully as you. If it was me, I’d be an absolute headache to everyone around me.” But he did mean it when he said how much of a mess he would be. Being grounded would kill him.

He paused with a quiet chuckle as she squeezed the robin to make it tweet in agreement. “You’d be insufferable,” she lamented.

“Shut up. Anyway.” His smile lingered as he laced his fingers lightly through hers. “I know you, Babs. If anyone is going to figure out the way forward, it’s you. You’re still going to kick my ass in this team of ours. You’ll find the best way to help people as you always do, this won’t stop you from that. I’m not going to be Robin without you, I refuse.”

Barbara smiled, scooting closer to the edge of the bed and resting her head against his strong arm. “And I’m not going to let you, you’re absolutely still stuck with me,” she mumbled, closing her eyes. “Y’know I love ya, Boy Wonder.”

He smiled down at her, softly kissing the top of her head before resting his chin on top of it. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he told her just as quietly, his own eyes drooping closed. “Love ya, too, Babs.”

“Crane made her… shoot…?” Dick couldn’t finish the question, he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He’d seen Barbara at her lowest point after Joker had shot and paralyzed her. He’d held her hand when she’d struggled, but she’d never broken. Not completely. She’d been too determined to keep fighting. He understood Scarecrow’s new fear toxin was potent, dangerous. They hadn’t come into contact with it before. But to cause her to…

Bruce’s gaze faltered. “I’m sorry, Dick. I would have preferred it if she’d been able to shoot me like she tried first. But as Alfred said, we can’t let her death be for nothing. I’ll carry it with me for the rest of my life, it’s my fault that I couldn’t save her. But I promise you, I will stop Crane. He won’t get away with killing her, Dick.”

But that won’t bring her back.

Dick remembered the words that Bruce had told him when he’d been nine years old and angry about what had happened to his parents and had wanted Tony Zucco to suffer, to die, for killing them. His adopted father had set him on his knee, patient as he’d sobbed, lashed out, cursed, everything he could do with that rage in him before holding him to his broad chest when he’d worn himself out. At the time, those strong arms, that steady heartbeat, had been a comfort as the billionaire had told him that Zucco’s death wouldn’t bring his parents back. Those words had been true then— no matter what had happened to Zucco, his parents still wouldn’t be alive. They were true now— no matter what happened with Crane tonight, it wouldn’t bring Barbara back to him.

He was completely drained, empty. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

“When… when did she…?” he began to ask instead, no feeling in his tone anymore.

But when his mentor was quiet for just a little too long, Dick slowly turned to face him, his stomach plummeting. “B, when?” he pressed.

Again, Bruce couldn’t quite look at him. “After I went to Stagg’s airships.”

Dick started shaking as his breath left him. That was… so long ago… or so it felt… “You son of a bitch!” he yelled hoarsely. He wasn’t quite sure where this ferocity was coming from, but he couldn’t stop it. “I’ve been working with you all this time, and you’re just telling me about her now?!”

“I knew how you would react.” Bruce was infuriatingly calm. He shouldn’t have been. Maybe part of him thought he deserved this anger. Maybe he did. “You could have gotten hurt, Dick. You could’ve done something dangerous.”

“I don’t care.” And the truth was, he really didn’t. Maybe that should have been concerning to him, but he truly couldn’t bring himself to care. “She’s my girlfriend, Bruce. I was going to…” He let out a shuddering breath. His plans, what he’d wanted and hoped for, the future he was going to ask Barbara to share with him after the craziness of this occupation was over, none of it mattered. “You don’t get to decide for me, not anymore! You should have told me! How could you?!”

When his adopted father said nothing to his outburst, Dick ran a hand slowly down his face as he turned away, dropping to a crouch. He hung his head, closing his eyes tightly against the hot tears that still managed to leak out down his cheeks. Everything hurt, he was breathing too quickly to get a proper one, his head was pounding, his body shuddered.

He felt more than heard as Bruce approached him, close enough to offer a comforting reassurance but not touching him, which he was grateful for. He didn’t think he could handle that right now. Not from him.

“Crane has made it clear that he’s targeting my family tonight,” the older vigilante said matter-of-factly. “That means you and Tim could be targeted if either of you are out on those streets. You’re in danger as long as you’re in Gotham. Please, Dick. Go back to Blüdhaven. Now. Promise me.”

Right now, Dick didn’t want anything to do with Bruce, with Gotham. He wanted nothing more than to put it all in his rearview mirror and never look back. So that should’ve been an easy enough promise to keep.

But something nagged at him, some little detail wasn’t leaving him alone. Dick slowly lifted his head when the tears stopped, staring blankly ahead of him.

“Where is she?” he whispered.

Bruce’s brow furrowed. “A penthouse in Chinatown,” he told him.

Dick’s stomach lurched. He’d left her there. He felt sick. “Give me the address.”

His mentor sighed. “Dick, I…”

“Give me the address, Bruce,” Dick snapped. He pushed himself to his feet to face him. “She doesn’t deserve to be left there, and you know it. I’m going to go get her, I’m going to bring her somewhere safe for now, maybe the manor. Just until this madness is over. But I’m not going to leave her there, I refuse to. So give me that damn address, let me do this for her. Then I’ll go back to Blüdhaven. And then you’re right, Bruce. This’ll be it for us.”

Bruce nodded, typing something into his gauntlet. Dick glanced down at his tracking system when it pinged, seeing the location he needed to go to. “Goodbye, Dick.”

A brief moment passed before Dick turned his back on the older man. “... Goodbye, Bruce.”

It wasn’t his smoothest entrance, nearly crashing into the doorway of the clocktower after ungracefully dismounting his motorcycle. But he’d blame it on the blood flowing freely from the gunshot wound in his side and how his head was still a bit fuzzy from the blow to it he’d gotten, which he was fairly sure was also bleeding. He just really couldn’t catch a break.

He’d been doing Jason a favor when the younger vigilante had alerted him Bruce had been called away from Gotham, coming in from Blüdhaven since it sounded like Two-Face had some sort of grand heist in mind for that night. And he’d certainly tried it at one of Gotham’s main banks. The former district attorney still made him uneasy, made him hesitate, which was dangerous while out in the field. Clearly. But together they’d subdued him, which was good. His brother had fretted over his injuries, but he’d waved him off, saying he was just going to go home and tend to them while Jason took Harvey to GCPD.

And he’d tried to make it back to Blüdhaven, he really had. But he’d misjudged the toll both injuries had taken on his body, and it was very clear that he wouldn’t be able to make it all the way home in his condition. Which was unfortunate because all he really felt like doing was going to his apartment and falling asleep cuddling Haley. He was worried about missing her dinner and nightly walk— she liked to take long ones for a tripedal pitbull puppy, she almost had more energy than he usually did— but he hoped bothering his best friend wouldn’t take too long so he could get home at a decent time for her. And himself, of course.

“What the hell, ‘Wing?” Barbara’s voice crackled in his ear. Speak of the Devil. But she sounded more worried than upset, which was a positive sign. “It’s not like you to set off the security system. What’s going on?”

“S-sorry, Babs… Didn’t mean to… to almost crash…” he muttered with a breathy chuckle. “My bad…”

“Dick, are you okay?” Great. Now she sounded really worried. He hadn’t meant to do that to her. “You sound horrible. What’s wrong?”

“I… I just got roughed up a… a bit by Harvey…” he told her. “Not too bad… gunshot wound, hit to the head… but… I don’t think I can get back to Blüdhaven like this… and I couldn’t quite get out to the manor either, this was closer, so… Surprise, here I am.”

A brief moment passed before he heard the locking mechanism on the door open. “Get your ass in here. Now.”

Relieved, he opened the door and crossed the small lobby, dragging his motorcycle with him, before he hit the call button for the elevator to head up to Barbara’s residence. He leaned back against the wall after he stepped in, leaving his bike behind in the lobby since it was safe there, as his eyes fell closed, his head and side throbbing in time with his racing heart.

Had the ride up to her place always taken so long…? Though he hardly registered when the elevator came to a stop and the door grate slid open, and he stumbled as he tried to take a step forward and crashed to his knees.

“Whoa! Easy there, Dick. Take it easy.”

Barbara’s comforting voice was close, though to him, it sounded a bit fuzzy, almost like through water. He took a few shaking breaths before he opened his eyes and saw that she’d wheeled herself to a stop in front of him, her green eyes wide with concern behind her glasses. “Here, come on in. Can you stand?”

Could he? That was the real question. But he nodded, starting to push himself up. “Yeah… Course I can…”

His side flared with pain while his head spun as he made it to unsteady feet, letting her help guide him to lean against the back of her wheelchair for support. “See? I’m good…”

Barbara rolled her eyes. “Sure, Boy Wonder. Come on, let’s get you to the couch before you collapse again.”

“Lead the way…”

“That you’re not arguing with me concerns me.”

He chuckled. “Too sore… too tired… Crashing on the couch honestly sounds great…”

Barbara just hummed in response as she helped him over to the couch toward the center of the room. She moved the book she’d been reading aside and situated the throw pillow to a more comfortable position before he unceremoniously collapsed onto it. He situated himself so he was as comfortable as possible as she went to get supplies, and his weary gaze passed over the bookshelf beside him. He had to smile a little when he saw the Venus flytrap he’d gotten her a couple years ago, her little Audrey, was still going strong. The inside joke stuffed robin was stationed between the plant and a framed photo of the two of them from a weekend trip they’d taken to Metropolis for a summer boardwalk music festival when they were teenagers. His heart warmed. That had been a great three days away, he was glad Bruce hadn’t needed them to keep Gotham safe for that weekend. They’d have to do that again soon, if they could find time to steal away again. It’d probably be harder for him stationed in Blüdhaven now, but they could try.

“All right, let’s see where all that blood’s coming from.”

He removed his domino before glancing over at her as she came to a stop next to the couch, an array of materials in her lap. She appeared calm and composed, but her face was pale. He slowly eased himself up to lean against the pillow behind him, the action taking more effort than it usually would, before he began to ease out of the top of his suit so she could see the wound in his side. She hissed. Despite himself, he chuckled.

“That bad?”

“Well, it’s… not great,” Barbara told him. “Someone got you good there.”

“Yeah… Harvey’s good at that,” he muttered, his gaze faltering. He winced when she began to probe around the wound. “I… hesitated… I shouldn’t have, but…”

Barbara looked up at him, her brow furrowing in understanding. She gave his hand a squeeze, pausing when he didn’t let go for a moment. “What he did to you when you were a kid was traumatic. You almost died, Dick,” she murmured. She traced her thumb over his bruised knuckles. “That was terrifying for the rest of us, too, y’know. That doesn’t just go away.”

He sighed. “I know, but… it should, I should be better than this by now…” he said dismally. “It’s been more than long enough… I should be over this…”

She arched a challenging eyebrow, but she tightened her hold on his hand. “Is that actually how you feel, or is that B’s voice in your head?” she posed.

He met her gaze, debating over his answer. He wasn’t sure— sometimes those two things were so entwined it was like they were one and the same. “I just don’t want the same thing to happen to Jason…” he whispered instead.

Barbara gave him an encouraging smile. “You’re fine, Boy Wonder,” she told him, releasing his hand to go back to her work. “You know B doesn’t hold what Harvey did to you, and how you’ve been learning to cope with it, against you. He’s fully aware that sometimes the best way to get to him is through us. And with both of you in Jason’s corner, I’m sure he’ll be just fine.”

“Former Boy Wonder,” Dick corrected before hissing in pain at her prodding again.

"Ah. There you are.”

“I… know what you’re saying, Babs, though, really…” He looked over at her again, seeing her brow was furrowed in concentration. “I know no one holds how I feel against me, I do. I know I’m just holding myself to those expectations that I should be over it… Because how can I not make a mistake otherwise…? Hesitating led to this…” He gestured down at the wound she was looking over. “What if it had been Jason I’d failed to keep safe tonight instead of myself…? The kid can be reckless on his own, but…”

“Yes, but he called you to help him out because B’s gone tonight. He trusts you, Dick. That’s something. And besides, he’s all right.” Barbara gave him a small smile. “Good news is, you will be, too. You might have hesitated, but you still moved enough so that this isn’t as bad as it could be. Laceration’s deep, but it skimmed you, there’s no actual bullet in here.”

“Still hurts like hell.”

“And it’s about to hurt more. I’m gonna disinfect and clean it before I suture it. I’m not quite as efficient or good at it as Alfred, but it’ll do.”

“Not the first time you’ve patched me up…” Despite the warning, he still instinctively flinched away from her a bit when it stung something awful as she began to clean out the wound.

“Shh.” Barbara set her hand not far from the wound on his toned chest in effort to keep him still. “Sorry, I know it sucks, but try not to move too much. It’ll just make it worse.”

But her touch lingered for a beat longer than she probably intended it to. He wasn’t sure if it was just any lingering fuzziness from the blow to the head, but he could have sworn a little color had risen to her cheeks. He could feel a bit of heat in his cheeks as well, and he hoped she couldn’t feel his heart pick up ever so slightly under her fingers.

Barbara cleared her throat, turning her attention back to the wound. “Just try to keep still, okay?” she instructed.

“Uh, yeah, for sure.” He settled back against the pillow, or at least tried, as she continued her work of cleaning the wound. He was just grateful that she applied some numbing gel to it after she got the bleeding under control and disinfected it before she began to stitch it up. He found himself starting to doze a little as she worked; he was in a safe place in the care of someone he trusted completely, getting a little rest wouldn’t be the end of the world. But he hoped it wouldn’t be for too long, he really did have to get home to Haley.

But he was roused a bit when there was some pressure on his side, seeing that Barbara was applying some gauze over the now stitched wound. “Sorry,” she apologized quietly. “Didn’t mean to disturb you, I just wanted to make sure the wound was secure. But I’m glad you’re awake, I want to check your other injury. So let me see those pretty dark blue eyes of yours, Dick.”

Despite himself, he smirked. “You… really think they’re pretty…?” he asked.

Barbara rolled her eyes as she quickly disinfected her hands again. “Shut up,” she grumbled. She then rinsed a cloth and started lightly, carefully dabbing at the blood that had trailed down his right cheek from beyond his hairline, clearing it away. “Looks like you got quite a bump on the head there.”

“It’s really not too bad…” he told her, wincing a bit when she came into contact with the small gash itself.

“No, it doesn’t seem to be,” Barbara agreed quietly, tenderly brushing his black hair aside and leaning closer to get a better look. “Head wounds just tend to bleed a lot. You may have lucked out, Dick. I don’t think you even need stitches or anything, and your eyes seem pretty clear…”

“... I love you, Babs…”

He wasn’t exactly sure where the words had come from, or why they had chosen that moment to come tumbling out of his mouth. All he knew is they were true. And that was all that mattered. He could blame the bit of fuzziness still lingering, but it wasn’t all that important. The most important thing is that she heard them.

Barbara froze. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard those words from him or said them to him, they’d exchanged those words many times since they were kids. Because it's always been true. And they’d meant a variety of things over that time, the meaning changed every which way, but this time? This time, they sounded different than how she’d heard them before. “Okay, maybe I do have to test you for a concussion…”

“I know… I know it’s probably a bad time,” he muttered, pushing himself up on one arm to talk to her better. She didn’t move away, their faces lingered close. “But now that I’ve opened my big mouth…” He sighed, brushing his fingers against hers. “I do, I always have… ever since you found me at that charity event when we were kids…” He chuckled, blinking away a couple stubborn tears that rushed to his eyes. “It was then I didn’t feel quite so alone in the crazy new world of being the orphan ward of Bruce Wayne. I didn’t feel so alone in the crazy new world of being a vigilante with Batman. And…” He paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “And I know it’s taken us time to figure out what we feel, what we are to each other, who we are, but I—!”

He wasn’t sure which one of them actually moved first, but he didn’t think it really mattered as their lips moved together in a deep kiss. He set his hand on her cheek, bringing her closer. This wasn’t the first time they’d at least kissed over the years as they’d struggled to figure out what exactly they meant to each other when they hadn’t been dating other people, but this time, this kiss felt different than other ones they’d shared. It wasn’t frantic, it didn’t feel like they were searching for anything or trying to steal more time. This time it was calm, familiar. Like they’d come home.

Barbara pulled away first. He instinctively followed her, already missing the feel of her lips on his, pausing when she rested her forehead against his. Their eyes drooped closed, their breathing matching the other, their heartbeats racing in sync. She chuckled.

“Well, I can’t say that I haven’t hoped to hear that from you again,” she said, lacing her fingers through his. “But… are you sure…?”

He frowned at her with concern. “Am I sure about what…?” he asked quietly.

“Well… this…” Barbara gestured to herself, confined to a wheelchair. “Are you sure about this?”

His gaze faltered. “Babs, do you really think that matters to me…?” Wincing, he pushed himself up on the couch, swinging his legs over the side so he could face her fully. He took both of her hands in his, tracing his calloused thumbs over her knuckles. “I loved you before Joker did this to you, I’ve loved you since, possibly even more. You have more heart, more will, than anyone I’ve ever met, and you constantly inspire me to try to match it. Not sure if I ever can, but I can try, and I do every day.”

Barbara shook her head slightly, blinking against the tears that were threatening to rise to her eyes. “Dick, you literally dated an actual princess, one who could fly with you, much less walk,” she grumbled. “And then there’s… just me. I can’t even do that with you. Not right now, anyway. And I’m still not sure if I’ll ever be able to again.”

“Kori’s great, she’s still a good friend, and she was good for me as I was trying to figure out who I was away from B,” he conceded. “But neither of us were what the other needed, not long term.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “Something in me always wanted to come back home to you, Babs. It’s always been you. I choose you. I’m just sorry it’s taken me so long to get here.”

“Well, it’s not like I wasn’t taking my sweet time, too.” Barbara returned the smile, though there was still a little uncertainty in it. “You’re… really sure this is what you want, Dick? It’s… well, it’s not going to be like how it was for us before…”

He pressed his lips to the back of her hand. “We’ll figure all that out together, all that matters to me is that it will be together,” he murmured. “Of course I’m sure, Babs. For the first time, I can say I’ve never been more sure about you, about us. If you’re ever able to walk again or not, this is all I want. If you’ll have me after all the times I’ve screwed this up, that is.” He laughed a little. “I know I’m a lot, I’m not going to pretend otherwise. I know we’ve taken a lot of detours, but hell, I never believed in love at first sight until I saw you…”

Barbara snorted as she arched an eyebrow. “Seriously? That was almost as cheesy as when you used the ‘my shirt is boyfriend material’ line on me before you left Gotham the first time.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying, right?” He quickly winked at her. “Did it work?”

“Hm… you’re lucky you’re cute.” Barbara smirked before she closed the gap between them and gave him another deep kiss. “Of course I’ll have you. It’s always been you for me, too.” She brushed a few strands of his black hair out of his face. “But you do still have a head injury I’d like to finish taking a look at.”

“Right, of course.” He stole one more kiss from her before letting her go back to her work.

After she finished patching him up, deeming that it really didn’t seem to be too serious, Barbara began packing up her supplies. “I still think it might be the best option for you to spend the night here,” she said. “I don’t feel comfortable with the idea of you trying to go back to Blüdhaven on your motorcycle tonight.”

“As tempting as that offer is, I really should get back to my little lady back home,” he replied. “She hasn’t gone overnight without me before. I don’t want her to freak out. Plus, I haven’t given her dinner yet.”

Barbara gave him a thoughtful look. “I can ask Jason to go pick Haley up and bring her and whatever she needs over here. You can give him your apartment key,” she mused. “If you don’t think she’d mind being here for a night, anyway.”

“You kidding? She adores you. You’re the best puppy mama.”

“Then that’s settled.” Barbara beamed. “Go ahead and shower, that should make you feel a little better. Think I’ve still got a pair of your sweatpants and a t-shirt lying around here somewhere when you left them after a patrol one night.”

He carefully pushed himself off the couch, stretching out his stiff muscles. “That sounds great, I really am ready to crash, I’m exhausted.” He then crossed the room to where she was putting her medical supplies away, leaning down and kissing her cheek from behind. “Thanks for fixing me up. Again. I love you, Babs.”

Barbara smiled, resting her head against his. Her eyes drooped closed. “Anytime. I love you, too, Hunk Wonder.”

Dick landed in front of the penthouse Bruce had given him the address for, slowly approaching the door. He saw that it was cracked open, having been broken in, but he found himself hesitating. He knew what he was going to find inside, he just couldn’t bring himself to face it. Not yet. Barbara had been such a pivotal part of his life, his heart, for so long that he couldn’t imagine seeing her so void of life herself. It didn’t suit her, it wasn’t right.

But even though every part of him was physically revolting against the idea of entering the building, he knew he had to. For her. He owed his girlfriend that, at the very least. He couldn’t leave her here. Bringing her to the manor would at least be better until arrangements could be made once the city wasn’t under occupation. He had to do this for her, no matter how much it tore him apart.

“I’m coming, Babs,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

A quick scan of the building through his domino told him that he was very much alone here and didn’t have anyone else to worry about inside, waiting to ambush him. Good. That would make this just a little bit easier. Holding his breath, he pushed open the ornate door the rest of the way, stepping into the brightly lit space.

Across from him was the large containment cell with glass walls that Bruce had mentioned, a few rows of television monitors set up along the back wall of it. There were some cracks in the glass wall closest to him, a small round table with a handgun resting on top of it inside.

But no Barbara.

The breath completely left Dick’s body as his legs nearly gave out from underneath him, his heart nearly stopping. What he’d been bracing himself to see was the worst thing he could imagine, but somehow, this was worse. Had Scarecrow or the Arkham Knight come back for her and taken her somewhere? But he didn’t understand why they would do that. They’d already killed her.

Dick slowly approached the cell, resting a hand against the glass. There were traces of blood in the cracks, but with what Bruce had told him about how she’d died, there should have been… more. On the table maybe, on the floor. But there was nothing. Why would any of Scarecrow or the Knight’s men make the effort to clean up after themselves with just her, but nothing else? Especially when they had more important things to do throughout Gotham that night. It could have just been that he was still in the denial stage of losing the woman he loved, but something wasn’t sitting right with him about any of this. Even if he didn’t know for sure what that was yet.

On a whim, Dick used the analyzer in his domino mask to run a test of the blood left behind on the glass. It was possible some could have reached that far. But when the beep that signaled the test was completed sounded, he wasn’t too shocked to see that the blood type wasn’t Barbara’s. He reached for his comms link.

“Hey, Alfie?”

“Oh dear, Master Dick. I’ve been meaning to reach you to offer my deepest condolences about Ms. Gordon,” Alfred said, his heavy tone full of regret. “She was loved by us all, but of course, losing her wasn’t the same for us as it is for you. I’m here if there’s anything I can do for you, sir, anything at all for however long you’re in Gotham or otherwise.”

“Thanks, really, and there actually is one thing, Alf.” Dick took the address of the penthouse in his tracking system and forwarded it to the Batcomputer. “Could you check any security or CCTV footage at this location from the past couple hours or so for me?”

“Of course, sir. Is there something I should be looking for?”

Dick hesitated. “This may just be me being stupid, I’m all too aware of that, but something about what happened here… to Babs… isn’t adding up to me.” He pushed open the heavy door of the cell and stepped inside. He began to run another scan of the interior, which did pick up a few strands of red hair that belonged to Barbara. She had definitely been there, but he still wasn’t too sure about what Bruce had told him. Even if Scarecrow or the Arkham Knight had the scene cleaned after she’d died, there would still be some forensic traces left behind, or evidence of any cleaners. But there wasn’t anything like that. “Something just isn’t making sense here.”

“What are you trying to say, Master Dick?”

“I’m… well, I’m honestly not sure, Alf,” Dick admitted. “I just can’t shake the feeling that something’s amiss, y’know? And I want to make sure to follow up on every lead possible here. As I said, I could just be in denial, I probably am, but I don’t know if what B said about Babs is… well…”

“... Are you suggesting something else may have happened to Ms. Gordon?” Alfred’s hesitance was clear.

“I…” Hearing the butler voice the thoughts racing through his mind gave him pause. He just hadn’t wanted to say it out loud, to give voice to the hope trying to burst its way out of his chest. It was all stupid, he knew it was, he shouldn’t be opening this wound. But he couldn’t just ignore that something was wrong about all this. “I’m… I’m not sure if that’s exactly what I’m saying, Alife, I… I just… I don’t know…”

There was understanding in Alfred’s gentle voice when he spoke again. He was too kind for pity. “I’ll check this footage for you, Master Dick.” He told him. “Especially if it will help give you the closure you need. I’ll let you know what I find.”

Dick let out a sigh of relief as he left the cell. “Thanks, Alfie, you’re the best,” he said. He hadn’t really wanted to say it was possible Barbara truly wasn’t dead, but something just wasn’t sitting right with him about it, and he couldn’t quite let it go. “I’ll be around in Gotham for a little while, so—!”

A scream suddenly ripped from his throat as a long blade sliced through his lower left leg. Off balance, he dropped to a knee, glancing down to see the deep gash running through his calf just beneath his knee. “Shit…”

“Master Dick!”

While he heard Alfred’s alarm, he was unable to reply when he caught the glint of the katana sword coming for him again out of the corner of his eye. Dick started to push himself to his feet to avoid it, but he cried out at the jolt of pain, the weakness, that ran through his entire leg when he tried to put weight on it, and he instead rolled out of the way just as the blade struck the ground behind him.

“My God. Master Dick, are you all right?!”

“Alf, I…” he started, but he began reaching for one of his escrima sticks when his attacker moved in a third time. But his fingers had only managed to brush against it when the man changed direction mid-air and slashed his blade across Dick’s now unprotected side.

“I’m sending Master Bruce to your location immediately!” Alfred said urgently as the vigilante once again cried out before crumpling to the ground, only able to try and keep himself covered as best as he could. He still didn’t really want to see his mentor, but at the moment, he’d take the help if he could get it, even though he knew his attacker had no plans to kill him. If he had, he easily could have gotten a lethal strike in while he was distracted about what had happened to Barbara instead of more inconvenient ones meant to cause him a lot of pain and make him suffer. They’d played this game many times before. He just wasn’t sure why he was here to play it now.

“Hold on, sir!”

“... Alf…”

His attacker reached down and took Dick’s comms link right out of his ear. “I’m afraid Nightwing is going to be unavailable for the rest of the night,” the familiar deep voice said calmly, matter-of-factly. “Do not try contacting him again.” He then crushed it in his armored fist before crouching down beside the younger man, going for where he knew the tracker in his suit was.

Dick gritted his teeth, once again reaching for his escrima stick. This time, he was able to grab it and land a hard blow on the orange side of the other man’s orange and black helmet before his attacker struck him forcefully in the crook of his elbow with the hilt of his sword, causing him to drop his electrically charged weapon in pain. His assailant then slammed his arm back to the ground, driving the long blade through his forearm into the hard surface in one fluid motion. Dick screamed hoarsely.

“There, that should hold you still,” the new arrival muttered, indifferent to how the younger man writhed in agony as he found the tracker he was looking for and crushed that as well. “Can’t have anyone finding you just yet, can we, boy?”

A moment passed while Dick caught his breath. “So…” he finally managed to gasp out, his voice breaking slightly. “This is why I haven’t seen you in Blüdhaven for a while, huh, Slade? You’re working for the Arkham Knight’s army, too?”

Slade Wilson’s heavy fist connected hard with his jaw, causing his vision to black out completely for a moment. “Don’t insult me, boy. You know me better than that to think I’d lower myself so much to work for a whiny bastard like that,” he snapped. “The brat paid me better to do him a favor than the clown was to have me ensure he stayed put. That’s all there is to it.”

Dick narrowed his eyes up at him in confusion. “What… what do you mean?” he asked.

Deathstroke chuckled, pulling his blade out of the other man’s arm without any preamble, causing him to whimper in pain. “I’m sure you’ll find out, if you’re allowed to live long enough,” he told him. “We’ll see what the mad doctor has in mind for you when I bring you to him. Meanwhile, I’ve got to move on to the next phase of Gotham’s occupation with my army.”

“Your army?” Dick smirked despite himself. “Thought it was the Knight’s army.”

Slade reached down and pulled him off the floor by his hair. “Yes, my army,” he growled as Dick winced. “The Knight may have given me the money to help fund them, but he doesn’t have the resources or the knowledge to gather these troops, nor does he have the experience to lead them. He may think he’s in charge tonight, but he’s just a figurehead playing dress-up in a vengeful crusade against the Batman. I’m the one calling the shots with this army tonight. He’s nothing more than a kid with an unchecked anger problem and unresolved daddy issues.”

Dick frowned. “It sounds like you know who the Arkham Knight is…” he muttered.

The cruel laugh that came through Slade’s helmet unsettled him. “Oh, I do, my dear boy, I sure do.” He shoved him forcefully back to the ground. “And you are in for quite the rude awakening, should you get a chance to meet him.”

Before Dick could say another word, the hilt of Deathstroke’s katana struck his temple, and his world fell away.

Chapter Text

A quiet groan slipped past Dick’s lips as consciousness slowly returned to him, but immediately, he wished it hadn’t. His head was pounding mercilessly in the dim light filtering through his closed eyelids, his left leg was throbbing in time with his heart, his ribs felt stiff and sore, and the sobering realization that his girlfriend might be dead nearly crushed him. While everything in him wanted to just sink back into the darkness, to let it claim him for just a little bit longer so he didn’t have to deal with any of this, there was still the tiniest, incredibly stubborn part of him that wasn’t going to let him do that, no matter how tempting it was. There were still people who were relying on him that night, he couldn’t do that to them. Bracing himself, he hissed as he slowly began to sit up, his head swaying, to try to gain his bearings.

But he panicked when he realized he couldn’t freely move his arms. Dick’s eyes snapped open, and through his blurry vision, he found that his wrists were cuffed together, connected to a chain that was attached securely to the wall. He pulled on the chain, his right forearm where he’d been stabbed through protesting the action, but it didn’t give, just as he knew it wouldn’t. His restraints were good and secure. But he’d had to try, even if it had been stupid to do. He noted his legs weren’t cuffed like his hands were— which normally would’ve been a huge oversight on his captors’ part— but Slade had made sure that he wouldn’t be able to put any weight on his left leg, much less walk on it, so there was no need. He couldn’t feel the familiar weight of his escrima sticks on his back, he was equally certain his grapnel gun, smoke pellets, and wing-dings were gone, too. He had no tracker or comms link.

He was trapped.

“Ah, you’re finally awake. Good.”

He wasn’t surprised to hear the familiar deep voice, and Dick gritted his teeth as he finished pulling himself up to sit. He waited for the world around him to stop tilting dangerously before he looked over his shoulder at Slade himself. The older man was leaning back against the wall across from him, arms crossed casually over his chest as he watched him. He tilted his helmeted head ever so slightly.

“You were out longer than I expected you to be, boy,” he continued. “I was a little worried I may have hit you in the head too hard. Although, grief can be an incredibly heavy burden to carry, can it not?”

“Where am I?” Dick snapped, not wanting the mercenary to even think about Barbara. Like he would even know anything about grief. Sure he may have lost his wife after having an affair and his children because they turned against him. But after taking the eye of his daughter and damaging the vocal cords of his son beyond repair, he didn’t know what Slade expected would happen. But his loss had been their gain— Rose had been a valuable ally on occasion to him, Bruce, and Jason the past few years after he’d trained her up more himself, and Jericho was a good kid, helpful in his quiet way even though he really didn’t get involved in the vigilante lifestyle. With the hatred they shared of their father, any intel they’d been able to give him had really been helpful for keeping tabs on Deathstroke’s movements in Blüdhaven.

Dick did a quick scan of the large but mostly empty room he was in. It was dimly lit, mostly cast in a red light, with the Arkham Knight’s insignia spray-painted in white on the wall he was connected to. Aside from a couple empty clothes racks and a few broken mannequins piled haphazardly in the corner, there wasn’t much to give him a clue to his current location. But with those items, it reminded him of a store, maybe a mall given the size and the metal grate over the large exit.

Slade shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter, you’re not leaving here, at least not for a little while,” he told him coolly. “And before you get any ideas, Batman won’t be coming for you. He won’t be able to find you even if he tried. I left your blood back at the penthouse for him to find, but there will be no trail for him to be able to follow to you. I also took out the cameras before you even knew I was there.”

Dick’s stomach plummeted. He had no doubt that Alfred had recognized Deathstroke’s voice when he’d addressed the butler before he’d crushed his comms unit. Bruce would know he had taken him. For the briefest of moments, he had to wonder if his mentor had even gone to the penthouse after Alfred had alerted him, if he’d even bothered to try to come for him with all that was on his plate that night after the way they had parted. After the things he had said to Bruce out of anger.

But as soon as the thought popped up, he pushed it back down. For as long as he’d known him, Bruce had always come for him, no matter if they were on speaking terms or not. If he’d needed him, he had been there, even if he hadn’t always been able to see him. He couldn’t imagine this time being any different. That his adopted father didn’t have a way to find him now had to be tearing him apart, he couldn’t imagine how frantic he had to be.

Dick’s gaze faltered. With all that had been happening since Joker had died, him being taken from under Bruce’s watchful eye had to remind him of Jason all over again. And with whatever Deathstroke, the Knight, and Scarecrow had to be planning for that night, he couldn’t see his fate being much different than his younger brother’s. It seemed to be the shared fate they had in mind for his family now. He only hoped that what remained of it would be safe.

“Don’t worry, boy.” Slade’s quiet voice was one of feigned reassurance. “This will all be over soon.”

He allowed his eyes to fall closed at that notion, his head dropping toward his chest. After all he had been through that night, he was just so tired. The older man had been right after all— grief was incredibly heavy to carry. And he just had so much to grieve for that night. What had happened to Barbara. Losing his adopted father of fifteen years. Not being able to say goodbye to Tim or Alfred. It all just kept getting heavier as the will to fight drained from his weakened body, he didn’t care what was going to happen to him now, none of it mattered.

Besides, he hadn’t really realized until that moment how much he’d been missing his parents, and how much he wanted to see them again. That would be nice, he thought. It was the first real comfort he’d felt all night. He could almost feel Mary’s thin fingers tenderly brushing his dark hair out of his face if he focused on her enough. He welcomed it, leaning into her touch. It was a nice reprieve.

But Dick had only allowed himself to begin to drift when a second loud, angry, modulated voice broke him out of his daze.

“What the hell is he doing here?!”

Dick’s head quickly snapped up, an action he regretted when the pounding in his temples intensified, and his eyes widened when he saw the Arkham Knight on the other side of the grate, the glowing blue eyes of his helmet resting intently on Slade. It was the closest he’d been to him all night, and while his red, blue, and black armored suit emblazoned with the Knight’s insignia was tactical in make, it really did remind him of a sort of Batsuit, especially with the silver metal bat ears he could see clearly on the helmet that resembled Bruce’s cowl. His brow furrowed.

Slade, though, appeared to simply be amused by the outburst as he turned to face the new arrival. Dick remembered how dismissive the older man had been of the Knight when he’d seemed to strike a nerve with the mercenary back at the penthouse. “Why, I’m just following along with Crane’s plan for this evening,” he told him lightly. “It’s no different than when you took Barbara Gordon earlier tonight.”

But the Arkham Knight shook his head with a growl of frustration, and Dick was surprised when he struck the grate with both gloved hands. “No! This wasn’t part of the plan, Deathstroke!” he snapped. “And you know it. Open the damn grate!”

“I fail to see how it wasn’t when Crane told me to capture Batman’s… favorite, closest ally as we are targeting his family tonight.” Slade’s tone was calm, collected. He tilted his head a bit when the Knight’s hands curled into tight fists. “Hm? What’s wrong? Did I strike a nerve there?” He chuckled, but Dick could almost see how the Knight was glowering beneath his helmet, the look almost burning a hole through Slade. He was absolutely livid. While he didn’t really understand why he would be, the clear dissension between the two was something he could use to his advantage, he reasoned. Work those cracks between them to turn them against each other, get their attention off him, find his window for escape. “Either way, I would assume that you’d be happy that one of the people responsible for preventing the flow of weapons to the troops is now in custody. After all, you’re losing what you paid for, what you promised the men fighting for your cause.”

The Arkham Knight was silent for a long moment, his gaze not straying from Deathstroke. Then, he reached for his side holster and had a pistol aimed at the mercenary in one fluid motion. “I’m not going to ask again, Slade,” he said, and while his voice was quieter now, it still had a dangerous edge, almost a deadly calm, to it. Dick strained his ears. He’d heard that same tone, that same timbre before, he just couldn’t place where. “Open the fucking grate. Now.”

All the amusement left Slade then as he straightened his posture, looming over the other man as he stepped right up to the grate. “I would think your next move over very carefully if I were you, boy,” he murmured, a clear warning in his tone. “Remember how you got all of this to begin with.”

Another tense moment of silence passed before the Knight lowered his pistol ever so slightly from the center of the other man’s chest as he looked away from him. Dick watched closely. It truly did seem like Deathstroke was the one in charge of the army that was occupying Gotham after all, as well as of its commander. He had to figure out a way to get that information to Bruce and Tim.

“That’s better,” Slade said, more casual again. “Your hesitation will keep you weak for as long as you let it, boy. You’d best remember that. But, as it is.” He pushed a small button on the wall, and a loud beep filled the space before the grate began to rise. “I have to meet with Crane about the next steps in the operation. As do you, your next job will be soon.” He paused, glancing between Dick and the Knight. “Don’t be long.”

Dick pulled on the chains keeping him trapped to the wall again, not expecting a different result, as Slade left. Every instinct in him was just telling him he couldn’t stay there. He glanced back at where the grate was just finishing rising, seeing that the Arkham Knight had lingered behind, silently watching after the mercenary. His finger twitched over the trigger of his lowered pistol as he fought not to fire the weapon. But then, he turned his glowing blue eyes to him.

“Don’t bother,” he said, stepping into the red-lit space as their captive pulled at the chains with more urgency. “You’re only going to hurt yourself more.”

“Why do you care?” Dick demanded as the Knight drew closer, the sound of his heavy boots echoing around the room. “It’s not like you haven’t been attacking my friends all night.” His eyes narrowed a bit when he saw the other man was no longer holding his pistol and that the weapon was back in its holster. He seemingly had no interest in shooting him. At least, not yet. But he still couldn’t allow himself to relax around him; that would likely be the last mistake he would ever make.

A moment passed before the Knight began to pace restlessly. “I meant what I said before, you being here wasn’t part of the plan,” he muttered. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Why not? What makes me any different than Barbara Gordon?” Dick’s voice broke on her name. “Since you know so much about Batman you’ve figured out that she works with him, you should know that I’ve been working with him for years, too.”

“Of course I know that!” The other man’s clear frustration was beginning to boil over.

“Then why?!” Dick usually had his own temper under control, but this night had taken too much out of him, too much from him, for him to care. “Why was it her you had to harm and not me? It should have been me!”

“Because you weren’t even supposed to be in Gotham tonight!” The Knight stopped his pacing as he rounded on him. “You should have minded your own fucking business for once and stayed in your precious Blüdhaven! Then you wouldn’t be in this mess!” He shook his head slightly. “Why do you always have to try and play the hero and sacrifice yourself for everyone else? It wouldn’t kill you to put yourself first for once! But you’ve always had to be Batman’s perfect soldier, haven’t you? His golden boy.”

For a moment, Dick couldn’t speak after that outburst. He knew the Arkham Knight had vengeance on his mind for Bruce, but his animosity against him as well sounded so… personal. It also hadn’t been the first time he’d heard that particular sentiment, but it’d been years since he had.

Jason looked up at Dick from where he was sitting on the floor of his room against his bed, a thin line of frustrated tears in his eyes. Dick knew the look, remembering how it felt the first time he’d been reprimanded by Bruce for something he’d done recklessly out in the field. It stung. “... I can never live up to you, Dickiebird. No one can. You’re B’s golden boy…”

“That’s not true, Jason…”

“It is and you know it! Maybe if you hadn’t set the bar so damn high, he wouldn’t judge me so hard. I’m not like you, and I’m never gonna be.”

Dick gave him a small smile. “And that’s okay that you aren’t. B’s just trying to keep you safe.”

The teen rolled his eyes. “He’s got a funny way of showing it.”

“I know he can be hard on you, Jay, he could be on me, too.” Dick’s gaze faltered. “But one mistake could be the difference between life and death out there. If he lost one of us out in the field because we weren’t careful, he’d go crazy.”

Jason turned his back on him. “Yeah, well, with the way he talks about all the things you’ve done when you were Robin, I find that a little hard to believe,” he grumbled.

Dick sighed as he sat on the floor against the bed next to his brother. “B and I weren’t on speaking terms when I left here. Trust me, we’ve had our rough patches.” He set a hand on his shoulder and shook him a little until the teen peeked back at him. The anger was gone from his face now, uncertainty left in its place. “Patience, Little Wing, that’s all I ask. If he keeps on ya too hard, I’ll have a chat with him. Deal?”

Jason looked down for a moment before he nodded slightly, turning back to face him. “Deal,” he agreed.

They shook on it.

It’d broken his heart coming from his younger brother, someone who’d looked up to him, back then. It sounded surreal coming from a stranger who hated him now.

But then, Dick’s eyes narrowed a bit when he noticed the Arkham Knight’s shoulders were hunched forward in a way he recognized. He’d seen it just recently. “Wait… it was you,” he muttered. When the Knight tilted his head a bit in confusion, he pressed forward. “You left the photos at the Blüdhaven police station.” But if that were the case, that raised the even more alarming possibility that this man knew their real identities, that he’d been stalking them all for months.

Whatever the Knight had been expecting him to say, it hadn’t been that. He chuckled, the sound a bit unsettling with the voice distortion. “That officer was easy enough to bribe,” he said lightly. “You should probably check into that, Officer Grayson. Corruption runs deep if not rooted out.”

His heart skipped a beat. “That’s how you know so much about Batman… how you knew about Barbara…”

“You have no idea.”

Dick closed his eyes for a long moment, the pounding in his head increasing as the world swayed violently around him. His mind raced, scrambling to try to grasp something to focus on. “The photo that you left that led me to Oz… was that intentional?” he asked, his voice shaking ever so slightly.

“Yes.”

The vigilante slowly opened his eyes again, surprised by the direct answer. “Why?” He looked up at the Knight looming over him. “Seems a bit counterproductive to sabotage your own side, don’t you think? Especially since you were getting weapons you needed from him.”

“Cobblepot was causing too much of a problem for me,” the Knight told him. “He was getting off track, he couldn’t play nicely with others. His, uh, his hatred for Dent was getting in the way. Little bastard was forming a plan to kill him and everything. Not that it’d be much of a loss, but that’d put a bit of a wrinkle in things. I had to keep him in line somehow, at least for a little while longer.”

That was something he’d been able to gather from dealing with Penguin and his thugs over the course of the night. Oswald had been planning on double crossing everyone, he only had his own interests in mind. As any of these guys did. “Still. Tipping me off was quite the ballsy move,” he replied. “Slade and Crane can’t be too happy about that, huh?”

“Does it look like I give a shit what Slade of all people thinks?” Despite the vibrato, Dick could hear the mercenary was a sore spot for the Knight; keep working with those fissures, he thought to himself, get them against each other. “And Crane’s got his own agenda tonight. I have mine. But it was time to cut my losses with Cobblepot, he was getting to be more trouble than he was worth. Besides, you’d been tracking his movements for months with him stealing guns out of Blüdhaven. You’re smart, you always have been, I knew you’d figure out what he was up to with or without a nudge from me, Dickiebird.”

All the oxygen left the room then as Dick stared up at the other man, his eyes wide in disbelief. The Knight, seeming to realize he’d let something slip, took a few steps back and turned away from him. Dick struggled for his next breath, his mouth dry. He hadn’t heard that nickname in a couple of years.

“How… how did you…?” He struggled to gather his scrambled thoughts. “That name… How the hell do you know that?! There’s no way you can unless—!”

“Unless I gave it to you?” the Knight posed so quietly that he could hardly hear him. He still couldn’t bring himself to look back at the vigilante.

Dick’s blood ran cold as the color drained from his face. It was impossible, there was no way he could be… “Please… no…” he whispered.

The Knight hesitated before he reached for his helmet, a quiet click followed by a mechanical whirring sound able to be heard as the visor lifted. He then slowly turned to face him.

The world around him seemed to stop abruptly as Dick scanned the youthful features he knew so well, landing on the scarred “J” left behind on his left cheek, having lightened over time. He met those familiar blue eyes, the ones that had a similar smoky quality that was present in Bruce’s eyes, that were now filled with anger but also uncertainty.

His heart nearly tore its way out of his chest, reaching for the younger man. He was going to be sick. There was no way it could be possible, the implications of that were too much for him to carry after everything else…

… but yet…

Dick’s voice broke completely on the one word he was finally able to muster.

“... Jason?!”

Meanwhile

“There’s gotta be some way to find him, Alfred. He can’t have just disappeared off the face of the earth.” Tim ran a stressed hand over his face as he made his way through CCTV footage of the areas around Scarecrow’s safe house in Chinatown leading up to when they’d gone offline. “Did B find anything at the penthouse?” His mentor had just gotten Penguin to the GCPD when he’d been alerted that Dick was in trouble since both he and Alfred had let him know right after. Bruce, as he’d frustratingly expected him to, had insisted he stay at Panessa and help how he could there while he checked the scene out since he didn’t know what sort of situation he would be walking into.

“There was blood left behind that belonged to Master Dick,” Alfred said. While he was trying to keep his tone level and matter-of-fact, his distress about the vigilante in question was clear. “And enough of it to be… worrisome. But nothing else to determine where they went.”

Tim cursed heatedly under his breath. “And you’re sure it was Slade who spoke to you?” he asked.

“Absolutely certain, Master Tim. That arrogance is hard to miss. Unfortunately, he destroyed Master Dick’s communications and tracker, so we are unable to find him that way.”

“Of course he did. I didn’t even know Deathstroke was in Gotham tonight,” Tim muttered, mainly to himself. But it didn’t surprise him that he was a part of the militia forces taking over Gotham. He just wasn’t sure if Slade had been lying in wait at the safe house for Dick, or if he’d just taken the opportunity to attack his brother out of his hatred for him. Neither possibility was ideal, and either way, they had to find a way to track him down as quickly as possible. “What was ‘Wing even doing at the penthouse? That wasn’t one of the locations for Penguin’s caches.”

When the butler didn’t answer right away, Tim felt his heart lurch in panic. He remembered when Bruce had instructed Alfred to increase the Batcave’s security since it was clear that Crane and the Knight were targeting everyone close to him, and with all that had already happened that night, it was easy to fear the worst. “Alfred?”

“I believe he wanted to bring Ms. Gordon to a better place and get the closure he needed, sir,” Alfred replied heavily. “He didn’t want to leave her there after…”

Tim’s gaze faltered as he lowered it. He’d only known Barbara for a couple of years, but she was someone who made an impression on everyone she met. Even knowing her for as short of a time as he had, she’d cemented her place in his life, and it was strange to think that she was no longer going to be a part of it. There was an emptiness in her wake. He still couldn’t believe she was gone, it didn’t seem possible. He was really going to miss her bright smile and enthusiasm, her sarcasm, bouncing ideas around with her and asking for her advice, trading playful jabs with each other. All of it.

But no matter how much the loss pained him, he also knew it was nothing compared to how Dick had to be feeling. He couldn’t even begin to imagine that pain. Barbara had been a part of his brother’s life for most of it, ever since tragedy had forced him to stay in Gotham. He could hardly imagine one of them without the other, he knew they’d always had to love each other, even when they hadn’t realized it themselves or had been too stubborn to admit it. For him to lose her had to be unfathomable. But he understood Dick’s desire to get closure; if it was him in the older man’s place, he’d want nothing more than that if it was Bernard who’d died.

His thoughts drifted back to a few months ago when he’d been able to join Dick for a patrol in Blüdhaven since things were quiet enough in Gotham— a night which had ended up being quieter than normal there, too— which had given them some good time to talk, which could be more often than not hard to get. He hadn’t been quite ready to tell the other vigilante about the feelings he’d been starting to realize he was having for Bernard at that point, but Dick, unusually, had been a little nervous about where he felt he was in his relationship with Barbara.

“You want to marry her?”

Dick chuckled, his eyes lighting up behind his domino. “Yeah,” he answered quietly, almost shyly. “Which, not gonna lie, is a little… weird for me? Kinda? It’s not something I’ve thought much about as, like, a concept. And y’know, we don’t need a piece of paper that says we love each other, but…” He shrugged. “I mean, sure, I guess I’m a little young… not that Babs isn’t, she’s a year older than me… but my parents were younger than me when they got married. So sometimes you just… know, y’know?”

“Sure.” And Tim did understand the sentiment of just knowing when someone was your person, he really did. He just didn’t really know how to express that for himself or what to do about it yet. “So… why are you nervous? Do you think she won’t want to, or…?”

"No, that’s not it.” But Tim knew his brother well enough to know that it was indeed at least part of it. “I just… I don’t know if it’s a good time right now, y’know? Things are quiet in Gotham, sure, but not here in Blüdhaven, so…”

“Well, if you go by that, you probably won’t ever find a good time to ask her and to actually get married,” Tim countered. “There’s always going to be something somewhere. That’s kinda why we’re in this life to begin with.”

Dick considered that for a brief moment. “That… that’s fair,” he conceded with a sigh. “I guess… I don’t know, it’s dumb, but I really don’t know how to go about it.”

Tim couldn’t help but smirk. “I’ve never seen you nervous, ever, when it comes to girls,” he teased.

The older vigilante grinned back at him. “Yeah, well, cut me some slack, proposing is new territory for me,” he said. “Plus it’s… something that means a lot to me. I just want to get it right, y’know?”

“Well, in that case, have Haley help ya out. Barb won’t be able to resist her.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea, she loves that little troublemaker almost as much as I do.”

Tim smiled, this time genuinely as he looked out over the city far below them. “And she loves you. Just be yourself, and I’m sure it’ll go fine. It’s not like you haven’t known each other your whole lives. I really don’t think you’ll manage to screw it up too badly.”

“I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Timmy.”

The teen rolled his eyes. “Oh, now you’re just making me want to take it back.”

“Nope, no take backs. Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Dick gave him a playful nudge. “So, kinda putting good vibes out into the universe by asking this, I guess, but… be my best man?”

“What?” Tim looked back at him with surprise. “But… wouldn’t you rather ask, like, Wally or someone else?”

Dick shook his head. “Nah, I love him, he’s my best friend, but if I wanted to ask him to do it, I would have,” he replied. “You’re the first and only person I’ve talked to about this, I haven’t even mentioned it to B yet. You’re my brother, and I’d really like you with me on that day.”

Tim smiled back at him. “Well, in that case, sure, why not?” He shrugged. “I guess I can be your best man since you asked so nicely.”

“You’re the best.”

“You’re only saying that because I said yes.”

But still, a fist bump sealed the deal.

Tim was brought out of his thoughts when Alfred’s voice crackled in his ear. “Although… he did ask me a bit of an odd request when he got there.”

“What was that?” Tim wondered. He ran a scan of Deathstroke’s helmet and Slade’s features through facial recognition to try and pick him up on CCTV cameras throughout the city over the course of the night in effort to get an idea of his movements and maybe figure out, or at least narrow down, where he could have taken Dick.

“He asked me to review any footage of the penthouse from the past couple hours or so,” Alfred told him. “Mainly from when Master Bruce was called there. Something about what happened to Ms. Gordon didn’t sit well with him.”

Tim arched an eyebrow, leaning on the terminal in front of him while he waited for the scan to complete. “Does… does he think that Barb might not be…?” he began to ask hesitantly, not wanting to say it out loud. He couldn’t.

“I believe he may have thought something different happened to her, sir,” Alfred confirmed.

He frowned. Even grieving, Dick wouldn’t have thought that was a possibility without good reason. “But B said he saw her…”

Alfred’s voice fell. “That he did, Master Tim.”

But they were dealing with Scarecrow and his new fear toxin, Tim reasoned. He remembered Bruce had been exposed to some of it when he’d been chasing Crane down at ACE Chemicals earlier that night, he could have easily come into contact with more of it and only believed he saw Barbara die. It was a bit of a stretch, but it was possible…

“Let me know what you find, Alfred,” he said. “Meanwhile, I’m running a scan to see if we can track down any of Slade’s other movements tonight. Maybe narrow down where he could have taken ‘Wing, or where he may have been hanging out. Hopefully, anyway.”

“I will, sir. Good luck, and godspeed. Hopefully, we can bring Master Dick home soon. There’s been too much tragedy tonight as it is.”

Tim watched the screen intently, drumming his fingers against the keyboard as the screen continued to sift through multiple CCTV feeds to find the one person he was looking for, but so far bringing up nothing. Slade either hadn’t been out and about too much yet, or he was being incredibly careful about the cameras so that he wouldn’t be noticed. He had the sinking feeling it was the latter; Deathstroke was smart.

His body tensed. This was taking too long. He couldn’t let this be a repeat of what had possibly happened to Barbara. Every minute they didn’t find Dick was getting closer to that inevitable conclusion. He reached for his comms link.

“B, I can’t just sit here anymore, I should be out there,” he muttered, his frustration mounting.

For a moment that stretched on for just a bit too long, Bruce didn’t answer. Tim began pacing. “I know you can hear me, B, don’t pretend you can’t.”

“I need you to stay at the studios, Robin.”

“For what? Another test that’ll just keep telling us the same damn thing?” Tim demanded. “That can wait, B. This is so much more important right now! I can help you find ‘Wing. Anything would be better than me just sitting here doing nothing!”

“Stand down, Robin.” Bruce’s voice had hardened. “You’re not to leave the studios.”

“Or what? You’ll bench me? Lecture me and kick my ass in training again?” Tim’s own resolve hardened to match his adopted father’s. Normally, it was Dick who pushed back against what he said, not him. But this time, he found himself not caring, it was too important. It wouldn’t be the first time Bruce hadn’t been so happy with him recently, anyway.

“What did you think you were doing, Tim? You could have been killed!”

"Yeah, well, I'm fine, aren't I? It's not like I asked to be thrown into a gladiator pit!"

It was back when they’d both been doing some stake-out missions of Arkham City in its earlier stages before his mentor had been arrested and brought into the prison facility. First, Tim had slipped into Arkham City to get an inside look when he was supposed to be on patrol around Gotham, and he’d taken out Harley and some of Joker’s thugs when he’d witnessed them jump some of the other inmates and steal their medicine. He’d accidentally left one of his shuriken behind, which had been his undoing when it’d been found by Bruce. Then, he’d posed as a thug at the behest of Bruce with instructions to not get involved in but just investigate a rumored fight club in the facility. Tim had discovered the base of operations to be in the Cyrus Pinkney Institute for Natural History, where he’d been knocked out by one of the Abramovici twins and dragged inside. But it was there where he discovered Oswald Cobblepot was the one running the fight club, where he held fights to the death to determine who would join his gang. Tim had managed to keep out of it until Penguin got bored and threw a Titan thug into the mix, who made quick work of all the combatants and slaughtered them all. He’d hardly escaped with his own life once the large man had tried to beat him to death, but once he’d made it back to the manor, Bruce was there once again to warn him about taking unnecessary risks while Alfred tended to him.

Though he felt like he wouldn’t just get a slap on the wrist if he were to go against what Bruce said this time. There was something in his voice now that was just… off, something he couldn’t quite place. But again, he just couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when his brother’s life was hanging in the balance. Come what may for him, even if it meant this would be his last task as Robin. Dick’s safety was more important than him being able to wear a costume.

“I’m not going to say it again. Stand down, Robin.”

Tim shook his head as his adopted father's voice came back through his comm. “I’m sorry, B, but I can’t,” he murmured. “If it were me that’d been taken, ‘Wing would be out there looking for me, you know he would be. I can’t let him down. I have to go.”

He waited for a moment, but Bruce said nothing. There was just silence.

Somehow, that was worse.

“Wait a moment. Are you sure that’s a good idea, son?”

Tim turned around, seeing Henry had approached him. He appeared concerned. “I have to,” he told him, resigned. “Nightwing needs my help. If I don’t…”

“But what if something were to happen to you while you were out there?” Henry posed. “You wouldn’t be able to help your friend that way. And from the sounds of it, that’s Batman’s concern. I know he must be concerned about Nightwing, but I think it would destroy him if something were to happen to you, as well. He cares about you both.” He nodded toward the large computer monitor. “I don’t really understand all this technology stuff you’ve got here, but it sounds like you’ve got something going to help him.”

“It’s not enough, Henry. It’s not going to be quick enough.” Tim sighed. “I have to go out there and find him.”

Henry gave him a sad smile full of understanding. “You said it yourself earlier, son, it’s a lot safer in here than it is out there right now,” he muttered.

Before Tim could think of something to say in response, he glanced behind the older man when he heard the elevator coming down to the lower levels. He frowned in confusion. Bruce hadn’t said anything about coming to Panessa, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he'd decided to swing by to make sure he’d stayed put after how their conversation ended. He just hadn’t been aware he’d been that close by.

But maybe this was a good thing. With his mentor, they could figure out a way to track down Dick together. They could divide and conquer, searching different sects of Gotham to narrow down the likeliest areas where Deathstroke and Crane were hiding out. They could try to use Scarecrow and the Knight’s broadcasts to get a narrower radius. Whatever it took to find his brother.

“Hey, B, glad you showed up,” he said as he moved down the couple steps out of the main room that led to the elevator. “So I’ve been trying to track down Slade usi—!”

But he came to an abrupt halt when he registered that there was more than one person in the elevator, and not one of them was who he had expected to see. He quickly pulled out his bo staff and leapt backward, just as one of the large men in red and black diamond patterned gear and a painted face shot at him with the large gun he held. Tim hissed when the bullet skimmed his arm just as he landed.

The group of armed thugs rushed into the movie studios, some coming straight for him and others rushing toward the containment cells. Tim lashed his bo staff out to stop one of the latter, subduing him after knocking him in the head with it before throwing a shuriken at another to stop him as well. He couldn’t let them reach the infected.

But even more pressing, how had they managed to get into Panessa? There hadn’t been any alarms triggered, they’d somehow gotten past the security without him noticing.

Something was wrong.

“Henry, use the emergency beacon!” Tim called back to him, striking another thug in the chest with his staff. He had to wait for a clearer moment to activate his own. “Batman should get the distress signal!”

The older man stood at the computer, looking over the controls uncertainly. “What do I do…?” he began, though Tim noticed he seemed to figure it out through some trial and error. “All right, I think I got it. Hopefully, I can reach Batman in time.”

“Yeah, hopefully…” Tim agreed under his breath, swiping the legs out from under another advancing thug. But with every one he subdued, a couple more seemed to take his place. He spared Henry a brief glance when he heard the older man muttering frantically to himself, and he cried out in pain when one of the larger thugs twisted his lacerated arm behind his back, causing him to drop to a knee. He gritted his teeth, fighting the thug off him, but a few had already gotten past him, tinkering with the containment cells. There were just too many of them for him to handle alone.

Then, to make things even worse, a familiar, shrieking laughter pierced his ears, and Tim looked up in time to see Harley Quinn carrying a large makeshift gun with fuzzy dice attached against her shoulder as she stepped into the studio. She grinned as she looked around at the five cells, her eyes gleaming cruelly when they landed on Tim fighting her men off.

“Surprise, birdbrain! But I think you’ve got something that belongs to me!”

Chapter Text

“Master Dick, I’ve found him.”

Dick tightened his hand around the steering wheel where he was stopped at a red light. He’d borrowed one of Bruce’s cars and had been on his way to pick up Barbara for a date night they’d had planned for the past month when the unexpected call from Alfred came in. The old butler didn’t have to elaborate on who he was talking about— his younger brother had been missing from the manor for the past few days. It wasn’t unusual for him to take off on his own sometimes, it was a space they usually gave him, but it normally wasn’t for quite this long, and it’d been clear the teen had been dealing with something before he’d left. They were worried about him. His girlfriend would understand him being late.

“Send me the location, Alf.”

The Bowery was a rough area during the day, but at night was a completely different story. Dick found himself more on alert as he got closer to where he was supposed to be, but he mostly wondered what had brought Jason back here of all places; back to the neighborhood he’d grown up in.

He parked in front of a twenty-four hour corner store when he spotted the teen where Alfred said he’d be in his leather jacket, Converse that had seen better days, tattered black jeans, and dark red t-shirt, sitting back against the brick wall of an alley mouth smoking a cigarette. Dick got out, locked up the car, and quickly crossed the street to him. “So, this is where you’ve been hanging out, Jay?” he greeted casually. “Y’know, it’s got a certain charm about it."

Jason quickly looked up as he approached, though he didn’t seem to be too surprised to see him. “Are you that much of a pain in my ass that you can find me without my tracker being on now?” he wondered just as lightly.

Dick smirked, jerking his head back at the corner store behind him. “CCTV,” he said.

“Ah. So B’s looking for me this time, huh?” Jason exhaled smoke from his cigarette. “And the old man sent you instead? He couldn’t be bothered?”

“Actually, it was Al who tipped me off.” Dick’s brow furrowed. “B’s been trying to find you the past couple days. He’s been worried about you, Jay, we all have.”

The teen took a hit off his cigarette. “No need, I’m fine,” he muttered, blowing the smoke away from his brother.

Dick’s face fell. “I know you are, but that doesn’t mean we haven’t been concerned, Little Wing,” he replied. “B was going to keep looking this evening, but he got called away early this morning. League stuff. He didn’t want to go until he knew you were safe.”

Jason arched a challenging eyebrow. “But he obviously went anyway because you’re here, Dickiebird.”

“He had to, as much as he didn’t want to. It’s apparently pretty important,” Dick told him. “He did tell them all off, though, it was quite a sight. You would have loved it.”

“No shit, really?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you about that.” Dick smiled, leaning against the wall next to his brother as he lightly crossed his arms in front of him. “I know it’s been an adjustment these past couple years being part of this crazy family, Jay, I know we can be a lot. It was an adjustment for me, too. But B really does care about you, y’know? I mean.” He paused with a chuckle. “Remember that time you were too sick to go on patrol, and he stayed home with you? I literally can’t remember the last time he didn’t go on a nightly patrol for any reason other than he physically couldn’t and Alfred wouldn't let him.”

A small but genuine smile appeared on Jason’s face as he thought back to that night. Despite being miserable with a bad head cold, chilling on the couch with Bruce watching classic movies and eating too much popcorn until he passed out on their adopted father really was a great memory.

“He’s not Willis,” Dick continued quietly, gently. “He’s not gonna give up on you, Jay.”

The cheerful look slowly vanished from the teen’s face, but at the same time, he knew it was true. Bruce wasn’t his worthless, pathetic excuse for a dad. Bruce was, in his way, trying for him. And he did appreciate that effort, it went a long way. It sometimes just took him a minute to remember that.

Jason took another long drag off his cigarette, casually flicking some ashes into the alley. “So, what were you doing before you came all this way out here for little ol’ me?” he asked, taking in his brother’s casual dress shirt and dress pants. “You’re gonna stick out like a sore thumb around here dressed up like that, Dickiebird. And you’d better keep an eye on B’s car. With as nice as it is, someone’ll probably try and jack it or go after it for scrap as soon as they get the chance.”

“He’s got fantastic insurance,” Dick quipped with a shrug. “I was just about to grab Babs, and…” But then, his eyes widened when he noticed the crimson that had seeped through the teen’s dark jeans on his right leg. “Jason, what happened? Are you okay?”

“Oh, this?” Jason glanced down at his leg. “No big deal, I took care of it a little while ago before you got here. Feel like I earned this, actually.” He gestured with his cigarette.

“What happened, Jason?” Dick repeated, dropping to a knee next to him to try to get a better look at where that blood was coming from.

Jason pulled his leg a bit closer to him out of instinct, but he really couldn’t get away from the other man; honestly, he was too worn down to really care. Plus his concern was nice to see. He just knew his older brother was going to overreact about it like he usually did. “Gunshot wound,” he told him way too lightly. “I took the bullet out and stitched it up. Probably not the prettiest work, but it gets the job done. Hurts like a bitch, though.”

“You what?!”

“Relax, it’s not the first time I’ve done it in my life.” Jason shrugged. “Really, Dick, it’s not that bad."

Dick leaned closer, carefully rolling up the teen’s pant leg to get a better look at the wound. Jason hissed as the material jostled it. The stitches were on the cruder side like he’d said, but they were holding up all right. And while the area was a little red, it didn’t seem to be inflamed or showing any other signs of infection. The bullet had also thankfully seemed to miss any critical areas, he wasn’t bleeding out. But still.

“Can I convince you to come back to the manor with me and get this looked at by Al?” he wondered, fighting to keep his tone casual. He trusted his brother knew what he was doing; after all, Jason had pretty much taken care of himself on the streets before Bruce had taken him in when he was fifteen. But he would still feel a lot better if the wound was looked over by more practiced hands from years of combat medicine experience. The traces of crimson, his own blood, that lingered on the teen’s hands made Dick's stomach lurch.

“Dickiebird…”

“Or we can go to Leslie’s clinic, which is closer. Your choice, Little Wing,” Dick added quickly. Leslie Thompkins had been the vigilante family doctor for longer than he’d been a part of it; he couldn’t recall how many times she’d patched him up or saved his life over the past fifteen years. Her free clinic in the Bowery had helped so many people, especially kids, in the rough neighborhood. Jason had shared with him once that he’d brought kids he’d looked after there many times while on the streets, and he’d even gone to her off and on for himself before he’d been adopted by Bruce. She was pretty much the only doctor he trusted. The clinic was closed for the day, but Dick knew that if they gave her a call, she’d come see the teen. He didn’t care which option they went with, just as long as someone with actual medical experience made sure his leg was all right.

Jason met his older brother’s gaze for a moment. “You guys must really be missing me, huh?” When Dick nodded, he chuckled. “Sure, why not? I’m starting to miss my bed anyway, the place I’ve been crashing at isn’t nearly so nice. And nothing compares to Al’s tea.” He took another hit off his cigarette before he flicked some ashes off the end of it. “Just let me finish this first. I can’t smoke anywhere on the manor’s grounds without Al somehow knowing about it.”

But then, he frowned when Dick took the cigarette from his hand and put it out beneath his black dress shoe. He exhaled the smoke heavily. “Really, Dickiebird? Was that necessary?”

“Just looking out for ya, Jay. These things will kill ya.”

Jason sighed. “Sure. If Gotham doesn’t kill me first.”

Dick’s face crumpled. But then, his eyes narrowed as they landed on something in the dark alley behind the teen. A body lying much too still in an unnatural position to be living. “Jason…”

Jason didn’t even look over to see what he was talking about— he knew. “He was one of Roman’s guys,” he offered as a way of explanation. His face was carefully blank, not giving anything away. “Sionis has been sending more guys out to more areas lately since the Falcones have moved over to your turf now, and the Maronis aren’t around anymore. He wants to be the new head drug kingpin in town. Seems he’s well on his way.” He glared up at his brother. “They were trying to sell to kids tonight, Dick. Kids. My age, younger…”

“And you stopped them?” Dick paused when Jason nodded. “That’s good. Is that how you got that?” He gestured to his leg.

The teen barely even gave the wound a glance. “Yeah, when I was fighting them off.”

“You fought them off as a civilian?” Dick knew for sure that his brother hadn’t stopped by the manor to get his Robin gear— he would have been detected by Bruce or Alfred— and he didn’t think he was keeping any of it in another spot. Not that he knew of, anyway. “Jay, you know what B says about—!”

“I don’t give a fuck what B says about not fighting people as civilians,” Jason snapped. “I know you’ve been through a lot of shit in your life, too, Dick, I do. But you and me? We’re not the same, and we never will be. I’ve been fighting my whole life. If I hadn’t, I’d have been dead long before now. My dad, the scum that roams these streets at night, they would’ve taken me out long ago. I have a reputation in this area from before I met B because I fought to survive. Anyone who might have seen me pummeling these shitheads wouldn’t find it strange that I can hold my own in a fight. Nothing B’s taught me since would cause anyone to bat an eyelash.” He sighed, his face falling as he lowered his gaze. “I wasn’t going to let those guys hurt those kids, Dickiebird, I couldn’t…”

Dick set a hand on his shoulder, solid and comforting. “I know, Little Wing, I know. I couldn’t either. That's why I became a cop, to stop assholes like that, and you know how B wasn’t the most fond of that idea.” He glanced back into the alley with a sigh when the teen didn’t respond. “You said there were more of these guys?”

Jason rolled his eyes, but he didn’t shove his brother’s hand away. “Relax, they lived,” he told him, still not looking away from the dried blood from when he’d patched himself up on his hands. “Few broken bones, a concussion or two. They went back to Sionis with their tails between their legs. Hopefully, it’ll be enough of a message to him to stay the hell away from this area. If not, I’ll drive it home more. However I have to."

Dick nodded, understanding but cautious. There were times, like now, where something dangerous entered Jason’s tone like this. He was a skilled and competent Robin, there was no doubt about that, but there were times his temper and impulsiveness got the better of him and got him hurt. Like now.

But the teen didn’t need a lecture right now. Whatever had caused him to leave the manor and stay away longer than usual was the same thing that had led him here to this spot, to this point of violence. He needed someone to listen.

Jason watched with surprise as Dick sat down next to him. “Wanna talk about what happened here?” his brother asked.

The teen looked away. Not particularly, but Dick was one of the easier people in his life to talk to, frustratingly. “Do you remember Rena?” he wondered quietly. “She was a friend I made in that Wayne academic program B put me in after he had me arrested when we first met so I wouldn’t have to spend all that time in juvie?”

Dick bit his lip. The name did ring a bell. “Oh, yeah… She’s that girl you introduced me to when we ran into her out birthday shopping for Alfie once, right?” he muttered. His eyes gleamed as he playfully nudged Jason’s arm with his own. “Wasn’t she your girlfriend? I remember you had the biggest crush on her when you were both in that program.”

Jason, amazingly, appeared a bit more flustered than he was used to seeing him. “I, uh, I don’t know if I’d call her… anyway…” He cleared his throat. “She reached out to me at the manor. And she, um…” He paused, his gaze falling. “She told me my best friend from when I was still on the street… Max… he was like an older brother to me, he looked out for me out here… she told me that he’d been found dead. Police say it was a drug overdose, but…” He shook his head, his voice catching. “Fuck, I know him better than that, Dick, he’d never even touch drugs like the kind they’re saying killed him. He’d lost too much family to them, and he’d come so far with his life…” He paused, swallowing thickly, his shaking tone low. “He was killed for some reason, I know he was, I can feel it in my bones… I just don’t know why…”

“Damn, I’m so sorry to hear that, Jay…” Dick frowned. There was more he would have liked to say, but he knew the teen tended to shut down when too much sympathy was aimed his way. “Is that why you left the manor a few days ago?”

“Yeah.” Jason took a deep breath. He blinked quickly, trying to keep some stubborn tears that wanted to form back. “I had to find out what really happened to him. And that’s when I found Black Mask was making moves in this area.”

“Do you think it’s connected to what happened to Max?”

Jason nodded, his gaze hardening. “I’m just not sure how yet,” he confirmed. “But I intend to find out. I just thought I might… curb some of their activity tonight. Send a message of my own that this area is off limits. Especially when I saw them with some kids I used to know out here.”

“Is that how…?” Dick’s question trailed off as he glanced at the lifeless body in the alley again.

“He slipped.” There wasn’t any feeling in Jason’s tone again, no light in his smoky eyes, his face once again blank by design. “I chased him up the fire escape. One of the other guys shot me as we were running up there, it startled him, he fell…” He shrugged slightly. “I couldn’t get to him in time with my leg. Guess he had a bad landing.”

Dick was silent for a moment, taking in his brother’s words. Part of him wasn’t quite sure if they were completely truthful, and he hated that doubt was nagging away at him about his story. Jason was grieving, he’d been going after someone he felt was likely linked to his best friend’s murder. A big part of him just wanted to accept his version of events and not try to think too much about if the teen had actually fatally shoved someone off a fire escape. The result was the same either way.

“And then what?”

Jason looked over at him. “I took the kids who were targeted out to an all-night diner Max used to take me to a couple blocks away and bought them dinner,” he told him. “They have the best apple pie you’ve ever had there. Had to treat them to some of that, too.” His features softened into a small smile, one which was reflected in his voice. “Made it this far before I had to take the bullet out of my leg, bummed a cigarette off a passerby who said it looked like I could use one, stitched up my leg, and then you showed up.”

Dick returned the look. “Well, it sounds like you had quite the eventful evening, Jay,” he said.

“And it sounds like you were going to have an eventful evening before you had to come get me,” Jason countered with a sigh. “Sorry I ruined your date night, Dickiebird.”

“It’s all right, really. You’re not ruining anything, Little Wing,” Dick assured him. “I feel a lot better knowing that you’re safe.” He paused thoughtfully. “Did you eat when you brought those kids to the diner?”

Jason shook his head. “Nah, I was in too much pain at the time and thought taking care of my leg was more important,” he muttered. He raised a curious eyebrow at him. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I’ve got reservations in a couple hours for the best Mediterranean restaurant in Metropolis,” Dick told him with a smile. “If you’d want to stop there after you get Alf to look over those stitches, of course.”

“Oh do you now?” Jason regarded him uncertainly. “… Barbie won’t mind you skipping out on a date with her to hang out with me instead?”

“Nah, course not, you know Babs.” Dick brushed his concern aside. “Besides, when’s the last time you and I actually got to hang out while we weren’t doing something for B? C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

Jason thought it over for a moment. It had been quite a while, and he hadn’t really realized how hungry he actually was until then. “Mediterranean, you say?”

“Best you’ll get in this area, I guarantee you.”

His smoky blue eyes gleamed with mischief as he smirked. “You buyin’?”

Dick chuckled. “Ah, hell. Sure, why not? I’m buying.” He’d been going to pay for both him and Barbara anyway.

Jason grinned. “Well, I might just have to take you up on your offer, then,” he said.

It was a look Dick could easily return. “Great, it’s a date,” he replied. “Now, let’s get outta here.”

The two brothers stood, the younger stretching out his stiff, sore leg, before crossing the street back to Bruce’s car. Dick slid behind the wheel while Jason immediately began fiddling with the radio. The former sent a quick text to Alfred, telling him what state the teen was in and that they were headed back to the manor before sending another quick one to Barbara to explain the situation before he started to drive.

“So, okay,” Jason began, leaning back in the seat when he finally found some classic rock on the radio. It was playing quite loudly, but Dick knew better than to try to turn it down. They’d just have to talk over it. “Since you yourself said it’s a date, I want us to do everything you had planned for this dinner with Barbie.”

“It’s a figure of speech, Jay.”

But Jason grinned at him with all the mischief he could muster. “Oh no, Dickiebird. This is for you,” he told him.

Dick chuckled. “For me, huh?” he wondered.

“Totally.” The teen rested the foot of his injured leg against the dashboard, tapping it in time with the beat. Most likely for comfort, but also precisely because Bruce hated it. “Since you’re kinda dressed up, I’m assuming this place is a bit fancier, especially with it being in Metropolis, and I just want you to get your money’s worth with what you’re getting with these reservations. Plus I just want all the bells and whistles with this. Candles. Potpourri. Those super light croissants with melted butter. The guy who plays the violin at your table while you’re trying to eat, and you don’t know if you’re supposed to keep eating or stop and watch him play. The complimentary bottle of wine.”

“Okay, that one I’m canceling,” Dick muttered.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Dickiebird.”

“Jason, you’re gonna be seventeen.”

“And?” Jason pressed, his smirk returning. “They wouldn’t know that. It’s not like it’s my first alcoholic beverage, not by a long shot. I mean, for starters, do you know how many of those little champagne glasses I’ve snuck at those gala things B makes us go to?”

Dick shook his head, trying to stop the smile fighting its way to his face— he did try, really— without success. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done similar things when he was a teenager. “Ah. So that’s how you keep managing to elude old Ms. Contwell whenever she’s looking for you.”

“It’s an art form, really.” Jason chuckled. “But about that wine.”

“No.”

“Then fine, you can have it just for you,” Jason suggested.

Dick arched an eyebrow at him. “I’m driving, Jay,” he said.

Jason shrugged. “I’ll drive us home.”

Dick laughed. “What, and let you take B’s car for a joyride?” he wondered lightly.

The teen briefly considered that. “Okay, that’s fair,” he conceded. “But I’ve only done that one time. And B’s let me drive his cars since then, so.”

“You are unbelievable.” Dick’s smile lingered as he turned off the main streets and headed for the manor out in Bristol. He hadn’t really noticed until then how much he’d missed just hanging out with his younger brother. “I suppose I could take the bottle home. Save it for a date night in with Babs.”

“There ya go. That’s the spirit, Dickiebird.” Jason looked over at him curiously. “Was it just the dinner tonight, or was there something else you were gonna treat her to?”

Dick glanced back at him. “There was something cheesy you definitely wouldn’t have enjoyed that I had planned,” he told him. He paused for a moment, thinking quickly. “Is there anything in Metropolis you’d be interested in doing after since we’ll be out there anyway?”

His brother’s eyes widened with surprise. “Really?” he asked. There was a trace of hope in his tone.

“Yeah,” Dick answered with a smile. It was something he was glad to hear from him. “It’s our time to hang out, after all.” He frowned when Jason looked away. “What is it?”

“Nah, it’s nothing, not really… You’d think it’s stupid anyway,” the teen mumbled.

“Try me, Little Wing.”

Jason looked back at him, this time almost with a challenge in his gaze as he straightened a bit more. “Okay. The Metro is having a special classic lit display with original manuscripts and covers and translations from around the world, book discussions, the whole nine yards. Since tonight’s the first night, they’re also having a dramatic reading of Dracula, and… yeah…”

Dick didn’t like how uncertain he sounded as his sentence trailed off. He’d known Jason had a soft spot for classic literature ever since he’d caught his brother reading his old, beat up copy of Pride and Prejudice when he’d visited the manor a couple years before. It didn’t surprise him something like this would catch his attention. His smile broadened. “Sure, that sounds like a good plan to me, Jay,” he said.

The way the teen’s face lit up made it all worth it, especially with the way his past few days had been. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dick confirmed as he began taking the long driveway up to the manor after the gate had unlocked for them. “Robin Hood has always been one of my favorite stories, ever since I was a kid.”

Jason’s smile lingered even as they parked and made their way inside to find where Alfred was waiting for them. He remembered how his older brother had told him that was one of his inspirations for the Robin name, which he’d given him his blessing to continue on. “Hey, Dickiebird. You know what would go really well with all those book discussions?” he posed.

“What’s that, Jay?”

The mischief returned to Jason’s eyes. “That complimentary wine."

“No.”

Dick shook his head as he stared back at the face he knew so well, his gaze lingering on the faded “J” on his left cheek— a scar left behind by the murderous clown. “It can’t… it can’t be you…” he murmured. “We… we saw you die…”

Jason smirked with a mirthless chuckle. “Is it easier for you to think me dead than of what I’ve become?” he asked, his tone unsettlingly calm. “What he made me to be?”

“N-no, of course not, I…” Dick swallowed thickly, his racing mind scrambling to make sense of what should have been so familiar. But all he could think about when he looked at his younger brother, his Little Wing, was his agonized screams that would keep him up at night. His anxious, defeated pleas for death that he could never unhear. The gunshot he’d believed had taken Jason’s life as he’d fallen, broken, to the hard floor. “You… you were dead, Jay… We saw…”

Was this some sort of cruel hallucination from Crane’s fear toxin? Had he been exposed to it after Slade had brought him here and not known it?

But no, that… wasn’t quite right… It was the teen’s lifeless body, his empty eyes, that haunted his nightmares… Not… not this…

That train of thought was instantly and violently derailed when the Arkham Knight… when Jason… knelt in front of him and grabbed him roughly by the neck, cutting off his airway. “Does that feel real enough to you, Dickiebird?!” he demanded, frustration seeping into his tone as his smoky eyes flared. “Does that feel like I’m dead to you?!” He then released his hold on the vigilante and stood, turning away from him as he attempted to calm himself down.

Dick coughed forcefully as air rushed back into his lungs. As soon as he could catch a breath, he looked back up at his younger brother. “W-why…?” he managed to ask, though he didn’t even really know where to start.

Jason arched an eyebrow as he glanced over his shoulder at him. “That could have a number of answers,” he told him. “Which one do you want first? Why the name? Why the getup? Why side with Crane? Why am I going to kill B tonight?” His voice darkened a bit on the last question, but he paused when he heard the other man’s breath hitch. He shook his head slightly. “Of course. Why am I not surprised? You’re his golden child. You always have been. You always had to be his perfect little soldier.”

“That… isn’t true, Jason…” Dick said, but he stopped when the younger man rounded on him, rage darkening his face.

“No, you just didn’t see it!” Jason snapped, his voice cracking as it rose. “There was no way you could have since you were gone so often! But your shadow was over me the whole time I was Robin. Every move I made was held to the standard of how you’d already moved. If I made a mistake, if I went left instead of right, it was always about the mistake you hadn’t made or that I didn’t do it the same way you did…” He paused, his gaze faltering. “I could never be you, Dick, I was never good enough to be you.”

“You were never… supposed to be me, Jay.” Dick winced as he tried to maneuver himself to a better position to face him. “I’d hoped you’d be better than me… I’d always hoped you’d find your own way. I was learning as I went, trial and error… B wasn’t used to working with someone when I was Robin, there were a lot of growing pains… For both of us. I’d hoped B would have figured it out more with you.”

Jason scoffed. “Yeah, well, you can see how well that went with how B felt about me.”

Dick gave him a sad smile. “B’s never been good at expressing anything, you know that… But I promise you, Jay, he was hard on you because he was worried about you, he didn’t want you to get hurt. He was harsh on me when I was reckless, too. When it led me to getting hurt… Just like you.”

“Bullshit! Then why didn’t he—!” The younger man paused, letting out a shaky breath. “I used to look up to you when I was a kid, y’know that, Dickiebird? Whether it was as a Flying Grayson or as Robin. And when you gave me your blessing to take up that mantle from you, I thought maybe I…” He chuckled as his sentence trailed off. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. Because I could never live up to you, and I used to hate you for that, that I had that expectation always hanging over me, and now I’d love nothing more than to punch you in that perfect face of yours.” His gloved hand curled into a fist, but he didn’t budge, and his hunched shoulders dropped ever so slightly. “Don’t worry, as B’s favorite, I’m sure he’s tearing up Gotham to try to find you right now. Which is more than I can say he’s ever done for me…”

Dick shook his head. “Jason, no, that’s not—!”

“No, don’t you dare tell me that isn’t true!” Jason sounded angry, but his voice faltered. “I trusted B, and he abandoned me. He left me to die! He replaced me! I was worthless to him!”

“Please, Little Wing—!”

“Don’t call me that!” Jason’s voice cracked as he looked away, his tone more drained, quieter, as if the flurry of fury had taken everything out of him. “That’s not who I am… not anymore… not after… I don’t deserve that…”

Dick’s gaze fell. “I know… I know you trusted B, I know…” he muttered. “I know you feel like he abandoned you…”

“He did abandon me.” Jason’s hands clenched and unclenched in a tight fist. “He left me to die… with him…”

“With Joker?” Dick watched as his younger brother flinched at the name he hadn’t yet been able to say. His brow furrowed with concern. “Jay, could you let me free from the wall?” The other man glanced at him uncertainly. “It’s okay, you don’t have to trust me completely, you can leave my hands cuffed. But I don’t have any weapons, I’m not going to hurt you, I’ve never wanted to do that. And you can see I’m not gonna get very far on this leg. I just want to be able to talk to you easier. Please.”

Jason hesitated for a moment and glanced out of the store, probably to check if Slade or maybe Crane were nearby, before he sighed and approached him. Dick watched without a word, without moving, as he unsecured the chain of the cuffs from his wrists, sighing with relief when lowering his arms eased pressure on his sore body while giving him more of a free range of motion. He also felt a faint flutter of hope that it seemed his brother had at least a tiny bit of trust for him still; he’d never taken that for granted before, and he certainly wasn’t going to now.

“Can I please tell you what happened?”

“I know what happened,” Jason snapped as his smoky eyes flared. “B left me to die, and—!”

“Because Joker said so?” Dick interrupted. Fear flashed across the younger man’s face again, and his heart broke knowing that even though the clown was dead, Jason was still clearly afraid of him. “Jay, he lied, he twisted the truth until it broke, all the time. You don’t think he would have wanted you to feel all alone and abandoned and did whatever he could to make you believe it?”

Jason took a step back from him, shaking his head. “Stop…”

But Dick pressed on. “I know how it was when he got to people, Jason. He had that way about him. I understand—!”

“No! You can never understand!” Jason yelled, his voice breaking. “And I… I’m glad you don’t… What he did… You couldn’t…”

“Then help me to,” Dick implored. “I’m here, Jay. You can tell me if you want to.” When his brother set his lips into a thin, stern line and remained silent, he sighed. “B and I weren’t on the best terms when you went after Joker, we weren’t speaking much, I’m not sure if you remember. But the morning after you called me, I called him because I was worried about you. And after what Joker had done then, so was he. He’d already been looking for you but hadn’t had much luck. He asked me to help him find you. I called in Wally and Roy to help. We searched, Jay… here, in Blüdhaven…”

“I-I told him B would come… for months.” Jason’s voice was shaking. “But… he didn’t… and he kept twisting that knife in further… B had abandoned me… left me to him and all he was putting me through…”

“B was trying to find you, Jason,” Dick told him earnestly. “The whole time. He was, Alf, Babs, me, our friends… we all were… B was hardly doing anything else. He wanted nothing more than for you to come home.”

Jason shook his head, but he could see the doubt in the younger man’s eyes, the certainty of what Joker had told him loosening its grasp ever so slightly. He wanted to believe him, if he could allow himself to after all the murderous clown had done. “He gave up on me… tossed me out… replaced me… Hell, it probably didn’t take him that long… he just needed an excuse to…” He chuckled, but the humorless sound contained a note of desperation. “He showed me B with his new Robin… I’ve watched them together…”

“There is a new Robin, but it’s not what you think.” Dick’s brow furrowed when the younger man flinched again, almost as if he’d been struck. “Tim found us out. B wasn’t the same after you’d been gone for months, he was desperate, angry… closer to crossing that line he won’t cross.” He paused when Jason glanced his way. “Tim noticed the difference in him, he knew you were gone. He was worried about B, he was convinced he still needed a Robin. He asked me first if I’d take up the mantle again, I said no because of my duties in Blüdhaven, so he offered to take it up himself. B refused for a while, he didn’t want to take on another Robin after you’d been gone so long and we still had no idea what happened to you or if you were okay, but he was persistent. And it’s a good thing he was. Thinking back, I’m afraid of how far gone B would have been without Tim to keep him grounded.” He smiled slightly. “I promise you he wasn’t looking for someone new to replace you, he was ready to give up Robin all together. Maybe Batman, too, depending on how far he would’ve spiraled.”

The other man let out a shuddering breath. “No… you’re lying to me…” he murmured, shaking his head.

“I’m not, Jay, I swear I’m not. I have no reason to, I wouldn’t do that to you,” Dick said. His gaze faltered as he lowered it. “Joker sent us the footage of some of the torture he put you through… of when he shot you… we truly thought you were dead… We mourned you…”

“Stop lying…”

“I wouldn’t lie to you about this.” Dick’s voice caught in his throat, coming out rough. “We saw it, Jay… the crowbar, the brand, the gun…” A thin line of tears formed in his eyes behind his domino. “I still hear your screams if I’m alone at night… you pleading with Joker to just kill you… how empty your voice was when you almost told him B’s identity… I’ll never unhear these things, Jay… They haunt me because we failed you…” He swallowed thickly. “And I’m sorry, Jay… I’m so sorry…”

Jason stiffened. “For what?” he demanded sharply, slowly turning to face him. “What could you possibly be sorry for?”

Dick’s face fell. “For not being able to help you that day,” he told him softly. “For not being able to pull you back from that ledge when you trusted me to do so… I couldn’t…” He blinked rapidly as a single tear escaped and trailed down his cheek. “Why… why didn’t you wait…?”

His brother’s gaze faltered. “I tried to, Dickiebird, I really did, but I… I kept seeing those kids…” he whispered, his eyes faraway. “What he did to them… And I just kept thinking… this is going to keep happening unless something changes… more people are gonna die… I couldn’t let it happen again, I couldn’t…”

“I understand, Jay…”

“No, you don’t!” Jason’s temper flared again as he began to pace. “I’m the only one who tried to do anything about it. And I’m the one who had to pay a price for it!”

Dick slowly shook his head. “It wasn’t just you…” he said. “B was never the same after he thought you’d died. I’ve never seen him as violent as he was then except for when Harvey almost beat me to death when I was a kid and when Oz nearly got me tonight. He was in a depression so bad I still don’t think he’s fully out of it even though it’s been almost two years. He pushed Tim and I away, not wanting the same to happen to us, he still often pushes us away… He’s not the same man anymore, and I was so scared he was going to lose himself completely. He almost did. When he saw you shot…” His gaze faltered. “The only thing that destroyed him more was not being able to bring your body home… We searched, but Joker made sure we never found you… Now I know why. But Joker was trying to bring us all down with what he did to you. B blames himself, he’s been beating himself up ever since.”

“As he should, it’s his fault. He may not have touched me himself, but he allowed him to do all he did.” But Jason’s anger didn’t last long as he turned away again, putting distance between himself and his brother. “Do you know how hard it is to look at myself in the mirror, Dickiebird? To see this fucking mark on my face every day? To remind me of him and all he did…”

“Jay…”

“He… he hollowed me out and filled me with… with nothing but hate, and…” Jason took a deep breath against the tears that were threatening to form. “All that pain… the crowbar, the branding, the beatings… those were nothing… I barely felt them after a while… It was that blackness that he put in me… that hate… that hate that can only be erased with a bullet between B’s eyes…” He gave a mirthless chuckle. “From the sound of it, I’ll be putting the old man out of his misery.”

“That won’t help, Jason.” Dick fought to keep his tone calm, even. He didn’t want to fight him if he didn’t have to, he wasn’t sure if he could. “The man who did all this to you is dead. You want some kind of revenge? Justice? I get it, I do. But there’s another way to do it. We’re not the ones aligned with Joker, Jay.”

“But you didn’t stop him.”

Dick scrambled to try and grab onto something he could use. “So your solution is to use this militia of yours to destroy Gotham? For what? What do you get out of this, Jay, huh? What’d Crane promise you if you did all this?”

“Vengeance,” Jason growled, pounding his fist against the wall. “Like I should have, it’s mine.” He paused, glancing back at Dick. “I can fix this! What happened to me…” His eyes narrowed. “And I’m not trying to destroy Gotham. I’m saving her. She’s my city now. I’m saving her in a way B never could! He’s never been willing to do what truly has to be done.”

“Listen to yourself for just a minute, Jay,” Dick muttered. “You’re not saving Gotham. The people you have moving in here now? They’re going to destroy her. Because all the good people who want to make Gotham the best it can be have been driven out of it by Crane.”

“His agenda is different from mine.”

“Doesn’t matter. You don’t think what he wants is going to take priority for him?” Dick wondered. “Of course it is. He’s running this shitshow, Jason. He doesn’t care about you. He may not know who you are or why you have this… hatred for B, but he’s only going to keep you around until he’s done with you, then he’s going to drop you like a bad habit. He’s using you. He’s no better than Joker when he was using you to get to B.”

“Shut up!” Jason crossed the distance between them in a few quick strides and grabbed the older man roughly by the shoulder, slamming him into the wall behind him. Dick set his jaw, determined not to make a sound. “You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about!”

“I do,” Dick gasped out, meeting his brother’s infuriated gaze with his own determined one. “You really don't think Joker tortured you for months, made it look like he killed you, and said you were his to not mess with B?! That’s exactly what he was doing. It was always about the game he was playing with B. What he did to you was a way he thought he could win. And he very nearly did.”

Jason’s smoky eyes flared. “I’m not some pawn in someone else’s game. Not even B’s,” he snapped, tightening his hold on Dick, pushing him back into the wall just that much harder. Still, the other man didn’t react, didn’t try to shove him away, didn’t try to fight back. “Not anymore.”

“What… what about Slade?” Dick pressed, remembering something the mercenary had said back at the penthouse, remembering how he seemed to have some sway over Jason. How he’d said the younger man had paid him more than Joker, how he’d gotten the army. “He made it pretty clear to me this militia is his.”

“They answer to me.”

“For now.” Dick couldn’t help but wince when Jason’s hold tightened on him even more. “I… I know Slade, he’s biding his time until he doesn’t think you’re useful anymore. Then he’s gonna pull all this out from under you. What’s he got on you, Jason? What do you owe him?”

A tense moment passed before the younger man released him and turned away, cursing heatedly under his breath as he passed his gloved hands over his face. Dick let out a relieved breath as he slumped against the wall. “I hate him,” Jason growled, mainly to himself. “But he was the lesser of two evils at the time. He… he…” He paused, unable to say what he’d been about to.

“Joker?” Dick prompted.

Jason gave a curt nod, some of the tension seemingly easing out of his shoulders. “He was paying Slade to ensure I didn’t leave Arkham Island. So—!”

“Wait.” Dick’s breath caught in his chest as his mind crashed to a halt. “You… you were… at Arkham…? All that time…?” Bruce had been there so often over the past two years, with or without Tim. He’d even stopped there on occasion. And they’d never had a clue.

A slight smirk tugged at the corner of Jason’s lips, but there was no cruelty, no feeling in it. He just looked so sad, so tired. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” he asked quietly. “Tears you up knowing I was so close, right under your nose, the whole time. It’s amazing what an abandoned wing and a few dirty guards willing to do anything for a pay day can do, isn’t it? I was always moved around whenever any of you were there so you would never hear me screaming. But I was left there… for over a year… with him… with any of the other inmates who wanted to take a crack at me… and there were a lot of them…”

Dick shook his head. “Jay, I know it doesn’t make it better, it doesn’t change anything, but… I’m sorry… I…”

“Don’t.” Jason sighed, deflating again. “After that riot happened at Arkham and all that shit went down with the Titan formula, I slipped out in all the commotion and was stopped by Slade. I told him I could pay him more to let me leave than what the clown was paying him to keep me there once I was away from Arkham. Since all he deals with is money, and a hatred of you apparently, he let me leave. But to ensure I didn’t bail on him, he implanted a tracker in me so that he’d always know where I am. Even though I’ve paid, he… he wants to still keep track of me, it’s still there…”

Dick’s gaze fell. As much vibrato as he was trying to put behind his words, his brother sounded terrified. “So you’re the one Robin fought when you were stealing from B,” he said. “Thought maybe Slade had found a new apprentice or something since Rose ditched him and Jericho hates his guts just as much.”

Jason chuckled, though something Dick couldn’t quite read flashed across his face at the mention of Rose Wilson. “Nope, just me,” he replied. “The new kid could use a little work yet, though. I almost killed him…”

Dick thought back to when he’d gotten the frantic call from Bruce that he’d found Tim nearly bleeding out from a knife wound in his collarbone and neck in Wayne Tower about a year ago and shuddered. He never would have imagined that attack had been from Jason; it was a rage-fueled violence he’d never seen from his Little Wing before. “Give Tim some time, this hasn’t come as easy for him as it did for you or me. Despite that, he’s come a long way.” He sighed as he took in the younger man’s slightly hunched shoulders, painfully reminded of how he’d been restrained in a wheelchair with barbed wire— another lingering reminder of his time spent with Joker. “I’m sorry you were used as a pawn, Jay. All of us have been in some form or another, some of us lost more than others. But to me, it sounds like you're over your head with Crane and Slade.”

“I’m fine,” Jason protested a bit too quickly. He sounded so much like his stubborn little brother that Dick’s chest hurt.

“It’s okay if you’re not, it’s a lot to deal with,” the older man told him softly, kindly. “All this hate, what Crane and Slade are expecting of you… It’s not too late to fix this, Jason. We can help you, we can figure it out. You can come home…”

Jason staggered back from him, shaking his head. “N-no, I… I can’t…” he whispered. “Not after… not after all he’s done to me… I… can’t…”

“You can,” Dick gently insisted. “That’s what we’re here for, Jay. We all miss you. We can help you with this. We can do it together.” He smiled. “And Alf can make some of his famous tea. And you can even have your old room again. I’ve tidied it up here and there, but otherwise, it’s stayed exactly the same. The Flying Graysons poster you hid under your bed is even still there.”

The other man remained silent for a long moment, shaking ever so slightly. Conflicting emotions crossed his youthful features— too young to have gone through all he had, Dick reasoned— as he closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. “I… I can’t, Dickiebird… I’m not…” He paused, opening his eyes again as he turned back to his brother, and Dick’s heart reached out for him when he caught the hint of desperation in them. He seemed so lost.

But then, Jason chuckled. “It’s kinda funny, really… ironic. Your girlfriend was just saying something similar before I heard you’d been brought in.”

Hearing Barbara referenced made Dick’s heart stop. “What…?”

Jason arched a confused eyebrow. “Barbie? I just assumed she’s still your girlfriend, but…”

“N-no… I mean, yes, yes she is, but… when did you talk to her?” Hope flared in Dick’s chest. Was she really…?

“I don’t know exactly.” Jason shrugged. “Not even a half hour ago? I only left her when I heard you—!”

“She’s alive?” Dick let out a shuddering breath as tears rushed to his eyes.

Jason frowned. “Well, yeah. She’s in a store at the other end of Killinger’s,” he told him. “Why…?”

Killinger’s. It was a good spot for a secret headquarters as the old, abandoned department store was set to be demolished. But that didn’t matter right now. “B said she… she was…” Dick couldn’t even bring himself to finish the sentence.

But his brother seemed to understand him anyway as anger briefly flashed across his face. “Crane wants him to feel like he’s losing his family, like he’s failing, and he wants the world to see him doing so,” he explained. “He manipulated B into seeing that when he was exposed to his new fear toxin. I’m… sorry he told you and that you thought she…”

“It… it’s okay…” Dick’s eyes fell closed, drained as he tried to keep the burning tears back. Barbara was alive. That confirmation was all that mattered to him. That empty space, that darkness left behind when he’d believed he’d lost her began to ease ever so slightly. “I’m…” he cleared his throat. “She’s okay…?”

Jason nodded. “I made sure Crane knows to stay the hell away from her,” he assured him. “And as the militia still answer to me, they know I’ll kill them if any of them so much as touch her.”

Normally, Dick would have advised against death threats, but he was too overcome with relief, with gratitude, that his heart was still intact that he decided to ignore it this once. “Thank you, Jay,” he murmured. “For protecting her.”

“Sure, you know I love Barbie. I’m not going to let anything happen to her. Not while I’m here.”

“Can… can I see her?” Dick knew he was probably asking for too much, he was a prisoner after all, but he had to try. He trusted Jason, despite everything, when it came to his girlfriend. While his hatred for Bruce ran deep and had firmly taken root, he knew he would never harm Barbara. He just had to see her for himself.

Jason noticeably hesitated, gaze flitting around nervously. “I… I don’t know if that’s…”

“Please, Jay? I mean, you can say I escaped if we get caught.”

“Well, I don’t know if they’d fall for that, but…” Jason chuckled. Another moment passed before a familiar look of mischief flared in his smoky eyes. Dick bit back a smile. He may have still hated their adopted father, but there was no love lost for him when it came to Scarecrow and Deathstroke. “Sure, fuck ‘em. Why the hell not?”

Dick grinned up at him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet.” Jason walked back over to the other man, offering him a hand. “I’ll drop you by her, and then I have to meet with Crane about the next stage of the operation. I’m late as it is.”

“Yeah?” Dick reached out and took his proffered hand with his cuffed ones. “And what’s that?”

Jason’s gaze faltered as he lowered the visor on his helmet, concealing his features. “You don’t want to know,” he muttered, his voice once again modulated.

Dick’s stomach dropped, not liking the sound of what his brother had gotten himself involved in. “Jay, you don’t have to—!” he began, but he was interrupted when he was pulled to his feet. He winced as his body protested, and he leaned against the other man as Jason steadied him.

“You okay?”

“I… I really can’t put pressure on my left leg, but… yeah, I’m okay,” Dick answered breathlessly, deciding to drop what he’d been about to say. He didn’t think he’d be heard anyway.

Jason regarded him for a moment. “We’ll take it slow,” he said.

“Y-yeah… yeah, good idea,” Dick agreed.

But the two brothers had only left the store, Dick limping and leaning on Jason for support, when a familiar deep voice from behind them caused them to pause. “Well well, what do we have here?”

The younger man instinctively reached for the gun on his side holster as Dick turned to look over his shoulder, seeing Slade Wilson watching after them, one hand resting on the hilt of his katana, his single eye shining with amusement from under his helmet.

Chapter Text

Meanwhile

“Robin is in trouble!”

Tim wasn’t quite sure he agreed with Henry’s assessment of the situation when he’d called for help— sure, he was hurting a little, and Harley was off doing who knew what with the infected since she’d been thrilled she now had three Jokers for the price of one, but he was holding his own against her crew just fine. He wasn’t even concerned about taking down Quinn when he’d go find her after he was done with her goons, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d faced her alone and came out the victor. The only real nagging concerns he had were Christina, Johnny, and Albert who’d been cooped up, frustrated at him specifically about it, and were only getting increasingly volatile and unpredictable because of the infection. They might be a bit of a problem since they all wanted him specifically dead for one reason or another; he had a target on his back.

The one good thing about Henry’s over-exaggeration was that it brought Bruce to Panessa that much quicker than he likely would have gotten there otherwise. But between what had happened to Barbara and Dick, he had to assume his mentor didn’t want to take any chances with anyone else in the family that night. He’d only just used his bo staff to take out a couple more of Harley’s thugs and threw a shuriken to do the same to another who’d been making his way toward Henry— who, bless his heart, was taunting the men while keeping a safe distance away— when the elevator dinged and Batman flew out in a flurry of black cape and fury.

Together, they made short work of the rest of the thugs, and Bruce found one who was still conscious to interrogate by stepping on his chest.

“Get off me!” The man struggled under the weight of the older vigilante’s foot, trying to push it off him without success, while still trying to remain intimidating in his own right. He wasn’t succeeding in any of it. “When Harley and her new Jokers get back here, they’ll kick your ass!”

Tim chuckled, crouching down next to the man with a smirk to get a better look at his painted face. “The infected,” Bruce demanded from above him. “Where are they? Where did Quinn take them?”

“They’re not infected!” the thug protested. “They’re Joker! And they ain’t leavin’ this place until you’re a corpse. Both of you!”

“How did Quinn find us?” Bruce pressed angrily, applying more pressure to the man’s chest. “How did she get in?!”

“I’d let him know if I were you,” Tim advised casually. “He’s not often in such a good mood.” But he cast a wary glance up at his mentor when he noticed the man they were interrogating was struggling to get a full breath, thinking he should maybe ease the pressure just a little.

But the thug remained defiant. “H-how should I know?” he snapped, struggling to get the words out. “I guess she’s smarter than you think!”

“Not likely,” Bruce deadpanned, lifting his foot from their adversary’s chest only to strike him across the temple with his fist, knocking him into unconsciousness.

“Was that really necessary, B?” Tim wondered as he rose to his feet. It’d been some time since he’d seen the older vigilante display a higher level of violence. The last time had been when Jason…

Bruce shot him a quick look, his gaze softening a bit when he saw the teen seemed to be favoring his right arm a bit. “Are you all right?” he asked instead, calmer now.

Tim nodded. “Yeah, a bullet just skimmed me, I’m good,” he answered, rolling the arm out for emphasis.

“Good.” His adopted father glanced around at the fallen thugs and the empty containment cells. “Let’s check the Batcomputer,” he said, authoritative once more. “See if we can see how Quinn got in.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Tim agreed, following him over to the large monitor.

“I’m locking the whole building down,” Bruce announced to both the younger vigilante and to Henry, who was sitting in a chair next to Albert’s cell and rubbing the back of his head where Harley had struck him. “No one leaves until we account for the infected.”

Tim watched as surveillance feeds from throughout the studio appeared on the screen while Bruce worked. “Harley just walked in,” he told him. “No alarm. No warning.” He shook his head. “Something’s gotta be wrong with the voice recognition if she was able to do that so easily.”

“Maybe.” Bruce studied the screen. “Though there’s no trace of a hack. If the infected are still here, then the facial recognition software will find them.” Both he and Tim watched as the program picked up all three of them in different areas of the studio. “Got them. Albert King’s in the Wild West set. Looks like he’s gearing up for that comeback bout he had to miss.”

“Makes sense,” Tim grumbled. “He’s been itching for a fight. He’d love to kick my ass.”

Bruce didn’t pay the comment much mind as another location popped up on the map of the studios. “They took Christina Bell to the haunted house set. Harley’s left armed guards to protect her.”

“Little overkill, she’s as dangerous as the other two. She wants me dead so she can have you all to herself.”

“Charisma’s on the sound stage.” Bruce’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “I can’t tell what he’s got planned.”

“Well, he’s always been a showman, even if not the best one,” Tim muttered. “Probably wants to give another performance for us.”

Bruce only hummed in response.

Tim sighed as his mentor walked away from the monitor without another word, once again following after him. “All right, we know where they are. Now all we need to do is get ‘em back. Should be easy, right?”

But Bruce was once again too focused on the mission at hand to reply as he approached the older man who hadn’t been taken. “Henry, what happened?” he wondered sharply. He ignored the look Tim sent his way.

“I… I don’t know,” Henry answered with a wince. “Robin seemed to be in danger because of that crazy Quinn woman and her ruffians, he told me to call you for help, and she struck me on the back of the head.” He looked up at them with concern. “The other three you had here, the ones they took… they were crazy. You guys need to find them. Help them.”

“We will, Henry,” Tim assured him gently, setting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Just take it easy, okay? I’m sorry she got to you when you were trying to help me out.”

The old man gave him a kind smile. “It’s not your fault, son,” he replied, patting his hand. “I’ll be all right. I’ve had goose eggs like this before. I’m just glad you’re okay.” The teen couldn’t help but return the look.

“Robin,” Bruce called to him from where he was standing by the set of red velvet curtains that led to a set of double doors that would bring them back to the film sets and stored movie props. When Tim joined him, he pulled open one of the doors and glanced back at where the other man was still sitting. “Henry, lock down this door. Only let Robin or myself back through.”

“Will do, Batman. Be careful. Both of you.”

They started with Christina and all of her armed guards in the haunted house set. Tim had to admit, it was good to get some action in after being stuck at a computer most of the night running tests, trying to find his friend, then his brother. It was a good way to get some pent up stress and frustration out. The only downside was listening to Christina constantly talk about how Batman would show them all how much he wanted her and how Robin was just a third wheel, how Batman didn’t really love him, and how she’d kill and dismember him to be able to fit inside a birdcage so he wouldn’t be able to bother them anymore. Fortunately, he could mostly tune her out, and Bruce seemed completely unfazed as he always did.

But one thing he felt really good about was how things had seemed to ease between him and his adopted father again after their earlier talk. The trust was there, they were in sync with which thugs they were targeting and when they worked together to subdue ones with heavier arms. They were even able to lightly banter about how his mentor was testing him. Despite everything, they were okay. They always ended up being so.

Once they’d cleared the set, Tim and Bruce made their way to where Christina was holed up in the control room, where she’d been watching the entire fight. Together, they broke down the locked double doors with the heavy brass knuckles.

But as soon as they did, Tim gasped when Christina was instantly on him, her long, sharp nails scratching his right cheek. He cursed under his breath, stumbling back a step. “You’re mine, little bird!” she snarled, hands scrambling to find purchase around his throat before he was able to grab her, slamming her on the ground to subdue her while Bruce took out the last armed guard stationed with her. The teen brushed his fingers against the scratch, his dark gloves coming away with traces of crimson.

“Shit…” He glanced at his adopted father. “Tell me the truth, B. How bad is it? How’s it look?”

Bruce smirked. “Like you’re too slow,” he teased. “Let’s get her back to the cell.”

“Sure.” Tim watched as his adopted father began to walk away, sighing as he bent down and carefully situated the unconscious Christina over his shoulder. He guessed she was coming with him. “So… looks like you made a new friend here, B. You lookin’ to replace me so soon? ‘Cause, y’know, I could really use a break after all this. Focus on school, personal stuff, have a little ‘me’ time. And Christina here seems like prime Robin material. She looks up to you, wants to spend all her time with you…” He smirked when Bruce shot him a look over his shoulder. “I doubt she’d mind all these awkward silences we have.”

But Bruce was already nearly at the door that led out of the haunted house set, and Tim did what he could to keep up. “Don’t worry, I’ll take her back to the cells,” the latter told him. He began to make his way back to the containment room, hearing the older vigilante reaching out to Henry from behind him.

“Robin’s heading your way. Let him in when he gets there.”

“Ouch, that looks like it hurts, son,” Henry muttered, eyeing the scratches on the younger man’s cheek as he let him into the containment room.

“I’m okay, Henry, it’s not bad,” Tim replied, typing the controls on the keypad to open Christina’s cell. He stepped inside, gently setting her on the cot, before exiting and locking it back up behind him. “I think I’m lucky, it shouldn’t even scar.”

“Well, that’s good, then,” Henry said. “I’d hate for that girl of yours to frown upon it.”

“W-what?” Startled, Tim stopped dead in his tracks.

Henry gave him a kind, knowing smile. “I notice when you take a moment to sneak away for a phone call or when you get a text, I see the look in your eye,” he told him. “And you always seem happier afterward. I’m glad you’re keeping in touch with your lady, she must be worried sick about you in all this madness.”

Tim chuckled. “It’s, uh, it’s nice to be able to give those reassurances when I can.”

“I’m sure of that, you both must appreciate it a great deal.” Henry shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe she’s the type of girl who finds men with scars attractive.”

The teen took a minute to consider that. Bernard had been training in various forms of martial arts for the past couple years, ever since they’d rekindled their friendship after years of being apart. That was a solid possibility. “Huh. You might be onto something there, Henry.”

Checking where Bruce was via his tracker, Tim began to make his way toward the Wild West set, where his mentor was going after Albert next. He stepped around the downed thugs the older vigilante had already taken down and made his way down the narrow hallway that opened to a circular room on the way to the set. Bruce was there, seemingly waiting for him, but Tim’s pace slowed as he got closer. Something was wrong. The older man’s face seemed a bit pale under the cowl, his eyes a bit wide almost in panic, his gaze faraway. He suddenly took a step forward in his direction, nearly stumbling on a couple loose white tiles, reaching out a gloved hand as he started to reach for something only he seemed to be able to see.

“Are you okay, B?” Tim asked warily as he hesitantly approached the older vigilante, setting a steadying hand on his outstretched arm.

Bruce collected himself immediately as his bright, smoky eyes cleared, his lips setting in a hard, stern line. “I’m fine,” he answered, his gruff tone even. “Let’s get King.”

“If you’re sure.” For the moment, Tim decided not to push him; there would be time to talk after all three of the infected were returned to their cells. He would make sure of it. Instead, they kicked down the double doors ahead of them together and stepped onto the Wild West set, where Albert was waiting for them for a good ol’ fashioned showdown.

Tim flinched ever so slightly when one of Harley’s thugs was launched at them, connecting with the wooden sign hanging above their heads before collapsing to the wooden floor. He turned his gaze to Albert, standing in the middle of a group of more men, sneering at him and his mentor.

“This is it! The fight of the century!” the larger man boasted. “You ready to get schooled, Bats? Where do you wanna start? How about getting your asses kicked 101?”

Neither Bruce or Tim said a word as they walked side by side further onto the set, the latter glancing warily around at the thugs encircling them while the former kept his eyes solely on the infected man.

Albert laughed, cracking his knuckles. “Nothing to say? Strong and silent type, huh? Well, let’s see if I can change that. I’m gonna make you both beg for mercy and cry out in pain! First I’ll break your boy here so you can watch him suffer. Then it’ll be just you and me, Bats!”

Bruce took a small step forward, moving in front of Tim ever so slightly. His eyes narrowed. “You can try.”

The big man laughed, but he didn’t budge as instead, Harley’s thugs gathered around all rushed at them. Tim rolled his eyes as he stopped one coming for him with his bo staff, ducking when a fake cattle skull was tossed at him by another man. Of course it wouldn’t be a fair fight.

But as he took down a couple more thugs, a loud, angry roar came from behind him as Albert roughly grabbed him. The report of how he’d ripped the arms off of people in his family flashed through his mind as he winced when the larger man yanked on his— knowing he’d love to do the same to him after being cooped up in his cell— and he quickly jammed the end of his bo staff into the large man’s sternum before hitting him across the head with it. Angrily, Albert tossed him aside, and Tim winced as he burst through a wooden barrel before crashing into a— fortunately— fake cactus and dropping to the wooden porch of the saloon front set piece.

“Robin!”

Tim took a moment to catch his breath since the wind had been knocked out of him from the impact, and he nodded as he gave a thumbs up in the general direction of his mentor. “I’m… I’m good,” he said after taking quick stock of himself to check for any potential injuries and not finding anything major.

But then, another of Harley’s goons appeared above him, and he quickly sat up and reached for the staff he’d dropped. His gloved fingers just grazed it, however, before a batarang knocked the man aside. And then it was Bruce above him, reaching a hand out to him. Tim smiled as he accepted it and was pulled to his feet.

“Thanks, B.”

Bruce nodded as he glanced around the set. “Most of Harley’s men are down,” he muttered. “Let’s focus on King.” He then pulled Tim to the side with him when the large man in question threw one of the unconscious thugs at them.

“Come on!” Albert demanded impatiently, rolling out his bulky shoulders. “I want a fight, Bats!”

Tim exchanged a quick look with his adopted father. Well, if that’s what he wanted.

Working together, moving in perfect sync and hitting hard, Bruce and Tim were able to bring Albert King down. The remaining thugs had been taken out in the brawl. The younger man sent a smirk his mentor’s way. “Nice work. You really held your own just now. I’m impressed,” he quipped, rolling out the arm Albert had probably wanted to rip off.

“You can carry him,” Bruce replied dryly.

“Seriously?” When all he got was a smirk in response from Bruce, Tim sighed as he approached the unconscious Albert and began to try lifting his dead weight from the rough, sandy ground. He grunted as he managed to maneuver him over his shoulders. “Damn… He weighs as much as a car…”

“You’ll be all right.”

“Yeah, easy for you to say, you’re not lifting him,” Tim grunted. “You sure you don’t want a turn?”

Bruce’s eyes gleamed ever so slightly. “I trust you’re able to do it.” But then, the look slowly vanished. “I have to check with Alfred about something.”

Tim’s gaze faltered when he recognized the look of worry in his adopted father’s eyes. “Okay, I’ll see you in a minute to get Charisma,” he muttered. As he began to drag Albert along with him toward the containment room, he caught bits and pieces of Bruce asking the older man if there was anything he’d been able to find on Dick, a hint of unusual desperation in his quiet voice. It was a feeling he shared.

“That must have been some fight, young man.” Henry whistled as Tim opened Albert’s cell. “I’m impressed you were able to bring this one down.” He then took the large man’s legs, helping to take at least a little of the weight as the younger man pulled the boxer into the cell. Together, they maneuvered him onto the cot, and Tim set a steadying hand on Henry’s shoulder.

“Yeah, well, much like that, it was a team effort,” he muttered with a smile. He took a moment to catch his breath as he locked up Albert’s cell.

“And yet Batman makes you carry the brunt of the weight.”

Tim stilled. The old man’s comment had been so quiet, he wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly. “What was that?” he wondered, turning to face him again. For the briefest of moments, there was a look on Henry’s face that he couldn’t quite place— a hint of darkness he hadn’t even seen in him when he’d been angry at him and Bruce for keeping him cooped up longer than they’d said it would be for all the testing. But as soon as it was there, it was gone, replaced by a lighthearted smile and bright gleam in his eye.

“You must be quite strong to be able to carry all that weight on your own like that,” Henry said, reaching out and lightly feeling his bicep. “Yup, that’s some good muscle there. I’m sure that girl of yours can appreciate that.”

Tim chuckled despite himself. It’d taken a lot of work to catch up to his older brother in the strength department and to build up any sort of solid muscle definition for his smaller stature when he was first starting his Robin training. He was glad for Dick’s help and Bruce’s brutal regimen to get him there, and sparring with Bernard when they got the chance now helped him keep up with his own conditioning. Since his boyfriend now knew his identity, at least he wouldn’t have to pull his punches as much anymore to not risk giving himself away. “I’m, uh, definitely kept on my toes, yeah,” he confirmed.

But then, he sighed as he glanced at the cells. “One more plus Quinn, and this’ll all be done and over with,” he muttered. “You’ll be safe, Henry.”

The old man nodded solemnly. “Best get to it then,” he agreed. “Be careful, son.”

Tim didn’t need his tracker to know Bruce would be waiting for him by the sound stage to grab Johnny Charisma. He had to wonder what would be waiting for them there— the remaining infected was alone from what they had been able to see, and he certainly wasn’t itching for a fight like Albert had been. They’d have to be careful; there was no telling what the showman had waiting up his sleeve for them.

But once again, he found his adopted father in a state that was bordering on panic, his wide eyes flitting between a dark red blanket in a heap on the floor and a hook hanging from the ceiling. He slowed his pace, not wanting to startle him further, while his brow furrowed when he noticed the other man’s breathing was quick and uneven.

This was the second time he’d found him like this without any easily noticeable cause. He was starting to get concerned.

“Everything okay, B?” Tim asked, trying to keep his tone light as he moved a little closer. “You look spooked.”

Bruce quickly whirled around to face him. “I’m fine, Jason.” His eyes widened ever so slightly when he realized his slip as Tim stopped dead in his tracks. He cleared his throat while his gaze faltered before he looked away, his voice dropping. “Tim.”

Jason.

Tim’s face fell. The second Robin’s shadow had always been over him, even before he’d taken up the mantle himself. Because of what had happened to Jason, Bruce hadn’t even wanted to accept another one. But even after he had and had worked with him for a bit while being adopted by the billionaire after his father died, he’d felt there had still been some pushback from him for a while. Even though he logically knew his mentor had been so hard on him when he’d trained him because he’d had to make sure he was fully prepared to take on the role of Robin in every possible way— mentally, emotionally, physically— and because he hadn’t had any sort of experience in any sort of combat, part of him had always wondered if Bruce’s regimen had been so grueling because he’d actually been trying to discourage him from taking up the mantle.

But instead, he’d passed.

Before he’d approached him and Dick with proof of their identities, Tim had only really known Bruce Wayne from growing up as his nearest neighbor, when he hadn’t been away at yet another boarding school, since his family would attend the gala events he’d host whenever they were in town. Which, he had to admit, had gone a long way to helping him figure out who he, Dick, and Jason really were. That was also the closest he’d ever come to being around Jason— the older boy had been more at odds with Bruce when Tim had been staying at the manor after his mom died while his dad had been in a coma, so he really hadn’t been around much. But unlike Bruce’s older adopted son who seemed to enjoy at least some of the socializing a little bit, his brother would only make a brief appearance with Bruce and sometimes Dick when he was in Gotham before making himself scarce. They'd only crossed paths once when he spilled a drink on the teenager. Tim hadn’t necessarily had a fun time when his parents brought him to those events when he was a kid, but Jason’s hatred of them had been on another level.

He’d easily been able to see how different, how broken, Bruce had been after Jason’s death. He’d never been the same. And he couldn’t blame him for not wanting to take on another Robin after watching Jason, his son, be tortured and murdered, but he’d still stuck by his gut instinct that Batman needed his closest ally. He needed his symbol of hope. Tim was just grateful that he’d been able to help his adopted father through one of his darkest places to the other side without Bruce losing himself completely.

But he hadn’t been called the prior Robin’s name in over a year. It had stung more then, especially when he’d freshly been the billionaire’s adopted son. But it had eased over time whenever his mentor had slipped with the knowledge that losing Jason had traumatized him, his death consuming him with guilt along with the grief. So whenever it happened, he’d smiled and brushed it off, had assured him it was no big deal when Bruce had apologized, had pretended it hadn’t bothered him because he’d understood how his mentor had been struggling with something he couldn’t even begin to imagine. And over time, it really hadn’t bothered him anymore.

His gaze faltered behind his domino when it traveled up to the hook hanging from the ceiling. He remembered the video Joker had sent Bruce showing bits and pieces of the torture he’d inflicted on Jason before eventually killing him. The flashes of the former Robin hanging by a hook similar to this one by his tied hands as he took a brutal beating from the clown, trying not to give him the satisfaction of making a sound, still made him sick to think about. He understood why his adopted father had slipped up again, knowing his worry for Dick also couldn’t be helping— not knowing where he was but knowing he was in danger was too close of a reminder to when he’d lost another son.

Another brief moment passed before Tim gave the older man a soft smile. “Wow,” he muttered, keeping his tone light and casual as he approached him. He lowered his gaze. “You, uh, you haven’t done that for a while.”

He was surprised when Bruce reached out and set a gloved hand on his shoulder. “Tim.” He waited until the younger vigilante met his eyes before continuing with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I just…”

But Tim’s smile lingered. “It’s okay, B. Really. I get it,” he assured him gently. Though he couldn’t deny the unusual uncertainty in his adopted father’s tone concerned him. “We’ve just got Charisma left. C’mon. We can talk about this after we get him secured.”

Bruce gazed at him for a moment longer, and for a second, Tim thought he was going to argue. But then, he nodded, his jaw setting firmly as any trace of uncertainty vanished from his face. “Right. Let’s go,” he said, his tone authoritative once more.

“After you, B.”

But as they approached the stage door, a television set above a couple roped-off armchairs came on, as did the red “on air” sign on the wall with it. Johnny Charisma smirked at them from the screen, shaking his head in apparent disappointment.

“Sorry, Bats. But I was planning a duet for us,” he said. “Can bird boy please wait out there and listen to us make sweet music together?” The screen then went black.

Tim arched an eyebrow. “Sorry, B, but there are better ways I’d rather spend my time,” he muttered. “No offense.”

“You and me both.” Bruce glanced around thoughtfully. “I’ll go in through the main door since it’s me he wants and distract him. Use the vent to access the room once I’ve got his attention. Who knows what he’s got planned for me in there.”

“Got it.” Tim sighed, watching his mentor as he worked to figure out the code to unlock the stage door for a moment. “Good luck. I’ll be right behind you.”

If there was one thing his months of grueling Robin training hadn’t prepared him for, it was how much time he’d be spending in ventilation systems sneaking from one place to another. It wasn’t his favorite means of travel, it was never pleasant, but it could be efficient when one wanted to get somewhere unnoticed. He was just starting up a slope as he got closer to the room when Bruce’s quiet voice came through the comms link in his ear.

“Charisma’s wearing a bomb vest. There are five other bombs around the room. You’ll have to disarm them.”

“Shit,” Tim hissed just as loud, upbeat music came from the sound stage, looking down through the ceiling grate cover into the room beneath him. He squinted in the bright, flashing lights, finding the explosives stationed around the circular stage. From a distance, they looked simple enough to disarm. Johnny didn’t seem to be a master bomb maker, not by a long shot. “All right. Got ‘em. Keep Charisma busy, and I’ll take care of the bombs.”

“Nice of you to join me, Bats!” Charisma’s boisterous voice floated up to him from below. Tim winced when there was a little feedback from his microphone. “Don’t be shy! There’s room up here on stage for two. No really, I insist!”

Tim watched in bemusement as Bruce walked up the few steps to the stage to join the other man. He then quickly but carefully slid the grate cover to the side, still being as quiet as possible despite all the noise. He didn’t want to do anything to draw the infected man’s attention away from his mentor. He’d have to wait for the right moment to move in.

“As you can see, the crowd is so excited it may just explode!” Johnny yelled into the microphone.

The stage started to spin, and, to Tim’s horror, Charisma started belting out a show tune. He cringed. If this was the sort of performance the showman had given when Dick had gone with Barbara, Amy, and her date to see him, he didn’t blame his brother for not being a huge fan of his. It… wasn’t great.

But as the stage continued to spin, Charisma’s back was to him, and Bruce’s smoky eyes briefly flitted up to where he was lying in wait. Tim was grateful the other man was so focused on the catchy number he was singing for his mentor that he wasn’t paying attention to anything else.

Show time.

Tim quietly and carefully lowered himself through the now open vent, dropping to the floor below and landing lightly in a crouch. He ducked down behind a tarp covered bench when he saw the dancing Charisma was facing his direction again, waiting until his back was turned before crawling over to the explosive nearest him. Upon closer inspection, he noticed it was a few sticks of dynamite attached to a sensor controlled by the detonator Johnny was holding set on top of two barrels. He shook his head and clicked his tongue in amusement. This was going to be even easier to disarm than he originally thought.

With one last glance at the stage to make sure the infected man wasn’t able to see him behind the first bomb, he opened the panel and quickly disconnected the correct wires to deactivate the mechanism. He carefully snuck his way around the room, doing the same to the remaining four explosives while Charisma continued serenading Batman, who appeared less than impressed. He ducked behind another tarp covered bench before sneaking a glance out from behind it, meeting Bruce’s gaze. His adopted father gave him the slightest nod, and Tim set his jaw. Time to tackle Johnny’s bomb jacket, which might be a little trickier in the approach since it was attached to him. But with as into his performance as he was, he should be easy enough to sneak up on, and he was almost certain that the explosives on his jacket would be as amateur as the ones around the sound stage. He’d just have to move quickly with the other man’s finger constantly on the detonator, and as before, wait for the right moment to strike.

The one positive to the upbeat music blaring over the speakers was that not only would it further mask the sound of his movements, but he could use the beat to time when he would move. As soon as Charisma’s back was to him, Tim slipped out of hiding and stepped onto the spinning stage. He took the brief moment needed to ensure his footing as he took in the bomb vest’s mechanism. Fortunately, it didn’t look complicated either, it shouldn’t be a problem to deactivate it. The only thing that made him a little nervous was that with as personal a device as it was, if he made the smallest mistake or Johnny caught on that he was there, all three of them were dead. Seeing that Bruce was still completely calm made him feel a little better— his adopted father trusted him, even with the possibility of dying a fiery death.

So, taking a deep breath, Tim waited for a couple beats before he carefully approached Charisma. He pulled the wire that deactivated his bomb jacket, a smirk appearing at the corner of his lips. Feeling the tug, Charisma stopped dancing and singing, looking down as he hit the button on the detonator a couple times, confused when nothing happened.

“Got it!” Tim said, ripping the vest from around the infected man’s torso. He then jammed his shoulder into his back, sending him into the waiting grasp of his mentor. “All yours, B!”

Charisma nervously looked up into Bruce’s sneering face, the vigilante’s grasp tightening on his red and white jacket. He gave him a wide, charming, seemingly innocent smile. “No encore?” he wondered lightly, holding up his microphone to Bruce’s mouth as he waited.

Instead of indulging him, Bruce headbutted him squarely in the forehead, knocking him out before dropping his limp body to the now still stage.

Tim took a deep, slightly shaking breath, relieved that all the explosives had been easy to take care of. That he’d been able to disarm all of them with no problem without being spotted. “And he’s a professional singer?” he quipped. He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “Even Alfred sings better than this guy.”

Bruce raised his gaze to him, setting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly. “Good work, Tim,” he said.

Taking a moment to let the compliment sink in, Tim nodded as he allowed his adopted father’s words to calm his rapidly beating heart even more. He shrugged. “No problem. Call it my contribution to music,” he muttered lightheartedly. He then glanced down at the unmoving Charisma. “Let’s get Golden Tonsils here back to the cells, huh?”

The older vigilante nodded, releasing the younger’s shoulder. Tim let out a long breath, rolling out his neck before he leaned over to lift Johnny over his shoulder to carry him back to the containment room. But he paused when Bruce turned to take an incoming call on his gauntlet.

“Stay calm, Henry,” his mentor murmured in response to the voice in his ear. “I’m on my way.”

“Everything okay?” Tim asked, brow furrowing.

“Quinn and her thugs are trying to break into the containment room,” Bruce answered, glancing back at him. “She’s after Henry now, and probably the infected we’ve already brought back.” His eyes narrowed. “Tim, wait here with Charisma. We don’t want to risk him falling into the wrong hands again. I’ll go on ahead and deal with Harley’s men.”

“Sure,” Tim muttered, almost appreciating the time to be able to catch his breath. He really didn’t like that idea, however, since the two of them could protect Henry and take care of Harley’s goons while keeping them away from the infected together. But he really couldn’t argue it as his mentor ran for the door of the sound stage and disappeared from sight.

As he waited, the upbeat music still playing softly over the speakers enough to drive him crazy, Tim couldn’t help but think about how Bruce had seemed a bit off while they’d been hunting down the infected through the studio. He knew he was worried about Dick— hell, he was worried about his brother— but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it than just that. The scared, faraway look in his eyes. How he’d called him Jason again. Something wasn’t quite right. It was that unsettled feeling that caused him to reach for the comms link in his ear.

“Do you have a minute, Alfred?”

“Is everything all right, Master Tim?” The butler sounded concerned.

Tim frowned. He hadn’t meant to worry him. “Yeah, I just…” He sighed. “It’s probably nothing, but I’m a little worried about B.”

“In what way, sir?” Alfred wondered.

“I don’t know, he just seems a little… not himself,” Tim explained. “He’s a little rattled, but he won’t tell me about what. But I think it’s more than just Dick.” He hesitated briefly. “He, uh, called me Jason again.”

There was silence on the other end for a moment. “My, it’s been quite some time since he’s done that, hasn’t it?” Alfred replied. While his tone remained calm and even, the lingering concern was clear. “I’ve noticed the same thing, Master Tim. I have to admit it’s a little troubling. Of course he’s worried about Master Dick, we all are, and he’s devastated about Ms. Gordon, as we all are. But he’s so insistent, so desperate that I find out the identity of this Arkham Knight character. He hasn’t cared about finding that out about someone before. Not like this. Something about this young man is haunting him. And I would be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned about where this road will bring him.”

That someone who knew Bruce even better than he did was this concerned about him was telling. Tim worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “What do we do, Alfred?” he asked.

The butler sighed. “I’ll have a word with Master Bruce when I’m able,” he tried to assure him. “I don’t believe I’ll have much more luck than you with finding out what’s going on with him, but I’ll do what I can. In the meantime, keep an eye on him, will you, sir?”

Tim nodded, though he knew the older man wouldn’t see the action, as he turned to the doors of the sound stage. “Not a problem, Alfred.”

“Good luck, Master Tim.”

Setting his jaw as he situated Charisma on his shoulder, Tim quickly left the sound stage as he went after his mentor. The voices of Harley’s thugs, and the woman herself, got louder as he made his way through the studio back toward the containment room, and he tucked Johnny away in a spot where he wouldn’t be easily noticeable before he approached a gate that separated him from the small group of goons. There was no sign of Bruce, which he hadn’t expected. He was on his own.

Harley smirked when she saw him drawing closer. “Well, look who it is! Batman’s little birdie,” she taunted in her sing-song way, resting her large gun with a pair of pink fuzzy dice adorning it on her shoulder. “Looks like he left you all alone! You scared?”

Tim returned the look as he walked right up to the gate in front of her, meeting her cruel gaze. “Nah, he actually figured I could handle you by myself,” he replied casually with a shrug. “I mean, remember when I got the jump on you back in Arkham City when you were stealing meds from other inmates? I do.” He paused as her smirk vanished, her face darkening dangerously. “Batman doesn’t take you very seriously. Neither do I.”

His comments got a couple of the men standing around her to crack their knuckles or roll out their necks threateningly. “Oh man, he’s askin’ for it!”

“Let me at ‘em for ya!”

“He’ll pay for that!”

But then, Harley grinned. “Ha! Think you’re funny, huh, little bird?! No one talks to me like that!” She turned to the thug nearest her. “Open this gate! Now! I’ll teach him a lesson myself!”

The bars split apart after the larger man hit the button to open it, and she stepped toward Tim slowly, her gun aimed directly at his chest. Her thugs followed after her, starting to circle around them as he tried to put space between himself and the makeshift weapon she had trained on him. He surveyed the group and space closely, looking for his best escape route if she suddenly decided to start firing it.

“If you think you’re going to keep any of them away from me, think again!” Harley snapped, glowering at him as they moved together, matching each other’s movements. Tim, however, came to a stop when his path was blocked by a couple of her thugs. Her eyes brightened when she realized she had him trapped, right where she wanted him, as she began to circle him herself, the weapon never leaving him. “They all have the Joker in ‘em. That means they’re mine! I’m taking ‘em!”

Tim watched her, and the barrel of her gun, closely. “Now, it would be highly irresponsible of me to allow that to happen,” he said. “I can’t let you do that, Harley, and you know it.”

But Harley just scoffed. “Batman took Mistah J away from me once already, he ain’t gonna do it again!” she yelled, ramming the barrel of her gun forcefully into his chest. Tim didn’t flinch. A cruel smile appeared on her face as she leaned close to speak quietly in his ear. “I was there, y’know. When my Joker took that last birdie Batman had.” Her smile broadened when Tim’s gaze faltered. “Oh yeah. I even inflicted some of that pain on him myself. He screamed so much, cried out for Batman to come save him, he was so certain he would. But he never did, did he?”

Tim’s hands curled into tight fists. But he remained silent.

Harley laughed, the sound so shrill since she was still so close to his ear. “Exactly. Just like he won’t come for you now!” She then backed away, searching the room around them. “You hear that, Batman?! I know you’re out there!”

When the man in question didn’t appear, she turned back to the teen. “Well, how about that? You’re a trigger pull away from gettin’ your little birdie brains blown out, and your boss doesn’t care one bit about you. Just like he didn’t give a damn about his last one. Ain’t that right, Batman?!”

When she once again got no response, she turned her gaze back to Tim. “Joker always said the Bat was mean, that he didn’t care about no one but himself. Not like Mistah J.” Her tone turned wistful. “He looked after me, loved me with all his heart. He would’a never abandoned me. Not like the Bat’s left you here all alone to die.”

“Is this gonna go on much longer?” Tim wondered dryly. Though the longer this stretched on without any sign of his adopted father, the more anxious he was starting to get, especially with how off the other man was.

Where was Bruce?

“He’s abandoned his partner. Again,” Harley murmured with false sympathy, almost as though she’d read his mind. She brushed the barrel of her gun through his dark hair, causing him to flinch away. “Too bad, so sad. But I promise you, little bird, it won’t be the same for you as it was for the last one. He was begging for us to kill him before the end, before we broke him, but we didn’t let him have it until we were ready to give it to him! Though you’ll die alone like he did, I’ll make sure your death is quick, and… well, not painless, but quick at least! You’ll hardly feel a thing. Cross my heart!” She laughed as she set the barrel of her gun against the back of his head. “I only wish that Bat-freak were here to see you die!”

Tim gritted his teeth as he slowly reached for one of his shuriken, trying not to draw attention to the movement. She was trigger happy enough as it was.

But then, he froze when he heard the loud sound of the floor grate crashing open from behind him, startling the group. Had Bruce really been there the entire time? Regardless, he breathed the smallest sigh of relief when he felt the gun leave him as his mentor leapt into the air with Harley, her cry of surprise echoing around the room, and he spun and grabbed her by the shoulder, knocking her out as he slammed her back to the ground.

“Hey!” one of the larger men in her employ snapped. “No one puts their hands on the boss lady!”

Tim glanced up at Bruce, whose face was unreadable as he eyed the group rushing them, and they exchanged a look of understanding before they each moved into action. Working together, it didn’t take long to take out the rest of the thugs, the younger vigilante slamming the last man into the ground like Bruce had with Harley, hitting him across the head with his bo staff for added measure.

“Are you all right, Robin?”

His adopted father’s voice was quiet. Gentle even. Tim passed a slightly shaking hand over his face before he turned to him. “About time you showed up, B,” he said in just above a whisper.

Bruce’s gaze faltered. He appeared as though he were about to reach out for him, but he curled his hand into a fist before he looked away. “We need to get back to the cells,” he told him, his voice returning to its authoritative nature. “You take Charisma, I’ve got Quinn.”

“Sure.” Tim felt the other man’s eyes on his back as he walked to where he’d left Johnny, finding he still hadn’t stirred. He dropped to a knee, closing his eyes and breathing deeply to take a moment to compose himself. The threats against him and the taunting about Bruce hadn’t gotten to him; he’d had ways to get himself out of that situation, and frankly, he’d heard and been through worse. It was the jabs about Jason, the Robin he barely knew but still had to somehow follow, and what he’d been through before he violently died that had managed to wiggle under his skin and sear his heart. He couldn’t imagine…

But knowing time was of the essence, he got a secure hold on Johnny and tossed his limp form over his shoulder before getting to his feet. He turned when he heard Harley grunting and struggling in protest, seeing Bruce had her firmly in place over his shoulder as he waited for him. Trying to hide his smile, Tim joined his adopted father, and they walked through the doors that would bring them back to the containment room together, Harley kicking her feet, pounding her fists against Bruce’s back, and complaining the entire way.

“Put me down, Bat-freak!” she demanded. But it fell on deaf ears as they approached the holding cells.

“Robin, prep the cell,” Bruce said, setting Harley down on her feet. She gave a quiet “hmph” as she straightened out her black and white tutu defiantly. “We can put her in one of the empty ones for now.”

“No problem.” Tim carefully set Charisma down on the floor, unlocking the door to his cell to get him inside first. But then, his eyes widened behind his domino as he glanced inside Christina’s cell to check on her, and he gasped as he stumbled back a few steps in horror.

She was lying dead on the floor in a pool of her own blood.

Bruce slowly approached the door to look her over closely while Tim glanced at Albert’s cell, only to find him also lying dead on the floor of his.

What the hell?

“No!” Harley wailed in despair, her face falling. “No no no no!”

Tim’s mind spun, trying to figure out what possibly could have happened to them. It couldn’t have been Harley, she wouldn’t have harmed them since they had Joker’s blood in them, and she was clearly upset. He couldn’t see any of her thugs going behind her back and taking them out themselves, they weren’t that stupid. Someone could have gotten in because the security was on the fritz, but he didn’t think anyone else knew they were in the abandoned movie studio unless Harley had shared that information, which he didn’t think was the case but couldn’t fully dismiss as a possibility, no matter how slim. The only other person around was…

“Don’t move, Robin,” Bruce suddenly commanded sharply, his smoky blue eyes narrowing into slits. Beneath it was the faintest hint of panic.

Tim looked up at the back of his mentor’s head. That was a tone he didn’t hear in his voice too often. “What are you talking about, B?” he asked hoarsely.

But then, his breath caught in his chest when a hand tightly gripped his wrist from behind, the cold barrel of a handgun digging hard into his temple. His stomach plummeted as a cold dread coursed through him.

“You killed them,” Bruce continued calmly, though there was a trace of anger, a pinch of anxiety, in his tone. “Didn’t you, Henry?”

Tim shuddered as Henry’s loud laughter, suddenly sounding all too eerily like Joker’s, echoed in his ear. He glanced at the old man, trying not to move too much with the weapon at his head. Again. His chest tightened when he saw the paler, almost whiter tint to Henry’s face, the darker red of his lips, the faintest trace of green in his gray hair, how green his eyes now were behind his glasses.

How had he not seen this before?

“Oh, Bats. You’re so easy,” the older man gloated. “So desperate to see the good in people. Something you’ve passed along to your bird here, I see.” He paused with a jerk of his head, and Harley rushed to his side. Tim’s eyes narrowed when he realized the two of them had planned breaking into the studio together.

How could he have missed it?!

“Especially when they’re bad,” Henry finished before he cackled, looking around at the containment room. “Honey, I’m home!”

The Batcomputer came to life then, images of Joker appearing on a purple background. “Activating jailbreak protocol.”

The three cell doors that had held the infected slid open, but no one escaped— their current two inhabitants were both dead.

“Well, I guess we now know who reprogrammed your security,” Henry muttered. “Hm, Bats?” He smirked. “Now, if you’d be so kind, you can step into one of those cells there and wait your turn.”

But Bruce growled angrily, taking a step closer to the old man instead. “Go to hell,” he hissed.

Though the vigilante came to an abrupt halt when Henry let go of Tim’s wrist, instead winding his arm around his neck and pulling him even closer to him while tightening the hold on his gun he still had pressed to his temple. Despite himself, a quiet whimper of pain escaped from the teen.

“... B…”

“Uh-uh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Henry advised. Taunted. “Come any closer, make any move I don’t tell you to make, and your boy’s brains are all over this floor.”

Harley shrieked with laughter from next to him, quieting instantly when the old man rounded on her. “Shut up!”

Bruce’s furious gaze burned into Henry, who turned back to him with a smirk. They were in a stalemate. The infected man then placed his finger on the trigger of the handgun to show he meant the threat, applying the slightest bit of pressure, and the vigilante’s eyes narrowed as he took a couple of steps back toward the cells. His gaze softened a bit as he met the teen’s wide eyes, trying to be reassuring.

Tim looked back at him, his mouth dry as he struggled to get enough air with the tight grip around his neck. It was much stronger than he expected of the up until then kindly man. He’d been so frustrated about the results of all the countless tests they’d been running on Henry. He’d been so determined to help him, to let him go back to his wife. He’d kicked himself for not being able to find what he’d been looking for sooner, what he should have been able to find. Yet somehow, he’d missed the obvious truth that had been right in front of him the entire time.

Henry had never been symptomless. He’d just been hiding them, getting them to lower their guards with him. There wasn’t something in his blood that made him immune to Joker’s. There wasn’t a cure to be found there because he was infected like the others. He’d been manipulating them all along.

“I know what you're thinking, son,” Henry murmured to him, his formerly sharp tone kind and gentle once again. “You were so kind to me, so helpful. If things were different, I may have even liked you for it.” He paused before cackling. “Well, not really, but you get the idea! That kindness and care only made you foolish and blind, boy!”

Tim closed his eyes against the angry tears that threatened to burn in his eyes. Bruce had been cooping him up for so long, he’d been trying his hardest and wearing himself down to find a cure for the infection that couldn’t even be formulated that way. None of that work, those long hours, mattered. And because he’d been forced to stay in Panessa that night doing this meaningless task, he hadn't been able to do anything to help prevent Barbara from being taken and possibly killed. He hadn’t been able to save Dick from being captured by Slade. He’d been so useless. He could have cursed and screamed at the world, at Bruce, if the arm pressing against his throat wasn’t cutting off his airway.

“Evolution’s a funny thing,” Henry went on. He laughed, pulling Tim along with him over to where Charisma was still lying out cold on the floor. “No matter how many obstacles get in its way, the strongest always survives.” He watched the other infected man’s chest steadily rise and fall for a moment. “Still, you know what they say about evolution? Even amoebas can do it.”

He then took the gun away from Tim’s head and shot Johnny without any hesitation.

The teen closed his eyes and turned his face away. The infected may have hated him because of the Joker influence in their blood and that he’d kept them cooped up for so long, but he’d come to care about the three people he’d been trying to save, remembering how they’d been before the infection, hopeful that he could get them more help and return them to their lives once they’d found the cure. But now, that would never happen.

Harley gasped, looking between Henry and the now dead Charisma in disbelief. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “This isn’t what we talked about!”

But Henry just grinned. “Purifying the gene pool,” he told her menacingly. “That’s how it works, my dear.”

Taking his opportunity, Tim started to struggle free from the surprisingly firm hold in his anger, but Henry immediately pressed the barrel of the handgun to his temple again. “I don’t think so, boy. We’re not done yet.”

The old man shifted his gaze to where Bruce was still standing tensed in front of the cells, waiting to make his move. “It’s been… educational, Bats. You’ll have to wait your turn, but first…” He looked down on the younger vigilante he held and returned his finger to the trigger. “It’s nothing personal, son. It’ll all be over soon.”

Tim hissed when the gun pressed against his head with more force as Henry prepared to fire. “B… don’t worry about what happens to me, just… just stop him…” he gasped out.

“Noble of you to be so willing to die for his crusade,” the old man drawled. “Is that what he teaches you to do? Die for the cause so that he can keep his bloody crusade going?” A cruel smile spread across his face. “He’s already lost one little bird that way, hasn’t he?”

Ignoring the taunting he was obviously supposed to fall for, Tim kept his gaze solely on his adopted father. “B, please… just do it…”

Bruce let out another quiet growl as his hands curled into tight fists. He took a couple steps closer to the pair.

Henry tsked in disapproval when he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. “What did I tell you?” he wondered, turning to the other vigilante. “You have to wait your tu—!”

But then, all the anger and cruelty drained from his face as he tilted his head curiously. He lowered the gun from Tim’s head, his hold around his neck loosening. “Now that’s… unexpected.”

Tim took a full breath in, coughing a little as he turned up to the old man.

“You’re going to be… spectacular,” Henry continued, almost in awe, his eyes never leaving Bruce’s face. He then raised the gun to his own head and fired immediately.

The shot rang through Tim’s ears, echoing through his skull, as Henry’s body collapsed heavily to the floor. He dropped to his knees along with him, shaking as he closed his eyes, unable to catch his breath. Bruce watched them both with no feeling.

“No no no!” Harley screamed. “Not again!” She rushed to where Henry had fallen, sobbing over his body.

Tim felt more than heard Bruce looming over him with the ringing in his ears, and he slowly looked up at his mentor. But his breath caught again when he met his furious gaze. “Your eyes…” he murmured hoarsely. The toxic green mirrored the color of Henry’s eyes, of Christina’s, of Albert’s, of Charisma’s… of Joker’s… He thought back to that night at the manor a few months back when he found Bruce having a nightmare, how he’d believed it’d been a trick of the light when he thought he’d seen a hint of green in his eyes in the aftermath. They hadn’t been his adopted father’s eyes then; they weren’t now.

Dread gripped his heart as cold realization settled in. That’s why Bruce had been so insistent he work on the cure. “You’re the last Joker…” He glanced over at the one containment cell that had remained unoccupied until now. “That other cell’s for you.”

A moment passed before the toxic green drained from Bruce’s irises, fading back into their familiar smoky blue. “I need to stop Scarecrow,” he told him calmly. “When I’m done, I’m locking myself away.” He reached a gloved hand down to the younger vigilante.

Tim looked at it, hesitating ever so slightly before he accepted it, allowing his mentor to pull him to his feet. “What… what if you fail?” he asked, shaking his head. “You’ll be too dangerous, B. I won’t be able to stop you.”

Bruce met his gaze, not saying a word, not protesting, not arguing. Which was almost worse.

Despite how he didn’t want to, despite how wrong it felt, Tim turned away from him and crossed the room with a bit of uncertainty in his step. Feeling the older vigilante’s eyes burning into the back of his head, he keyed in the code and watched as the door to the fifth cell slid open. He looked back at Bruce, his face falling when he saw he appeared to be having some sort of internal conflict with himself. “You need to get in the cell.” He put as much authority into his tone as he could muster, straightening his shoulders. But he still struggled just a little to keep his voice completely level. “It’s the only choice we have left.”

Even as he spoke the words, Tim’s anxiety spiked. Gotham was still under occupation. Scarecrow and the Arkham Knight had plans in mind for the city that night which still hadn’t come to fruition. Barbara might have been gone. Jim Gordon was missing in action. Dick had been taken. And he was locking his adopted father— Batman— away. He was on his own against an entire army.

He swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath. Determination started to take the place of his panic. He’d be fine. He had all the training he needed, he had the know-how to figure out a way to go about it strategically. He’d make it through okay. And then he could figure out how to help, to cure, the man standing across from him. Properly this time.

Bruce glanced back at where he’d stashed Harley into Charisma’s empty cell the moment he’d known Tim was okay before he sighed heavily and slowly made his way across the room toward him. The teen’s gaze faltered when he saw his mentor stop as he approached, staring at the empty cell but not stepping inside it.

“C’mon, you need to do this,” Tim urged, though he didn’t like to do it. “You can’t stay out here, it’s not safe with the Joker inside you.” He attempted a small but hopefully reassuring smile. “I can handle Crane. It’s not the first time. You don’t have to worry. You’re doing the right thing, B… trust me.”

His gaze faltered with a sigh when Bruce still made no move to enter. “Please, Dad?” he whispered. “I don’t want this, but we need to do this. I’ll figure out that cure, I promise. You know I can. But for now, until I get the chance… Please don’t fight me on this, B. Please.”

A moment passed before Bruce’s gaze fell, and he started to step into the cell. Tim sighed with relief, the tension leaving his body as he reached for his mentor’s shoulder.

“Thanks, B. I’ll—!”

Suddenly, Bruce securely grasped Tim by both his arms and shoved him into the cell instead.

Startled, Tim stumbled, but by the time he regained his footing, his adopted father had hit the button that closed and locked the door. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded as he turned to face him, watching as Bruce typed something into his gauntlet. He pounded on the door to no avail. “B!”

“The right thing,” Bruce told him, quietly but evenly, unable to look at him. “You have to trust me, Tim.”

The teen shook his head in disbelief. “You have gone crazy! Listen to me! We can help you! You don’t have to do this!” When his protests fell on deaf ears as his mentor ignored them, he reached for the comms link in his ear.

“Alfred… Alfred?” When all he got was silence in return, he glared at Bruce, angrily realizing what had happened. “You son of a bitch… you cut my communications!”

But Bruce simply looked back at him without saying a word. He then reached for the comms link in his own ear when Alfred’s voice echoed in his ear.

Tim was only able to watch on as his adopted father spoke to the butler. “He’s fine, Alfred,” he heard Bruce say. “Faulty comms unit. I’m looking at him now.” He shook his head that the older vigilante was flat out lying and turned his back on him, closing his eyes against the stubborn tears trying to form. This couldn’t be happening.

He wasn’t sure how many minutes had passed before he heard his adopted father speak quietly to him from the cell door. “I’m sorry, Tim. This is the way it has to be.”

He angrily turned to look back at him. “Why? Because you say so?” he snapped. “No, B, it really doesn’t. You’ve kept me here all this time, doing the same damn thing over and over and over again, running in circles, and for what? Nothing!” He let out a shaking breath, his voice dropping dangerously. “Let me out, B.”

“I can’t.” Bruce’s voice was still infuriatingly gentle. “They’re targeting everyone close to me. I won’t let them get you as well. I can’t let that happen. I won't lose you, too.”

“B, please, I have to do this…” Tim stepped up to the door. He lowered his voice. “I might not have been able to help find Barb in time to save her life, but Dick… he’s still out there.” He swallowed thickly. “And I can’t just sit here and wait for the same thing to happen to him, too. Please. I can’t let my brother die, B!”

But his mentor remained unmoved. “No.”

Tim took a step back, feeling as though he’d been struck. He let out a frustrated cry, pounding on the door again. “No, B! You don’t get to decide! You wouldn’t do this to Dick. I have to—!”

“I’m not going to let this happen again, Jas… Tim.”

This time, the near slip of his name did hurt him more than when it’d happened not too long ago. He understood where Bruce was coming from, that the people he loved were in danger, and that his outburst was probably hitting a bit too close to home to remind him of what had happened to Jason. But he couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment, not completely, since he was just too frustrated that his mentor was really going to leave him behind in this cell instead of letting him help not only take Gotham back when he needed the help to do so, but also not letting him help save someone he loved.

“I… I have to…” Tim sighed as he passed a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he looked away. “Just get away from me. Go!”

When Bruce didn’t move, the younger man turned his back on him once again, dropping to a knee. He sucked in a few deep breaths, attempting to try to compose himself at least a little. Dick was still out there. If he wanted to help his adopted father find him, he had to reign his anger back in, to try to calmly reason with him that he had to try to do something to help find his brother. To help keep Gotham safe. That was most important right now. Whatever was brewing between them could wait.

Once he could breathe without issue after another moment, Tim stood and faced the cell door again. “B, listen. I’m sorry, I—!” But he abruptly stopped as his stomach plummeted, his heart nearly stopping.

Bruce was gone.

Chapter Text

Slade tilted his head curiously. “Going somewhere?”

“Mind your own business,” Jason snapped. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Oh, but it does,” Slade replied. “From where I’m standing, it looks like you’re helping our… esteemed guest to escape.” The smirk could be heard behind his helmet.

“He’s not,” Dick rushed to defend him. “He’s simply bringing me to see Barbara Gordon. Nothing more. I won’t run, Slade. Not that I could.” His face darkened. “You made sure of that.”

Deathstroke laughed. “Of course I did, boy. I can’t take any chances with you.” He paused for a moment. “But if you think I’m going to let you go anywhere, you—!”

“What is the harm in that, Slade?” a new, calm voice floated over to them. Dick glanced at his younger brother when he felt him flinch.

And as Jonathan Crane drew closer to them, he understood why. Cameras and television screens didn’t do his mutilated face justice. It was truly a horrific sight. He eyed the syringes on his fingers warily, knowing it was the new blend of his fear toxin that he hadn’t come into contact with before. But he steadily stared down Scarecrow when he turned his analytical gaze to him. A terrible grin spread across what remained of the smaller man’s face.

“Nightwing here may not have been in my plans for this delightful evening, but this prodigal son of Gotham’s return is certainly not unwelcome,” Crane continued. “This changes nothing other than aiding us further in Batman’s downfall. I am still in complete control.” He gave Dick something that resembled a smile as he reached out for him. “I am certain he is concerned about his friend. Why not allow him to ease his heart, even just a little, before his time comes?”

Dick did his best to not flinch away as the thin needles traced feather light across his cheek. “What’s the endgame here, Crane?” he asked. “Why go to all these lengths? What are you trying to prove with Batman?”

“You can credit our young friend here for the idea to bring everyone together to end the Bat,” Slade spoke up from behind them. He almost sounded amused. Almost.

Dick sent him a glare before sparing a glance at Jason. He wasn’t encouraged when the younger man actively avoided his eyes.

“Yes, it is amazing what rage, hatred, a desire for revenge… what fear can cause one to do,” Crane added.

At this, Jason’s head snapped up to Scarecrow. “I am not afraid of Batman,” he growled.

But Crane only gave him a small, sly grin. “Are you certain of that?” When Jason didn’t have a response, Scarecrow turned his attention back to Nightwing. “If there is one thing that Batman has demonstrated tonight, it’s that he fears the death of all who follow him. He fears being the cause of your death because he is unable to protect you. It is a fear born from experience.”

Dick tightened his hold ever so slightly on Jason when he felt a brief tremor run through him.

Crane’s eyes gleamed with cruelty. “And what I have shown Batman so far is that he cannot save any of you,” he concluded. “I have shown him how he has failed, how he is no hero. And he will break. He will be no more than a defeated man. And the world will see it. The myth of the Batman will die. And then, and only then, he too will die.” He shot a sharp glance at Jason before grinning at Dick. “And Gotham will die with him. I may have only made him believe he was unable to protect Barbara Gordon to bring that fear out of him. Her time is yet to come. However, he will fail with you.”

Jason made a quiet sound under his breath, and Scarecrow arched an eyebrow at him. “What is it with your concern for them?” the latter wondered. “First Barbara Gordon, now him? You hate Batman so much, yet you seem to care about what happens to those who follow him. Odd considering it was you who told me about the girl in the first place.”

Dick’s heart dropped. He’d assumed Crane would have gotten the intel about Barbara from Jason since no one else had known about her connection to Batman, but hearing it…

Jason met his gaze. “Nothing,” he told him. “The only thing I care about is Batman dead.”

“And you will get your chance, Knight.” Crane frowned in disapproval, though the curious glint in his eyes remained. “But only if you do what you’re supposed to. I need you to get moving and head to Perdition Bridge. We’ve got a schedule to keep, and you’re already running behind.”

A beat passed before Jason nodded. “I will once I bring him to Barbara Gordon.”

Crane’s frown deepened. “You’d best hurry,” he warned. “The Cloudburst is now fully operational, and I want it out there.” He turned to Deathstroke. “I believe we also have more to discuss.”

The mercenary laughed as Scarecrow walked away. “Best hurry along now, boys,” he sneered. “You don’t want to risk angering Crane.”

Jason growled angrily as he watched them both leave. “Let’s go,” he muttered, starting to pull Dick along with him without preamble.

The vigilante winced. “You… you told Crane about Babs…”

The younger man pointedly avoided his hurt gaze. “The plan is not to harm her,” he replied. “I told you I’ve made that clear. Barbie’s under my protection, everyone knows that and what will happen if they touch her.” His voice darkened a little dangerously on the last words.

Dick’s eyes narrowed. “Doesn’t really sound like Crane’s on board with that,” he said.

“Fuck Crane!” Jason snapped angrily. But then, he sighed. “He’ll go against his own plan if he hurts her. I’ll make sure he doesn’t.” He hesitated. “About what he said that he had in mind for you now that you’re here…”

“I don’t care what he wants with me,” Dick assured him. “I can handle Crane. Just make sure Babs doesn’t get hurt. Please, Jay.”

Jason hesitated again, almost seeming to want to say something more, before he simply nodded.

They made their way past a couple groups of militia men moving about with their tasks around the base, dropping their conversation so they wouldn’t be overheard. None of them hardly gave them a second glance. Dick then hissed and leaned a little more on the younger man when his injured leg nearly gave out under his weight as he limped along, feeling when Jason tightened his hold on him to help keep him upright.

“What… what does he want you to do out at Perdition Bridge…?” the older man wondered through a shaky breath of pain when they were alone again.

Jason once again avoided looking at him. “I already told you you don’t want to know, and I meant it,” he murmured. “The less you know, the better, Dickiebird. Trust me.”

“It still sounds to me like… you’re in over your head here, Jay.” Dick cringed. “Let us help you. Me, Babs…”

“No.” Jason adamantly shook his head. “You can’t help me anymore. Not after what he—!”

“I know what Joker did,” Dick said in a placating tone. “And I know what Crane and Slade are doing. I saw how they were looking at you just now, Jay. They’re using you, they’ll drop you when they’re tired of you or you no longer have any use to them. You have to see that.”

“I can’t.” Jason’s voice hardened. “I’m getting what I want.”

“And then what?” Dick pressed. “You, Crane, and Slade all want different things. They don’t care about what you want, and when what you want no longer aligns with what they want, what do you think’s going to have priority? What do you think’s going to happen to you?” He sighed. “I know Slade implanted a tracker in you, we can get it out. Then we don’t have to worry about him being able to find you.”

“It… it’s not just the tracker,” Jason replied. “Slade knows who I really am since he saw me on Arkham Island. He hasn’t told Crane yet because I’ve been cooperating with them so far. If I don’t…”

Dick nodded, not needing him to say the rest out loud. If Scarecrow knew who his brother had been to Batman, Jason would just be another target, marked for death in his quest to break Bruce with his deepest fears. They had him in a vice grip, and with the uncertainty in his brother’s voice now, it was a thought that scared him, even if he’d never admit it.

“But make no mistake. After B is dead, Crane’s next. Then Slade. Because then their use will be at an end,” Jason continued just as quietly. “But… maybe they have a couple things right, at least…”

Dread made Dick’s stomach tighten. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means take a look around you.” Jason glanced at him. “Is Gotham really worth saving?”

“Of course it is,” Dick said. “She has her issues, many of them, and there are plenty of times I just want to pack it all up and leave it all behind.” A tiny smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “But this was also the first city I officially called home. Sure I wasn’t born here, and I hated being stuck in one place at first after being so used to traveling around all the time. But it gave me so much, too. A family after I lost mine, the love of my life, people I care about, a little local place that makes my morning coffee exactly the way I like it.” He chuckled. “It’s the small things that make this city worth saving, the ordinary people just trying to do their best. And… I know you’ve dealt with a lot of shit, Jay, I do. Not just with Joker, but because Gotham herself failed you. But I know you don’t fully believe what you’re saying, I know there are still things you care about in this city, things that are worth saving for you.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Jason demanded.

“Because I know you, Jay.”

“I’m not the same person you knew before.”

“I know. Neither am I. We’ve all changed after what happened to you.” Dick sighed. “But despite that, I still see my brother in you underneath all of that. And I know you have things you care about here. That used bookshop that specializes in the classics run by that sweet old couple and their cat you always used to sneak treats to. The Bowery kids and that diner you’d bring them to. Those things are still here, Jay. They still matter.”

Jason didn’t say anything in response as he stopped in front of another empty store with a grate pulled down. “She’s here,” he said instead. Having Dick lean against the wall next to it, he reached down and pulled the grate up so they could go inside.

Barbara looked up from where she was sitting on the floor when two figures entered, chained to the wall by her ankle, straightening her shoulders and narrowing her eyes in defiance. But then, she gasped when she recognized the Knight, and the familiar blue on the uniform of the vigilante with him. “‘Wing?!” But seeing the state he was in, she threw a hurt glare at Jason.

“It wasn’t him,” Dick was quick to defend the younger man. “Slade brought me in, but I wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Great. We have to deal with him now, too?” But as the two men drew closer to her, she reached out for Dick, who released his hold on Jason and dropped to the floor next to her, immediately draping his bound wrists around her and holding her securely to his chest.

“Thank God you’re okay…”

Seeing that she seemed to not have sustained any injuries by Crane or any of the militia in his absence, Jason turned and began heading for the way out, not wanting to linger. He paused when his brother called after him.

“Jay?”

The younger man sighed. “Please don’t, Dickiebird,” he muttered. “I told you why I have to—!”

“Thank you.”

Caught off guard by the sentiment, Jason glanced over his shoulder at him. “You’re welcome.” He hesitated before hitting the button on the wall that would lower and lock the grate behind him before leaving.

Dick instantly turned back to Barbara, nuzzling into her red hair until she tilted her head to look up at him. “I was so scared you were dead, Babs,” he whispered, brushing his lips against hers. “I thought… B said…”

Barbara brushed her thumb against his cheek, her hand coming to rest on the back of his neck. “I’m right here, Hunk Wonder,” she assured him, placing her forehead against his. “I promise, I’m okay. B must have been gassed by Crane to see whatever he did about me.”

So it’d been what he’d suspected. Dick took a deep, shuddering breath, blinking tears of relief back, kissing her again this time with more fervor. She was there, she was alive.

“I’m more worried about you, though,” Barbara said when she could finally bring herself to pull away. She brushed a few wayward strands of his black hair away from his eyes. “You said Slade got you…?”

Dick chuckled, glancing down at his left leg, which was throbbing in time with his heartbeat. “Yeah, he did,” he replied quietly, his bitter tone still a bit breathy in pain as it wavered. “I… went to the penthouse in Chinatown where B said he saw you…” He cleared his throat. “But Slade was waiting around. I don’t know if he knew I would be there, or if he just happened to get lucky. Either way…” His clammy face darkened. “I’m out of commission.”

Barbara leaned closer, lightly resting a hand next to the laceration, still causing him to wince. “Judging by how you’re hardly able to put weight on it, he might have hit a tendon with how deep it is,” she mused with a frown. “We’re going to have to get that looked at as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, well… good luck with that with where we are…” Dick glanced around at the space they were being kept in. It was smaller than the one he’d initially been kept in, but one thing it had that the other didn’t was a monitor mounted on the wall beside a red flag bearing the Arkham Knight’s insignia, showing movements of the militia through Gotham’s streets while playing the radio feeds of the commanders. “That has to be annoying to listen to.”

“I’ve mostly tuned it out, unless there’s something important I can pick out,” Barbara told him with a slight smirk. “Guess they’re not too concerned about me getting any intel since they don’t think there’s much I can do.” Her gaze softened with worry. “Is there anything else that’s ailing ya?”

And so she looked him over, finding the lingering remains of the beatings by Penguin’s thugs, the gash from Croc that Bruce had already tended to, the slash in his side from Slade and where the mercenary had stabbed through his arm. “You’re roughed up quite a bit there, Hunk Wonder.” Barbara attempted to keep her tone light, but she couldn’t hide her concern. “Must have been a hell of a night.”

Dick pressed a light kiss to her temple before flashing her a charming smile. “I’ve had worse.”

Barbara squeezed his arm around her. “Believe me, I know that, but it doesn’t mean I like it,” she murmured. “Especially since I can’t do anything to help you like I always do.”

“Trust me, Babs, you being here with me, alive, is more than enough.” Dick sighed, his eyes drooping closed as he rested his head against the wall behind him. “Y’know… If we get out of this… I’m marrying the hell out of you.”

“Of course we’re gonna figure out a way out of this, we always do, I—!” Barbara stopped abruptly when her racing mind caught up with the rest of what he’d said. “Wait, what?”

Dick grimaced. “And… I tend to have a bad habit of letting things slip at the worst time when I’m in a lot of pain, you know this.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “This definitely wasn’t the way I was planning on bringing it up to you. But if we get out of this, I’ll do it right, I promise… I’ve got the ring back at my apartment, I had some plans for Haley to help me ask you… even asked Timmy to be my best man and everything…” He chuckled. “But especially after thinking that you were gone and still not knowing how tonight’s going to go for us… just in case I don’t get out of this, I just wanted you to know that this is something I want to have with you. It’s important to me. And I was so afraid I wasn’t going to even have this chance to ask. So, I will do it right if I get the chance, just—!”

He was cut off by Barbara leaning forward and pressing her lips to his. “Don’t worry, this was perfect,” she whispered. “I thought you’d never ask. So yes, Dick. I’ll marry the hell out of you, too. Whatever that means.”

A broad grin appeared on Dick’s face as he kissed her deeply in return. “Then let’s put an IOU on that ring, huh?” he murmured.

Barbara returned the look. “You bet, Hunk Wonder.”

Dick tucked some of her hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail back behind her ear, but when his fingers brushed along her neck, he paused, his brow furrowing, when he noticed her Flying Graysons necklace was missing. Barbara’s breath caught when she realized what he was looking at, or rather what he wasn’t looking at, and her face fell.

“I’m so sorry, Dick,” she murmured, tightening her hold on him. It hadn’t just been a necklace, after all. It’d been a part of the vigilante’s heart she’d promised to keep safe, and she’d broken that promise. “One of the militia men took that from me when they brought me here. I tried to stop him, but I didn’t have any of my weapons. I know how much it meant to you…”

A moment passed before he shook his head slightly, a small smile gracing his face as he pulled her closer, resting his head against hers. “It’s just a thing, Babs,” he told her just as quietly. “What’s more important to me is that you’re okay. It’s gonna sound cheesy, but things can be replaced, hell, I’m sure something similar can be found online somewhere. But you can’t be. And I couldn’t be more grateful that you’re here.”

Barbara’s gaze faltered as she absently placed a hand on his chest, simply listening to how his breathing was still a bit uneven in pain before she frowned. “You keep saying if we… you… get out of this… Why?”

Dick sighed as he lifted his head to look at her. He really didn’t want to leave this moment where he was going to marry his best friend and have that future he’d always wanted with her. But the reality in front of him was one he couldn’t ignore no matter how much he wanted to. He didn’t want to worry her, but he also couldn’t lie to her. She’d catch it if he tried to anyway. “Sounds like Crane’s got some plans for me when it comes to B,” he muttered, giving her a faint smile as he tightened his hold on her. “It sounds like I’m not supposed to survive them.”

“Nope, no shot.” Barbara shook her head adamantly. “I just agreed to marry you, there’s no way you’re dying on me after that. But even if that weren’t the case.” She pulled him closer to her protectively. “I’m not just going to sit here and let Crane kill you to get to B. Same goes for Slade if he tries anything.”

“Well…” Dick’s gaze faltered. “B and I kind of… well, we’re not on speaking terms again, so I don’t know…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Barbara told him kindly. “You’re his son, he still loves you, Hunk Wonder, no matter if you’re talking or not. He still did after the other times you two weren’t on good terms, as I know you still do, and this time’s no different. I’m sure it’s why Crane’s got you in mind for this. But we’ll figure our way out of it, we always do.” She briefly paused. “Maybe Jason could…”

But Dick shook his head. “I think he’s risking enough trying to keep you safe here,” he said. “Crane and Slade weren’t the happiest with him bringing me to you. I’m not going to ask him to risk more for me when their relationship seems tenuous at best. Jay’s got a different agenda than Crane, once he does what he thinks he wants to do, he’s planning on backstabbing both him and Slade. I’m sure they’re both planning something similar, I’m actually amazed so many of these guys have been able to work together this long already, but…”

His sentence trailed off when he saw Barbara was looking away. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

She met his gaze hesitantly. “One thing I really pay attention to in the communications on the monitor is whenever he’s talking to anyone,” she replied quietly. “And just… hearing him, all that rage, all that hate… I just can’t help but wonder how much of our Jason came back.” She held up a hand when Dick appeared to be about to protest. “Please, hear me out. I can see him, too, I can. He’s protected me, asked after Alfred, he brought you here so we could be together. But hearing him talk about how badly he wants to kill B…” She shook her head. “I know he’s always had more of a temper we helped him curb, but this… this is something completely different… I tried to talk him into coming home, said that we could all fix this together, and I do think there’s at least a part of him that wants to, but he doesn’t feel like he can because of what Joker did to him…” Her gaze faltered. “What if we can’t…?”

Dread clenched Dick’s heart tightly when he realized what she was trying to ask. “We’re going to save him, too, Babs, we have to.”

“What if…” A pained expression crossed Barbara’s face. “What if he does kill B? Or what if you have to make a tough choice that you don’t want to to stop him from doing so? Then what? What if we’re not enough? What if we can’t get Jason back?”

“I can’t believe that, Babs.” Dick knew he was probably being too optimistic, maybe even stupidly so. He knew what she was saying was a real possibility— the rage, the hatred he saw in Jason’s eyes when he talked about their adopted father and how he planned to end his life that night wasn’t something he’d ever seen in him before. But beneath that, he could still see traces of that scared teenage boy, one angry at the city that had been so unkind to him but had been determined in his own way to make it better for both himself and for those he cared about. He was still in there. And it was that kid, his brother, his Little Wing, that he refused to give up on. He just couldn’t do it.

He sighed. “He was tortured by Joker and whoever else for over a year,” he murmured. “Brainwashed into hating B for something he didn’t do to a point where he blames him for it all and thinks he wants to kill him because it’ll take all his pain away. But he’s shown that he’s still in there, that it’s still him. I refuse to give up on him, I couldn’t live with myself if I did. I know he has plans to try to get himself out of this situation he’s stuck in now, but he’s still in over his head with Crane and Slade. That militia force is listening to him right now, but these are Slade’s men, all he has to do is assert control whenever Jay’s no longer useful or staying in line. Even if he does manage to get away from Crane, Slade knows who he is and implanted a tracker in him, he’ll hunt him down. We have to help him, Babs. I can’t believe he’s too far gone to save. I’m getting my little brother out of this, too, I’m not leaving him behind.”

Barbara rested her head on his shoulder. “I know,” she said. “And you know I want him back and safe, too. I’ll do whatever I can to help make that happen. I’m just…” She snuggled closer into his side as her voice dropped to a whisper. “With how volatile everything is right now, I’m just worried someone’s going to get hurt… or worse…”

Dick placed his chin on top of her head, closing his eyes. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but that was the biggest fear nagging away at him, too. “We’ll get through this, Babs. Somehow.”

A few moments of companionable silence passed between them before another thought struck Barbara. “When he was leaving, it sounded like Jason had something important he had to do for Crane. Do you know anything about that?” she asked.

Dick hummed. “No, not really, he said it was better the less I knew about it,” he answered. “All I know is it’s got something to do with Perdition Bridge.”

Barbara’s brow furrowed as she glanced at the monitor. “You mean that Perdition Bridge?”

His eyes snapped open as he lifted his head, frowning when he saw a tank larger than the militia ones he’d seen throughout Gotham so far that night. “Oh, Jay,” he whispered. “What are you…?”

Then, they both watched, wide-eyed, as a billowing cloud exploded from a device on the front of the tank, spreading far and faster than anything he’d seen before as it blocked the camera feed in seconds. “Is… is that…?”

“Scarecrow’s fear toxin,” Barbara confirmed nervously. “They’ve been talking about a plan to spread it efficiently around the city.”

“Crane mentioned something about something called the Cloudburst being ready to go,” Dick muttered hoarsely. “That must be it… It’s a dispersal device… But I’ve never seen anything spread that fast…”

“We’re underground, it won’t reach us here.” Barbara tightened her hold on him, her gaze faltering. “But that’s insane… Anyone above ground will—!”

Then, she gave a startled yelp when ear-splitting feedback came over speakers that seemed to echo through the entire mall. Cringing himself, Dick pulled her head down to his shoulder, covering her ears protectively with his cuffed hands just as an entirely all too pleased Crane began to speak.

“Welcome to Gotham…”

Chapter Text

Meanwhile

“Hey, so, thanks for actually wanting to meet with me for lunch. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure you’d remember me.”

Tim smiled at the other sixteen-year-old sitting across the table from him “Of course I remember you,” he said lightly. “We were best friends when we were kids. I always had so much fun going over to your house to play video games.”

“Yeah, I really liked that, too,” Bernard replied with a smile of his own. But the cheerful look didn’t last long until it faded. “Until, y’know, my parents didn’t want me to hang out with you anymore.”

“Oh yeah, because I was totally gonna corrupt you,” Tim muttered good-naturedly as he wiggled his eyebrows. He swirled the ice in his water around a little.

Bernard chuckled, but his gaze faltered. “I never really got a chance to apologize to you for that,” he told him. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why they were like that…”

Tim brushed his concern away. Plus, it wasn’t all on his friend’s parents. It hadn’t been too long after that when his dad had taken on his first job since he’d been born, and he’d been put in his first boarding school away from the life he’d known in Gotham. Though he didn’t understand why Bernard’s parents had suddenly not wanted them to spend time together anymore, either. “Don’t worry, it’s not your fault,” he reassured him. “Parents are gonna parent.” He frowned a little. “Are they still so strict?”

“They’ve gotten a little better,” the blond teen said. “I mean, they’re at a point where they deem me capable of deciding my own friends, so that’s a notable improvement.” That brought a smile out of both of them. But then, Bernard looked down. “They’re more on academics now. Anything less than perfect grades means I’m practically failing.”

The dark-haired teen narrowed his eyes. It was a sentiment he’d had himself, but only because it was one he’d found he’d been putting on himself at every new boarding school he’d been enrolled into. He constantly strove for perfection so that hopefully one day, he could be useful to his parents if he was allowed to go on one of his dad’s expeditions. Or, at least, he had. Before…

“Try not to put too much pressure on yourself,” he muttered, trying not to think about that before . “Your best should be what matters.” It was a pot calling the kettle black moment for sure, but he hoped his friend could get to that point in a much less dire way than he himself had.

Bernard attempted another smile, but seeming to notice that it was a bit of a sore subject for both of them, he took a quick sip of his ice water. “So, what have you been doing over the past, like, decade since we’ve seen each other?” he wondered. “Ever since my parents forbade us from hanging out, I didn’t really hear much about you.”

Tim considered his answer. There really wasn’t too much he felt like he could say. He couldn’t tell him that after months of a grueling after-school training regimen from Bruce Wayne, he was starting out as the new Robin to help Batman keep the city safe. He really didn’t think trauma dumping on someone who was actively trying to be his friend again— while most everyone else at Gotham High had been giving him a bit of distance since he’d started there with the news report that had come out about what had happened to his family— about the ups and downs he’d had with his parents over that time they hadn’t spoken would be a good idea. It was a really sore topic. He really didn’t want to scare him away with the trauma that was his parents. After all that had happened with that before, he could really use a friend outside of the couple people he had in this new vigilante lifestyle. He needed to stay grounded.

“Well, I haven’t really been in Gotham much to speak of,” he finally settled on, casually leaning back against the bench behind him. “Dad’s job took him all over, y’know? I wasn’t here often, them even less so. Since coming back here earlier this year, this is the longest I’ve stayed here probably since I last saw you.”

Bernard gave him a sad look. “I’m really sorry about what happened to your parents,” he muttered. “The news said it happened when they were abroad?”

Tim nodded in confirmation, starting intently at the Pauli’s Diner menu on the table in front of him. He could probably burn a hole through it if he kept it up long enough. “On one of Dad’s jobs, yeah,” he replied just as quietly. “Some creep poisoned a lot of people on a boat they were on getting to where they needed to go. Dad lucked out, it just put him in a coma. But Mom…”

For a moment, it looked like Bernard was going to reach out to set a hand on his arm, but he refrained, instead gripping his ice water with both hands. Part of Tim wished he would’ve, but maybe they weren’t at that level of re-familiarity yet. “How’s your dad since it all? It’s been a few months since he’s woken up, right…?”

Had it really been that long? Tim supposed time just flew even faster when learning how to fight every night. “Um, he’s okay, I guess,” he said. “Not quite the same since the coma, of course, but that’s to be expected. He can sorta walk again, which is good, thanks to his physical therapist who still makes house visits. He’s… trying to spend more time with me since we’re under the same roof again.”

Bernard arched an eyebrow at his tone. “Is that… a good thing?” he ventured to wonder.

Tim drained the rest of his water and chewed on an ice cube. He was going to sound like an awful son. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted. “Nothing really against him , we just haven’t really spent a lot of time together my whole life. We don’t really know each other well. So it’s… weird. And it hasn’t been all that long since Mom died, not really, but I swear he’s like… seeing his therapist and just not telling me about it. Dana’s nice and all, and I don’t want him to be unhappy, obviously, but…”

“It’s weird?” Bernard supplied. “Not your mom?”

“It’s weird, right?” Tim agreed. “She’s quite a bit younger than him, this seems to be moving really fast. It’s all just… awkward. It’s hard to reconnect with someone you never really knew very well in the first place.”

“I’m sure it is.” Bernard lowered his gaze to the menu in front of him.

A jolt of anxiety flooded through Tim like an electric shock. “Oh, I, uh, I don’t mean you,” he stuttered. “I’m strictly talking about my dad here. I know you a lot better, trust me.”

Bernard glanced back up at him with a smirk. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said, the look fading into a genuine smile. “I really am. I’m glad to be getting to know you again.”

Tim returned the look. “I really am, too.” His gaze faltered slightly. “I’m sorry for just kinda dumping that all on you, I didn’t want to. It’s… nice to have someone to talk to about it who doesn’t try to make me feel one way or another about it.”

“Of course, not a problem at all,” Bernard replied. “I can’t imagine any of what you’ve gone through, but I can at least kinda relate to difficult relationships with parents.” He sighed. “Still, if there’s anything I can do to help, I’ll do whatever I can.”

“You have no idea how much you’ve helped me already,” Tim told him sincerely. After being away at different boarding schools, he’d been more nervous than he probably should have been to walk into Gotham High after he’d returned to the city earlier that year. He’d recognized Bernard immediately, despite how time and circumstances had changed them both, and being able to sit next to a familiar, friendly face since Dowd and Drake were next to each other in the class seating chart whenever they had a class together calmed him down quite a bit. It’d been a little awkward for a little while, just because it had been so long since they’d last seen each other, but he was glad that they’d gone from shooting questioning looks at each other and cringy small talk to being able to actually catch up and meet like this. It was one good stress reducing thing to have among all the chaos he felt was making up his life currently.

Bernard beamed. They sat in a moment of companionable silence, simply taking in the busy diner around them while they waited for their waitress. “So other than… all that, is there anything cool or exciting going on with you?” he wondered.

Oh, if only he knew. “Well, I have an internship at Wayne Enterprises.”

“No way! How’d that happen?”

“Bruce Wayne has known my family for years, my whole life, we’re neighbors,” Tim explained. Of course this wasn’t something the other teen would have known when they were kids. He himself hadn’t felt like that was a big deal back then. Bruce had just always been Bruce. “Whenever they were in town, my parents would bring me with them to events he hosted for charity, things like that. After my mom died and while my dad was in a coma, he let me stay with him when I came back to Gotham since I couldn’t stay on my own. And he’s been showing me the ins and outs of what his company does.” Which was definitely interesting. My other job is fighting crime with him when the sun goes down because I figured out who he, Nightwing, and the previous Robin were and told him, but he left that part unsaid.

“That’s an awesome opportunity!” Bernard said. “I’m really happy for you.”

Tim chewed on another ice cube, smiling slightly. “Thanks, I really think it is, too,” he replied. “You’re the only one who knows who thinks so, though.”

Bernard frowned. “Your dad doesn’t like it?”

“I mean… no?” Tim sighed. “It’s weird, he does think it’s a good opportunity for me to have, and he’s always liked Bruce, except he’s been kinda feeling bitter toward him lately. He doesn’t like that I’m, like, spending so much time with him, especially since I can be gone pretty late. Dana’s been trying to get him to lighten up about it, but…” He shook his head. “I think he’s, like… jealous? We’re just not clicking even though he’s trying to reconnect with me, he’s been angry with me for being distant. Dana’s trying to help us connect, which I’m not feeling great about. I know his company’s facing bankruptcy, which isn’t helping his mood. I think he thinks that with as often as I’m seeing Bruce, he’s being more of a dad figure to me than he is.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that if that’s how you feel, Tim,” Bernard told him. “It sounds like Bruce has been there for you through a really difficult time, and that he cares about you. You don’t have to feel guilty about that. Don’t let anyone make you feel that way. Anything your dad’s going through and dealing with is on him to manage, not you.”

A moment passed before Tim felt the tension starting to ease from his chest and shoulders, and he gave him a warm, grateful smile. “Thank you, really,” he muttered. “I didn’t know I needed to hear that, but I did. It’s just… I don’t know, things feel… easier when I’m at Bruce’s place.”

He’d never said that part out loud before, he hadn’t given those feelings words, but he realized they were true. Having lived in a manor his whole life when he wasn’t away at some boarding school, Wayne Manor wasn’t much different than what he was used to. But it was the people inside it, actually having them around, that made all the difference. Working on something for Wayne Enterprises or training with Bruce. Listening to Alfred’s old war stories or having the old butler proofread his English essays. Movie and game nights with Dick when he was in Gotham. Alfred forcing whoever was around to have dinner together and talk about normal, everyday things at least a couple times a week. It felt more like how a family should be there compared to his own house right down the road.

Bernard smiled. “Then I wouldn’t say time with Bruce is badly spent,” he said.

Tim returned the look. “Neither would I.” He lightly patted his menu in front of him. “But enough about me and my family drama. I want to hear what you’ve been up to for the past decade. Anything new and fun with you?”

The blond teen chuckled, lowering his gaze. “Not too much has changed, really,” he mumbled.

“Still playing video games?” Tim’s cheerful look broadened.

“Oh yeah, always. A few friends and I are in a tournament in Metropolis next weekend, actually.”

Tim laughed. “Oh, my God, you’re such a nerd,” he joked lightly. This was exactly the sort of normalcy he needed in his life since becoming a vigilante. “That sounds fun, though. We’ll have to get together and play something for old time’s sake.”

Bernard beamed. “Absolutely, I’d love that,” he agreed. Then, he shrugged. “Other than that, I haven’t been up to too much.” He looked away. “Well, actually… nah, never mind, you’ll think it’s stupid.”

"I doubt that,” Tim said earnestly. “What is it?”

“If you insist.” Bernard gave him a sheepish smile. “I’ve been, like… really into cooking the past couple years. I just, like, found out I had a knack for it and really enjoyed just playing around with it, so I’ve been taking classes through school and programs during the summer and what have you. Metropolis has some really good ones I would love to get into eventually, I hope I can make the cut. My boyfriend’s mom owns a restaurant over there, and she’s been letting me get some practice in. It might seem kinda lame, but I really want to have my own restaurant someday.”

“I don’t think it’s lame at all. You know what you want to do, and you’re doing what you can to get it. Better than where I’m at, honestly.” Things had just felt so chaotic since his mom had died and he’d come back to Gotham that he really hadn’t given much thought to what his life would be like post-high school graduation. Or, more recently, how he would balance whatever he ended up wanting to do with his life with being a vigilante. It’s not like he could put being Robin on a resume. “But it sounds to me like we not only need to plan a game day, but you’re gonna have to make all the snacks since you’re so good at it.”

“Ha. Bet on it.”

Tim then tilted his head curiously. “Boyfriend?” he wondered.

Bernard winced a bit. “It’s a, uh… more recent development,” he told him off-handedly.

“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant, sorry,” Tim was quick to assure him. “I was just curious if it was anyone I know. I haven’t seen you with anyone, that’s all.”

A look of relief flashed across Bernard’s face as his shoulders relaxed. “Oh, no, you wouldn’t, I don’t think,” he told him. “Louis is a junior over in Metropolis. He’s not in Gotham too often, especially during the school year, so I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have seen him.”

“How’d you two meet?” Tim gave him a devilish grin. “Is he cute?”

Bernard rolled his eyes, blowing the paper covering off the end of his straw and hitting the dark-haired teen in the face. “You are the absolute worst,” he replied while Tim chuckled. “But, uh, it was actually at one of the gaming conventions in Metropolis my friends and I have been taking part in the past couple years.” He paused. “And yes, if you must know, he’s cute.”

“So he’s a nerd like you. Good.” Tim grinned. “As long as you’re happy and he’s a good guy, that’s all that matters.”

“I am.” But Tim felt his friend had rushed just a smidge too much on that answer and thought he caught his light gaze faltering ever so slightly. But he didn’t have much of a chance to unpack that before Bernard hit him with a question back.

“How about you? Seeing anyone? Anyone catching your eye?”

Tim sighed. “Nah,” he answered. “I haven’t been back in Gotham all that long, and a lot of people really aren’t giving me the time of day because of what happened to my parents, so. I don’t know, I really just kinda wanna get settled in more before thinking too much about any of that, y’know?” He shrugged. “That one girl in homeroom with us? Stephanie? She’s been a good friend, too. She… I don’t know, she kinda seems to be flirting with me sometimes?”

Bernard wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh, dear sweet Tim, she’s absolutely flirting with you,” he informed him. “I’ve known her for a long time, she’s a nice girl. Really smart, I think you guys would get along great.” He gave him a teasing smirk. “She’s cute, too, you two would make a good looking pair.”

Chuckling, Tim leaned back against the bench again with a brief shake of his head. “Maybe at some point down the line,” he muttered. “We’ll see how it goes.” His friend gave him a teasing but knowing smile, and he crumpled up a napkin and lightly tossed it at him.

Their blonde waitress— Sharon, her name tag read— hurried over to where they were sitting in the corner booth with her notepad and pen ready to go. “Sorry about the wait, boys, it’s been a super busy day,” she said with a bright smile. Her gaze landed on Bernard first. “What can I getcha, hun?”

“Not a problem at all.” Bernard smiled up at her before he glanced down at his menu. “I think I’ll have—!”

But he didn’t get a chance to place the order.

Five men burst into the diner then, yelling loudly and demanding that everyone get on the floor. As he and Bernard complied along with the rest of the panicked crowd, Tim quickly took note of the situation. All five men were wearing red ski masks to cover their faces— members of the Red Hood gang, maybe? Out of the five, three were carrying guns in hand— crowd control, but he had to assume that the other two were armed as well. One man was stationed by the door— keeping an eye on their escape route and watching for any cops. Two of the men were starting to canvas the restaurant and demanding people hand over wallets and valuables, two men were grabbing Sharon and demanding the register be opened— one of the latter men seemed to be directing the others, clearly the leader.

Not too difficult, a fairly standard and straightforward robbery. Robin could handle them without a problem, but the glaring issue was that civilian Tim Drake could not. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, searching for the opening he needed to slip away and grab what he needed to take care of it.

And then it came.

The cook came out from the kitchen, acting tough, demanding they all leave his restaurant while threatening to call the police. The man with the leader of the gang panicked and fired his weapon, striking the cook in the stomach. That caused other people in the restaurant to scream and panic more. Bernard lurched a bit, his horrified gaze resting intently on where the cook had fallen behind the counter, likely instinctively wanting to help. And— and Tim hated it with every fiber of his being, but it couldn’t have worked out more in his favor— the nearest member of the gang reached out and roughly grabbed Bernard since he’d moved and pulled him close, pressing his gun to the teen’s head in effort to control the crowd.

Oh how much Tim hated that this was his perfect opportunity. But now that it was in front of him, he had to take it. “No!” he yelled, starting to push himself to his feet and reaching out to his friend. “Bern!”

And the gang member reacted exactly how he’d expected him to. The man took his gun away from Bernard’s head and struck Tim hard across the side of the face with it to stop him from reaching them.

“Tim!”

He heard the other teen’s hoarse, frantic cry as he was dragged away while Tim, meanwhile, focused on trying to land as close to under the table as he could and make it seem realistic. Not that it hadn’t been a good, solid hit— he’d definitely been rocked by it, it would definitely bruise and be tender for a while, his temples were pounding and his ears were ringing, the world was swaying a bit. But it wasn’t terrible, he could still make this work.

It was then he was really glad he and Bernard had gotten into the corner booth since it was the most out of the way of everything going on, and with him supposedly knocked out, there wouldn’t be much attention on him to speak of anymore. Most of the action was toward the front of the diner now, where, as he saw through cracked eyelids, the gang had grabbed a couple more hostages to join Bernard. From what he could discern, they were threatening to start killing them if anyone called the police. It also sounded like at least a couple other people were hurt, which wasn’t ideal, he’d have to get help to come quick. The robbery may have been getting further out of hand than this gang had planned, which would mean they would be more likely to act sloppy and make mistakes. He had to move if he didn’t want anyone to die.

So, making sure to time it right in all the commotion, he quickly but cautiously slipped behind the counter, seeing a terrified waitress applying pressure to the cook’s stomach wound. He snuck into the kitchen, where he ran out the back door to where he’d, thankfully, parked in the back lot. Quickly glancing around to make sure no one was around, and glad he’d parked away from any cameras, he moved his skateboard out of the way and opened a secret compartment in his trunk— thanks, Lucius— and slipped out his spare Robin suit. It was mostly just the basics, but it would do; he had a couple of his weapons, which was what mattered the most, anyway.

Once he was all prepped, Tim made a quick, anonymous call to GCPD, saying there was an armed robbery happening at Pauli’s Diner, that it sounded like there were people injured, but he thought he saw Robin go in. Which should give him plenty of time to take care of the five men before police showed up so that he could reduce the risk of more people getting hurt. Like Bernard. He also knew this call would pop up on Barbara’s radar, which meant Bruce would know he was handling it. There was no room for error.

He pulled his hood over his head and extended his bo staff. Go time.

And for the most part, it went pretty well, if he did say so himself. He burst through a window to take out the scout of the gang to get back into Pauli’s— there’d already been worse property damage done, and he’d offer to help with paying as Tim once it was over. He used his bo staff to trip up and subdue another of the gang members who rushed at him before he heard a call of warning from Bernard. He quickly looked over his shoulder in time to see one of the other gang members was aiming his gun right at him.

“Die, bird boy!”

And Tim quickly activated his bullet shield that Bruce had insisted Lucius Fox include in his gauntlet. He had to admit it came in handy now as the ones fired at him bounced right off, and he pushed ahead to knock the man out with it.

“Keep it up, Robin, and she dies!”

Tim glanced at the gang member who’d taken another of the restaurant goers as a hostage, a terrified middle-aged woman. In one fluid movement, he slipped a shuriken from his belt and launched it at the man, watching with a satisfied smirk as it connected solidly with his forehead over the woman’s shoulder. She gave him a grateful nod as she scurried away to take shelter under the counter.

“Robin!”

It was that moment, hearing Bernard’s panicked voice over the rest of the din, that caused his stomach to drop. Tim quickly turned around to see just as the Red Hood gang leader decided to cut his losses and leave the diner, dragging Bernard with him, gun still pressed to his head to ensure his escape.

Oh. Shit. He hadn’t planned for that. He couldn’t let his friend get hurt.

Tim made sure that the other four gang members were still down, taking just a moment to secure them so they couldn’t get away in his absence, before he hurried out after the pair. A quick scan of the area showed him they had made it across the busy street and almost to the end of the block. Having to wait for a few cars to pass was killer, but he ignored the beeping horns all around him as he found a narrow gap to sneak through— still having to slide over the hood of a vehicle that had surged forward at the last moment— his eyes not leaving the blond teen as he dashed down the sidewalk after them. He was grateful people were giving him, and them, a wide berth.

“Stop!” His voice came out a lot more authoritative, demanding, even angrier than he expected it to. It had to come from a place of worry. He had to push it down. He couldn’t let it distract him. Not now. Not with Bernard’s life in the mix.

The leader stopped, abruptly turning back to him. Tim came to an immediate halt when he saw Bernard wince as he was pulled even closer to the man, as the gun was pressed even harder against his temple. “No. You stop, Robin!” he snapped. “You let me out of here, I’ll let the kid go. If not, well… use your imagination. Deal?!”

Tim lowered his bo staff ever so slightly. He didn’t want Bernard harmed, but that was a deal he couldn’t take. He couldn’t let this member of the Red Hood gang walk free. But he knew he’d have to play this very carefully. The police sirens were just about on them, they couldn’t have been more than a block away. And the closer they got, the twitchier the man was getting. And the more danger his friend was in since there was a higher risk of misfire. Bernard could be hurt, or worse, and he couldn’t have that.

He hesitated. He hated it, but he hesitated. Robin shouldn’t be hesitating. What would Bruce…?

But he didn’t have much time to dwell on it when time seemed to speed up as a few things happened in quick succession. Bernard moved, elbowing the man forcefully in the stomach and throwing his head back to knock him hard in the chin. The gang leader let go of him with a grunt as he stumbled back a couple steps. The gun went off. And Bernard fell.

Tim cried out in horror before he let a shuriken fly, watching as it knocked the weapon out of the gang leader’s hand. The first police car came around the corner then, slamming on the brakes before the officers rushed over to apprehend him. And Tim hurried over to Bernard, who was sitting up on the sidewalk and holding his right arm close to his chest.

“Are you all right?” he asked, making sure his voice was lowered just enough, making sure his face was angled just a bit away and his hood lowered to conceal enough of his features. He got a close look at his friend, noticing that his arm seemed to be the only thing bleeding. “That was pretty brave of you.”

Bernard couldn’t stop the smile from slipping its way onto his face. “Thanks, happy to help, it was nothing. You saved me, after all.” He winced as he looked down at his injured arm. “It’s not too bad… I think it only skimmed me…”

“We’ll still want to get a quick look at that,” one of the officers said as he approached them. “Just in case. Get you patched up.” He then smiled as he held a hand out toward the vigilante. “Thanks for your help, Robin.”

Tim nodded as he shook it firmly. “No problem. I happened to be checking into something else nearby.”

But Bernard shook his head as he scrambled to his feet. “No, I have to get back to the diner,” he told them.

“Why’s that?” Tim asked, tilting his head curiously.

The other teen turned to him. “My friend Tim and I were having lunch there, and he got hurt pretty bad…”

Tim had to hide a smile as he glanced back at Pauli’s, seeing a couple more squad cars were parked in front of it now, along with an ambulance. “I’ll make sure he and everyone else is okay,” he assured him. “Just get that arm checked out, okay?”

Bernard appeared to be about to protest, but he sighed and looked away. “Okay,” he agreed quietly, though he clearly wasn’t happy about it.

But Tim was, just because it gave him a few more minutes to spare to get back inside before Bernard came back. When he was able to sneak back to his car behind the diner and stick his Robin gear back into the secret compartment in his trunk, he saw a text from Bruce had come in.

I’m hearing that all the Red Hood gang members have been apprehended, and while there was a close call, there were no casualties. Good work, Tim

Relief flooded through him. It sounded like the cook was going to make it. He’d been worried about him. And he was glad no one else had been seriously injured in the chaos. He slammed his trunk closed before firing off a quick text back.

Thanks B

With the addition of cops and paramedics into the mix, there was plenty of activity and confusion for him to be able to slip back into the diner through the back without being noticed. He wasn’t sure how long he was sitting at the table in the corner booth, milking the headache he genuinely did have, when Bernard pushed his way back in, looking anxiously around the diner. He widened his eyes when the blond teen hurried over to him, his right arm in a sling.

“Oh, my God, are you okay? What happened?”

Bernard brushed his concern aside. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing,” he told him. He looked as though he wanted to reach out to him, check on him, but he refrained. “I’m more concerned about you. Are you okay?”

Tim winced as he nodded. It wasn’t entirely fake— especially after all his running around as Robin, his head was pounding. “I’ll be okay,” he replied. “Little water, a couple aspirin. I’ll live.”

Relief crossed Bernard’s face as he sank into the bench across the table from him. What a pair they were, Tim thought with bemusement. “Are you sure?” he pressed. “You got hit in the head pretty hard. Trying to… help me. Which, thank you, by the way, but I really don’t want to take a chance with that. You could have a concussion, you probably do. We could have you seen by one of the paramedics, or—!”

This time, Tim reached out and set a hand on Bernard’s uninjured arm to get his friend to try and take a breath. “I’m okay,” he assured him, though he couldn’t deny his concern was nice. “Really, some water and aspirin will do it for me. It looks like other people here need help more, I don’t want to take away from that. I’d really rather just get out of here.” Plus, if he stopped by Wayne Manor before going home, Alfred would be able to tell him if something was wrong and give him the good aspirin. He’d be fine.

Bernard still looked a bit hesitant, but he nodded. “Okay, if you're sure,” he muttered. “You good to drive?”

He’d been able to get around as Robin okay, he should be able to drive home no problem. “Yeah, it’ll be fine, but I’ll still be careful. Promise.”

“Good.” Bernard smiled before chuckling without much humor. “Sorry that lunch got ruined.”

“Unless those guys were some friends of yours, not your fault,” Tim said, returning the look. “Though we didn’t even get to have lunch, so technically not ruined?” His smile lifted into a smirk. “Looks like I owe ya another catch-up lunch. Hopefully with a little less robbery next time.”

Bernard brightened. “Yeah, I’d love that,” he agreed.

Tim’s heart leapt. It was a feeling he hadn’t expected, but regardless, he was glad that the experience with the Red Hood gang wasn’t enough to scare off one of the only friends he had.

“You called me Bern.”

Oh. Tim’s brain nearly crashed to a halt. Had he? He didn’t remember. “My bad?”

But Bernard shook his head, his smile lingering. It was a look Tim was relieved, and glad, to see. “No, it’s all good,” he said. “It’s Bernie I hate, so you narrowly dodged a bullet there. I can let Bern slide. I kinda like it, actually. You haven’t called me that since we were kids.”

Tim racked his brain. That’s right. He did call his best friend that all the time years ago. He’d forgotten. “Then never mind, I retract my apology,” he quipped.

Bernard simply laughed. After all that had happened, it was a sound that was good to hear. “All right, let’s get out of here.”

He didn’t need telling twice. The dark-haired teen carefully stood from the table, giving himself a moment when he felt a bit dizzy. But when he turned back to Bernard, he yelled out in panic and stumbled back, falling to the floor. He stared in wide-eyed horror, unable to breathe, when he saw the other teen slumped lifelessly on the table, his blank eyes staring back at him. Perched on the bench behind his friend was Batman, his face ashen, almost bleach white, beneath the cowl and his eyes a bright, toxic green as he smirked down at him.

Tim gasped, not realizing he’d drifted off, as he stretched his stiff muscles from where he was sitting on the floor of the isolation cell leaning against the cot. He wasn’t sure how long it’d been since he’d tried everything he could think of to get out. He’d known forcing it physically was a no-go— though he hadn’t known it at the time when he’d helped set them up, the cells were meant to contain his adopted father with whatever strength the Joker infection gave him. Bruce had cut all of his communications, both comm link and cell phone reception, he couldn’t override or hack the system from inside without access to it. He was stuck.

His gaze lingered on the bodies of Johnny and Henry in the middle of the cells, knowing Christina and Albert were just out of sight in theirs— a reminder of how he’d missed what had been right in front of him, how he’d failed to save the victims. It was almost taunting him, taunting him that he hadn’t been observant enough to realize Henry had been manipulating him from the beginning, that he hadn’t been smart enough to figure out that he couldn’t get the cure that way, that he hadn’t realized the real reason that Bruce had been so obsessive that he figure it out, how Bruce must have been angry at him for not figuring it all out sooner, that he hadn’t been strong enough to save the victims, that he hadn’t been strong enough to protect his adopted father from himself, that he’d wasted so much time when he could have been protecting Gotham, that he hadn’t been able to save Barbara and Dick…

That he’d failed.

His mentor locking him up may have been keeping him safe from those outside threats— Scarecrow, the Knight’s militia. It may have prevented a similar fate to Jason from befalling him that Bruce was clearly so terrified of. But it couldn’t protect him from himself, from drowning in his own spiraling mind, his failures.

He tightened his grip on the cell phone he’d held as he’d drifted off. He glanced at the text from his stepmother, the one saying she hoped he’d been able to get out of Gotham and had a place to go, offering her place to him if he didn’t. Tim had thanked her and said he was staying with his brother in Blüdhaven. He hadn’t had a chance to respond to Dana’s follow-up saying it’d be good to see him if he wanted to, he knew she’d been living there for the past couple years for treatment to address her trauma of his father’s death and working for a new physical therapy and rehab center. The one good thing about it is it gave him some time to really think about if that was a door he wanted to open; he hadn’t really talked to Dana since Jack’s funeral.

But then, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he opened the most recent text from Bernard again, a photo of him and his friends playing video games with some of his homemade pizza he’d whipped up. Along with it was just a quick, simple message.

Wish you were here. Please be safe. I’m proud of you for what you’re doing. I love you so much

As much as the message warmed Tim’s heart, it also caused a deep ache to form in his chest because he couldn’t respond. It was almost funny how it’d happened, he thought. Not how he’d walked into love with Bernard, that part had been easy. It may have been an unexpected path, but one that he would willingly, happily walk over and over again. No, what he couldn’t help but find almost funny is how he’d been trained by the best to face the worst of what humanity had to offer on a nightly basis, to not show fear, to be a symbol of hope to all those he protected. And the only time he felt truly, completely safe was with Bernard. With unassuming, ordinary citizen Bernard Dowd, who he would give anything to protect. The one who not only held his heart but protected it. The one who still loved him for who he was as himself and as a vigilante, the one he now realized he could be both and neither with. The one who had proven that night he was willing to love and protect Robin— from every horror he saw, from all he had to do— as well.

I love you more than I can say

Tim typed the words out before he could think about them— Dick was the one who always knew the right words to say when and how to use those words in beautiful, eloquent ways, which was something he himself wasn’t good at, but he meant these from the very depths of his soul despite them not being the prettiest— and hit send, even though he knew it wouldn’t get through yet. It would get through to his boyfriend eventually.

But it just made him feel even more alone. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of control around him, and there was nothing he could do about it. Not while he was locked away in this cell. He closed his eyes, trying the techniques he knew to focus on his breathing, on grounding himself. But he didn’t have what he needed to keep him linked to where he felt safest.

He absently began to scrub at his hands beneath his gloves.

No… not again…

Tim stumbled down the empty, quiet road, his gaze remaining fixated on the brightly lit exterior of Wayne Manor against the darkening sky. He didn’t know where else to go, there really wasn’t anywhere else he could go right now… not after… not when…

But as he approached the locked gate that separated the large home from the rest of the world, he realized he probably should have called ahead. Bruce was probably busy with something, either preparing for patrol or doing something for Wayne Enterprises, but Alfred should be around, he usually was, though he probably wouldn’t want to be bothered. But he also realized he’d been lucky to just barely manage to grab his phone from Drake Manor, his train of thought hadn’t gone much further than that in the moment. Other than there was someone who could help him not too far away, there was a safe place for him to go. Which is how he’d found himself here.

He reached a shaking hand out to the call button next to the gate, not knowing how he managed to hit it on the first try. Everything was moving too quickly around him, everything was off-kilter. “B-Bruce… Alfred…?” His quiet, raspy voice was trembling as much as he was. Or was it the world itself that couldn’t stop shaking? At that moment, he couldn’t tell between the two. He couldn’t even breathe. “It’s, uh… it’s me…”

Somewhere in the noisy, rushing torrents of his brain, he knew he’d have to be more specific. But for the life of him, he couldn’t seem to recall the name he was supposed to give them.

It only took a couple of seconds for the crackling voice to come from the intercom. “My God, Master Tim!” Ah, that was it. He’d have to thank Alfred later for reminding him. “Are you all right? Hurry in now.”

Tim heard the sound of the gates being unlocked as the doors started to slowly swing open, and he managed to wiggle through the gap. But he didn’t understand why Alfred seemed so worried about him. He didn’t know about what had happened down the road. And he didn’t have anything to worry about, he hadn’t been the one who’d been hurt when…

But he glanced down at his hands and understood. Crimson stained his palms, there was some under his fingernails. The front of his white school shirt was also covered in blood, the strong iron smell enough to make his stomach turn. Oops, there was probably some left behind on the call button he’d pushed, he should probably tell them about that. He probably looked awful. But the blood wasn’t his… He should probably tell them that, too. But the right words were just refusing to form, much less in the right order.

The dewy grass was cold and damp beneath his bare feet. He’d forgotten his shoes, too. Oops. He didn’t need them. But his whole body seemed to jostle when he accidentally stepped on some uneven turf, and suddenly the ground was coming up at him swiftly. He closed his eyes, knowing the landing would at least be soft enough for him to just fade into and disappear for a while. Yeah, that sounded good.

But he was startled when a pair of strong arms broke his fall, holding him securely against a sturdy chest. Tim listened to the steady heartbeat next to his ear as whoever had caught him gently lowered them both to their knees on the sprawling lawn. He tried to take a deep breath but seemed to forget how to, but that was okay because he was safe now. He knew that much.

“Tim, look at me.”

That deep voice was familiar, and Tim wanted to listen to it, so he forced his eyes to open. But he couldn’t seem to focus on the man’s face looming above him, it was too close yet too far away all at once. But that voice was worried, and oops, he hadn’t meant to do that, and he was getting blood on the man’s nice shirt, and oops, he hadn’t meant to do that, either…

“You have to give me at least a little something here, Tim,” the voice continued with pressing concern. “Are you hurt?”

The blood’s not mine. It was a simple enough sentence, composed of four words in that order, but he couldn’t seem to be able to string them together to make sense. And because he wasn’t able to do that, that voice he knew was still worried— he was sorry about that, really— as the calloused hands that went with it tilted his chin up to study his face closely, then his neck, checked under his disheveled shirt for any injuries. There wouldn’t be any found. The blood wasn’t his.

“... N-no…” he gasped out. “Not… me…”

The strong hands came to rest on the sides of his head, ensuring that he was facing that voice he knew. After a moment, Tim could place it, could recall the name. Bruce. Of course. He was there. He looked worried. Oops. He didn’t want him to be. But his mentor frowned as he carefully lifted his eyelids to get a better look at his eyes, searching for he wasn’t sure what.

“He appears to be in shock,” Bruce told someone else over his shoulder. He then set two fingers on the side of Tim’s neck, under his jaw. “His pulse is too quick, he can’t get a full breath. But no visible injuries.”

“Oh dear.” Tim recognized the concern in Alfred’s tone. He hadn’t meant to worry him, either. “I’ll get things ready for him.”

“Thanks, Al.” Bruce turned his full attention back to Tim, still shaking violently in his arms. “Can you stand?”

It took Tim a moment longer than it should have to realize the question was directed at him. “Oh, um, y-yeah, totally…” Gripping onto Bruce tightly, he started to push himself up to his feet before his legs gave out from under him, and he slumped against the man instead. “Ah, nope…”

“It’s okay,” Bruce assured him. He carefully scooped the teen into his arms and stood, walking toward the manor at a brisk pace.

Something about Bruce’s warmth surrounding him that combated the chill that seeped into his very bones, those strong arms that held him close despite how he was covered in blood that was not his , and the gentle, rhythmic swaying movements of his long strides caused him to curl into his mentor’s broad chest as a broken sob escaped from him, his crushing reality threatening to overtake and consume him.

His dad was dead.

“It’s all right.” Bruce’s quiet voice and the soft rumble in his chest soothed him as he set a hand on the back of Tim’s head. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. We’ll take care of it together.”

Everything was a blur once they stepped into the brightly lit, welcoming manor. His blood-stained clothes— covered in his dad’s blood, not his— were removed, replaced with a clean spare t-shirt and pair of jeans he kept there when he came to the manor nightly to be Robin. He felt the warm, cleansing water that washed away all the crimson from his face, his neck, his feet, his hands, even beneath his fingernails. He relished the heavy blanket that had been wrapped around him, pulling it closer around his shoulders while a heating pad settled on his neck to help ease the tension in his tight muscles. He closed his eyes and let himself sink into the soft couch cushions that could probably swallow him whole, letting the heat from the mug of Alfred’s tea he held and the bright fire roaring in the fireplace chase the chill from his soul.

He slowly opened his eyes again when he felt the couch dip a bit to his right, seeing Bruce— now cleaned up and in a fresh shirt himself— was sitting next to him, gazing at him with concern. Alfred was standing at the ready next to the couch, unable to hide his own worry. He wished they weren’t, he hadn’t meant to make them so worried about him, he hadn’t been hurt, the blood wasn’t his… he just hadn’t known where else to go, that’s all…

And then Bruce assured him that he didn’t have to rush to tell him everything that had happened, but he at least had to know if there was still some sort of threat he had to be aware of and look into, if there was something he had to take care of, if there were people hurt or could be hurt. His voice was soft, kind, though there was an undercurrent of urgency there.

And that was when he broke, everything tumbling out of him.

He and his dad had gotten into an argument over the amount of time Tim was spending with Bruce, especially the late nights because Jack had noticed despite him trying to be sneaky about it. He’d been angry, maybe even hurt, that his efforts to connect with him seemed to be met with resistance, that he was his father, not Bruce. That he’d sacrificed so much for Tim to have the best life possible, that his mother was gone in part because of that. That while Tim had tried to stop him from tearing apart his room looking for who knew what, Jack had still stumbled on a few things he used as Robin that he’d stashed there in case of emergencies. That his dad had been able to put the pieces together and figure out Bruce’s secret. How Jack had planned to threaten Bruce to expose his identity if Tim didn’t stay away, as well as weasel money out of him for his silence in order to pay off the wrong crowd he’d gotten mixed up in to keep the manor after his company had gone bankrupt. How Tim had agreed to stop being Robin if his dad would just leave Bruce alone since he hadn’t wanted to create any problems for him. How Jack had still been angry since he’d seemed to be taking Bruce’s side over his. How Jack had seemed nervous by the doorbell and ordered Tim to stay in his room. How he’d instead listened from the second floor landing as an unknown male voice threatened his dad to pay the large sum he owed if he didn’t want consequences. How Jack had fearfully pleaded for his life, claiming that he had a way to get it to him if he could just have a little more time. How Jack had begged for his son to be unharmed. How that hadn’t been good enough. How Tim had peeked just in time to see the unfamiliar burly man stab Jack through the chest with a long-bladed knife. How he’d assured Jack that his son would be next. How he’d acted on instinct and grabbed his bo staff and flew down the stairs. How he’d caught the intruder by surprise, knocked him out, subdued him, restrained him. How he’d knelt next to Jack, had tried desperately to stop the bleeding even as he bled out. How his dad had apologized to him just before he stopped breathing. How anything Tim had frantically tried to do to revive him hadn’t worked. How his stepmother would be home from work soon and find both men in the entrance hall. How he’d grabbed his phone but forgotten his shoes before stumbling over to Wayne Manor. How there was blood on the gate call button. How the blood wasn’t his. And… and…

He wasn’t sure when in his telling that Alfred had moved with quick, practiced hands and spared the mug from falling from his shaking hands. Or when he’d started sobbing so hard he couldn’t catch his breath again. Or when Bruce had pulled him into his arms, holding him against his sturdy chest, soothing him, protecting him, while everything he had in him drained out of him through his tears. He faintly recognized he was crying on Bruce’s fresh shirt. Oops.

“... I… I tried… really…”

“I know. It’s all right.” Bruce’s soft, deep voice reverberated all around him, enfolding him. “You did well, Tim, you did what you could. Let me take care of the rest now.”

When Tim nodded in agreement, in relief, which was all he could really do— because Bruce would take care of everything, he didn’t have to worry about it, not with him, it was in his hands now— he faintly registered Bruce telling Alfred to call Gordon to tell him what had happened and that he’d be at Drake Manor to meet with him. Once Tim’s tears finally stopped, as his heavy eyes drooped closed, as his breathing finally began to even out, Bruce tightened his hold on him briefly.

“I have to go, but I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay? Everything will be all right.”

“Okay…” Tim mumbled. And before he knew it, he was curled up as comfortably as possible on the couch under the warm, heavy blanket, snuggling into a pillow as he absently watched the flickering flames in the fireplace.

Alfred returned to the living room then, smiling faintly as he lightly pulled the blanket over Tim’s uncovered bare foot. He set a tray in front of the couch, setting the mug of tea he’d had before on it along with a plate of white chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookies. His favorite. “You may rest here, Master Tim,” he said. “Your room from when you stayed with us before will be ready by tonight. Also, the police will likely be arriving at Drake Manor soon, I do not wish for you to be alarmed by the sirens.”

Tim looked up at him through bleary eyes. “Thanks, Alfred…” he replied, his voice thick.

The butler gave him another kind smile as he nodded, setting a secure hand on the teen’s arm. “I will not be far should you need anything at all,” he told him gently. “Do not hesitate to call on me, no matter what it may be for.”

All Tim could manage was a nod as Alfred squeezed his arm before departing. A moment passed before the weight of his cell phone in the pocket of his jeans registered, and he shuffled around until he was able to pull it out from under the blanket. He was relieved to see that someone had cleaned the blood off of it as well.

When he unlocked it, he was surprised to see that a message he’d started to Bernard but hadn’t sent yet came up. It was pretty much gibberish— random words in a nonsense order that didn’t form a complete sentence. Racking his still racing brain, he figured he must have thought of trying to text his best friend sometime after he’d left his house and before he’d made it to Wayne Manor. He couldn’t deny a tiny feeling in his chest he couldn’t quite place at the thought that he’d subconsciously thought he’d be the person he most wanted to reach when his world was falling apart.

Deleting what he’d started, Tim started the text over, this time making the effort to have the words in the right order to make sense. But then, he stopped, suddenly recalling that Bernard was on a date with his boyfriend that night. If that hadn’t been the case, he probably would have been hanging out with him since it was an otherwise nice Friday night. He wouldn’t have been home when… Well, anyway, he certainly didn’t want to bother him while he was out with Louis. But it still felt like it was an important thing to tell his best friend.

So deleting everything to start over yet again, Tim finally settled on what he wanted to get across to him.

Hey. No rush to get to this. But my dad died tonight. I’m okay. I’m at Bruce’s. Just wanted to let you know. No big deal. Hope you’re enjoying your date. Talk to you tomorrow

The blood’s not mine. He’d almost included that, but he was glad he hadn’t.

Satisfied, he set the phone on the couch next to him, took a sip of the still warm tea, and snuggled into the pillow and blanket again as his eyes drooped closed. He hoped his sleep would be dreamless so that he could forget about all this for at least a little while.

But just as he was starting to hear distant sirens getting closer, his body jerked as all he could see was deep crimson coating his clothes and palms, and he frantically rubbed at his hands under the blanket. Though no matter how hard or how much he clawed at them, those stains just weren’t going to come out.

It was then he felt his phone vibrate with an incoming text. His stomach leapt— or plummeted, he really couldn’t tell— when he grabbed it and saw Bernard’s name on the screen. He sighed. Oops, he hadn’t meant to interrupt his date, his best friend shouldn’t be replying now, he thought he’d told him he hadn’t had to.

No Tim what the hell? That IS a big deal. What happened? Are you okay??

Tim tightly closed his eyes, scrambling to think of something to say that would calm Bernard down. He was making a bigger deal out of it than he had to, he’d said he was fine—  the blood wasn’t his. He really should be focusing on his date, not him. This wasn’t important.

It’s fine. Bern I’m fine. We can talk about it tomorrow. Please. I didn’t mean to disrupt your date. I’ll be here when it’s over. Promise

The text dots appeared briefly after he sent the message— much too quickly, his best friend was still texting him when he shouldn’t be— as another message from Bernard popped up.

Please stop doing that Tim

Before he could ask what he was talking about, he got another text.

I’m calling

Shit. That’s not what he’d meant to happen.

No. Don’t Bern. I’m okay really

But as soon as he was able to send his protest, an incoming call from Bernard flashed on the screen. Sighing and dropping his head back on the pillow in defeat, Tim answered it after briefly considering not.

“Sorry for interrupting your date, Bern,” he greeted sullenly.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tim,” Bernard replied. There was upbeat music playing faintly in the background. “I’m more concerned about you right now. Are you okay?”

Tim really wanted to say yes, he really did. He’d said that already to him, hadn’t he? That he was fine? That the blood wasn’t his? But the sirens he knew were at his house were grating against his nerves, seeping into his skin and piercing his bones, burrowing into his soul. And the blood that wasn’t his just wouldn’t come out.

So what came out instead was a heavy, shaking, whispered “No…”

Bernard’s voice softened, almost as though he’d been anticipating that answer. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

“Could… could you…” Tim sighed, trying to slow his racing brain down enough for his mouth to be able to catch up. It was frustrating that he couldn’t articulate what he wanted to in a way that made sense. Being able to recall simple words would be greatly appreciated right now.

“It’s okay, take your time,” Bernard said kindly.

His best friend’s patience made fresh tears sting his eyes, and he let out a long breath as he draped an arm over them, hiding them from the world. “Could you… after your date… could you… come…” he tried again, his voice still shaking more than he would have liked. It was a little more progress on what he was trying to convey, at least. He just needed to be away from those damn sirens. That blood that wasn’t his. He fought the urge to scrub at his hands again. They were clean. He knew they were. They just didn’t feel like it.

It was enough to make Bernard understand. “I’m on my way,” he told him. “You said you were at Bruce’s, right?”

“You… you don’t have to now…”

“Tim.”

Bernard’s imploring tone was gentle yet filled with so much certainty. As hard as he tried to stop it, to hide away, a few more tears escaped down his cheeks, and Tim sniffed as he tried to wipe them away without success. “Y-yeah… I’m at… at Bruce’s…”

“Okay, I’ll be there soon, I just got to my car,” Bernard told him. “Do you want me to stay on the line with you while I drive? I can just put myself on speaker.”

“Y-you don’t have t-to, Bern…” Tim hated how much his voice was shaking. If he could stop crying, that would be great. He’d thought he was done with that; he didn’t think he had any more to give. “I don’t… don’t think I c-can contribute much to a con-conversation right now…”

“That’s okay,” Bernard replied. “I can still stay on the line, tell you where I’m at, and if there’s anything you want or need to say, go right ahead.”

“Y-yeah… okay…” Truth be told, Tim was glad for the white noise the phone provided— the sound of traffic, the pop rock song playing quietly on the radio. It distracted him at least a little bit from the commotion he knew was going on just down the road. “I-I just… have to get away from here for a bit, Bern…” he murmured.

“I can do that,” Bernard assured him. Tim was a little surprised he’d heard him. “You can come and hang out at my house for a bit if you want to, or we can go wherever else you want.”

"Hanging out at your house sounds nice,” Tim said. He needed a place to just be able to relax, to just be. But then, his gaze faltered. “Your, uh, your parents… don’t really like me very much…”

Bernard sighed quietly. “They’re out of town until Wednesday, it’s just me until then,” he replied. “But even if they weren’t, that wouldn’t matter. You’re important, Tim, don’t forget that.”

“Oh, um…” Tim wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. “Thank you…”

“Anytime.” Bernard was silent for a moment. “I’m just getting out of downtown, heading toward the outskirts now. It shouldn’t take me too long to get to Bruce’s.”

Tim blinked slowly. Oops. He should probably let someone know his best friend was coming. He slowly sat up, keeping the blanket close around him as he lowered his phone. “Hey, Alfred?” he called out.

“Yes, Master Tim?” Alfred stepped into the living room right away, as he’d promised. “What do you need?”

“Oh, no, it’s not that,” Tim said. “Bernard, my, um, best friend is coming to pick me up. We’re just going to hang out at his house for a bit. If that’s okay…”

Alfred smiled. “Of course it is,” he replied. “I’m glad to hear you have a friend you can spend time with after such an ordeal. Your room shall be prepared for you when you return, whatever time that may be.” He lowered his voice then, giving him a strict look. “I expect this to not be the only night you take off.”

“But, Alfred, I—!”

“I will not hear another word about it, Master Tim,” Alfred interrupted his protest. “And Master Bruce would say the same.” His gaze softened then. “You need to give yourself some time to recover from this. Even though it’s a pain that is not visible, we are going to treat it as such, my dear boy. It’s just as important. You can’t focus when the emotions and pain are still so fresh and raw. Am I clear?” When Tim nodded, he smiled. “Good. Is there something you need to go to your friend’s house? I’ll wrap these cookies up for you to bring along.”

“The cookies will be fine, Alfred, thank you, I don’t think I need anything else,” Tim told him.

“Very well, sir.”

“Your friend sounds very wise,” Bernard spoke up when Tim returned to the phone. “I didn’t hear much, but I got the basic gist.”

Tim chuckled. “He really is. Not sure what any of us would do without Alfred,” he agreed. “Guess he’s not wrong, not having my head on straight would make the work I do for them a lot harder.” And a hell of a lot more dangerous, he conceded silently.

“You have to remember that no matter how complicated your relationship with him was, he was still your dad, and you’re grieving,” Bernard said. “And it’s okay to grieve. And that’s going to take time. It’s okay to give yourself whatever time you need to do what you need to do for you. Wayne Enterprises can wait. I’m glad they’re looking out for you.”

“Yeah… yeah, you’re right.” Tim let out a shaking breath. Not that he could tell his best friend just how complicated his relationship with Jack had gotten at the very end. Just earlier that night, probably no more than an hour ago. It felt like a lifetime. “I’m glad they are, too. If it was just me, I probably… I don’t know, I probably wouldn’t be thinking through all of this…”

He could almost hear the small smile in Bernard’s voice. “That’s why we’re here. There’s nothing wrong with accepting help from those who want to help you, Tim,” he replied. “I’m just pulling up to the gate, by the way.”

“Oh! Uh, yeah, I’ll let you through, Bern.” Tim scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over the blanket, and hurried to the front door to unlock the gate. But as he stepped outside after doing so, he hesitated on the manor’s front steps, seeing the flashing red and blue lights down the road, bright in the darkening air. At least the sirens had stopped.

His fingers began to twitch as he lightly scraped at his palms. The blood wasn’t his…

“Tim!”

The worried, familiar voice reached his ears, pulling Tim’s attention away from the bright lights and to the red car he recognized as Bernard stepped out and slowly came to a stop at the base of the steps. “Hey,” he croaked.

“Hey yourself,” Bernard replied with the tiniest smile. He glanced down at the cell phone he still held. “Think I’m gonna go ahead and end the call now.”

Oops. “Oh, yeah, right.” Tim fumbled to do the same thing. That was dumb, he should have thought of that.

But Bernard didn’t seem to care, or at least was polite enough not to mention it. Instead, his brow furrowed with worry as he walked up the steps to join him. Why did he keep doing that to people? He was okay… the blood wasn’t his… He was the one who’d made Bernard end his date early and go out of his way to come and pick him up…

“What can I do?” the blond teen wondered as he reached out for him, setting a hand on his arm. The touch was steady, sturdy.

Which was why Tim leaned forward, burying his burning eyes in his best friend’s shoulder. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with his hands, they hadn’t really hugged before, at least not since they were kids. But when he felt Bernard’s arms wrap around him without hesitation, he clung to him tightly, allowing the feel of another person to keep him grounded as he fought to keep from shaking, from collapsing.

“It’s okay, I’m here.”

Bernard’s quiet assurance only made Tim hold onto him tighter, feeling those words to be true. “I know…” But the mumbled words came out so quietly, further muffled by his best friend’s shirt, that he wasn’t sure if he’d heard it. He took a deep breath before lifting his head and pulling back just a bit— not fully— to look at him. “Sorry for ruining your date…”

The other teen chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “Are we still on that?” he wondered lightly. But his gaze faltered a tiny bit as he patted his shoulder. “Please, Tim, really, don’t worry about it. Okay? If you must know, I, uh, ruined it myself anyway, so…”

Tim arched an eyebrow. But before he could ask more about it, they both pulled away and looked back at the front door when they heard the quiet sound of a throat being cleared.

“Ah, you must be Master Tim’s best friend,” Alfred greeted pleasantly. “Or so he said.”

Bernard smiled in return. “He’s mine, too,” he replied, offering his hand. “My name’s Bernard.”

“Alfred Pennyworth.” The butler returned the look as he shook his hand. He then shifted his gaze to the black-haired teen, holding out the wrapped plate of cookies to him. “For you to share tonight.”

Tim took them with a smile. “You’re the best, Alfred,” he muttered. And meant it.

“I’ve also taken the liberty of putting together a simple overnight bag,” Alfred continued, holding up the bag in question next. “Just the essentials in case you get too tired to come back tonight, or just feel like taking the time away you need. Your room will be fully prepared for you tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, um, I’m not sure if that’s…”

“It’s fine, you can crash over if you want, I don’t mind,” Bernard told him. “It’ll be like old times. Can’t hurt just in case that’s what you decide.” Alfred gave him a look of approval.

Tim accepted the bag. Now that he took a second to think about it, having the option was probably a good idea. He wasn’t entirely sure what he needed or wanted, but he did know that could change from moment to moment. “Thanks. If you’re sure.”

Bernard nodded. “I am,” he reassured him.

“Splendid.” Alfred’s smile returned. “In that case, your shoes are right inside the door here, Master Tim. I’ll inform Master Bruce where you’ve gone upon his return so he doesn’t worry. And if there’s anything you boys need, we are only a phone call away.”

At that moment, Tim was very glad he also had a spare pair of shoes at the manor. They weren’t something he’d be willing to go back down the road for. But tears pricked his eyes then, just as a rush of gratitude for the people he considered family overcame him, and he hugged the old man tightly. “Thanks for everything, Alfred.”

If he was surprised by the sudden gesture, Alfred didn’t show it as he instead held him tightly. “Anything, anytime, my dear boy.”

A few minutes later, the car was packed, and the two friends were driving back down the long driveway toward the open gates. Tim pointedly averted his gaze from the red and blue lights, and Bernard purposely drove in the opposite direction of them. But as hard as he tried to ignore them, as hard as he tried to focus on the pop song playing softly on the radio, he couldn’t keep his eyes from slipping up to the rearview mirror, watching them until they were out of sight.

His dad was dead. The blood wasn’t…

“Hey, Tim?”

The other teen’s quiet voice brought him out of the spiral he was heading down. Tim noticed he’d been starting to scratch at his hands again, unsure if Bernard had noticed, and he curled them into loose fists to stop himself. “Yeah, Bern?” He hoped his tone was as steady and composed as he wanted it to be.

Bernard glanced over at him, keeping one eye on the darkening road. “I just want you to know that you don’t have to tell me what happened, I’m not going to make you talk about anything you don’t want to,” he said. “You can tell me whatever you want whenever you want, you don’t have to tell me anything at all. We’ll just hang out, and if you want to spend the night that’s fine, or if you decide you want to go back to the manor, no matter what time that is, I’ll bring you back. Sound good?”

Tim nodded. “Sounds good,” he agreed. He sighed. “Thank you, Bern, really. You didn’t have to do any of this. I feel… I don’t know, stupid for reaching out the way I did…”

“Please, stop it, Tim,” Bernard replied, though his tone was light. “We go way back, you’re my best friend. And you’re going through something awful that I can’t even begin to imagine. I’m happy that you felt like you could reach out to me about it, and I’m happy that I’m able to help you, even if it’s just to give you a place to hang out for a while. There isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be right now.”

“Even though I ruined your date?”

Despite himself, Bernard chuckled. “Yes, Tim, even though you allegedly ruined my date.” He flashed his friend a grin. “But in all seriousness, you’re important, Tim, you matter to me. Of course I’m going to help you if I’m able to when you ask. You don’t have to face this incredibly daunting, life altering thing on your own.”

It took Tim a moment to digest the words. Since he was a kid, he’d often felt like he’d had to fight for his place, for importance to his absent parents since they were gone so often while he hopped around from boarding school to boarding school, no matter how hard he’d tried to prove his value by often working himself too hard for nothing. It’d been different when Jack had been trying to force their connection, almost feeling bitter about it since he was only trying when he hadn’t been able to travel for work anymore. It was different, but this time in a good way, with Bruce, who saw his value both as himself and as Robin, even though with the latter, it still sometimes felt like he was being compared to the mistakes of his predecessor. This was one of the only times he could really think of when someone had told him that he was important, that he didn’t have to fight to be, that he just was.

He swallowed thickly against the stubborn tears that were threatening to form, really not wanting to cry again. He’d done enough of that for a lifetime just tonight, there couldn’t be much left in him at this rate. But he really didn’t know how to voice all that he was feeling— he was still having some difficulty with being able to recall even simple words and make them make sense, so he probably couldn’t even properly articulate how he felt to express what his best friend meant to him at the moment. It would come to him eventually.

“So… about your date?”

Bernard laughed as he turned onto the street his house was on. “Man, you’re really not gonna let that go, are you?” he wondered. When Tim gave him an expectant look, he sighed, waiting until he pulled into his driveway and turned off the car to face him.

“Louis and I broke up.”

Tim’s eyes widened as his stomach dropped. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting to hear. Oops. Shit. “I’m sorry, Bern,” he muttered. “That wasn’t because I—!”

“No no no, Tim, that had nothing to do with you contacting me tonight,” Bernard was quick to assure him, setting a hand on his arm for emphasis. “It’s been building for a while. Just… y’know, things here and there where we just really weren’t clicking, that sort of thing. But he would also get oddly jealous of people I’d hang out with, too. Which wasn’t okay.”

“Like me,” Tim deadpanned.

Bernard shrugged. “It was stupid, he wasn’t the most thrilled that I was happy having my best friend from childhood back. For some reason, he seemed… I don’t know, threatened by you.” He chuckled with a brief shake of his head. “That’s on him, it’s his loss. I’ve known you a lot longer, I value your friendship too much to throw it away for some guy.”

Tim’s gaze faltered. “It… kinda sounds like it was in part because of me and that I kinda ruined your date, Bern,” he muttered, trying to keep his tone light.

But Bernard shook his head adamantly. “It was my choice, Tim,” he told him. He lightly squeezed the other teen’s arm. “I haven’t been the happiest I could be with him for some time now. Tonight was just the tipping point for me, but I kinda went in thinking this would be the last one for us. And with the ultimatum he was giving me, I chose our friendship. And I’d do it again.”

After a moment, Tim set his hand on his friend’s arm in return. Thank you for choosing me. It was a simple enough sentence to string together, but he didn’t trust his capacity to articulate it at the moment. It was just another thing to tell him when he could do so.

But Bernard seemed to understand, at least somewhat, as he gave him a tired smile in return. “C’mon, let’s get inside,” he said. “Come relax and make yourself at home. I’ll make something.”

Which is how Tim wound up curled up on the couch, wrapped in another blanket and blankly staring at the old, cheesy science fiction movie playing on the television while Bernard worked on whipping up a couple light, comfort food type snacks to go along with Alfred’s cookies. His phone was on the arm of the couch next to him, having gotten texts from Dana freaking out and trying to reach him, as well as a couple from Barbara because of course she’d known that Alfred had called Jim, and Dick asking after him to see how he was doing and offering to help how he could. He’d get back to all of them when he felt up to it, he hoped they understood. His eyes began to droop, heavy under the weight of all that’d happened that evening, glad he was away from all of it, that he could be away from it for at least tonight.

There was so much blood… too much… he couldn’t stop it… the smell of iron was too strong, making him gag… he couldn’t stop it… too much blood… but the blood wasn’t his…

“Tim? Tim!”

He took a sharp intake of breath as his eyes snapped open, seeing Bernard’s concerned face hovering in front of his. He noted the source of concern to be that he’d been clawing at his hands again since his best friend had lightly taken his wrists. Oops.

“Are you back with me?” the other teen asked, his gaze faltering. “Are you okay?”

“... The blood… isn’t mine…” Tim mumbled, wanting Bernard to understand. He watched as he slowly crouched on the floor in front of the couch, keeping gentle pressure on his wrists when he tried to scrub at his hands again. “It’s… my dad’s, he…” He let out a shaking breath, closing his eyes. “My dad… was desperate for money to keep the house… got mixed in with the wrong crowd… he didn’t have the money to pay them back, so… He didn’t tell me about his problem, I could have helped…”

Bernard’s face fell. “I understand what happened, Tim, I do,” he muttered. “You don’t have to—!”

“N-no…” Tim opened his eyes, looking at his best friend desperately. He had to understand. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t save him… I-I tried… I really did… The blood, it… it isn’t mine…”

“What blood, Tim?”

The simple, straightforward question caused Tim’s frantic brain to crash to an abrupt halt. Couldn’t he see it? He didn’t know how Bernard could miss it. There was so much… On his shirt, his feet, his face, his hands… He tried to move them to show him the crimson on his palms, under his nails, but they were still kept lightly in place by the other teen.

“Your hands?” Bernard gently took the other teen’s hands in his and turned them over, palms up, so they could see them. “Look, Tim. There isn’t anything there. They’re clean.” He met his best friend’s panicked gaze. “I’m sorry for what happened to your dad, I’m sorry that he got involved in something he shouldn’t have to do what he thought he had to. I’m sorry you had to see that… But this isn’t on you, his choices have nothing to do with you. What your dad did, what happened to him… none of it. I’m sure you tried everything you could to save him, that’s who you are. I’m sorry that you weren’t able to. But you did what you could. I’m sorry it went the way it did. But it’s not your fault, Tim.”

“But… but I…” Tim looked down at his hands still cradled in Bernard’s slightly bigger ones. He blinked in surprise. For the first time that evening, there wasn’t crimson staining his palms or caked under his fingernails. There was no blood. Not even blood that wasn’t his.

Bernard smiled when he saw the other teen’s light blue eyes clear at the realization. “Welcome back.”

It wasn’t too long after that when Tim— watching Bernard play a video game in preparation for another tournament in Metropolis with his friends coming up the next month as he snacked on a couple of Alfred’s cookies and some cheesy supreme nachos and cinnamon glazed almonds the other teen had cooked up— dozed off on the couch, his head resting on his best friend’s shoulder. He didn’t dream of blood that wasn’t his, he didn’t dream at all. He slept most of the night.

If Tim had to look back at the past couple of years and choose the moment he’d known he was in love with Bernard, it would be the night his dad had been killed. He hadn’t realized it at the time, of course, there was no way he really could have. His emotions had been too raw that night, and even if they hadn’t been, he hadn’t discovered that he could feel that way about his oldest and closest friend, another guy, that way yet. And the night he’d lost his dad, he’d realized Bernard was the friend who would choose him, he was someone he felt safe with since he’d been the first person he’d tried to reach out to about it, the person who’d been patient enough to help him see that none of what had happened had been his fault. That was the person he loved.

Of course, it had taken almost two years for them to actually get to where they were now. If Bernard had known back then that he’d felt how he did about him, which Dick seemed to think he had, he hadn’t said anything about it, which Tim was incredibly grateful for. He hadn’t been ready for a relationship at that point, he hadn’t been ready to face that part of himself that he hadn’t even known had been there. And Bernard had waited for him. He’d waited for him while Tim had entered a relationship, one that he didn’t regret, with Stephanie. He’d been patient while Tim panicked and had a full-blown mini crisis when he’d started to realize what he felt toward the other teen wasn’t just friendship. He’d been thrilled when Tim had finally asked him if one of the lunches they still met up for could be a date instead, Stephanie supportive of them both.

Thinking back on it, Tim felt like he only remembered their first kiss a few months ago because it’d been with Bernard, not because it’d been too big of a deal. With Stephanie, she’d made a pretty big deal about it when he’d brought her on a date to a science exhibition in Metropolis, the only word he could really think of to describe it was loud, while to him, it’d felt like something expected of them in their relationship. Nothing against her for it at all, her outgoing and often bubbly nature was all part of her charm that he loved her for.

But with Bernard, it’d been different. They’d had a few dates when it’d happened, he’d gotten to the point where he was comfortable calling his best friend his boyfriend. And it’d just sort of happened quietly, calmly while they’d been playing a video game together at Bernard’s apartment when his roommate had been away. It’d made him see that he’d been wanting to do so for longer than he’d realized, and that he wanted to keep kissing him for as long as he could. It felt more right than anything he’d experienced before.

Tim took a deep breath as he closed his eyes, trying to focus on that feeling to try and calm himself down. To try to stop himself from clawing at that blood that wasn’t his on his hands. All that had happened with the Joker’s victims wasn’t his fault either, Bernard would tell him, no matter how his mind kept trying to convince him otherwise. He’d been doing all he could to create a cure from a blood sample that wouldn’t give him the results he wanted. Henry had been manipulating him from the beginning. Henry and Harley had planned the break-in to Panessa to free the three infected together. Henry had his own agenda when it came to Christina, Albert, and Johnny. He’d thought Bruce had been cured. Their deaths weren’t on him, he couldn’t beat himself up for not being able to prevent them, he couldn’t spiral now just because of how this had all gone. It hadn’t been in his control. He had to focus on what he could control, on what to do next, on his next move even though he was locked in an isolation cell. There had to be something he could do. He had to focus.

His hands stilled.

But that was when he heard a loud, shrieking laugh from the other prisoner in the room.

Tim arched an eyebrow as he slowly got to his feet, stretching out his stiff muscles before he approached the clear door. “What’s going on, Quinn?” he demanded, trying to keep his tone authoritative. He also tried to avert his gaze from Johnny and Henry’s bodies.

At first, Harley only laughed in response. She was standing at the door of Johnny’s former cell, grinning gleefully as she watched something on the Batcomputer monitor. “Crane was talkin’ a big game from the start, he really wanted to do it tonight,” she said cheerfully— way too cheerfully for his liking. “And what do ya know? The crazy bastard actually did it!”

His stomach plummeted as she kept laughing. He didn’t like the sound of that. “What the hell are you talking about?” He fought to keep his tone steady, level.

Harley turned her broad grin his way. “Take a look for yourself, bird boy!” She jerked her thumb back at the large monitor.

Tim followed the motion, bracing himself for whatever he might see. He was glad that the jailbreak protocol uploaded by Henry had been overridden by the Batcomputer’s system, it was a relief to not have to hear the Joker laughter on repeat anymore. It was back to displaying things like what they’d been looking into about the Arkham Knight and CCTV camera feeds from around Gotham before the break-in. Not that it did any good considering he was locked up and couldn’t do anything with the computer.

He frowned when he noticed that the camera feeds didn’t seem to be displaying anything. They almost appeared to be glitching. He leaned closer to the cell door, trying to get a better look.

But then, his eyes widened as he stumbled back a couple steps, his heart skipping quite a few beats when he realized what he was actually looking at. It wasn’t a glitch on the cameras. The view was blocked by dense, heavy smoke.

Gas.

“Shit…” Crane had actually done it. He’d gotten the Cloudburst to cover the city in his fear toxin.

Harley laughed again. “Hell yeah, now you get it!” Of course she’d be the type to enjoy the chaos this would bring to the streets of Gotham. Unfortunately for her, they were underground, unable to be touched by the gas.

Suddenly, Tim winced when ear-splitting feedback came over the speakers set up in the studio as Scarecrow’s latest announcement was broadcasted. That caused the first part of his statement to be distorted, he couldn’t quite catch it.

But his last words caused his blood to run cold.

“... the City of Fear.”

Chapter Text

J

“You’re worthless!”

He flinched as the fist struck him hard in the temple, disorienting him despite his helmet.

“You’re so worthless I couldn’t even give you away! Do you know how pathetic that is?!”

“Fuck you…” he murmured, staggering a little as Willis Todd backhanded him across his visor. Hard. But it was the phantom feel of that hit— one he’d gotten plenty of times from that man— that gave him a little more clarity. This couldn’t be happening. His father was dead, and he had been for seven years. He knew that very well. “You’re… you’re not real…”

“Maybe he’s not. But I’m here!”

The sound of something metallic scraping against the rooftop made his heart nearly stop. He turned around in time for the crowbar to connect solidly with his chest. He cringed, dropping to his knees before quickly covering his head as the crowbar connected with his back, knocking the breath out of him.

“I’m always here,” Joker taunted, striking him with the weapon a few more times until he was curled in a protective position on the ground. “You’ll always have to watch over your shoulder for little ol’ me! You’ll never know where I’ll be hiding… waiting just for you…”

But wait, no, that wasn’t right, either… The clown was dead because of his own ambitions, he’d died nine months ago… “You’re dead,” he whispered, just as another blow landed from the crowbar. “You’re not here… You’re dead, you fucking bastard…”

Joker’s haunting laughter echoed through his mind, digging into his soul, but there was no more crowbar. “You’re right, kid. Doesn’t mean I can’t still hurt the people you love.” A louder, sharper laugh from the clown made him flinch. “If you’re even capable of such a thing! What a joke!”

“... Jason…”

His head immediately snapped up when he heard the quiet, familiar female voice, clearly in pain. “Rose!” he yelled. “I’m here!”

A jolt of panic shot through him. She shouldn’t have been in Gotham that night, she’d promised him she wouldn’t be. She’d promised she’d wait for him in Blüdhaven, staying out of what he had to do while keeping herself safely away from her father. He may have begrudgingly been working with Slade, but he wouldn’t let her endanger herself by getting close to him— the mercenary had wanted her head since she’d turned her back on him some time ago, taking Jericho with her. He supposed he had his older brother to thank in a roundabout way for whatever it was that he and Rose Wilson had found in each other since Dick’s mercy toward her was why she’d turned away from Deathstroke to begin with.

He found her near the edge of the rooftop, lying way too still with her long, dyed silver hair fanned out and framed around her head almost like a sunburst. Her eye not covered by a black eyepatch was open but unseeing, a crude, unnatural smile carved into her face.

He dropped down next to her, carefully pulling her closer to him, afraid that she might shatter. “No no no no… Rose…” His voice broke, tears threatening to rise to his eyes as he held her limp form to his chest. “What the hell are you doing here…? You shouldn’t be…”

“... Little Wing…”

His blood ran cold as he looked over his shoulder, seeing Nightwing was lying in a heap in the middle of the rooftop. He gently set Rose’s lifeless body back down, Joker’s laugh lingering in his ears as he slowly made his way to the other man. He stopped next to him, eyes wide as he stared down at him. His face fell when he saw the hole in Dick’s chest, straight through his heart, a blood-stained katana lying next to his still form.

This couldn’t be happening…

“See?” Joker’s taunting voice was back, over his shoulder, in his ear. “And he was so insistent about Bats moving heaven and earth to come find you when you and I were having so much fun together. I know a tiny part of you still really wanted to cling to that notion, I know you did… or hell, maybe you even started to foolishly believe him. You were always so certain that Bats would come for you. But the idiot was wrong. Bats failed your big brother and the girl you’ve been having fun with. They’re both dead. And he may not have delivered the killing blows himself, but you know he’s responsible anyway.” He chuckled. “If he abandoned his favorite son, the golden boy, why the hell would he bother with a screwup like you?”

“Shut up…” he whimpered, closing his eyes tightly. “Shut the fuck up!”

But when the clown just continued to laugh, the grating sound growing to a loud roar in his head, he growled with frustration and took off his helmet and threw it aside. And he screamed. He screamed as loudly and for as long as he could with everything he had, letting out all the anger, the fear, the frustration, everything. Once it all drained out of him, he dropped to a knee, taking a few deep, shuddering breaths to try to clear his head.

None of this was real, none of this was real, none of this was real…

When he opened his eyes again, he was alone on the rooftop. Of course he was. His dad, Joker, Rose, Dick… none of them had ever been there, they hadn’t been real. No matter how real it’d felt. It had always just been him. He must have gotten just enough of Crane’s fear toxin in his system to hallucinate when he’d crawled out of the destroyed Cloudburst tank since his helmet wasn’t enough to protect him from it. He should have recognized it— he’d been exposed to a bit of it just earlier that night when Scarecrow had forced him to release the first, tiny amount of the gas in Pauli’s Diner.

“Excuse me, sir. There’s no smokin’ in here.”

He flinched as the officer’s hand landed firmly on his shoulder.

“You’re fucking worthless!”

His father’s voice, the words he’d heard on repeat as a child, echoed in his ears, and he abruptly stood from the booth and rounded on him. His eyes widened as his breath caught in his chest when he saw the red, furious face of Willis Todd leering back at him.

With a quiet, panicked sound, he shoved him away, watching as the older man stumbled back and fell to the floor. No, he didn’t have to be afraid of him anymore. He was bigger now, stronger now, he could do what he had to do to protect himself.

Deep in the back of his mind, he knew his father shouldn’t be there. He couldn’t be there. But yet, there he was.

For a brief moment, the officer’s features swam back into view. The man was terrified, staring back up at him with wide-eyed fear, and he had to wonder what the officer saw when he looked at him as he shakily pulled his gun on him. He ducked under the table, wanting to be out of the line of fire in case he got too trigger happy, as the other man scrambled to his feet and started swinging the weapon around wildly. He glanced around at the rest of the diner goers, hearing their screams and watching as they tore each other apart.

But all he could see was Willis with his pistol in hand, angrily yelling his name.

“Shh, my little Jaybird, it’ll pass. We’ll be okay. Just stay quiet now.”

He closed his eyes tightly when he heard his mother’s voice over the din. He had to get out. He had to get out.

It wasn’t too difficult to slip out in all the chaos— Crane had told him that even though it was just a small amount of his new toxin, it would work quickly and efficiently with devastating effects. From what he’d seen of it, that was true; he’d only released the gas hidden in a bag a few minutes before the man with glasses had ratted him out to the officer. He dropped the smoking bag in the lap of a man sprawled out on the floor, eyes wide as he mumbled to himself; he didn't want to get a good look at the man he was framing, he didn't want that added weight on his shoulders. The less he knew, the better.

He made his way past a few people fighting and went behind the counter, making his way through the kitchen unnoticed. He heard gunshots and screaming from behind him as stumbled past the grill and spilled out into the back parking lot behind Pauli’s Diner. He ripped away the black cloth mask covering the lower half of his face and took big, gulping breaths of fresh air. He wasn’t even sure why he’d worn it when it didn’t matter— Crane had told him even his Knight helmet wouldn’t be any good against how potent his new strain of fear toxin was. There was no protection from it. The mask had helped to keep him hidden from the world, to hide the lingering “J” scar on his cheek he couldn’t bear to look at, that was all; but that had been enough. The fresh air rushing into his lungs now and the cold rain against his skin helped to calm his racing heart and ragged breathing. It helped him to drive the image of Willis and his pistol from his mind.

But he couldn’t stay there. He had too much he had to do that night to be able to. Crane and Slade were expecting him now that his first job they’d had him do for them was done. He had to leave.

He scrambled to his feet, lurching toward a dark alley to get away from all the commotion at the diner. More police were likely to show up soon; hell, maybe even the Bat himself, along with his replacement little soldier. He pulled the hood of his red sweater lower over his eyes instinctively. He couldn’t be seen.

He mindlessly listened to each puddle he splashed through, letting the rhythm of the rain continue to ease his thoughts and breath. He just had to clear his mind, to remind himself that nothing he was seeing was real. He was—!

A quiet crunch beneath his heavy boot caused him to pause. He looked down as he took a step back, and his eyes widened when he saw the broken, empty syringe. A quick glance around revealed a few more scattered around the alley. He shook his head slightly as he continued on. Drugs were an all too common problem in Gotham, though not usually as often in the nicer areas compared to where he’d grown up where overdoses were an everyday occurrence. It was something he was all too familiar with, a part of life for him.

A pale, slender arm coming from behind a crate caught his attention, and he found himself hesitating. He didn’t have time to waste, but if there was a chance the unfortunate soul was still alive… He had more experience dealing with overdoses than he cared to admit.

He wavered again. Crane and Slade could wait. He could just quickly make sure that one less person would succumb to such a terrible disease, if there was anything he could still do for them.

But when he saw the pretty features and the tangled long, dark hair of who he saw was a woman, he collapsed to a knee as all the breath left him. His heart stopped as tears rushed to his eyes.

No… It couldn’t be…

“... M… M-Mom…? Mom!”

He crawled forward to where Catherine Todd was lying much too still, her face too unnaturally white. He set a trembling hand on her cold arm, leaning closer to carefully lift her eyelids to check her pupil dilation. This couldn’t be happening… not again… This shouldn’t be happening… His mother was…

But still, he placed two fingers beneath her jaw to check for a pulse. A sob escaped from him when he felt nothing.

“... Mom, no… please… Mom…”

This wasn’t real, this wasn’t real, this wasn’t real…

He forced himself to let go of Cathy, to move back away from her. He covered his head and curled in on himself. He screamed, long and broken.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed knelt in the rain in the middle of the alley, the cool drops easing his cries and shaking body, grounding him. But when he finally opened his eyes again and looked up, his mother was gone.

She’d never even been there.

He passed a hand over his face, pulling himself out of the toxin-fueled haze. His second experience being exposed to it was just as difficult as the first. He was just glad that he’d found a tall enough building to be able to get above it this time after Bruce had grabbed him from the tank when it’d been destroyed to be able to clear his head for a minute; this new toxin was so dense, so thick, so heavy that it hadn’t spread far outside of the city after the initial release, and it wasn’t able to drift too high into the atmosphere. He warily glanced down at the billowing clouds of the gas beneath him, the city choking on it.

The fear toxin. That’s all it was. Again. Dick should still be alive. Rose should still be away from Gotham. Willis and the clown were both still dead.

But…

Batman looming behind Joker as he carved the smile into Rose’s face…

Batman hovering just behind Slade as he stabbed Dick through the chest with his katana…

Batman wrapping his gloved fingers around the bloodied crowbar Joker had just used to torture him, raising the weapon himself…

No!

He closed his eyes tightly, gripping at his black hair as he tried to force the images from his mind. They weren’t real, they hadn’t happened, but he knew they may as well have. Bruce had still abandoned him. Had still left him to die. Had still allowed Joker to do all he had to him for over a year, had still allowed him to empty him, to hollow him out completely, to fill him with nothing but hatred for the man— his mentor, his adopted father— who had turned a blind eye to him after promising he wouldn’t. Dick, Barbara… they had both been wrong after all, he realized, no matter what stubborn part of him had wanted to believe them about Bruce. Joker had been right. He’d been right all along. There wasn’t a place for him with them anymore, his old family. He couldn’t go home, that would never be home for him again, Joker had taken that— had taken them— away from him. And Bruce hadn’t stopped him. Because of him, the clown had done too much to him to be able to ever go home…

Batman’s shadow fell over him, threatening to consume him…

No. He refused to be afraid of the Bat. He wasn’t a myth to him, he was just a man. A broken shell of a man haunted by the demons of his past. Nothing more. He knew all his weaknesses, he knew how to exploit them. He knew…

Bruce loomed over him, a look of loathing on his face, the same look Willis had given him time and time and time again… Scarecrow stood just over his shoulder, grinning madly…

His smoky blue eyes hardened.

He’d failed Crane, sure. He knew he couldn’t go back to the hideout, at least he couldn’t be seen. Scarecrow wouldn’t be forgiving after his Cloudburst device had been destroyed because he’d just been so fixated on ending Bruce’s life since he’d finally had the means to do so without interference. This would be seen as not just disobeying a direct order, but desertion. This would hand his militia forces right into Slade’s hands, which he knew the mercenary and Crane had been planning to do from the start anyway. He couldn’t return to them. He refused to be their fall guy. He’d have to go his own way.

Which was fine with him. He’d always done things on his own, ever since he’d had to survive on the unforgiving streets of the Bowery, it was familiar territory for him. Nothing had changed. He didn’t need permission from Crane of all people for what he intended to do. Bruce would still die that night. Whatever it took. He would make sure of it.

He glanced down at his left shoulder, the area right above his collarbone, where Slade’s tracking device had been implanted and felt like a ticking time bomb, ready to go off at any moment. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

Yes, he’d kill Bruce in his own way, on his own time. And he knew just how to start.

Jason knew he was finally free.

“How ya doing, Hunk Wonder?”

A quiet groan slipped past Dick’s lips at the quiet question as he slowly opened his eyes to meet Barbara’s worried gaze. He’d been drifting in and out since they’d intently been watching the monitor for any updates with the Cloudburst and Crane’s fear toxin; the pain in his side and arm but particularly his leg had only been getting progressively worse. The limb had started to throb in time with every heartbeat.

“I’ll be okay,” he muttered, giving her a faint smile to ease her worries. Or, at least, to try. “Once we get out of here, anyway…”

But she frowned, the look doing nothing to curb her concern. She brushed some hanging strands of black hair out of his pale, sweat-drenched face before pressing her lips lightly to his cheek, then his forehead. She hummed quietly. “You’re really clammy,” she murmured. “You might have a fever coming on. We’re going to have to get that leg looked at as soon as possible… Maybe we’ll be able to at least get a little something to help when Jason comes back so that we can at least try to prevent this from getting any worse… Until we can get you some actual medical attention, anyway.”

Dick sighed. They’d applied the antiseptic he had left in his suit to the wound since that hadn’t been taken from him along with his weapons and rebreather, which was honestly the best he thought they’d be able to do for the foreseeable future. But they’d been back and forth on this a couple times already in however long they’d been trapped in this room, and he was just too tired to do it again. That particular fight had drained out of him. “Yeah, sure,” he agreed quietly.

But it clearly hadn’t been the right thing to say as Barbara arched an eyebrow at him. “I’m always a bit concerned when you don’t put up at least a little fight about something like this, Dick.” She set a light hand on his chest, over his heart.

He attempted another smile. “I know, but there really isn’t too much we can do about it right now, is there?” he posed.

Barbara narrowed her eyes as she lightly worried her bottom lip between her teeth— a look he was very familiar with when she was deep in thought about something or other.

But before either of them could say anything else, a loud, angry commotion started from out in the halls. Dick tightened his hold around her instinctively as they both turned toward the source of the sound. “What the hell is going on out there?”

It didn’t take long to get their answer as Slade all but ripped the grate up before he stormed inside, a few of the militia men following after him. Dick blamed it on the pain that he wasn’t able to register what was about to happen quickly enough to do anything about it, and he just managed to bring his cuffed hands from around Barbara before the mercenary’s gloved hand was around his throat and shoving him into the wall behind him.

“Where did he go?!” Deathstroke demanded heatedly.

Dick flinched, still trying to keep his arms between the irate man and Barbara, even as she appeared ready to rip into him herself. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about, Slade…” he gasped out.

“Don’t play dumb with me, boy.” Slade leaned closer to him and dropped his voice. “Your little friend destroyed his tracker after he got the Cloudburst blown up by his arrogance. He’s a dead man if he shows his face around here again. But I will hunt him down until I find him. What did he tell you? What ideas did you give him?!”

His heart leapt. Jason had gotten his tracker out and fled? The Cloudburst had been destroyed? No wonder there was so much commotion. That his brother had gotten away and couldn’t be found by Deathstroke gave him just the tiniest flicker of hope. Though with the city still coated in fear toxin, there weren’t too many places he could go unless he’d managed to get above it or underground somewhere. Part of him hoped he’d just left Gotham altogether. At least he’d be safe then. That was the most important thing to him.

“I don’t know…” Dick told him through a wince. “But even if I did… I wouldn’t tell you…”

This caused Slade to yell out in frustration and tighten his hold on Dick’s neck, cutting his airway off completely. But the vigilante still managed to hold Barbara back as a couple of the militia men aimed their guns at her. She no longer had Jason’s threats to keep her safe.

“Foolish of you to believe he’d protect you in the same way you’re trying to protect him,” the mercenary murmured in just above a whisper. “He’s not your friend anymore, not after all the clown did to him. I swear to you, you insolent child, if you don’t tell me where he is, I will stick my blade through Jason Todd’s heart while he dies slowly, in agony, and all you will be able to do is watch the life bleed out of him. I swear to you, I—!”

“That is enough, Slade. Let him go.”

A moment passed before Deathstroke relented to the order from the haunting new voice and released his hold on Dick, who slumped against the wall behind him and coughed forcefully as air rushed back into his lungs. Barbara immediately reached for him, setting a hand on his cheek as she turned his face to her.

“We need him alive for just a little longer.”

Both Dick and Barbara looked up as Scarecrow came to a stop next to Slade, his eyes gleaming as he turned his gaze to them. “Heard your device got destroyed…” the former said through his quiet gasps. “Kinda takes the wind out of the sails of your plan a bit, doesn’t it, Crane…?”

A look of frustration flashed across what remained of Crane’s face. “The Knight’s disobedience and desertion is… unfortunate,” he conceded. “His rage, his fear, proved too much to be able to control.” His gaze darkened as his eyes flitted to the monitor behind them. “And Ivy was a fool for going along with the Bat’s futile plans.”

Barbara glanced over her shoulder to see what he was referring to, and relief swarmed over her when she saw the gas was clearing from the streets of Gotham, replaced by what looked to be pollen.

Dick chuckled weakly when he followed her gaze. “Seems like a… pretty big blow to your operations to me…”

But Crane only smirked, seemingly not minding how he’d lost the Cloudburst. “On the contrary,” he replied casually. “This simply means it is time for the next phase.” He glanced at Slade, who gestured to a couple of the militia men with him.

“No!” Dick shouted when one of them roughly grabbed hold of Barbara while the other worked to unlock the chain from around her ankle. She struggled against them, but a third militia member came to help bring her over to a wheelchair another man wheeled over. He lurched forward, but he didn’t get far before the blade of Slade’s katana rested against his throat.

“I would stay still if I were you, boy,” he murmured, his sneer heard from behind his helmet. Dick sent him a withering glare.

“We will not harm her,” Crane added, though Dick wasn’t sure he believed him. Barbara struggled as the men tied her wrists to the armrests. “We are simply going to… ease her father’s fear.”

At this, Barbara stopped resisting as her head whipped in Scarecrow’s direction. “What have you done to my dad?” she demanded.

A grin spread across Crane’s face as he turned to her. “Nothing yet, my dear,” he assured her calmly. Some of the Knight’s militia have discovered him trying to find us. Due to their commander’s actions, I will have to take him for myself. But the commissioner shall be here soon. What happens to him next fully depends on his cooperation. If we are fortunate, the Batman should also be joining us. He would not abandon his friend in need.” He approached the wheelchair, brushing the needles on his fingers delicately through her red hair. Barbara’s gaze hardened behind her glasses as she stared him down, unafraid.

“So brave. There is nothing wrong with a little fear, my dear…”

“Leave her alone!” Dick snapped, instinctively jerking forward. The blade at his neck nicked his skin, but he ignored it.

Crane slowly turned to look back at him, only seeming amused by his angry outburst. “You care so much about her,” he mused. “Love her even.” He paused. “If you insist.” He nodded to the militia men, who began to wheel Barbara toward the exit.

“‘Wing!” She glanced over her shoulder at Dick, her eyes wide. Fearful. But not for herself. For him. He gave her a brief nod, hoping to calm her even a little, even though he had no idea what was coming for either of them next.

“Go with them,” Crane instructed Slade. “Stay with her until I get there. Do not let anyone touch her.”

Deathstroke hesitated for the briefest of moments before he moved the blade away from Dick’s neck and sheathed his sword, following after his men. The vigilante glared after him before shifting his gaze to Scarecrow as he drew nearer.

“You care so much about others before yourself,” he murmured, his soft tone once again thoughtful. “You fear what will happen to them should you be unable to protect them. But not what should happen to you in their stead.” He chuckled, dropping to a knee in front of his captive. “That fear makes you weak. It is one that’s easily exploited.”

Dick continued to glare back at him. “Wanting to keep others safe takes a strength you’ll never realize,” he hissed.

But Crane only grinned, eyes gleaming in amusement. “Ah, but the fear of what happens to others, even if you’re not afraid of what happens to you, is something I know very well,” he replied. “It’s such a base human fear, one that makes it very simple to control. I’ve got you in the palm of my hand, Nightwing, when it comes to my plan for the people you love, whether it be Batman or Barbara Gordon.”

Try as he might, Dick couldn’t help the way his jaw twitched at their names. Which, of course, Crane noticed immediately. “You really do love her.” When Dick met his gaze steadily without a word, he chuckled yet again. “Do not fret, at least for now. Miss Gordon will be unharmed as long as all involved play their roles how they are supposed to. And then, we shall have to stop by and grab another little bird trapped in a cage for the final stage to break the Bat.”

Dick’s heart nearly stopped. Another bird. Tim. He quickly weighed his options— Scarecrow wasn’t much of a threat physically, he could overpower him. But with his leg, and not knowing where his younger brother was, he wouldn’t get far. But still, he had to try.

Though before he could actually make his move, he paused when the needles on Crane’s fingertips traced down his cheek, lingering near his throat. “Your fear for your allies again works against you, Nightwing,” the older man muttered, a sinister smirk making its way to the tattered remains of his face. “You’re hesitating. Worry not, the little bird will keep for a while yet. You, however…” His eyes brightened. “Your part begins now. Let us have our fun.”

And with that, Dick winced as Crane stuck him with the syringes at the base of his neck.

Almost immediately, the blood in his veins felt too hot, he struggled to get a full breath, each heartbeat was a bit too quick. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall behind him as his world faded away.

When he managed to force them open again, he was no longer in the abandoned store in Killinger’s. Instead, he was lying on a small, wooden, square platform high above Gotham far below. Bright lights from high up in a circus big top tent nearly seared his skin, his soul, as they landed on him, disembodied applause rushing in his ears.

Dick took a deep, shaking breath as he slowly looked over the edge, afraid of what he would see. His heart still stuttered to a halt, shattering, when he saw a lifeless John and Mary Grayson lying in a heap in the center of the spotlight, their hands outstretched toward each other, the vibrant red, green, and yellow of their uniforms bright against the bleak cityscape around them. A sob still broke from his lips as he called out for them, knowing he would get no answer in return, as he gripped the edge of the platform for dear life.

But as the burning circle of light slowly began to expand, his blood ran cold when another familiar dark-haired figure, donned in red and black, was revealed lying broken on the hard ground not far from his parents. A scream ripped from his throat as he frantically began to search for the quickest way down to his younger brother. “Tim!”

But just like with his parents, Dick got no response from him. Tim was gone.

“Dick!”

His head quickly snapped up at the familiar panicked voice, his stomach plummeting when he saw Barbara seated on another wooden platform like his on the side of a building across the street from him, holding onto it tightly so she didn’t fall. The light-colored dress she wore glittered in the glow of the spotlights.

“Babs! Hang on!” Dick reached for his grapnel, but he cursed under his breath when he found he didn’t have it on him— instead, he was wearing his old Flying Graysons uniform that matched his parents’, now bigger to fit his taller, more lithe frame. His frantic gaze moved to the ropes and trapezes hanging from the domed, striped tent ceiling above him, trying to decide which one to use that would get him to her the quickest.

But something deep in him was hesitating, was afraid, and he found himself closely inspecting all the ropes to search for any sort of tampering. It’d happened before— if he wasn’t careful, he would meet the same fate as John, Mary, Tim…

But a scream from Barbara spurred him forward, seeing that the small platform was starting to give beneath her. He had to move quickly. Setting his jaw, Dick took a deep breath and held it before he leapt toward the nearest trapeze to him. Despite not having had a chance to warm up, it was a move as second nature to him as walking. His grasping fingers still wrapped around the familiar bar, just as they had countless times before, and he was relieved when the ropes themselves held firm. Using his momentum to swing to the next one and then the next was simple, the muscle memory making it no more difficult than placing one foot in front of the other. It wouldn’t take long for him to reach his girlfriend.

Though just as he got close enough to grab her, as soon as he reached out for her while she held her hand out for him to take, the platform beneath her splintered as she fell through.

“No!” he yelled in horror. But there was nothing he could do but watch, wide-eyed with fear, with anguish, as she plummeted toward the hard ground far below. Her scream echoed around the Big Top until it stopped abruptly.

Dick continued to hang from the trapeze, his momentum slowing to a near stop. A quiet sob escaped from him as a few tears rolled down his cheeks. He hadn’t been able to save his best friend, the woman he loved, his partner he’d been about to share the rest of his life with, however long that would have been with the lifestyle they both led.

It had all been taken away in a matter of seconds. She was gone. Their future was gone. Stolen from them. He could never get that back, he could never have her back. He couldn’t bring himself to look down at her, lying broken with his parents, with Tim. But he also couldn’t bring himself to let go to join them.

The sound of a struggle a short distance away caused him to glance over his shoulder. Dick’s heart leapt when he saw Jason— wearing his old Robin uniform— anxiously scrambling to try to keep a hold on a trapeze that had only half snapped, hanging above the ground far below by only one rope. “Jay, hold tight!”

Using the momentum regained from his swinging body, he was able to make it to the trapeze positioned above where his brother was clinging to the rope, struggling to not show any of the fear he was clearly feeling by the way he kept looking down. Dick then lifted his legs to drape over the bar, not even hesitating to release it with his hands, trusting himself to be able to keep his hold on the trapeze as he had so many times before. Now hanging upside down, he reached down toward Jason.

“Here, Little Wing. Eyes on me.”

But Jason glared back up at him. “I don’t need your help, Dick,” he snapped.

Dick tried not to show how much the comment stung as he instead gave the teen a small smile. “It’s okay to be afraid, Jay,” he said. “I understand. I used to be afraid, too. But I’m right here. You just have to trust me. You can do it, just reach.”

Uncertainty crossed Jason’s youthful features, his smoky gaze faltering as he looked down at the ground far below them again. “You… you won’t let me fall this time, Dickiebird…?” he wondered in nearly a whisper.

“No,” Dick assured him firmly, stretching his hands down as far as he could. He hadn’t been able to save his parents, one of his brothers, his girlfriend. He wasn’t going to let it happen again. He wasn’t going to let Jason fall another time. Not like before. “Never again, Little Wing. I’m here. Just take my hand.”

Another moment passed— each second making Dick anxious since they didn’t have much time— before Jason nodded. Setting his jaw with fresh determination as he met his gaze, he let go of the rope he’d been holding in a death grip with one hand, reaching it up toward his older brother.

“That’s it, Jay,” Dick continued to encourage him, stretching out just a little further. “I’ve gotcha. I promise.”

But their fingers only brushed against each other before the rope Jason was holding onto snapped.

“Little Wing!” Dick shouted as he tried but failed to grab a hold of the teen’s hand, only able to meet his wide, terrified eyes— filled with hurt, betrayal— as he plummeted to the streets far below.

Dick shut his eyes tightly as Jason’s screams stopped just as abruptly as Barbara’s had before, his own body limp as he continued to hang by his legs from the trapeze. He hadn’t been able to save anyone, his promises meant nothing, people he loved were dead because of him. What a failure he was.

When he was able to bring himself to open them again, he saw them all— John, Mary, Tim, Barbara, Jason— all lying together, all much too still in the center of the bright spotlight. The audience’s cheers seemed to only be getting louder around him, rushing in his ears, swallowing the sounds of the broken sobs racking his body.

He’d failed them. But the audience loved it, cheering louder with each person who fell. If only he could bring himself to just let go, he was sure they’d go crazy.

“You’re foolish for believing that you can save everyone.”

The deep, quiet voice was unexpected, and Dick hastily wiped at his eyes before glancing to his left to see Batman was perched on the wooden platform he’d started out on, watching him intently. “It’s what you taught me,” he mumbled, pulling his upper body up as he reached for the trapeze. Not that what he was taught mattered anymore. “Save as many people as you can.”

He just couldn’t seem to do it when it mattered most.

“You’re too weak to do that, Dick.”

The statement was a slap in the face, one that he’d never heard from him before, and Dick paused to look back at his adopted father. “Excuse me?”

A cruel smirk turned up the corner of Bruce’s lips. “You stretch yourself thin, jumping the moment anyone says you need to, even if it comes at a cost to you,” he continued. “You never think of yourself, you would jump off a cliff if someone asked you to. And you still couldn’t save the people you love. You failed your parents. Your brothers. Your woman. You didn’t deserve them. They all deserved better. Maybe then they’d still be alive.”

… He was right.

While it was the first thought that crossed his mind, Dick immediately tried to dismiss it. No, it couldn’t be real. None of this could be real. Bruce wouldn’t say any of this. Tim, Barbara, Jason… they had to be okay… There was nothing he could do for his parents— there was nothing he could have done for them when he’d watched them fall to their deaths when he’d only been nine years old— but he could still be there for the rest of the people he loved.

“Stop…”

“And now you’ve failed me. And I don’t tolerate failure.”

Bruce’s words chilled his blood, and he looked over in time to see he now held a Batarang in his gloved hand. It took him just a split second too long to realize what that meant. That his mentor had been the one sabotaging the ropes and trapezes under the Big Top.

“No, wait!”

… Please forgive me…

But it was no use. All Dick could do was watch as the sharp weapon sliced through the ropes holding him up.

For a moment, he felt weightless as he let go of the severed trapeze and entered open air. He frantically looked around, but none of the other ropes or trapezes were close enough for him to be able to grab onto to save himself. Not that it would do much good, it wouldn’t buy him much time with Batman hovering over his shoulder.

… I tried…

Still, he reached out toward his adopted father for help out of instinct. But there was none to be found. The last thing he heard as he began to plummet toward the ground far below was the audience’s cheers reaching a fever pitch, Bruce’s broad smirk the last thing he saw as he fell into the darkness waiting to swallow him whole.

Meanwhile

“Aw, damn it! Bats just always has to kill the party, doesn’t he?”

Harley’s disappointment had been what had alerted Tim to the fact that Bruce had somehow found a way to neutralize Scarecrow’s fear toxin as the gas was cleared from the streets. Seeing the pollen floating around in its place reminded him of how his mentor had mentioned to him earlier in the night how Poison Ivy had been immune to the toxin, and he had to wonder how he’d managed to get her to agree to help save Gotham. Whatever the reason, he was grateful for it. At least there was a city they could now still protect thanks to her.

He wasn’t sure how long ago that had been, only that it felt like time was dragging forever since he still hadn’t figured out how to get himself out of his situation. But he was instantly on alert when he heard her high-pitched shriek of a laugh from the cell across the room from him. That was never a good sign.

“What now, Quinn?” Tim called out, glancing at the Batcomputer monitor again. He wasn’t sure what she was finding so funny— nothing had changed out in Gotham since the gas had been neutralized as far as he could see.

But the wide grin she gave him from her cell as her eyes gleamed unsettled him. “You’re about to find out!” Harley squealed in a taunting manner. “Oh yeah, you’re about to have so much fun, bird brat!”

Her definition of fun was definitely different than his. If she thought something was fun, he more than likely wouldn’t think so. But before Tim could question her further, he heard the sound of the elevator getting closer. There’d been no alerts on the monitor, so it was someone with legitimate voice authorization since the security system had been reset. Though Bruce had seemed pretty determined to finish things himself with the Knight and Scarecrow when he’d left last. He hadn’t expected to see his adopted father back so soon, if at all. But at least it gave him another chance to plead his case to get out.

But the man who walked into the studio wasn’t who he’d expected to see. He wasn’t complaining— this may have just worked out in his favor to be his ticket out of there.

“Jim!” Tim approached the clear door of his cell, pounding his hand against the glass to get his attention as the commissioner surveyed the room. “Jim, over here!”

He let out a sigh of relief when Jim began to make his way over to him, hands in his pockets. But his brow furrowed slightly when he thought he noticed the older man appeared to be almost apprehensive that he’d found him in here. He didn’t understand why he would be.

“Oh, thank God, Jim,” Tim continued as he came to a stop in front of his cell. “You have to let me out of here. Batman’s out there going after Scarecrow and the Knight alone, he shouldn’t be doing this on his own. I have to help him. Please. Just hit that button there so I… I can…”

But Tim’s sentence slowly trailed off as his stomach dropped when the commissioner gave him a look full of regret. “... Jim?”

“I’m sorry, son.” Jim’s soft tone was heavy, remorseful. “When I heard that Scarecrow had Barbara, I went after him. Got caught. I… did what I had to for my little girl. To keep her safe. I’m sure you’d understand.” He sighed, shaking his head slightly as his face fell. “It was the wrong choice, but… we can’t go back now. Crane’s playing us all like a goddamn fiddle.”

Dread flooded through Tim, and he swallowed thickly against the rage that threatened to rip from him. He understood doing what felt like the right thing to protect a loved one, but… Though there was one part of what he’d said that really stood out to him. “Barbara… Is she alive…?”

Jim nodded with a deep breath. “As long as Bruce did what I trusted him to do to ensure it,” he murmured.

Dick had been right. Barbara hadn’t died. Tim briefly closed his eyes in relief. That, at least, was one good thing in this whole mess.

But his current reality overcame the relief, and he took a few steps back from his cell door as he looked back at the commissioner. “And now you’re giving me over to Crane, is that it?” he posed, no feeling in his tone.

Jim couldn’t bring himself to meet Tim’s gaze, and his face fell as his shoulders slumped under the weight of all he’d done. “I’d do it all differently if I could, son,” he told him, his voice breaking. “I was just so afraid for Barbara…”

“And that is what made you so easy to control.”

Tim looked over Jim’s shoulder at the new voice, and his eyes narrowed angrily as Crane himself entered the studio, a grin lighting up the tattered remains of his face. He quickly glanced around him, his mind racing. He was trapped in a cell, which wasn’t ideal. Though Scarecrow wasn’t much of a threat physically, he could take him without much of a problem especially since he still had his weapons, even if he did threaten to use an armed Gordon against him. He could handle this. He just had to be smart about it.

But there was something about the way the smaller man’s light eyes were gleaming as he took him in that made him anxious. Something wasn’t right.

“Look what we have here, a little bird stuck in a cage, all alone.” Crane hummed quietly.

Harley laughed from her cell across the room. “Yup! Just like I told you he would be!” she crowed.

Tim rolled his eyes. Of course she’d been the one to reach out about him. She must have somehow done it before the communications were cut. He’d have to take them both on together, it seemed. Not a problem.

Crane glanced over his shoulder at her, seemingly annoyed. “Yes, thank you,” he said before turning his attention to Gordon. “And fortunately, I was able to get the key that got me in to see him.” The commissioner looked away.

“So, you’re gonna let me outta here now, right?” Harley asked hopefully.

This time, it was Scarecrow who laughed. “Unfortunately, you are no longer of any use to me, my dear,” he answered. “But thank you for the role you played in this operation.”

“What?! You can’t just leave me in here! Not after I told ya Robin was trapped here and ready to be served up to ya on a silver platter!”

An irate Harley continued to scream, curse, and pound on the glass, demanding to be let out, but Crane ignored her as he instead approached Tim’s cell. His hand hovered near the button that would open the door. Tim tensed, prepared to strike, itching to get free even as he glanced at the needles on his fingers nervously.

It was an action that Crane noticed, and he smirked, amused. “I would take a moment to slow down and consider your next move very carefully if I were you, Robin,” he cautioned. “This isn’t only about you.”

“What do you…?” But Tim’s question trailed off when a few militia men walked into the studios. His eyes widened in horror as he approached the glass again when he saw Dick between them, his hands cuffed in front of him and hardly able to stay upright. “‘Wing!” But his brother didn’t seem to hear him.

Crane’s smirk broadened as the men released their hold on their captive, causing him to stumble before he collapsed to the floor. “One wrong move, Robin, and they will kill him,” he said calmly as the militia men all aimed their guns at the downed vigilante. “Am I clear?”

Tim let out a shuddering breath before he nodded, raising his hands in front of him in surrender.

“Good.” Scarecrow hit the button next to his cell, and the glass door slid open. “Now, walk out slowly. No sudden moves.”

Although it went against the urge to take him down he felt in every fiber of his being, Tim ignored how his hands twitched to reach for his weapons and kept them where they were. Instead, he followed the mad man’s instructions as he stepped out of the cell. Jim sighed, unable to look at either him or Dick.

“Well done,” Crane praised, though there was sarcasm in his tone.

“Can… can I see him?” Tim wondered, sparing him a glance. He didn’t want to push his luck too far, but he also needed to see what was wrong with his brother.

To his surprise, Crane gave him a single nod in return, and the militia men backed away a little as Tim hurried forward and dropped to a knee next to Dick. The guns and Scarecrow’s piercing gaze still trained on them were hard to ignore, but he still did the best he could to as he reached out for the other vigilante, carefully turning him onto his back. He winced when he saw the bloody gash in his leg, the blood coming from his side, his arm. There were some bruises on his pale, clammy face, his cheeks tinted lightly red. He brushed some black hair out of his eyes, which were closed tightly beneath his domino as he struggled to breathe. Even through his gloves, he could feel the heat blazing in his skin.

“Hey, ‘Wing, I’m here…” he murmured, setting a secure hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Distress crossed Dick’s face as he turned his head slightly in the direction of his voice. “... ‘m sorry…” he whispered, though Tim had no idea what he could possibly be apologizing for.

“You don’t have to be sorry, ‘Wing. It’s okay.”

But Dick shook his head slightly. “... ‘m sorry… forgive me… please…”

Tim’s face fell. “What did you do to him?” he called back to Crane, unable to look away from his brother’s pained expression. He released his shoulder before taking Dick’s hand tightly in both of his, feeling him clutch them back with just as much force. The fever could have been a sign of infection from his injuries, but his stilted, shallow breathing could have signified a bad reaction to something. Likely, he realized with a sinking feeling, to the doctor’s new fear toxin that they hadn’t been exposed to or found an antidote for yet.

The teen flinched when he felt the thin needles on Scarecrow’s fingers brush through his black hair from behind, tracing feather light over his cheek. He hadn’t even heard him approach since he’d been so focused on his brother.

“Do not fret.” Crane’s haunting voice dropped to a soothingly sinister tone. “Your fear for your friend is commendable, but it makes you weak. Blind to what is all at play. Easy to control.”

His breath caught in his chest when the other man’s face, or rather what remained of it, was suddenly right next to his own, his light eyes shining cruelly. “He is simply playing the role he needs to in the grand design to break the Bat. The same role designed for you, little bird.”

Then, Tim gasped when Scarecrow’s needles pierced his skin at the base of his neck, closing his eyes with a grunt of pain as the toxin entered his bloodstream.

When he opened them again, he found himself in the large, open foyer of Wayne Manor. But he instantly felt that something was wrong. It was too dark, too quiet. Empty. Cold.

“Hello?” he called, taking a couple slow, tentative steps in the direction of the living room. Something was off. Someone should be around…

Then, Tim came to an abrupt halt when a second set of footsteps could be heard matching his own from somewhere in front of him, steadily drawing closer. Someone was there. “Hello?” he tried again, squinting to try to spot any movement in the darkness ahead.

But just as he took another cautious step forward, a larger figure stumbled into the foyer. He dropped to a defensive stance, but his stomach leapt in panic when he reached for his bo staff and it wasn’t there. He glanced down, and his heart nearly stopped. Not only was he not in his Robin gear, but the white school shirt and dark pants he wore were covered in blood. The heavy iron smell swarmed his senses, making him gag. He frantically began to scrub and scrape at his hands when he saw crimson coating his palms, his fingers, even crusted beneath his fingernails.

… The blood wasn’t his…

“You didn’t save me.”

Tim froze when the figure in front of him spoke in just above a whisper. He slowly raised his gaze to him, and even though he knew who he would see, all the air rushed out of his body like he’d been punched as his legs nearly gave out from under him.

“... D-Dad…?”

“You didn’t save me,” Jack Drake repeated as he moved toward him, the stab wound in his chest still bleeding steadily. Tim flinched. “I can’t tell if you just weren’t good enough to be able to, or you just didn’t care to.”

The teen started to scratch at his hands again, frantically trying to remove the blood that wasn’t his. “I… I tried…” he stuttered.

“And you failed.” Jack’s harsh tone cut right through him and pierced his heart, his soul. “You’re pathetic. You’ve never been good enough. Why do you think we always left you behind?”

Tim’s gaze faltered as he tried to shrink in on himself. If he could sink through the floor, he would have. He just wanted to be anywhere else but here. Because of course his dad was right. He had never been good enough, no matter what he did— not for his parents, not for anyone. He thought back to all the different boarding schools he’d been put in over the years, how hard he’d worked to prove he could be useful, how hard he’d worked to prove to his parents— and to himself— that he was worth something. Anything. But he wasn’t, and he never had been to his parents— they’d chosen his dad’s work over him every time.

“And when you had the chance to, you couldn’t even save me.”

He scrubbed more at his hands. Not his. “... I’m sorry…” he whispered, closing his eyes tightly against the burning tears that threatened to form.

Jack let out a harsh, cruel laugh. “Spare me. It means nothing now.” He arched an eyebrow. “Look at you. And you call yourself Robin? Pathetic. How Batman ever chose you is beyond me.”

Tim looked back at him, still a bit uncertain. “I… I chose this,” he said, a hint of conviction returning to his tone. “This is what I wanted.”

“So you’re a charity case. That’s even worse. He should be ashamed. You should be ashamed.”

But Tim shook his head, a spark of defiance even as he still picked at the blood that wasn’t his coating his hands. “No, I’m not. This is what I chose to do with my life,” he continued. “To help B to protect the people of Gotham. I’ve earned this, Dad.”

But Jack just continued to laugh, the scornful sound grating against his nerve endings. “You’ve earned nothing, you deserve nothing. You don’t deserve to be my son. I tried with you, I sacrificed everything for you. I tried to be your father, but you never tried to be my son. You’ve been nothing but ungrateful. You chose someone else. You failed me!”

That was when something deep within Tim snapped. “No, you failed me!” he told him, moving to stand directly in front of Jack to meet his resentful glare. He dropped his hands to his sides. “You weren’t there for me! I chose B because he was there for me when you left me behind. The only reason you tried to be my dad was because you were stuck at home with me and couldn’t travel anymore! Do you have any idea how hard that was for me? To try to be a son to someone I barely knew? To try to be a son to someone who threatened to blackmail someone I love because your bad choices had consequences? Those weren’t my burdens to carry, but you tried to give them to me anyway. I’ve been carrying them all this time! Ever since I tried and couldn’t save you!”

Jack reached for him, and Tim instinctively raised an arm to block his hand, thinking he was about to strike him even though he never had before. But his dad instead grabbed the gold tree of life necklace he hardly ever took off, the one he had given him for a birthday gift after one of his trips when he’d been a kid, and ripped it away from him. The symbol of unity, connection. Severed.

Tim rubbed at his neck, a bit sore where the chain had cut into his skin. But when he looked back up to face Jack, he was nowhere to be seen. He was alone again.

A crash from deeper inside the manor distracted him from his reeling thoughts as they began to spiral, and Tim quickly began to follow the sound. His fingers itched to claw at his hands again, but he fought the urge. “Hello?” he called. But he got no answer.

A figure lay slumped against the wall at the far end of the hallway next to a knocked over suit of armor. Even though they weren’t moving, his senses were on high alert as he inched his way closer, wishing more and more that he had any of his weapons on him.

But as he drew nearer, Tim stopped breathing as he recognized the black and blue of the man’s uniform. “No…” He dropped down next to Dick, shaking his limp form to wake him. But he got no response. His older brother’s open, blank eyes seemed to stare straight through him.

“No no no…” His breath hitched as tears rushed to his eyes. “Wake up, please, come on…” He couldn’t have been too late to save him, he couldn’t have been… Dick couldn’t be…

Though it couldn’t have been clearer that Dick was dead, no matter how much he didn’t want to admit that. No matter how he couldn’t accept that his brother was gone because he hadn’t been able to reach him in time to save him. Because he hadn’t been good or quick enough. Because he’d failed him.

Looking closer, the cause of death was evident— his neck had been snapped. Tim took a deep, shuddering breath as he carefully reached out, closing Dick’s deep blue eyes, now void of life, before resting his head on the older vigilante’s still chest, silent sobs shaking his whole body.

“I’m so sorry…” he whispered, clinging to him tightly. “I’m so, so sorry, Dick, I… I should have been able to save you…”

Worthless…

“I-I tried to… really, I did…” Tim’s voice broke, and he clung to his lifeless brother even harder. “I would have saved you, but… but B…”

Pathetic…

A quiet, pained sound from around the corner caused Tim’s head to snap up as he glanced over his shoulder. There was still someone in the house. Someone alive. Someone hurt. He quickly wiped the tears from his eyes, doing his best to avoid the crimson on his hands and sleeves, as he sniffed, taking a deep breath before he turned back to Dick. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured one last time. He then pushed himself to his feet and hurried around the corner to help whoever was left. It tore him apart to leave his brother like that, but he had to focus on who he could actually save.

But he stopped abruptly, his heart nearly tearing itself out of his chest when he spotted the blond-haired figure lying in the center of the hall in the pale moonlight filtering in through the many-paned windows. Two bracelets— one with a triquetra charm and one with a turtle one, both symbols of protection— shimmered on his left wrist. His blood turned to ice as he ran forward, all but collapsing next to the taller teen as he immediately checked him over for any injuries. He forgot to breathe when he saw a stab wound in the center of his chest, bleeding steadily as he gasped for air.

“Bern, look at me,” Tim pleaded, his voice breaking on unshed tears. He began applying pressure to the wound in effort to staunch the blood flow, ignoring the whimper of pain that escaped his boyfriend. The sound at least meant he was alive. He could work with that.

Bernard’s blood began to coat his hands, covering Jack’s, staining them crimson, seeping into his bones, into his very being. He refused to lose someone else he loved, especially in this way. “Bern, please… I’ve got you, okay? You’re okay, you’re going to be fine…”

The more he said it out loud, the more he could bring himself to actually believe it.

Bernard’s eyes slowly fluttered open, his dim, distant gaze finding the other teen’s tear-stained face. “... Ti… Tim…” His words were weak, barely above a whisper.

Tim attempted a reassuring smile even as tears streamed down his cheeks despite his efforts to hold them back, despite how his soul was cracking open. “I’m right here,” he reassured him through a short, panicked sob. “I’m right here, Bern, I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you, okay…? But you have to stay, too. Stay with me… Please…” He applied even more pressure to the wound as he frantically looked around for something, anything he could use to slow the bleeding while he called for help.

But he paused when Bernard weakly set a hand on his knee, the corner of his blood-tinted lips twitching into the slightest smile. “... ‘m… sorry…”

His heart stopped cold when he heard the resignation in the other teen’s voice. When he realized what he was implying. No. He refused to let him die, he couldn’t lose him, too. Never him. “Bern, you’re going to be fine, I promise,” he repeated, though it was mainly for himself as he kept one hand on his boyfriend’s chest, cupping his cheek with the other. “You just need to breathe… Stay with me… I need you to do that for me, okay…? Please… please don’t leave me… I don’t want to do this without you…”

But even as he begged and pleaded with him, he could hear Bernard’s breath growing shallower, he could see his strength leaving him. Just like when he’d watched Jack bleed out from the same sort of wound. A broken sob escaped from him as he desperately held him close to his chest, as if keeping a tight enough hold on him alone would be enough to keep him there with him. “Bern, please… don’t go… Please stay… Please…”

Bernard threaded his shaking fingers through Tim’s, hardly any strength left in them. Tim held onto his hand tightly, having no intention of ever letting it go. “... ‘m here… T-Tim…” His voice was so quiet, so weak, no more than a sigh. “I… love you…”

Tim could feel the moment that life left Bernard— could hear the moment when his gasps went silent, could feel the moment when his heart stopped beating. The moment when his world was suddenly much too quiet, much too dark. But he didn’t let go of his limp form, he kept his burning eyes buried in his blond hair, not wanting to see Bernard’s empty, unseeing ones looking back up at him since that would make it real. He didn’t want to acknowledge how the other teen’s blood was all over his shirt, his hands, under his fingernails. More blood that wasn’t his, but it may as well have been since it was his fault that Bernard was dead. He hadn’t been able to save him. He’d failed him.

He’d never felt so empty.

“I love you, too,” he whispered, holding Bernard’s lifeless body even closer, tighter to his own. “I wish I could’ve told you just how much, Bern… because I love you more than anything… I’m so sorry… I…”

But he didn’t know what else to say. Not that it mattered anymore; the other teen wouldn’t hear him, anyway. Bernard had been the brightest spot in his life, the person who made him happier than he’d ever been, who’d made him realize who he really was and could be as a person. He was the person who always made him feel safe in his uncertain vigilante lifestyle. And he couldn’t do the same and protect him. He couldn’t save him. He hadn’t deserved Bernard, he hadn’t deserved what Bernard had been able to give him for the much too short a time that he’d had to share it with him. It was stupid of him to ever believe he had. Bernard had deserved better. He had deserved someone who could have kept him safe, too. His love for him hadn’t been enough to do that. He never was enough.

Maybe if he’d had someone better, Bernard wouldn’t be…

At that, Tim finally allowed himself to break down, clinging to the other teen with everything he had, his whole body racked with violent sobs as everything drained out of him.

He felt more than heard the near silent swish of a cape behind him. Tim, exhausted after how much all the tears had taken out of him, finally let out a shaking breath as he glanced over his shoulder to face his adopted father. “About damn time, B…” he began bitterly, his voice thick with still more tears. “But you’re too late…”

But he stopped immediately when he got a good look at the vigilante’s face. His skin beneath the cowl was bleached white, his lips stained blood red and smeared into a sinister smile. But it was his bright, piercing green eyes that stood out the most, those toxic eyes that were shining with amusement at all the death around him.

This man was no longer Bruce. He’d fully succumbed to Joker.

Tim covered Bernard protectively when his former mentor descended upon them, crying out in pain when strong hands dug into him and ripped him away from his boyfriend before launching him down the hallway. He grunted when he crashed through another suit of armor before connecting solidly with the wall behind it, cringing as he dropped to the floor in a pile of metal pieces. Before he could move, Bruce grabbed him tightly by the throat and lifted him from the floor, slamming him into one of the many painted canvases decorating the walls throughout the manor.

“This is all your fault, you know,” the man who used to be his mentor, his father, taunted, tightening his hold on him, cutting off his airway. He only chuckled when Tim struggled against him, not strong enough to free himself. “If only you had discovered that cure. Maybe then you wouldn’t have lost them. But since you failed, all their blood, and all the blood to come, is on your hands.”

It was at that moment that Tim stopped fighting. Because Bruce was right. Because he hadn’t been able to crack the key and find the cure for the Joker infection, it had been allowed to fully form in his adopted father, to consume him, releasing this monster. All the people he would kill— and had already killed like Dick and Bernard, he realized with a sinking feeling— would be because of him. Their blood truly was on his hands.

His brother and his boyfriend were both dead because of him. And all who would follow would be because of him, too.

A single tear fell from his eye.

… I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean for you to become this, Dad… I’m sorry… You didn’t deserve this… I should have been better… If I had been… you wouldn't...

Who used to be Bruce gave him a cruel smile, his venomous green eyes gleaming.

And Tim didn’t resist as the shadows of his cape consumed him, the darkness claiming him body and soul.

Chapter Text

J

“Turn around.”

“Who are you?”

“You really have no idea, do you, Bruce?”

He’d been just thirteen years old when he first killed someone.

Well, no, that wasn’t exactly true. He hadn’t done anything himself, he hadn’t gotten his hands dirty. He hadn’t even been there when Willis Todd had been executed by Salvatore Maroni in a small, grungy safe house. But of course he’d known what would happen to him when he’d told the head of the Maroni crime family where he was hiding out the night it happened. There was no way it would have been a friendly social call.

Jason sighed, exhaling smoke from his cigarette toward the night sky above him. He watched the traces of pollen still floating through the air for a moment longer, finding the sight to be… almost peaceful. Gotham had a lot of problems, he knew better than most that there was something deeply wrong with it all the way down to its foundations, that it just did things to people. It was partly why he’d joined forces with Crane and Slade to begin with— burning down the whole damn city may have been the only way to go about saving it.

But… he had to admit the city had given him so much, too, for all that it’d taken away. Things he’d long lost sight of the past couple years while trapped within the dark walls of Arkham Asylum. And maybe Dick had been right after all. It was the small things that made Gotham worth saving, there were still things he cared about here. Things that would be lost if he let Scarecrow and Deathstroke have their way.

His gaze faltered. He just wasn’t sure how he could regain those things, he didn’t even deserve to have them. Not anymore. Not after all the clown had done to him, not after all he himself had done. He’d have to earn them back by trying to help the city in a different way, like how he had back when he was Robin. But that wasn’t who he was anymore. He didn’t know how to do those things, he didn’t see how he could be that symbol of hope, he didn’t know how to carry that “R”, it no longer belonged to him. He’d been replaced, which was a knife Joker had twisted deeply in his heart. It had infuriated him, just as it was supposed to, just like the clown had wanted. But in reality, Robin was no longer his to be, it was something he could no longer be. Maybe it never had been.

“Stand down, Robin!”

“Don’t call me that! That’s not who I am!”

He flicked some ashes off the end of his cigarette to the rooftop he was sitting on— the same rooftop he’d been born on earlier than he should have been twenty years ago. From the start, Catherine Todd had tried her best for him; she’d cared in her own way, even if that hadn’t amounted to much in the grand scheme of things. Between the drugs and not being able to afford a hospital on that mid-August afternoon since his dad had wasted all their money on more drugs and weapons, Jason was kind of amazed he’d survived that first day. She’d given him a first and middle name that held significance to her, as she’d named him after people important to her from before the life she’d found herself in after falling on hard times. Her maternal instinct had been in there somewhere, more often suppressed by her addiction. But she’d tried, she’d cared for him, even if it always hadn’t been enough to protect him from the violent whims of his father.

He used to be more bitter about it, that this sordid rooftop had been where he’d come into the world— and, at a couple points when things had seemed at their most bleak, the place where he’d considered seeing himself out of it; a spark of anger, of rage, deep inside him about his situation and place in life and his refusal to accept that was all there was had been what had made him step back from that ledge more than once. But there’d been times before Joker had gotten his hands on him where he’d come back to this spot to remind himself of how far he’d come. That he’d been fortunate to beat the system that had been working against him from the beginning and come out the other side when so many others in the Bowery hadn’t. By all accounts, he shouldn’t have.

Not that it had been easy. No, he’d always had to fight like hell from birth just to survive.

Much like his wife, Willis had been a mostly unemployed drug addict, only able to afford the dingy apartment in the building he was sitting on, basic necessities, and things like his schooling through means like petty thievery. Means that had him racking up debt to Carmine Falcone, the biggest mafia boss in Gotham at the time, and his family of mobsters since before he was even born. He imagined that the reason his dad had for having him was to pay off that debt because he certainly hadn’t wanted him, he couldn’t have made that any clearer. And as he’d found out later in life, Willis had attempted to make a deal with Carmine to sell him his infant son to square his debt with him, despite Cathy’s objections, since he’d had a bad habit of blowing all the money he’d made stealing. What would have become of him had that deal with the Falcones taken place, Jason would never know because fortunately for him, Willis had been dumb enough to do something to piss off the warring Maronis, and Sal had inadvertently come to his aid by beating his father to a pulp before he could get anywhere near Carmine to make it.

But of course, it hadn’t been Willis’ fault that he hadn’t been able to sell him off, it wasn’t his bad decisions that had landed him in deep shit with both crime families, because it couldn’t possibly have been. It was Jason’s. Or so he’d always been told. And because he hadn’t gotten what he’d wanted out of him, Jason had committed the awful crime of just existing, and he’d been punished for it all the time.

“You’re so fucking worthless I couldn’t even give you away!”

He’d internalized that sentiment at a young age since it was one Willis had used on repeat. Jason figured that at least part of the reason he’d survived as long as he had was to spite his dad, to see if maybe he could actually be worth something.

“You’re going to start earning your keep around here, boy.”

“No, Dad, please, I don’t wanna go!”

“Did I ask you what you wanted to do? No, it’s what you need to do if you want to be of any use to me! Now get moving! We don’t have all night!”

At about eight or nine, Willis had started bringing Jason along with him on jobs when the family needed more money. He’d learned how to steal the parts of cars that would be worth the most, he’d been a distraction so his dad could rob people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time, he’d learned to spot the threats from police or gang members being the lookout during armed robberies Willis led with his partners in Harvey Dent’s gang. By age ten, he’d held a loaded gun for the first time, but he couldn’t bring himself to fire it even though he’d been told to if it was necessary. Whenever he’d done anything wrong, when he’d outright refused to do anything his father or his associates had told him to, punishments ensued.

It was a couple years after that when he’d started spending more of his time on the streets since it had been safer there away from Willis’ abuse— the only time he’d felt any modicum of safety in the apartment were the times his dad had been in jail— and food was a bit more of a guarantee since he could usually steal a little something for himself. That had also been one of the reasons he’d gravitated toward school as much as he had as a kid— he’d been safe with the teachers who’d still given him chances even when he’d acted out or hadn’t done his homework, he’d fallen in love with reading and watching school play rehearsals since they’d given him a place to escape to, and he’d at least gotten lunch, which was sometimes all he’d get to eat in a day. On some days, the lunch ladies had even been kind enough to sneak him a little something extra.

By age twelve, Jason had lost whatever lingering fear of his father he’d had— or possibly his temper had finally started to be a bit harder to rein in, he wasn’t sure— and had started to fight back whenever Willis would hit him or demand he join him on a job. He’d learned how to throw a punch from some other street kids he’d befriended who would later join up with the Red Hood gang since he’d just been tired of not being able to defend himself. He’d stood his ground and had refused to go with him just to be a fall guy or human shield for him in case his jobs went screwy. His resistance had only made his dad angrier, more volatile, more unpredictable, more violent, but Jason hadn’t cared— at least he hadn’t been letting the man walk all over him anymore. He’d learned how to treat his own injuries then, at least enough so that people at school wouldn’t ask too many questions.

Cathy had wanted to help take care of him, too— she’d always been so upset whenever Willis had laid a hand on him or dragged him off on a job, though her husband’s threats against her had kept her from acting on it more— though more often than not, she hadn’t been sober enough to do so. But still, he’d found comfort in the way she’d hug him tight and whisper apologies as he tended his own injuries or stayed in his bed with him until he fell asleep, singing to him or telling him about all the things they’d do together after they scraped enough money together to get out from under his father’s thumb someday; his favorite times were when she’d tell him about her time as a stage actress before the accident that got her addicted to opioids to begin with— having only moved on to methamphetamines after she’d met Willis— and how she’d always promised him she’d bring him to the theater someday to show him her previous life.

“Sleep now, my little Jaybird. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe tonight. Soon it’ll just be you and me, and it’ll be beautiful. You’ll see.”

He’d really wanted to believe her. But those words had gotten him through a lot of tough nights nevertheless.

It was also around then that a boy named Max Dawkins had changed his life for the better and helped not only to make what little childhood he had left more bearable, but had helped him to survive and even enjoy it a little.

“Hey, get away from him! Come on, now.”

Jason had gotten into a scrap with another crew of boys when he’d been on his way back to the apartment after a little petty thievery of his own to get the money he’d needed for an upcoming school book fair. He’d been holding his own for the most part, but a lucky shot had sent him reeling. Which is when Max had shown up.

“Looks like they gotcha pretty good there.”

“It’s nothing… really. Lucky hit. I’ve had worse.”

“Still. Can I take a look at it?”

“You don’t have to… I’m fine.”

“It’s no problem. Trust me, I get the tough guy act. It can help you survive out here. Did those kids take anything from you?”

“No.”

“Good. Y’know, some people insist that you have to do everything on your own out here. That that’s the only way you can make anything of yourself out here. But I don’t think that’s the case, y’know? I’m trying to change that. To make things better for people who don’t have a lot because they’re down on their luck. Especially for kids like us. What’s your name?”

“... Jason.”

“Nice to meet ya, Jason. I’m Max. I’ve seen you around here a few times. If you’d like, I can show you the ropes, help you get more of your bearings. You may have just gotten a little cut this time, but you might not get so lucky next time. Where are you headed?”

“Uh, home, I guess.”

“Doesn’t really sound like a place you’re too excited to get to. Ya hungry? There’s this diner a few blocks away that has the best apple pie you’ve ever had. It’s the Bowery’s own little slice of heaven.”

“Oh, um, thanks, but I really don’t have that much money on me, and I have something I wanna use it for, so…”

“Don’t worry about that. Come on. I can practically hear your stomach rumbling. It’ll be my treat, Jason.”

“... What do I owe you for it?”

“Just a little friendly conversation.”

That burger, fries, chocolate shake, and warm piece of apple pie had been one of the best meals of his young life— that diner really was the Bowery’s own little slice of heaven, no place in Gotham had better pie. But the company had been what had made it truly special, and why he still remembered it almost a decade later.

Max had been sixteen when they’d met, and he’d been homeless since both of his parents had died— his mother of a drug overdose and his father of gun violence— when he was twelve. As was all too common in the Bowery. But instead of allowing it to make him bitter, as was the case with many people in his situation, he’d been determined to not follow the same paths as they had, he’d been determined to make things better for himself and for anyone else he could help who were facing the same challenges. He’d gained a lot of respect among the other Bowery street kids by making sure they had access to food, water, clothes, and a place of shelter if needed. His newspaper delivery job before the crack of dawn had gone a long way in helping to provide as much as he could, though the little pay hadn’t been enough for much for himself. But that was how he’d preferred it— even if he’d just been one person fighting the system, he’d wanted to help as many homeless, orphaned kids as he could. To keep them from getting involved with drugs or gangs, to try to keep them out of the crosshairs of the Falcones or the Maronis, to keep them from going hungry, to keep them in school, to give them a safe place to rest their heads at night. He had big dreams of renovating the more rundown areas of the Bowery and creating shelters and providing affordable housing and more resources for the area once he was older and was able to leave the place himself. And Jason had respected the hell out of him for that. A lot of people tended to forget about people like them.

But Max had been more than that for him. He’d been the first person he had ever trusted, had ever let in, had ever loved. He’d been his best friend, he’d been like an older brother to him. He’d looked out for him, he’d made sure he got any food or other necessities he wasn’t getting, he’d given him a place to crash when things got too bad with his dad at the apartment, he’d kept him from losing his way.

With a fond smile, he remembered it was one of his first times crashing at Max’s place when he’d also discovered his favorite genre of reading.

Jason’s brow furrowed as he picked up an old, worn, well-loved copy of Pride and Prejudice from the kitchen table. “What’s this?” he wondered, turning to the back cover to read the description.

Max grinned as he joined him. “That was my mom’s favorite book,” he told him. “As you can tell, she read it a lot.”

“Huh.” Jason carefully flipped through the first couple pages. “Is it any good?”

Max shrugged apologetically. “It’s not one that I’ve really been able to get into myself,” he muttered. “Tell ya what, Jay. How about you give it a read and let me know?”

He took the book with him and got settled on the couch where he’d be sleeping that night. “Yeah, sure, okay.”

He’d wound up staying up nearly all night devouring the book. He hadn’t been able to shut up about it to Max the next morning over breakfast when the teen had gotten back from his paper route. And when he’d gone to the book fair with the money he’d been able to collect, along with— he’d noticed when he’d gotten to school— a little extra Max had slipped him, he’d bought a few more classics to start his own collection. He’d kept them at Max’s place since he hadn’t trusted them around Willis. But one day when he’d stopped by to grab something he needed before going back to the apartment, he’d been startled to see that the worn copy of Pride and Prejudice was with the rest of his literary stash.

“Max, I can’t take this. It was your mom’s. It means a lot to you, that’s why you kept it.”

He got a bright grin from the older boy in return. “Jay, I’ve never seen anything make you as happy as when you were telling me about that book,” he told him. “As I said, it’s not my cup of tea. It would just sit around collecting dust and not being read and loved if I kept it. And that’s doing it a disservice. I know it’ll be well loved, read, and taken care of with you. I want you to have it, and I think she would, too.”

That old, falling apart book was still in one of his safe houses that he’d had set up even when he’d been living at Wayne Manor, he’d brought it everywhere with him since he’d left his life in the Bowery. He made sure to read it at least once a year. At least, up until Joker had ensnared him. It was long overdue for a reread.

Things had definitely been better with Max in his life. Though it was not too long after his thirteenth birthday when his life had been upended completely. When he’d gotten back to the apartment from school one day with an A+ on his book report only to find Cathy unresponsive on her bed. He could still hear the crunch of the syringes beneath his feet as he ran over to her.

“Mom… Mom? Mom!”

It hadn’t been the first time he’d found his mother after she’d overdosed. He couldn’t have been older than eight when he’d woken up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water when he’d found her in the bathroom the first time, and he’d been so scared when he couldn’t wake her that he’d called an ambulance. Willis had been so furious with him since they were hospital costs that they hadn’t been able to afford that the punishments had been severe. After that, he’d learned the signs of an overdose and how to help; he’d been the one to bring Cathy back from the brink a handful of times over those few years, though every time, he’d been afraid that it’d finally be the one time he couldn’t bring her back.

That time not long after he’d turned thirteen had been the one.

Consequences be damned, Jason had called for an ambulance when he’d gotten nowhere with her. He’d ridden with her to the hospital, he’d been at her bedside when she’d been declared dead.

Catherine Todd hadn’t been perfect. She’d been high more often than she’d been sober. She hadn’t been able to take care of him as a mother should. She hadn’t been able to protect him from Willis. But she’d still tried in her way. She’d wanted the best for him despite their circumstances, despite his father. She’d done her best to keep him on the right path, away from the life Willis had been trying to drag him into, away from drugs; thanks to her, he’d never even touched heavy pain medication, he hated to even take an aspirin. Despite the disease that had taken her being stronger, she’d still loved him.

Jason had left the hospital raging at the world. He’d stopped back at the apartment to grab a few things to take with him to Max’s, he stole one of his dad’s beers and drank it down. He’d gotten into a fight with Willis when he’d gotten home. He’d nursed his injuries while he’d waited for the man to pass out in his drunken stupor, took his bags, another beer, and a pack of Willis’ cigarettes and made it to his best friend’s place. Max hadn’t hesitated to bring him to Leslie Thompkins’ clinic at the sight of him, where he’d stayed with him overnight.

He grabbed onto Max’s hand tightly as another sob escaped from him. If anyone knew how he was feeling, the older teen would— he’d lost his mother in the same way. “It’s not fair…” he whispered.

Max’s face fell as he wrapped his arms around him. “No, it isn’t. But you’ve got me, Jay, I’m not going to leave you alone with this.”

Catherine had been cremated since his dad couldn’t afford a casket and funeral. Max had covered most of the expenses, and one night, he and Jason had snuck into the gardens of the theater his mother had used to perform at to spread her ashes there. They’d had a few beers and shared some laughs to commemorate the moment in the place she’d loved most. The place she’d always promised to take him.

Jason hadn’t returned to the apartment for over a week, wanting to give Willis enough time to calm down after learning about more medical bills they couldn’t afford and his wife’s death. Though it turned out he hadn’t been around much either, taking on more jobs while having had all that time to himself. He’d been a lot more mellow than expected when the teen first saw him over breakfast that first morning, a mood he could describe as almost happy. Apparently, the man had made some good scores while he’d been staying with Max. And with Catherine gone, that meant more money and drugs for himself.

Though someone hadn’t been happy about the moves Willis had been making. As Jason had discovered when he’d stepped out of the apartment on his way to school one morning and found a white rose lying in front of the door. A familiar calling card.

Carmine Falcone had been planning to make a move of his own.

Jason sighed, exhaling more smoke as he flicked more ash off the end of his cigarette.

Willis had lost it when he’d brought the rose in to show him. He hadn’t had to give his dad a fighting chance, but he had. And he’d been blamed, of course, as he had been for all of their problems since he’d been born.

“This wouldn’t be happening if you weren’t so fucking useless that I couldn’t even just give you to them!”

His dads’s fists had landed a bit harder that day, Willis himself had been a bit more frantic since Falcone’s threat had had him so rattled. But Jason had hit him back hard, too, and it’d led to the man getting so angry at him that he’d almost literally thrown him out of the apartment, aimed his pistol at his face, and screamed at him not to come back.

“If I see you around here again, I won’t hesitate!”

Jason was a little surprised that it’d taken Willis thirteen years to be done with him, honestly. He hadn’t planned on going back anyway, even though his dad would have been long gone even if he had. He’d known Willis would hide out at his safe house until Falcone eased off. But he hadn’t wanted to risk putting himself in the crosshairs, either.

Perhaps it had been that confrontation with the man that had made him even more irritable at school that day. And it had been irritation that had led him to get into a fight with a couple boys who had been bullying a younger kid. And, knowing he’d be facing at best a suspension or at worst expulsion, it had been his irritation and not wanting to deal with that with either the principal or Willis— who wouldn’t be able to be reached even if they’d tried— that had caused him to ditch school early that day. And it had been him ditching school early that had led him right into the path of Salvatore Maroni.

“Hey, kid. Long time no see. C’mon, let’s have a little chat, just you and me.”

They had walked together for some time, Sal had done most of the talking while Jason had just listened. And the gangster had promised him a lot— a space in the Bowery where he could do what he had to in order to survive, even if it wasn’t exactly legal, without having to worry about whether he would step on any toes or ruffle the feathers of the Maroni family. He had driven a hard bargain; a lot of people had gotten in trouble with them by encroaching on their territory, to have the guarantee he’d be fine had been too good to pass up. All he’d had to do was tell him where Willis would be hiding that night.

And Jason hadn’t hesitated. His dad had only agreed to have him to try to settle some debts, he’d never wanted him, he’d given him nothing but pain, he’d given up on him and thrown him away. And if he’d ever seen him again, he would’ve just kept doing the same things over and over and over again. It wouldn’t have been much of a stretch that Willis would have followed through on his threat and wound up killing him. Besides, he’d owed the man a favor, as that had been when the head of the Maroni family had informed him he’d been the one who’d stopped Willis from selling him off to Carmine. He’d owed him one, a favor for a favor. The type of guarantee he’d gotten had been much more valuable than anything he’d have been able to get from a man he couldn’t even call a father.

He’d told Sal the location.

The salt-and-pepper-haired gangster chuckled, patting him on the cheek hard once before ruffling his black hair. “Good boy.”

Jason had wandered around aimlessly for what had seemed like hours after that talk. He’d been in a daze, he hadn’t known where to go. Finally, when it’d started getting dark, he’d made his way to the empty apartment and picked the lock to get in. He’d grabbed the few possessions he’d had there— things like a few changes of clothes, toiletries, some food, any lingering school stuff— and stuffed most of it in his backpack before heading for the door. But he’d hesitated, he’d gone to his parents’ room, he’d pulled up a floorboard under the bed, he’d taken out Wilis’ pistol— the same one he’d used to threaten him and Cathy more than once before—  and pocketed it. For protection. Just in case. Then, as if on autopilot, he’d walked to Max’s place, still feeling as though he’d been out of his own body as he’d knocked on the door.

“I… I did something… something bad…”

Max pulled the shaking, younger teen close; he was clearly in shock. “It’ll be okay, Jay… we’ll figure it out… I’ve got you, I promise. It’ll be okay…”

The police report had stated that Willis had died from a drug overdose. But he’d known better. Sal had been smart about it by not making the hit traceable back to his family since the Falcones had been after the coward, too; Sal had just ensured that he’d gotten to him first. But just like that, he’d been free from under his dad’s thumb. Just as Cathy had always promised he would be. It’d been rather jarring.

He’d just felt a bit more grief about it than he’d expected to.

Though the next couple of years with Max had been, overall, some of the best of his life. Jason had taken full advantage of the guarantee he’d been given by Sal, stealing what he could— particularly car parts as those were worth a lot— to try and get on his feet and get some money behind him to support himself. It hadn’t been Max’s favorite thing for him to do, but he’d never judged what anyone in their forgotten part of Gotham had had to do to survive. But also like his best friend, he’d really wanted to focus on helping the other street kids, to pay it forward, to try and help those in similar situations to the one he’d been in. Earning the trust, the love from the other orphans had made it all worth it.

And then, when he’d been fifteen, he’d met Batman. And for better or worse, his life had never been the same again.

“Jason, I can help you!”

“No… There’s no helping me!”

He wasn’t sure if he’d call it fate or even “right place right time” when he’d stumbled across the Batmobile in Crime Alley one cloudy evening, but maybe close enough. He’d just been on his way back from successfully stealing from a market so he and Max could whip up a meal for a few hungry kids that night, along with some extra money to spare, his choice to take a shortcut bringing him right to it. He hadn’t even believed it’d been there. He’d debated about it for only a moment before deciding that yes, it was worth being a little delayed to get the tires off this baby. The amount he’d be able to get for them would be able to provide a lot for a lot of people who needed it most.

But he’d only gotten started on the front left tire, getting a couple lug nuts off, when he’d heard the familiar terrified screams followed by a hauntingly cruel, piercing laughter. It was a sound he’d never forget for as long as he lived.

It was kinda funny, he thought. Five years ago, he hadn’t even known the Joker. Not really. He’d heard of him, of course, he’d had to have been living under a literal rock not to have since the clown had had such an influence in Gotham. But he’d never really seen him outside of a news story or two when he’d glanced at the front page of a newspaper or caught an evening report on television.

And now they were forever linked, forever entwined, even though the clown was dead and burned.

But seeing him in person with that bleached white skin, that shocking green hair, that crimson smile, and that bold purple suit in the Bowery of all places had been jarring; normally Joker’s plans had been a bit too grand for their little corner of the neighborhood in the worst part of town. But there he’d been. With a machine gun. And he’d had a couple of the street kids trapped, possibly injured.

And facing him down trying to stop him had been the Batman.

Jason had to admit that just for a moment, he’d been starstruck. They’d all known about the Batman, all the kids loved the idea of the Batman. But to them, he’d only been a story, a legend, a myth, much like he’d been to most of the criminals in Gotham, just in a different way. They’d known he existed, they’d known he helped people, many of the kids had wild dreams that he would come rescue them from their shitty lives one day. But that was all he’d been for him at that point— a legend and nothing more. He’d never been tangible before then. Funny how life worked sometimes. But the Batman had much larger threats and higher level criminals threatening the city to deal with than anything to be found in the Bowery, he didn’t have the luxury of sweating the small stuff. They’d always handled their own crime and business in the Bowery since people like Batman hadn’t helped them. So seeing him there, seeing the cape and cowl up close, had been surreal.

But the spell had been broken the moment Joker had targeted those kids.

“No!”

Jason dropped his lug wrench and bags, reaching for his pistol on instinct before running toward the overturned car the kids were cowering behind. He gritted his teeth, doing his best to ignore that laughter that was searing its way under his skin, grating against his nerve endings.

He dropped to a knee next to the smoking vehicle, trying to clear away some of the shattered glass so they wouldn’t hurt themselves. He was just relieved they had some sort of shelter from the clown’s attack. He couldn’t blame them for wanting to see Batman, but it was too dangerous to be there. “Stay behind here until you see an opening, and then get the hell out. I’ll be right behind you, okay?”

The oldest boy, Colton, nodded in agreement. “I’ll get them out, Jason,” he assured him.

Jason smiled in return, and they quickly did their secret handshake. They all took care of each other here.

Then, the youngest girl, Tatum, who’d been hugging his side gasped and pointed behind him, her eyes wide. “Jay-Jay, behind you!” she screamed.

Jason quickly glanced over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing as he glared back at the Joker when he saw the clown had turned the barrel of his machine gun on him. He held Tatum against his chest as he covered the rest of the kids with his body, making sure they were taking as much shelter as they could behind the car. “Get down!”

And the bullets sliced through him. Because Batman hadn’t cared.

No. That hadn’t happened. Obviously. He was still alive.

Jason dropped his cigarette, putting it out beneath his boot with more force than he usually would have. He groaned in frustration, closing his eyes tightly as he rubbed his temples.

The shots never came. He chanced a glance behind him again in time to see Batman rush the Joker, causing the clown to move his gun away from them. He quickly turned his attention back to the kids. “Get them out of here, Colt,” he muttered urgently. “Go!”

Colton nodded. “You got it.” He began to direct the rest of the crew away from the fight.

But Tatum only clung to him tighter. “I’m scared, Jay-Jay…”

Jason smiled, giving her another small squeeze before gently easing her away from him. “It’ll be okay,” he assured her. “Just go with the others. I’m just gonna grab my things that we’ll need for tonight, and I’ll be right behind you, okay? Promise. Hurry now.”

Tatum looked back at him, teary-eyed, until another boy around her age, Liam, hurried back over and took her hand. “Come on, let’s go!”

But the two younger kids didn’t get very far before a small concussive blast went off from behind Jason, causing them all to flinch and sending Batman into the overturned car next to them. It dented from the impact. As he watched the vigilante fall heavily to the ground, unconscious, Jason had a surreal moment of realization that unlike the widespread perception of him, Batman was just a man. Just like everyone else.

“Help Batman, Jason!” Liam yelled, clearly afraid. “Help Batman! Joker’s gonna hurt him! Do something, Jason!”

“Please, Jay-Jay?” Tatum added just as anxiously.

Jason sighed to himself. Fuck. He didn’t have time for any of this. “Just get out of here,” he told them. Satisfied when they finally took off running after the rest of the kids, he glanced back in time to see Joker aiming his machine gun straight at Batman’s unmoving form. The clown’s laughter seemed to bounce up and down the street, surrounding him, consuming him.

“Oh, this is going to be so much fun!”

And before he even really thought about it, Jason tackled Batman out of the crosshairs just as Joker opened fire, cringing when one of the bullets tore through the red hood of his sweater. But the momentum took them far enough where he could pull the vigilante around the side of the car to get at least partial cover from the onslaught.

Holy fucking shit, he’d just saved Batman.

Joker’s laugh rang out yet again. “Oh, that was unexpected!” he crowed, sounding surprisingly pleased about what had just happened. “You’re a real riot, you know that, Jason my boy?”

A cold chill ran through Jason when the clown addressed him by name. He hadn’t realized that he’d heard any of the kids say it. Regardless, it thoroughly unsettled him.

“You know, Bats is in need of a new little bird,” Joker continued casually. “Seems his last one finally flew the coop. Put your mind to it hard enough and maybe that could be you. Well, if I don’t push you out of the nest first.” He paused with a broad, maniacal grin. “Come on out and play, Jason!”

Well, if that’s what he wanted.

Jason quickly glanced down at Batman next to him, seeing he was still out cold, but also noticing that what appeared to be one of his weapons was lying on the ground between them in easy reach. The vigilante wasn’t gonna need it for the moment. He grabbed it and rolled out from behind the car, aimed it at the clown, and fired.

Joker’s smile vanished when the grapnel grabbed the front of his suit as Jason pulled him forward, causing him to drop his gun. When he got close enough, he punched him hard in the face. To his frustration, the clown kept laughing when every punch landed, which only continued to raise his ire.

“You don’t get to just come here and hurt and terrorize these kids!” Each punch started to gain more force behind it as the laughter burrowed deeper into his soul. With each hit, he saw Willis, he remembered all the pain that he’d caused. All bullies were the same. “You can’t! They did nothing to you!”

And yet, Joker still laughed. “Ah, but you see, that’s what makes it so much fun!” A broad grin spread across his face as he looked up at him. There was blood on his teeth, at the corner of his lips, above his eyebrow. “You’re just full of rage, aren’t you, Jason?” he asked quietly. “You may have cracked one of my ribs. That’s funny!” He chuckled, causing him to cringe, before he continued. “I can see it in your eyes, my boy, you’ve been hurt. A lot. And you want to hurt those who hurt you. But you can’t. So you want to hurt the one who hurt those kids you’re so fond of. Well, go ahead, you’ve got your shot. Do it!”

Jason’s eyes narrowed angrily as the clown continued to laugh in his face, to goad him. Keeping one knee on Joker’s chest to ensure he didn’t move, he reached for the pistol at his hip. He rested the barrel against his forehead, right between those bright green eyes, his finger resting lightly on the trigger.

If possible, Joker’s blood-red grin stretched ever wider. He gave a sharp laugh, full of amusement that seemed inappropriate for the predicament he found himself in. “ Yes, Jason! That’s it! Do it!”

But still, Jason hesitated. He’d used the weapon only sparingly since he’d taken it from the old apartment— one of the few useful things he’d ever gotten from Willis. He’d had to use it in only a couple of robberies with no real plans to actually fire it. He’d used it in self-defense, or in defense of some of the little kids, just to get the threat to back off. But he’d never actually fired it. Not once. He’d never felt the need to, he’d never really felt the urge to.

Until now. Something about the Joker’s arrogance, about how he’d targeted harmless kids for fun, about the deep rage he was digging into and pulling out of him just made it seem like a good idea. He’d keep doing things like this if he didn’t take action to stop him. More people would get hurt, more people would die. He could end that, here and now. No one else had to suffer because of the clown. He was begging him to do it.

Jason’s finger twitched against the trigger.

But before he could actually fire the weapon, he hissed in pain when a Batarang connected with his right hand, causing him to drop the gun. Beneath him, Joker once again burst out in laughter.

“Oh, Bats. I knew you’d come to spoil the fun! You just can’t help yourself. You’re always such a party pooper.”

“What the hell are you doing?!” Jason demanded as he pushed himself to his feet, rounding on the vigilante as he approached. “We could have stopped him for good!”

“He’s subdued,” was all Batman said in return. “I’ll take it from here.”

Jason could only watch as Batman reached down and yanked Joker none too gently to his feet. “That’s it?” he pressed in disbelief. “He’s just gonna keep doing the same shit! Someone should put him down like the mad dog he is. Do the world a favor.”

“Seems like the boy knows me pretty damn well after only one meeting, huh, Bats?” Joker chuckled before rolling his eyes as he turned his attention to Jason. “But geeze, the absolute gall of this guy, huh? You save his life, you take me down with his own gadget, you don’t kill me when I give you the chance, and still no thank you!”

But Jason ignored his taunting, instead keeping his gaze intently on Batman. The vigilante was giving him a curious look. “I’m not expecting a thank you, by the way,” he muttered. “I just want to know why you stopped me.”

“It wasn’t just about stopping you.” Batman reached out to shake Joker’s left arm, and a long, thin blade slid out of his sleeve. Jason’s eyes widened when he realized what had actually been in store for him. In all his blind anger, he hadn’t seen it coming.

The clown pouted. “You really do have to ruin all my little tricks, don’t you?”

Batman ignored the jab as he instead began to drag Joker off to where the Batmobile waited. The teen slowly followed. “You say someone has to do the world a favor, to put him down,” he said over his shoulder to him. “But when it comes down to it, who’s going to make that call? Someone has to. Could you do it?”

“If I had to.” The answer came easily to Jason, and it left him with just as much ease. “To protect people I care about. Like those kids.”

Batman hummed quietly as they reached the car. “Killing is a road you don’t come back from,” he replied. “It’s too easy to lose yourself to it, even if you believe you’re doing it for the right reason. Who would you be to those kids then?”

Jason clenched a fist and looked away from the vigilante with a scowl. There wasn’t too much he could say to that. Besides, he didn’t have time to stick around and argue with him about moral high grounds. He had some food to get to some kids, he had to make sure they were all okay.

But the duo wasn’t done with him yet. Jason slowly glanced back at Joker when he began to laugh one more time, the sound deep and grating. Haunting. “I had a lot of fun playing with you today,” he said, a sinister smirk spreading across his pale face. “I think you and I are going to be seeing each other again real soon, Jason. Don’t worry. I never forget a friendly face.”

There was still a part of him, deep down, that wished he hadn’t hesitated to pull the trigger that day. That he had put an end to the murderous clown’s reign of terror once and for all. It would have saved him so much pain, so much agony, he would still have his family. Despite their ups and downs, he missed them— he missed sparring with and hanging out with Dick, he missed Alfred’s tea and hearing his multitude of stories and discussing the finer points of Shakespeare with the old butler, he missed discussing movies and having a battle of wits with Barbara. He missed being at Wayne Manor with them, he hated how he couldn’t go back because of what Joker had done.

But Bruce…

Jason let out a shaking breath, passing a hand over his face. As much as he wished that things had been different when it came to Joker in that fateful meeting, if he had gone ahead and pulled that trigger, he wouldn’t have had his family at all.

“Are you fucking serious? After what happened?”

Batman wasn’t moved as he watched the cops cuff Jason’s hands behind his back and take his pistol. “They tracked you here from the armed robbery you were a part of,” he stated.

“Yeah, and I never pulled the gun,” Jason grumbled. “And y’know what that food was going toward? To make sure some hungry kids got to eat tonight.”

If Batman was surprised by this, he didn’t show it. “Stealing isn’t—!”

Jason gave a sharp laugh. “Spare me the lecture, okay?” he snapped. “You don’t know what it’s like here. You don’t know what we have to do to get by day to day. And why would you? It’s not like what goes on here is enough to pop up on your radar. Me stealing food for kids is nothing. People get killed every day. People gun each other down over stupid arguments or trying to steal from each other to survive. People die of drug overdoses almost every hour because this is the hotbed for the drug trade through the Falcones and the Maronis, and they have no problem selling, even to kids. We do what we have to to survive here, we do it all ourselves because you’re sure as hell not doing anything to stop it. And neither are the worthless cops that tend to patrol this area and agree to look the other way if they get paid off enough.”

He winced when the officer cuffing him shoved him against the squad car with more force than was necessary. “Shut up! That’s enough out of you!”

“Do it again,” the vigilante encouraged. “He needs more roughing up for his attitude.”

And before he could brace himself, his head connected solidly with the roof of the car.

Jason hissed, pressing the heels of his hands against his burning eyes. No, that hadn’t been what had happened. Batman hadn’t encouraged the rough treatment, he’d been…

Kind? Compassionate, maybe?

“Easy.”

“What? You’re going to let him talk to me like that?” the officer demanded.

“Not my fault you don’t like the truth,” Jason muttered under his breath.

Batman quickly reached out and grabbed the officer’s wrist when he raised a hand to strike the teen. “Easy,” he repeated with more force before turning his attention back to Jason. “I do know how bad it can be here.” His voice was more gentle now. “If I could get here more often—!”

“Yeah, yeah, you would, whatever.” Jason rolled his eyes before he sighed. “You know, a lot of the kids here think you’re so great, that you’re some kind of hero. They look up to you, they think that you can save them from all this. It’s kinda cute that some of them haven’t outgrown that yet.”

The vigilante frowned. “Funding for renovation efforts and resources aren’t helping?” he wondered.

Jason arched an eyebrow. He was a little surprised that he actually seemed to at least sort of care. Or at least he was good at pretending. “What, you mean like those bullshit parties that asshats like Bruce fucking Wayne throw?” he posed. “The ones where he hosts a bunch of rich people so they can feel better about themselves for an evening? Look, just because his parents died here years ago doesn’t mean he knows what goes on here. A lot of our parents died here. People like him don’t know what we need. He’s much too sheltered behind those fancy walls of his to understand. Maybe if he came and took an actual look around here, he’d get it. Whatever charity events he puts on for show to raise money, we don’t see much if any of it.”

“I see.” Batman’s voice, even as before, almost seemed to have more of a weight to it than before.

He and Batman stared each other down for a moment, a silent clash of wills. But the spell was broken when the officer yanked hard on him again, directing the teen toward the back door he was opening.

“All right, enough’s enough. Time to go, kid. You won’t have to worry about what goes on around here for quite some time, either.”

But Jason planted his feet firmly, resisting. “Wait a damn minute, would you?” He turned his attention to Batman again, his smoky eyes slightly wide. “Please. That food really is for those kids. If you’re any hero worth your salt, make sure it gets to a guy named Max.” He smirked. “I saved your ass, I don’t think that’s too much to ask for.”

The officer barked in laughter. “If you think anything you stole is going anywhere other than where you stole it from, you—!”

“Don’t worry. I’ll do it.”

Jason’s smirk broadened as the officer sputtered. “Y-you’re joking…” the latter mumbled.

But Batman’s intense gaze didn’t move away from the teen. “I’ll make sure it gets to Max. And I’ll cover the cost.” He directed the last sentence at the officer.

“Thank you,” Jason muttered, relieved. He finally relented, letting the officer shove him none too gently into the back of the squad car. At least he’d made him duck his head.

The vigilante said nothing as he turned and began heading toward where Joker was still waiting in the Batmobile. But then, he paused, turning back to him and holding a gloved hand out. “What you took off the car, if you would be so kind,” he said sternly.

Jason gave him a sheepish smile.

At that point, his life had more or less been over. Or, at least, so he’d thought.

Being arrested had probably negated the protections from Sal— the crime family had been able to keep any other activities that weren’t exactly legal since he’d operated in the space he’d been given under the radar, so he thankfully hadn’t had a record when he’d been booked into GCPD, but he was certain that wouldn’t have continued after he’d go back to the Bowery. And spending time in juvie would have taken him away from Max and the kids they looked out for, which he’d hated more than anything. He hadn’t thought that his best friend would have disowned him for this slip up, but the thought of disappointing him had still been a heavy one to carry.

The booking process had really been rather quick. He’d given his personal information, given fingerprints and DNA samples, been photographed, and had been taken to a holding cell to wait to find out what would happen to him. He’d had to wait until morning. Those hours in that small cell with only his thoughts had been some of the worst of his life.

His one phone call had, of course, been to Max.

“I’m so sorry…”

“It’s okay, Jay,” Max assured him. “We’ll figure this out. We always do. But this does explain why Batman of all people came to bring me some groceries.”

Relief flooded through Jason, and he gripped the phone tighter. “He… he actually did it?” he asked.

“Yeah, he did. He also dropped off some extra groceries, along with some food vouchers to help us out for the next few months. You don’t have to worry about us, Jay. What we have to focus on now is how to best help you.”

Jason sighed. At least that was one weight off his mind. “I don’t know what to do about my case,” he admitted.

“You were appointed legal council, yes? You should have been.”

“Um, yeah, I think so.” He thought he remembered hearing something about that in the list of rights he’d been given. It rang a bell, anyway; he’d heard those same rights read to Willis the times he’d gotten arrested from the apartment. “Probably. If so, I haven’t met them yet.”

“Okay.” Max’s tone was all business. “Make sure you do. Demand it, fight for yourself as you always do. This is important. I don’t want to see you slip through the cracks. I don’t want to say a lot of cops in this city are corrupt or anything, but, well, y’know, if the shoe fits…”

Despite himself, Jason chuckled. “I said the same thing to Batman. The cop arresting me didn’t like it very much,” he muttered.

“Ah hell, Jay.” But he could hear the smile in Max’s voice. “But I’m serious. I’ll advocate how I can for you from the outside, but I need you to fight for you, too. Don’t let them walk all over you.”

Jason’s gaze faltered. “Is, um… is it…?”

“Is it what?”

He sighed. “Is it really worth the fight?” he wondered. “I mean, I’m… I’m not…”

“I’m going to stop you right there.” There was a note of urgency in Max’s voice now. “Don’t you dare say you’re not worth it. That you’re not important. You are. Where you were born, who your parents are, and where you live doesn’t reflect that. You’re important to me, you’re important to these kids who look up to you. You matter, Jay, that’s never not going to be true. You’ve been a fighter as long as I’ve known you, and with what you’ve told me about your dad, long before that. Keep fighting. You have that spark in you that I don’t see in a lot of people here, one that’s going to get you far in this life. There are great things waiting for you beyond the Bowery, so don’t you dare lose it. We’ll fight like hell together, okay?”

Jason took a deep breath, closing his eyes against a few tears that threatened to form. “Yeah,” he agreed with more confidence. “Yeah, okay. Together.”

“Hell yeah, that’s what I wanna hear. We’ll get through this, Jay.”

An officer began to walk toward him. “Time to wrap it up!” he snapped.

“And hey, who knows? Maybe Batman will vouch for you, too,” Max said lightly. “He mentioned you helped him against Joker. Which is, I have to say, pretty badass of you.”

Jason laughed. “Yeah, in your dreams.”

Turns out, Max actually hadn’t been too far off.

For one of the only times in his life, it had been the perfect storm of things actually going his way. His lack of a criminal record had helped him. Max’s advocacy had helped. And the legal council he’d been appointed conveniently being tied to the Wayne family outreach programs had most definitely helped. Because of all these factors, and that he’d been charged as a minor, he’d avoided serving a full sentence in juvie. Instead, he’d been enrolled in a Wayne Foundation academic program for troubled teens to return to school.

And he’d thrived. School had always been a safe place for him, and this hadn’t been any different. If anything, it’d been better through the program since he’d been able to solely focus on and apply himself to his academics instead of having to worry about how Willis was going to be when he saw him next or where his next meal would come from. He’d been a straight A student, he’d read almost any book he could get his hands on, particularly the classics. He’d gotten involved in a lot of sports, he’d really enjoyed playing basketball with a group of teens he’d been friendly with. He’d had his own dorm room, it’d been helpful for him to have his own space where he hadn’t had to be concerned about his safety or the safety of his things. He’d even had his first girlfriend, of sorts, in a girl who was getting clean from drugs and someone he still considered a friend named Rena— looking back, he wasn’t sure if that’s what he would call her, but she’d been his first kiss in all its awkward glory for sure. And once he’d reached the mandated number of months in the program, he’d been able to visit Max and the kids, but he’d still stayed on campus since he’d wanted to finish school and graduate.

And then, he’d had an unexpected visitor at his dorm.

“You’re doing terribly. Why would anyone bother with you when you’ve got nothing to offer anyone? You’re so fucking useless…”

Jason pushed himself to his feet and began to restlessly pace. He let out a shaking breath, shutting his eyes tightly against the harsh words echoing in his mind. It almost hurt knowing that those words hadn’t been said, at least not by him, but feeling them burning into his soul as though they had been. He knew what Joker had done, how he’d made him doubt his adopted father, had twisted his memories about him, had caused him to hate him…

“Stop…” he whispered. “Please stop…”

“Hello, Jason. It’s good to meet you. My name is—!”

“I know who you are. Bruce Wayne.”

“I see my reputation precedes me.”

“Hard not to know who you are, your face is plastered everywhere around Gotham.”

“Touché.”

"Uh, so, no offense, but what brings you here?”

“I’m impressed by all you’ve accomplished while you’ve been here. You’ve made a lot of progress.”

“You visit every kid that gets A’s and plays a few sports to tell them that?”

“No, seems you’ve caught me there. You see, Jason, we have a… mutual acquaintance. And there are some things you said to him that I’d like to talk to you about.”

And suddenly, everything in his life had propelled forward in a direction he’d never expected it to go.

He’d been handed his own Robin suit and a grapnel gun, told that he’d had one one night to impress Bruce, to impress Batman. He had. He’d been chosen as the next Robin.

He’d been adopted by Bruce. He’d moved into Wayne Manor. He’d still continued his schooling during the day while patrolling the streets of Gotham as Robin by night. He’d had his own entrance to the Batcave in his bedroom.

But there'd been a part of him that’d felt guilty about all he’d been leaving behind.

“No, Jay, this is amazing,” Max said. “This is everything I wanted for you and more. I didn’t necessarily see you getting taken in by the richest man in Gotham, but you’re going to have so much opportunity with him and with a life away from here. I’m so happy for you, and I can’t wait to see all that you can accomplish with this chance you’ve been given.”

Jason attempted a smile. “It probably shouldn’t be me getting this, though,” he muttered. “You and so many of these other kids deserve it so much more than I do. I’m not…”

Max reached out and set a firm hand on the back of Jason’s neck. “You’ve come so far, Jay,” he told him. “I’m proud of you. You’ve always wanted to make things better around here not just for yourself, but for the rest of us here. If it makes you feel better, think of this as an opportunity to do just that. You have Bruce Wayne’s ear now, you can tell him about things that will really be able to help us. The two of you can really do a lot of good for us here.”

He supposed that was true. Between Bruce’s resources and his knowledge of how things were in the Bowery, they could probably accomplish quite a bit to bring across real changes. And with people like Max still working from the inside, they had even more of a chance. He couldn’t tell him all of what he could do for them now since he couldn’t give away that he was Robin, but he could focus a lot on the crime in the Bowery while Batman took care of the larger scale threats terrorizing the city.

It really couldn’t have been more perfect.

“Yeah… yeah, you’re right.”

“I know.” Max grinned, pulling Jason into a tight hug, feeling as the teen grabbed him back just as tightly. “You have the perfect opportunity to do everything you’ve ever wanted and so much more. Don’t squander it.”

And Jason hadn’t planned on it. He really hadn’t. If it hadn’t been for everything Joker had…

He hissed.

There’d been growing pains, because of course with any sort of major change, there were going to be. He hadn’t been used to living in such a huge home, it’d been too big in a lot of ways. He had to admit he’d been grateful that the family had more often than not given him the space he’d needed and let him spend time at the couple of safe houses he’d still had set up in the Bowery— unless there’d been a real reason for concern— when it’d been too much. He hadn’t been used to having parental figures like Alfred and Bruce who were around most of the time, who were active in his life and well-being, who weren’t blaming him for every little thing that went wrong in their own lives. Having gained Dick as an older brother— which had thrilled him five years ago since he’d been the original Robin, and he’d been a fan of the Flying Graysons despite never having had the chance to see them perform live— was a dynamic he’d been used to and welcomed, no matter how much of a pain in the ass the older man could be.

But as Robin, he’d felt the pains more. Despite how it’d felt good to fight at Batman’s side, they’d clashed a lot, their view of the world and how to handle the threats to Gotham hadn’t lined up all the time, causing rifts. Bruce had corrected him a lot even if he hadn’t agreed with it all the time, he’d felt like he was being compared to Dick at almost every turn, like he couldn’t live up to him. There hadn’t been as much of those sorts of pains with the former Robin since he’d moved on to become Nightwing, but of course there’d been a bit of awkwardness with someone else taking up the mantle he’d named after his mother’s childhood nickname for him.

But overall, Jason could say that he and Bruce had been able to do a lot of good together, he’d finally felt like he wasn’t helpless or useless, he’d been able to redirect quite a bit of that rage he’d always had at the world into healthier channels. The close friendship he’d formed with Roy Harper over the frustrations that could come with being a sidekick since he’d been one for Green Arrow while Dick had been Robin before he’d also become his own hero had helped keep him on track quite a bit, having someone he could hang out with and bond over similar experiences with had been a great outlet. Being an uncle to his adorable little daughter Lian had meant so much to him, he missed them both greatly now. He’d been able to target a lot of crime in the Bowery like he’d wanted to, able to reduce the influence of both the Falcones and the Maronis in the wake of the gang war between the two mob families where they’d been taking each other out.

As himself, though, one of the first things he’d done was at the end of Max’s paper route, he’d left an envelope with a substantial amount of money in it from his own new bank account in a trash can he knew he’d always check in case there was something in good enough condition he could use for himself or one of the kids. With it had been a note.

You’ve given me everything. It’s time I gave back to you. Use this to do what you’ve always wanted to help those kids and make this neighborhood a better place.

J

He’d stuck around, out of sight, just long enough to make sure the money got into Max’s hands, smiling to himself when he’d broken down in tears at finding it, before he’d left. It was one of the last times he’d seen him. But he’d been happy to watch from afar as his best friend got the education and financial footing he’d needed to start programs to make real changes in the Bowery from the ground up.

It’d been about a year into him being Robin when what he’d have to consider his happiest memory had happened. It was a moment that made him feel like he’d truly mattered in the grand scheme of things. Jason’s gaze faltered. It was a memory he’d clung to when he’d been in Joker’s custody, when he’d tried to fight off the clown’s manipulations, when he’d tried to keep convincing himself that Bruce did care about him, that he would come for him. But just as everything else had, it had faded away, it’d been just another thing taken from him, leaving room for false, implanted memories and hate for the only man who’d ever really considered him a son.

Another deep cough in his chest racked his body as he stumbled his way down the steps and into the kitchen, going for a glass of water. He groaned when the cold liquid came into contact with his raw throat. He could hardly breathe with how congested he was.

“I must insist you stay in tonight, Master Jason,” Alfred said, his tone stern but his brow furrowed in concern. “You stayed home from school today, going out on patrol would be very unwise in your state. We had the same rule in place for Master Dick.”

“Ah, I’ll be fine, Al,” Jason mumbled. But he wavered as another round of violent coughing overtook him, the only thing keeping him upright being the butler’s sturdy hands— much stronger than their age made them seem— on his shoulders.

“Come now. Rest. I will make you some tea and alert Master Bruce that you will not be going out tonight.”

Jason wanted to resist, he really did, but he really didn’t have the strength to argue, so he allowed Alfred to steer him to the couch in the living room. He sniffed with another groan, pulling an afghan down around him to try to get warm. “Think I’m gonna die, Al…”

Alfred tsked in disapproval, draping another blanket around his shoulders before he rested the back of his hand on his forehead to check his fever. “Not before myself, sir,” he muttered, his tone fond. He then ruffled his unruly black hair before handing him the television remote. “Here you are. I’ll get a fire going before I bring you some tea. That will warm you right up.”

“Thanks.” Jason zoned out through most of what was going on around him, hardly able to keep his heavy eyes open as he flipped through movie channels before finally settling on Nosferatu. By the time he set the remote aside and leaned back against the couch, the fireplace was roaring, and Alfred had returned with a mug of steaming tea and cold medicine.

“This should help, Master Jason.”

“You’re the best, Al.” Jason took a careful but deep sip, his hands wrapped securely around the mug, letting the tea work its magic as it seeped into his bones and chased away the fever’s chill.

Alfred gave him a small, fond smile. “I’ve alerted Master Bruce you’ll be staying in tonight,” he told him. “He said he would check in with you before he departs for the night.”

Jason thought he might have made a non-committal noise in return, but he couldn’t be sure. He again started to zone out as he watched the black and white images on the screen, not really taking any of it in.

“You should take that medicine. Alfred’s tea works wonders, but both together will go a lot further in making you feel better.”

Startled, Jason looked up to see Bruce leaning on the back of the couch. “Ah, yeah, right.” He hesitated briefly before he quickly swallowed the pills dry, taking another sip of tea afterwards to soothe his rough throat.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asked with concern.

Jason gave him a tiny smile before another round of deep coughs nearly took him out. He set the tea down on the low table in front of him so he wouldn’t spill any of it. “Like death,” he answered once he was finally able to stop, his raspy voice cracking.

A cruel glint appeared in Bruce’s smoky blue eyes. “Too bad,” he told him harshly. “You need to get out there anyway. Otherwise you don’t deserve the name of Robin. You’re nothing more than a useless disappointment to me.”

No… no, that hadn’t been what had happened. Bruce hadn’t been that cold.

Jason gritted his teeth and shut his eyes tightly. Stubborn tears threatened to rise to his eyes, but he fought to keep them back. He refused to let this get to him. He had to dig down through the choppy snippets of his memories that the clown had twisted, but if he kept going, he could start to pull out the threads of what had actually happened that night. He could remember what had made him so happy.

Because what his adopted father had actually done had been completely unexpected.

“Like death.” It was then Jason noticed that his mentor was in a simple black t-shirt and pants, not the Batsuit.

Bruce’s gaze faltered before he moved to sit on the couch next to him. “Find something good to watch?” he wondered lightly.

Jason gazed at him for a long moment, confused. “Aren’t you…” He paused, having to clear his throat. “Aren’t you late for patrol…?”

“Gotham can go on without me for one night,” Bruce told him with a small smile. “I’m needed here more tonight. Besides, Dick’s coming in from Blüdhaven to cover for us, he’ll be fine with Barbara keeping a watchful eye on things as she always does.”

A small smile slowly tugged at the corner of Jason’s lips as he relaxed against the back of the couch. “Yeah, found an old horror movie,” he said. “Nosferatu.”

“I’m familiar.” Bruce’s cheerful look lingered. “It’s a classic.”

At some point in the evening, Alfred had shut off the lights and brought them each their own big bowl of popcorn. Jason made it through the rest of Nosferatu and a few minutes into Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde before passing out against Bruce’s toned arm.

“Thanks, Dad…”

A single tear fell from Jason’s eye.

Bruce cared. He’d always cared. Despite all their arguments and disagreements, despite what Joker had drilled into him and made him believe about his mentor. Bruce cared.

So why hadn’t he…?

No. Bruce cared. He knew he did, as hard as it was for him to try and remember that now. After all, he’d been one of the first people there when he’d felt as though his life had been falling apart.

He’d just gotten home from school and was preparing a bowl of cereal for a snack while he did his homework when Alfred had informed him he’d had a call. At first, he’d been excited to find out it’d been Rena, who he hadn’t seen for a while. But it hadn’t taken long to hear she’d been distressed and why.

“Jay, it… it’s Max. He’s… I’m so sorry, but he’s dead…”

He’d fled to one of his safe houses in the Bowery immediately, before Bruce had even finished up at Wayne Enterprises and gotten home for the day. For he wasn’t sure how long, he’d just sat with the tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice Max had given him a few years before cradled in his hands, unable to believe that his best friend was dead.

Rena had told him that the official word was that Max had died of a drug overdose, but he’d instantly known that was bullshit. Max had lost too many family members and friends to drugs like the ones that had been found in his system, he’d fought to keep those sorts of drugs away from other kids. It hadn’t made any sense. But from those few days spent in the Bowery, Jason had discovered that the Maroni family had pretty much dissolved with Sal in prison, and the Falcones had pretty much moved on over to Blüdhaven. So Roman Sionis, the Black Mask, had moved in to fill the vacuum left behind in the drug trade in that neighborhood.

He hadn’t been able to prove it, at least he hadn’t yet, but he’d been able to feel in his bones, in his very soul, that Max had been murdered. And as certain as he still was about that, he was still just as certain that Sionis had been responsible. Maybe he’d been threatened by what Max had been doing to clean up the Bowery and felt he’d had to get rid of him so he could take over the operation there. No matter what the reason was, it was something he still had to get to the bottom of; he was sure that Sionis would rear his ugly head again sooner or later. He was almost surprised he hadn’t had a part to play in the occupation of Gotham that night.

But that some of Black Mask’s men had been selling to kids, ones he knew or otherwise, had not been okay with him, it still wasn’t. Sure he may have fatally pushed one of his guys off a fire escape when he hadn’t told him what he’d wanted to know about where to find Sionis, and he could admit it hadn’t made him feel any better about losing his best friend, but that was his own weight to carry. A gunshot wound to the leg had been a small price to pay for breaking the one rule Bruce had been instilling in him since he’d first become Robin.

But the pain, the anger, had just been too much.

As frustrated as he’d been at first, Jason had been grateful that Dick had found him and brought him back to the manor when he had. He’d been grateful for the fun night out they’d had together. He still wasn’t sure what would have happened had he been allowed to keep spiraling into the darkness of his best friend’s death on his own, he was a little afraid of what sort of things he would have done if he hadn’t been found and brought back from that ledge. Grieving was even more difficult alone.

But looking Bruce in the face after what he’d done when he’d returned home from what he’d had to do with the League had been just as difficult if not one of the hardest things he’d ever done. What he hadn’t expected was his adopted father’s clear relief that he’d come home, that he’d been safe, as he’d pulled him into a tight hug and assured him that they could figure out and fix everything together. He hadn’t been ready to throw him out. He hadn’t been going to let him go down a road he’d been terrified to go down, not alone.

And Jason had believed him as he’d hugged him back just as tightly, finally allowing himself to cry for Max.

And he had to remind himself of all his mentor had done in the aftermath for his best friend’s memory. He’d paid for Max’s funeral and had attended it with him, as had Dick and Barbara. He’d made sure that Max’s remaining family and fiancée were provided for. He’d continued funding the programs Max had started and had been operating to benefit the Bowery so they could continue, so the orphaned kids they cared about so much had what they needed. He’d even started a charity in his name.

How he could have forgotten those things when they’d been so important to him, he wasn’t sure… Fuck the Joker.

Jason gasped quietly when he realized his restless pacing had brought him to the edge of the rooftop. He paused, teetering ever so slightly, as he gazed at the hard ground far below. His heart skipped a beat as his stomach lurched, his breath leaving him.

It hadn’t even been a full year after Max’s funeral when he’d believed his own life had been about to end. He’d never forget that haunting, grating laugh for as long as he lived.

“Well, well, well… Hello, Jason.”

Jason hadn’t understood how Bruce had been able to stay so calm after everything they’d seen after Joker had attacked that school. Then again, he’d spent a lot of time on his own in the aftermath, likely dealing with it in his own way. He’d been the one who’d acted rashly, who’d leapt in to do what his mentor would never do. But he’d had no choice at that point.

He’d tried to wait— to wait until Bruce would just talk to him, to wait until Dick could make it from Blüdhaven, to wait for his own rage to ease. But he just hadn’t been able to. He hadn’t been able to get the horrific images of those kids out of his mind. He’d thought of how those kids easily could have been Tatum or Colton or Liam or any of the others he cared about who could have been hurt when Joker had attacked the Bowery that fateful day. How all of this could have been prevented if Bruce hadn’t stopped him from pulling the damn trigger then, if he hadn’t hesitated to do so first.

He couldn’t forget what he’d seen in the rubble of the school that day for as long as he lived. He’d just barely been able to stomach it when he and Bruce had been called in. He’d contacted his brother when he’d felt himself spiraling, recognizing he’d been about to do something rash and once again break that code, that one rule, and cross that line he wasn’t ever supposed to cross. But it hadn’t helped how he’d felt. It hadn’t quelled that rage. He’d tried to listen to Dick, he’d tried to wait, really he had. But his mind had long been made up, he’d just needed a reason to follow it, consequences be damned.

The clown had to die.

Knowing Dick and Bruce would never approve, knowing that he could likely never come back to the manor after he’d done what he’d planned to do since they wouldn’t want him to, Jason had donned his Robin gear, removed the tracker from the suit, and left his comms unit behind. He’d meant for only himself to take this road, to carry this weight, to be caught in this crossfire. Because he’d also known deep in his core that once he’d found Joker, only one of them would walk away alive.

And really, in a lot of ways, it had been only Joker who’d walked away with his life, even though he’d survived, too. He’d always been one step ahead of everyone after all, even Bruce, though his mentor would likely never admit it. He’d lost so much of himself within the cold, dark walls of Arkham. He’d tracked the clown there, but his adversary had known he was coming, he’d led him straight to him. Jason’s life had ended in that net Joker had ensnared him in.

“Joker got to you, Jason. I know what it’s like!”

“Don’t pretend to understand!”

Jason dropped to a knee at the edge of the rooftop, letting out a trembling breath. He absently watched as a few shreds of pollen landed on his gloves, his gaze faltering.

How could Bruce ever understand what had happened to him?

Sure, he understood how Joker had operated more than most; there had always been some sort of twisted connection between them. And the clown may have preyed on Bruce’s connections with his family, friends, and allies on many occasions, he’d tried to break them all and take them out, even. But he had never taken his mentor and burrowed so deeply into his soul, his very being, hollowed out everything that made him who he was, twisted every memory he had, broken him so completely that he’d believed every lie, ended his life as he knew it, filled him with nothing but hatred…

All because he thought it was one big, hilarious fucking joke.

Steady footsteps drew closer, echoing around the empty ward of the asylum.

He gasped, jerking to awareness and wincing when the barbed wire wrapped around his chest and shoulders that secured his torso, arms, and legs to a wheelchair bit into his skin. He tried to look around him, to see who else was there, but everything was dark. The black bag Joker put over his head whenever he moved him around Arkham so he wouldn’t know where he was must have still been on.

“... Batman? Is… that you…?” He knew it was unlikely; he’d been asking that same question, calling out for his mentor, for so long now, but it was never him. He’d come for him, though, he knew he would, he knew Bruce could figure out how to find him.

Of course he would… He had to…

But, just like every time before, the answer he received wasn’t the one he wanted. He flinched as the quiet but no less haunting chuckle burrowed beneath his skin.

“Batman’s not coming to save you, Jason,” Joker murmured from behind him, right in his ear.

He squinted in the dim light when the bag was ripped off his head. “He’ll come…” he whispered. He was sure of it. Bruce always did.

“Oh, but it’s been six months now, Jason,” Joker told him jovially. … Had it really been that long…? “Six months of this fun we’ve been having together. I think it’s time for you to face the facts.”

He looked away, not even wanting to humor the clown. Bruce would find him. Bruce would be there. He knew he would be… “Fuck you!” he spat.

Joker laughed. “That’s the spirit, Jason my boy! I was afraid you were starting to lose it. But you’re a real chip off the ol’ Bat block, y’know that? Not that it will do you any good.”

His battered ribs creaked as he tried to shift a little in the wheelchair, to try to get away from his captor, causing a near silent whimper of pain to break through his cracked lips. His eyes were beginning to adjust to the dim lighting, and his gaze faltered when the first thing he saw was the dark blood that stained the floor of the room. His blood.

Over the past few months, he’d been beaten, drugged, shocked, drowned, burned, had his senses deprived, had his senses overstimulated, starved, dehydrated, tortured … It was constant, endless. He was exhausted; he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take before his body just completely gave out on him. He knew the clown liked to play games, especially when Batman was concerned. But this? He wasn’t sure what Joker was trying to accomplish with him. Surely if he were trying to stick it to his nemesis, it would have been worse for Bruce if he’d just ended it all those months ago and rubbed it in his face… right?

“Why… why won’t you just kill me…?” His voice broke. He couldn’t keep doing this. That little spark of fight he had left in him was quickly dimming; just cursing at the clown had taken a lot out of him.

“What?” Joker seemed almost offended by this suggestion. “No, no, no, no, Jason! I’m not going to kill you! Well…” He paused briefly in thought. “Not yet, anyway. There’s still so much more fun to be had before then!”

After everything he’d been through for as long as he had been, he honestly almost wished he would just get it over with and do it. He hardly had the strength anymore to be able to sit up straight. The only thing keeping him going was telling himself his mentor, his adopted father, would find him and bring him home. That Bruce wouldn’t abandon him…

“We’ve had so much fun that you’re my sidekick now, I’d hate to give you up so soon,” Joker continued, almost ecstatic as he leaned on the back of the wheelchair and shook his captive’s shoulder good-naturedly. He winced at the pain that traveled down his arm from the barbed wire. “Just imagine it. You and me, out on the streets, picking on the weak. A regular dynamic duo!”

Please, he thought. Just kill me. He and Bruce may not have always gotten along, but he’d rather die than help the murderous clown with anything. Especially if it harmed his adopted father in any way.

A cruel gleam appeared in Joker’s toxic green eyes, a wide, sinister smile spreading across his bleached face. “Just like Bats and that new kid of his.”

The breath left him as dread replaced it. New kid…? That couldn’t be true, Bruce would never…

“No… he wouldn’t…” He couldn’t believe it, he just wouldn’t. Bruce wouldn’t abandon him like that, he wouldn’t replace him as soon as he had the chance…

… Would he…?

“You think?” Joker tilted his head thoughtfully. “So… you’re saying this isn’t Batman, then?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his captor had pulled out a photograph from his suit jacket pocket and was eagerly trying to show it to him. But he refused to look. He couldn’t look at it. That would mean it was real, that finally after everything they’ve been through, both the good and the bad, Bruce had finally given up on him, had tossed him aside as soon as the opportunity arose, hadn’t hesitated to replace him with someone new…

Had he even bothered looking for him at all? It was a question he didn’t think he wanted to know the answer to. But if Joker was right and it’d been six months…

Bruce surely would have found him by now if he really had been looking… right?

He flinched when Joker set a sturdy hand on his shoulder. “Huh, weird. The pointy ears are usually a dead giveaway,” he mused with a chuckle. “And y’know, the new little bird’s got a bit of a different color scheme going on. More red and black rather than red and green, and I guess he can just go for it if it works for him. But I’m much more partial to the classic colors like the first kiddo had that you’ve still got going if I do say so myself… But hell, what do I know? Maybe this color scheme is more in fashion this season. What do you think, Jason?”

He glanced up at the clown, preparing a snappy comeback, but it escaped him when the photograph was shoved in his face. And sure enough. Bruce in the familiar black cowl and cape, prominently placed in the photo, talking with Commissioner Gordon. But next to him… next to him was another teenager with black hair, a black domino over his eyes, wearing a red and black suit not too different in make from his own. On his chest, over his heart, an unmistakable yellow “R”.

“No…”

When he’d first seen that photograph, Jason had never felt more hatred for anyone in his life. But who that hatred was for, or if it’d been for both Batman and his new little soldier, or even if it’d been for himself, he hadn’t been sure at the time. Bruce had forgotten him, hadn’t cared about him, had thrown him away, had replaced him without a thought. Or so he’d been made to believe. But at the time, it’d felt like Willis all over again.

And the new kid…

It had been after he’d gotten off Arkham Island and had been following Bruce’s movements, waiting for the right opportunity to kill him, when he’d recognized the next Robin as Tim Drake. He hadn’t known the neighbor kid well when he’d been living in Wayne Manor, he didn’t think they’d ever even met, but he did remember that he’d attended some of Bruce’s charity events whenever his family was in Gotham. And really, it made sense that their closest next door neighbor would be the one to figure out who his family really was and choose to be part of the vigilante life as Dick had said. Why he’d choose such a life, he’d never know. Jason shuddered, thinking of the times when he’d been keeping a close eye on the manor, when he’d watched Tim with Bruce, Alfred, Dick when he was in town, a pretty blonde girl he clearly loved, a blond boy he seemed close with, and how each time he’d considered— out of that deep anger he’d felt at Bruce, at being replaced as he’d been made to believe at the time— just ending the kid then and there. And just how close he’d come to doing so; it’d have been a favor to him, he’d figured then, to spare him from the life of misery that being a vigilante inevitably led to.

But he hadn’t, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it, despite that rage. Though the closest call had been when Tim had tried to stop him at Wayne Tower as he was stealing from Bruce to pay off Slade for letting him escape.

He tightened his hold on his gun as he watched the kid who now bore the “R” gasp for breath on the floor in front of him, gloved hands frantically feeling at the gash in his neck and over his collarbone from the blade that had struck true. His eyes were wide, almost pleading behind his domino as he looked up at him, putting pressure on the gushing wound.

Crimson. So much crimson.

He rested a finger lightly on the trigger, the weapon aimed for a killing blow. It’d be too easy to get rid of this kid. Bruce would regret replacing him. He would make sure of it.

But something deep down stilled his hand. He lowered his gun. The new kid would learn soon enough that being Batman’s sidekick was its own personal hell. He’d regret taking his place if he survived.

He finished taking what he’d come for from the Tower. With one last glance at the new kid, seeing he was reaching for his emergency beacon, he turned and left.

Jason had told Dick that as Robin, Tim needed some more work; in reality, Tim had held his own against him decently, especially since Jason had thrown each knife strike, had shot each bullet, with the intention to kill him since they’d finally been face to face. He was glad he’d refrained; he may have gotten close to ending the kid’s life, but he hadn’t deserved that. He deserved a chance to be that symbol of hope.

He was glad his opinion on Tim had changed, that despite Joker’s best efforts and machinations, he’d been able to accept that the kid had the title now. It hadn’t been easy— seeing someone else wearing the Robin symbol had initially gutted him. Realistically, he knew the title had never been his, per se; it had always belonged to Dick, even after he’d moved on to become Nightwing, since the name had been given to him by his mother. He’d never been able to live up to the older man, that had always been abundantly clear. But he’d earned the right to bear it in his own way. Both his brother and Bruce had told him so. That it’d been so easy for his mentor to give the “R” to someone else when he’d only been missing for six months— as Joker had drilled into him, at least— had made him question how hard Bruce had actually looked for him during that time. It had filled him with as much rage as he’d had in him when he’d decided to hunt Joker down to begin with while at the same time, it had drained all the fight out of him.

Bruce had given up on him, had left him behind. His adopted father hadn’t been coming to save him. Or so he’d thought. There was nothing left to fight for, not that he could see. He’d often wished that Joker would just kill him and be done with him. He and others had caused him so much pain already, he’d put the final nail in the coffin with that photograph. He hadn’t seen anything left for him on the other side of that pain, that agony. He’d given up.

But that had been exactly what Joker had wanted— it was what had allowed him to finally start being able to mold him into exactly what he’d wanted him to be.

“I didn’t want to show you that photo, Jason, really I didn’t. But, well…” Joker paused with a sigh. “It was the only way for you to get closure. So we can keep having our fun.”

He didn’t respond; he just kept staring blankly at his blood staining the floor. He was going to die here, nothing else mattered. Bruce had left him, replaced him, moved on, forgotten him…

Then, he flinched when the familiar sound of a metallic crowbar scraped against the hard floor as the clown began to circle him.

“Now I know it hurts,” Joker said matter-of-factly. He gave him a look full of fake sympathy. “And I’m sorry about that, I really am. I don’t want to hurt you, Jason. But sometimes, you gotta be cruel to be kind.”

He looked up in time to see that his captor had raised the weapon and was taking careful aim at him. His eyes widened in fear. “... Please don’t do it again…” he murmured.

But his plea fell on deaf ears as he gritted his teeth, trying to keep back a cry of pain when the crowbar connected solidly with his chest, robbing him of breath and fight.

The torture had continued for a few more months after that, one day blending into the next, for over a year total. And every day, he’d wished for it all to just end, for Joker or Harley or whoever else had wanted to get their hands on him to just end it all. He had nothing left. Nothing but misery and agony with no end. He’d pleaded, cried, screamed for death until his throat was bruised raw. But of course, it was a mercy the murderous clown would never grant. It was too easy, it wouldn’t be fun for him.

“What’s wrong, Jason? Do you think I’m going to hurt you? I’m not the bad one here. Oh, no, no, no, no. It’s Batman. He’s abandoned you… left you here with me for all this time so we can continue to have fun and play our little game… thrown you away like an unwanted puppy…”

And for so long, Jason had believed him since he hadn’t seen anything to the contrary. He hadn’t bought into Joker’s attempts to twist him into seeing him as the “good guy”, that everything he and others were doing was meant to “help” him. He’d caused him nothing but pain. Despite it all, he’d never believe that. But he had been made to believe that Bruce was the greater of two evils. He hadn’t done what had needed to be done to stop the clown after all the atrocities he’d committed. He hadn’t come for him, he hadn’t saved him from Joker. He’d abandoned him, he’d left him to die. He’d easily replaced him. Each time Joker had driven that knife in further, each time he’d reminded him of how little he meant to his adopted father, with each hit that’d come with it, he, Bruce, Willis… they’d all blended together until they were one and the same. There was no difference between the three. And each time had only filled his empty, broken heart with more anger, more hate.

“Just make sure people know he’s yours.”

He winced when he hit the hard floor, the tight muscles in his arms burning from being tied above his head, suspending him from that hook on the ceiling for so long. He looked up at the Joker through half-lidded eyes, but they widened in fear when he saw the burning metal “J” in his hands.

“I want to keep him forever.”

He scrambled backwards into the shadows of the room behind him without even thinking about it— the shadows had always been a safe place for him, they’d kept him hidden from his dad and other dangerous people on the streets of the Bowery who’d meant him harm. Even Bruce had reinforced the idea that shadows were a place of safety in his Robin training.

“No… n-no, please! Please no! No!”

Joker’s haunting laughter as he’d screamed in agony when the brand seared into his left cheek echoed faintly through his skull. Jason brushed his fingers over the scar, his smoky gaze faltering. He’d meant what he’d said to Dick that he couldn’t stand to look at himself in the mirror and see the reminder of all he had been through at the hands of his captor blatantly staring back at him, his brand marking him forever. Making him his. All the pain, all the agony, what he’d been made into, Joker…

“Or it could be for Jason. Y’know, make the meaning your own. Take away his power, Jay. He’s gone. You’re still here. Own it.”

Rose’s words drowned out the clown’s laughter, even if he still couldn’t stand the sight of that “J”. She’d been such an unexpected positive in his life since they’d met again after he’d escaped from Arkham Island. He wasn’t sure what he’d do without her, or even Jericho. While she hadn’t been able to completely stop him from what he’d felt so strongly about needing to do when it came to his mentor— the hate that had been instilled in him had been too much— she had been able to keep him grounded enough to keep his focus there instead of allowing his rage to lead him to do more that he would regret. She’d helped him prepare ways to protect himself while dealing with people like Crane and Slade, to plan how to get them out of the way once he’d accomplished what he wanted to since he knew they’d do the same to him as soon as they got the chance. She was waiting for him in Blüdhaven with her brother when he was finished with all that he’d set out to do. She’d given him something good among all the bad while the weight of all that had happened to him, of all he had done and was doing, was threatening to consume him.

“You’re more than what Joker did or what my dad’s got hanging over you, Jay. I’ve known you long enough by now to know that about you. I’ll be here when you’re ready to see that, too.”

He was trying to see what she did, he really was. And ever so slowly, he was able to pull apart more of the threads of Joker’s lies about the incident to uncover what had actually happened. Barbara, Dick… even Bruce… they’d all expressed how they’d searched hard for him, how they still loved him and wanted him to come home even though he felt like he couldn’t and didn’t deserve to, how they’d all been mourning him, how they’d seen him die because Joker…

Jason hadn’t understood why his family had been mourning him when he hadn’t died, or how they could have seen him die when he hadn’t. They’d mentioned a video Joker had sent them of the clown killing him, of him dying, but how could that have happened when he’d survived his captivity?

“Jason? But… you’re dead.”

“What’s the matter? Lost for words? I expected more… I’m hurt.”

“Joker sent me the film… I saw him kill you.”

“Don’t you dare lie to me! How long did you wait before replacing me with the neighbor kid, huh? A month? A week ? I trusted you… and you just left me to die!”

“That’s not what happened.”

He couldn’t remember a tape of his supposed death specifically being made to send to his adopted father. He hadn’t realized any of his torture had been filmed for his family to see, but there must have been a camera installed somewhere he just hadn’t noticed. But their claims of seeing him die because Joker had sent them a film of it had sounded like excuses, lies… just so they wouldn’t have had to look for him. So they wouldn’t have to carry that guilt. Though he had to admit it sounded like something the clown would do, it was something he would have found absolutely hilarious. He just didn’t know when…

And then it clicked.

“Have you got something to tell the nice man, Jason?”

“My name is Jason Todd.”

“Who do you hate?”

“Batman.”

“Excellent. Of course you do.”

Joker had succeeded.

His efforts had broken his will and spirit, had drained all the fight out of him, had made him lose himself, had twisted him into someone— something— he didn’t recognize, had made him hate people he loved. He’d been empty, not there, not himself. He remembered the questions being asked, he remembered answering them robotically, the words dragged out of him not only because he’d believed them to be true at the time, but also because his captor had commanded it.

“Did you get that, Bats? Kid’s not yours anymore. He’s mine. Mine, mine, mine. To do with as I wish.”

And Joker had. He’d taken the hatred for Bruce that he’d been feeding him and molded him with it, fine tuning him until all that remained in him was the desire and will to kill his mentor.

“Hey, I never asked. What’s the big secret, hm? Who is the big bad bat? His name. Tell me!”

“Of course, sir. It’s—!”

A chill ran through Jason at how easily, how willingly, he’d nearly divulged Batman’s secret identity. Joker hadn’t really wanted to know, of course, that would ruin all the fun for him. But it’d shown him, and shown his family, how far gone he’d been. It’d shown just how much Joker had cracked his mind open and twisted it to his own whims— he’d never refer to the murderous clown as “sir” if he was in his right mind.

He’d heard the gunshot before he could say Bruce’s name. He’d felt the solid impact of the bullet striking his chest. He hadn’t made a sound as he’d fallen limply to the floor, the force knocking the breath out of him. He hadn’t moved for he wasn’t sure how long, wishing the shot had been enough to end his torment. But of course it hadn’t been, that would have been too easy, it wouldn’t have been funny enough. The bulletproof vest beneath his Robin suit had ensured his survival to keep the game going.

But what Joker had done had been funny enough for him. Just killing him would have been too quick, it wouldn’t be a big enough punchline for him. On the other hand, showing Bruce how he’d broken him so completely, showing Batman that he’d lost him and that he’d belonged to Joker, then supposedly killing him… well, that had been the perfect joke.

Jason’s breath shook as his eyes burned with stubborn tears.

He wasn’t supposed to make it off Arkham Island. But after that video he now knew had been recorded, anger had been allowed to grow out of the pain, the emptiness. Anger that had fully consumed him, that had given him the desire to do whatever he’d had to do to ease the pain he’d been trying to suppress with that rage. A bullet between Bruce’s eyes had seemed to be the only way to stop that agony at the time; he’d obsessed about it while in captivity, he’d prepared for just how to do it. And when Joker’s plans involving the riots in Arkham Asylum and the Titan formula had fallen through months later, he’d taken his opportunity to escape and put his own plans in motion.

It’d all gone smoothly, all things considered. He’d managed to get past Slade Wilson easily enough by bribing him with more than Joker had already been paying him. Taking the tracker he’d implanted in him out had hurt just about as much as it had being put in, but at least the mercenary could no longer hunt him down. He’d barely kept himself from killing Tim when he’d robbed Bruce by taking from the accounts meant for Batman to pay off Slade like he’d promised.

But what he hadn’t anticipated was Rose Wilson.

It hadn’t been long after he’d left Wayne Tower and his fight with the new Robin that she’d appeared, attempting to stop him since he’d been wearing a Deathstroke helmet. He hadn’t blamed her for attacking, he knew what it looked like, but he hadn’t had any better way to hide his identity. He had understood her anger, he’d still been Robin when Dick had somehow used those charming ways of his and managed to convince her to turn against her father after Slade had blinded her in one eye. His brother had trained her himself for some time, and Jason was glad he’d gotten to join in since that had fostered his friendship with Rose, as slow as she’d been to trust him at first.

But especially since they’d trained together, and had both been trained in part by Dick, they’d been evenly matched in their scuffle, despite how she’d been using both a sword and bo staff and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to shoot her. It’d only come to an end when one of her blows with her staff accidentally knocked his helmet loose and revealed his face.

“Jason?! What the hell? You’ve been gone for over a year, and you’re working with my dad now?!”

“No, fuck no. I can’t stand Slade. It’s a, uh… it’s a long story… but I can’t have anyone recognizing me, and this was the best I got… Can you please stop pointing your sword at me? It’s making it hard to think.”

“... Fine. But you look awful, Jay. Seriously. How long’s it been since you had a good meal and a shower?”

“... Too damn long…”

“Come on then, Boy Wonder. We’ve got some catching up to do.”

Which is how he’d wound up at her small, temporary apartment in the East End that she shared with Jericho, a place he’d felt comfortable enough in at the time since it wasn’t an area someone like Bruce or Dick would have wandered into normally on a daily basis. Not to mention he’d known Rose wouldn’t have told them that he was there unless he’d told her to; she may have been an ally to his family now, but she didn’t work with them often or keep in the closest contact with them unless it was necessary. Rose hadn’t seemed to mind the idea of putting him up for as long as he’d needed, and Jericho had been relieved to see him.

For the first time in he wasn’t sure how long, he felt a tiny hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as Jericho hurried over to him. His light eyes moved over him, and his brow furrowed in concern while he frowned as he took in his sorry state. But then, he tensed when he saw the Deathstroke helmet under his arm.

“Not mine,” he was quick to assure him. “Just borrowing it. I still hate your dad, don’t worry.”

A moment passed before Jericho relaxed again, meeting his gaze with relief. His hands moved quickly in question.

It’s been so long we were afraid of the worst. Are you okay? What happened to you, Jason?

He considered his answer. “I will be,” he replied, signing along out of habit even though the older man could hear him. ASL was one of the main languages that Bruce had taught him in his Robin training since it would be one of the most useful for him, and he’d been one of the people who’d helped Jericho learn it after what Slade had done to render him mute. “Long story that I really don’t want to go into right now. Rose promised a shower and some food?”

Both siblings had been more than willing to help him relax and settle in. Jason had taken the longest shower of his life, feeling only the slightest bit bad that he’d used all the hot water. But no temperature had been hot enough to sear and wash away all that had happened to him in Arkham. He’d spent almost as much time just staring at himself in the mirror, taking in every scar that littered his body from his time in the asylum, permanent reminders of all the torture, all the pain. It was the same with the way his shoulders were now always hunched forward with how he’d been tied to the wheelchair with barbed wire for so long. He hadn’t been able to even look at the raised, angry “J” on his left cheek. Joker had ensured that he would never be able to forget all that he had done to him; he might have survived it, but there was plenty to always remind him.

Alone in that tiny, steamy bathroom, he’d sobbed. All the pain, all the agony, all the anger spilled out of him, clearing room for all that he now had to do with that rage.

Digging in what he had supposed he could call a medicine cabinet, he’d applied some antiseptic that wasn’t that long out of date to a couple of the most recent injures he’d gotten at the asylum and in the fights with both Rose and Tim. He’d slipped into a pair of sweatpants that Jericho had let him borrow since they were close enough in size, starting to pull a black t-shirt on from him as well as he’d stepped out of the bathroom.

Jason had known immediately Rose saw the scars by the way her eye had quickly traveled over him before her gaze faltered. She’s seen them all since anyway, as he knew all of hers. But she hadn’t said a word about them then, which he’d been grateful for. Instead, she’d asked what he’d wanted to do for dinner. When he’d insisted on going out instead of takeout— the apartment had been a bit confining— she’d recommended a hole-in-the-wall dive bar she regularly frequented.

“We’re not twenty-one yet.”

“Hasn’t stopped us before, we’re close enough. Besides, we’re in the East End, Jay. No one gives a shit.”

She’d tossed him his own leather jacket, which he’d let her borrow once but she hadn’t had a chance to return before he’d gone after Joker, advising that it gets chilly at night, and they’d left. Jericho had already eaten and had let them go have their fun.

“Hey, Patches!” the balding bartender greeted as they walked into the dimly lit, smoke-filled bar.

Jason arched a curious eyebrow at Rose, but she didn’t seem offended as she waved back with a grin. “Patches?” he repeated.

“Stand down, Boy Wonder,” Rose told him with a teasing smile as they meandered through the bustling tables. “We've been cool ever since I stopped a couple people trying to rob the register.”

“Ah. So that’s why you can get in here when you’re not twenty-one.”

Rose rolled her eye, but the cheerful look remained. “As I said, no one gives a shit here. You know that as well as I do.”

Jason didn’t have an argument for that.

The bartender was finishing up cleaning a glass when they approached the bar and took a couple of empty stools. “The usual, dear?” he wondered.

“Yes, please.” Rose shot Jason a glance. “Make it two.” She turned to him when the bartender hurried off to grab a couple glasses for their drinks. “You look like you could use something to take the edge off, Jay.”

Jason let out a low breath. “Ain’t that the truth,” he muttered.

Rose regarded him curiously a little while later as they sipped on their old fashioneds and snacked on their chicken quesadillas, spicy fries, and crazy bread, which Jason was devouring. “So, want to tell me what happened to you now?” she asked.

A moment passed as Jason finished another fry before he answered. “No.” The pop radio station was playing loudly enough to cover their conversation, but even so, there was no way he could talk about all that had happened while in the murderous clown’s custody in Arkham.

“Fair enough.” Rose took another sip of her drink, gazing at him intently over the rim. “Wanna at least tell me why you were wearing a helmet that looks an awful lot like my dad’s? I believe you when you say you’re not working with him, Jay, I don’t see why you would, but…”

Jason considered his response as he took a bite of another quesadilla. “Your dad helped me out,” he finally settled on before quickly clarifying, “for a high price. I couldn’t have people recognizing me, and, well, there weren’t any other options.”

“Of course. He’ll do almost anything if you pay him enough.”

A quiet chuckle escaped from him despite himself, but it didn’t last as Jason’s smoky gaze faltered. “Speaking of, as much as I appreciate the shower, change of clothes, and dinner, I shouldn’t stick around,” he said. “Slade put a tracker in me, he knows my identity, and I don’t want you or Jericho to get caught up in all this just because you’re helping me.”

Rose’s eye immediately moved to where he absently scratched at his collarbone. “Sweet of you, but I’m not too worried about him,” she replied. “Jericho and I have been keeping track of his movements. Other than wherever he’s been the past few months, he spends most of his time in Blüdhaven giving your brother a hard time. I doubt he’ll come looking for you unless you don’t keep up your end of the deal. You’re paying him, right?”

“Yeah, I put him on retainer.”

She shrugged. “Then you’re fine.”

After the bartender came by and made them each another drink, and they ordered another quesadilla plate and side of spicy fries, Rose once again regarded Jason carefully. “You were gone a long time y’know, Jay,” she murmured. “Bruce contacted me once, months ago, asking if I’d seen you or knew anything about where you were. Dick, too. They were looking hard for you.”

Jason’s hand shook as he tightened it around his short glass. “Funny that it didn’t take him long to get a new fucking Robin then, isn’t it?”

Rose frowned. “Jay, I don’t think that’s what happ—!”

“Look, I don’t want to fucking talk about Bruce Wayne, okay?” Jason snapped, his voice rising ever so slightly. “Just fucking drop it.” The bartender glanced over at them curiously.

Rose narrowed her eye at him, and Jason sighed as he looked away from her and picked up a couple fries. He may have had a lot involving his former mentor ahead of him to do, that the older man more than deserved, but he didn’t want her as his enemy, too. She and her brother were the first people to show him kindness in over a year. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “It’s just… it’s a sore subject.”

He glanced back up with surprise when Rose set a light hand on his knee. With a slight smirk, she held up her glass to him. “To having difficult dads we don’t get along with,” she sarcastically toasted.

Jason clinked his glass against hers, not knowing what else to do, and they each drained the rest of their drinks.

After the bartender came by once more when they’d finished up their food and poured them one more round, Rose pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her jeans pocket and took one out for herself and one for her companion. Jason accepted it gratefully, taking a drag off it as soon as she lit it for him.

“So, what’s next for you, Boy Wonder?” she wondered, blowing smoke away from him. “Where do you go from here?”

There was really only one answer he could give. Jason exhaled some smoke before taking another sip of his drink, his face darkening. “I’m going to kill Batman and save Gotham.”

They’d walked back to Rose’s apartment a while after that, having slowly been sipping on their drinks and ordering more appetizers. All matters about Bruce had been dropped since they’d wanted to wait until they were more clear-headed to discuss them. It’d been late by the time they’d made it back, Jericho had already been asleep in his room but had left the living room light on for them. Despite his protests, Rose had insisted he take her bed since he clearly hadn’t slept in one in a long time while she took the couch. He’d fallen asleep immediately.

But it had only lasted a couple of hours before he’d woken up screaming from nightmares of crowbars, brands, a familiar bleached white face and a sinister crimson smile, Joker’s haunting laughter echoing in his ears. He’d lashed out at Rose in his dream-fueled haze when she had come to check on him, Jericho watching with worry from the doorway, but she’d managed to pin his arms and legs to the mattress until he’d calmed down and managed to pull himself out of the vivid night terrors. He remembered the worry on her face as she’d looked down on him, her silver hair falling out of her messy ponytail, begging him to take deep breaths, to snap out of it, telling him that he was okay, that he was safe, asking what the hell had happened.

And he’d told her.

Jason had sobbed into her lap as everything rushed out of him— Joker attacking the school, him going after him alone and getting caught, the endless torture, Bruce abandoning him to it all, replacing him, him wanting it all just to end, him taking the only chance he could to escape when it was presented to him, all of it. How he’d still wanted all the pain to end; he was scared to think about what might have happened if he hadn’t been in a safe place with people he’d trusted. He’d been drained by the time his rambling had come to an end, feeling a little calmed with her there as her thin, calloused fingers lightly threaded through his unruly black hair while her brother had gone to get him some water.

“Can… can you stay with me, Rose…? Please…”

She had.

Looking back on it, Jason now knew that all the disillusioned rage he’d harbored at Bruce for his apparent wrongdoings was all to cover up the pain he’d been through in his time with Joker. A pain with nowhere else to go so it came out as anger. But it had been enough to fuel him in all his preparations for his adopted father over the next year— closely following and documenting his, Dick’s, and Tim’s movements; training the militia Slade had purchased with his payment in Valle de las Guerras in Venezuela alongside Deathstroke so they would all be well versed in Batman’s ways; choosing his new moniker as the Arkham Knight since he knew it would haunt and harm Bruce as soon as he’d realized who he was— both because of the play on the Dark Knight name he used, and as a taunt of how he’d been under his nose in Arkham the entire time; convincing Crane, who’d wanted to gather as many villainous people as he could together, to team with him to achieve their goal of killing Batman.

And Jason had still been convinced even just a couple of hours earlier that he’d been prepared for it, that his adopted father’s death was what he’d wanted more than anything, that it was what would make his pain go away. He’d spent a lot of time when he hadn’t been needed by Crane or Slade the past week with Rose before having her and Jericho leave Gotham before the occupation that had happened, just trying to keep himself grounded. He’d envisioned the moment he’d fire a bullet straight between Bruce’s eyes over and over and over again so he wouldn’t hesitate. Not again.

“You always told me, Bruce… focus on what I want to achieve… and it’ll happen. Well, you want to know what I want now, huh? I want you dead.”

And he’d fully believed it when he’d said those words in his mentor’s face, pressing the barrel of his pistol beneath Bruce’s chin. Because after playing a dangerous cat and mouse game with him all over Gotham all night, he’d finally gotten his chance to follow through in Killinger’s— it had just been him and Bruce, no more games, no more Crane telling him he couldn’t kill him like he’d wanted to. It had finally been time.

“Who are you?”

With Batman always being lauded as such a great detective, it’d given Jason a little surge of pride that Bruce had even asked that question. That he hadn’t been able to figure that answer out. That he’d sounded so tired, so worn down, so defeated when he’d asked. The resignation in the older man’s smoky blue eyes when he’d revealed his face told him that maybe his adopted father had known, deep down, that it had been him, but he hadn’t been able to admit it to himself because that would mean admitting to all his faults that had brought them to this moment. And that had given him a lot of satisfaction, knowing Bruce would feel that crushing guilt before he died.

They’d fought, they’d gone back and forth trying to best each other, but every time Jason had gotten into an ideal spot to snipe him dead, Bruce had managed to reach him, each time trying to talk sense into him, to get through to him. Though he’d tried to resist his efforts at every turn.

“Jason, I can help you!”

“Joker got to you, Jason. I know what it’s like!”

“Stand down, Robin!”

“You’re Robin, Jason. You’re not what he made you!”

“Stop! Stop talking to me!”

As soon as he’d screamed in mounting frustration at his mentor, Jason had tackled Bruce off the vantage point he’d had, and they’d fallen to the hard ground below together.

Jason’s breath left him as he landed hard on his back. He’d lost his rifle, but he found he couldn’t move since he hadn’t been able to take a full breath in yet. His body was refusing to cooperate after the impact.

But Bruce, who’d landed beside him, was already moving, looming over him, fist raised to land a forceful blow. Jason’s gaze faltered when he saw the anger beneath the cowl, fear gripping his heart. Bruce’s face faded in and out, interchangeable with the furious face of Willis he knew so well, they were one and the same… and he raised his gloved hands in front of him protectively as he waited for the punch he knew would land.

Though the hit never came.

Jason’s brow furrowed in confusion when instead, Bruce’s face softened ever so slightly as he lowered his fist and moved off him before he got to his feet. He watched after his mentor, his furiously racing mind attempting to process what had just happened. Bruce hadn’t harmed him when he’d had the chance to. Bruce wasn’t like Willis, who had never hesitated. But… that’s not what he had said Bruce would do. He had said Bruce had abandoned him, that he didn’t care about him, that he’d thrown him away…

So why hadn’t he…?

He slowly pushed himself up on one arm, his intense gaze meeting Bruce’s, who was watching him silently. “You did this to me,” he hissed.

Bruce steadily held his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice once again exhausted.

Jason let out a shaking breath. I’m sorry. Those were two words he’d never heard from his dad. Two words he’d never heard from his captor in a genuine way. But Bruce… it sounded like he’d meant them.

No… that couldn’t be right… that isn’t what he said…

Shaking his head slightly, Jason pulled out his remaining pistol and aimed it straight at his adopted father’s chest. “You left me in that abandoned wing of Arkham for over a year!” His voice cracked as it rose, but he was surprised that he didn’t sound angry anymore. He sounded hurt. His gaze faltered as he lowered it, unable to look at the older man anymore, his voice trembling as it dropped to a fearful murmur when he managed to get out, “With him…”

The scraping of the crowbar on the hard floor, the haunting laughter both echoed in his ears, a piercing harmony…

“It’s not too late.”

Bruce’s unusually soft, gentle voice had the force needed to break through the noise, and Jason looked back up at him as the cruel, vicious laughter faded away. He was surprised to see that his mentor was offering a gloved hand to him— not to hit, not to hurt, but to help, to offer kindness.

After all that had happened to him, after what he’d done, he was still offering him that grace. It was a mercy his captor had never shown him.

“We can fix this…” Bruce continued. “Together.”

Together…

The word settled in Jason’s bones, burrowed into his soul, soothing him. He could hear his captor’s words, repeated over and over so much that they’d wrapped around his heart in a death grip— how Bruce had abandoned him, how he didn’t care, that he’d replaced him, that he’d tossed him aside…

But that wasn’t the case. His adopted father was right in front of him, offering his hand, he wasn’t angry at him, he wasn’t blaming him, he was taking the responsibility for all that had happened. Despite what he’d been told, had been led to believe, despite what he’d feared, Bruce was there. He wasn’t leaving him. He was there.

No, a quiet voice in the back of his mind told him. He had the chance now to do what he truly wanted. He could shoot him, right here right now, his mentor wasn’t trying to stop him, he wasn’t protecting himself, he didn’t seem afraid of him. It’d be the perfect opportunity.

But a louder part of him shoved that down. What he’d really wanted was for Bruce to be there for him, to not forget him, to not leave him behind. And there he was, he hadn’t forgotten, he hadn’t left him.

Tears threatened to burn in his eyes, and he lowered the gun as he dropped his head to his chest, unable to look at Bruce. He may have wanted to, but he couldn’t bring himself to take his proffered hand. He didn’t deserve that. Not yet.

Seeming to understand, Bruce lowered his hand and turned away from him to give him the time, the space he needed. Just as he always had. By offering his back, he showed he wasn’t afraid, that he trusted him. Jason could hear him start a conversation on his comms.

“Alfred, it’s…” He paused briefly with a quiet sigh, sounding like he needed to compose himself, too. “I’ve found Jason.”

Something about the heaviness of those last three words caused a single tear to trail down Jason’s scarred cheek. It sounded like they had been looking for him for a long time and had been worn down by not finding him… the relief that they finally had…

It was a weight he wasn’t ready to carry. He couldn’t breathe.

Taking the opportunity with Bruce’s back turned, Jason slipped away, unable to face him.

Which had led him back to the rooftop where all of this had begun for him. It was a bit odd, he thought, to not feel so compelled by misplaced rage toward someone who’d only loved him anymore. He felt lighter, freed from such a singular, hate-fueled focus after being faced with what he’d thought he wanted but getting what he’d actually wanted instead— his adopted father. He felt like he could fully take a breath for the first time in almost two years.

But the night was far from over. Despite the setbacks, Crane wasn’t done. He still had his final plan to set in motion.

The one where Batman, where Bruce, would die.

Jason began to pace restlessly. He knew what Scarecrow had in mind— break down Batman to his core, strip away anything that made him a myth to show the world he was in fact human, and then kill the man that was left over. But first, he planned to break him, which was the purpose Dick’s death would serve, along with the new kid’s if Crane could get his hands on him, too; he was sure he’d find a way to nab them both, he was too clever not to. He wouldn’t be surprised if Jim, who he’d captured earlier, too, would have a role to play in all this, as well. They were all just pawns in Crane’s game. He knew Bruce well enough to know that his biggest fear, the one that Scarecrow could easily manipulate to control his mentor, was losing everyone he loved because he couldn’t protect them. His supposed death at the hands of the Joker had proven that all too easily.

Dick… Tim… Bruce… There were definitely still some issues they’d all have to work on to sort through, but they didn’t deserve to die for Crane’s plan. They wouldn’t have a chance to try to work those things out if they were dead. Besides, he still had every intention to take out Scarecrow and Slade as he had from the start, that hadn’t changed at all.

He just wasn’t sure where this was all going to go down. Crane hadn’t told him the location he intended to have this little party at. But he’d been tracking Bruce’s movements for some time, it’d be easy enough to find and follow him once again; last he’d heard from tapping into his old squadron’s comms units, a new Batmobile— because of course he had a spare after he’d wrecked his old one in the condemned tunnels beneath Killinger’s— had been spotted at GCPD as Slade had unleashed quite a militia force on the police building. Tracking that would be a piece of cake.

But time was of the essence. And he’d have to be careful to make sure that Scarecrow or Deathstroke didn’t know that he was getting involved. He’d be killed if he were discovered, especially with the latter knowing his identity and who he was to Bruce.

Jason paused, taking off his helmet with the visor raised. It had been his spare one he’d worn beneath the Arkham Knight one, just in case Bruce had gotten through it to ensure his identity had remained a secret. But that one had been broken in their fight anyway, so he’d left it back at Killinger’s. Unlike that one with the bat cowl ears, this helmet was completely round, configured in what looked like a red skull. He glanced down at the plain gray chest piece of his suit— Bruce had ripped off the Arkham Asylum insignia during their fight. Inadvertently, his adopted father had helped him to leave the Arkham Knight persona behind him.

Which gave him the opportunity to make a new name for himself again since Robin was also a mantle that was no longer his, and according to Dick, one that Tim rightfully deserved.

A slight smirk appeared at the corner of his lips, the red color giving him an idea.

Over the years, he was aware of many criminals using the name Red Hood as their moniker, there were full gangs of them. They’d been people much like him and others where he’d come from, people who’d fallen on hard times, people who’d never really had a chance to beat the system that always seemed to be working against them. But Joker had been the most well known to ever do it. The clown, in many ways, had taken his life. It was about time he took something back from him, even though he was long dead. As Rose had said, own it. He couldn’t think of a better way to take his power back from the one who’d left him so powerless. Besides, it had a nice ring to it.

He slipped the helmet back on his head, lowering the visor. He refused to let Crane and Slade win. It was time to end this reign of terror, take Gotham back, and free his family.

If he wasn’t already too late.

Chapter Text

Arkham Asylum.

The large, bold letters on the arching metallic sign were the first things Dick was really aware of as they drove under it through the ominous, towering gates. That he was seeing it at all and his captors weren’t hiding it from him didn’t bode well.

He whimpered as he tried to shift position to get a better reading of his surroundings. Everything hurt. Moving, sitting still, didn’t matter. His limbs were like lead, his head was pounding, he felt like he was burning from the inside out, each breath was a great undertaking. But he closed his eyes, forced himself to take as deep a breath as he could, focused on repeating the action, tried to calm himself down so he could better gauge the situation he was in. If he panicked, he would die; that rule had been true since he’d been a child in the circus, despite the precautions taken, and it’d remained true throughout his life as a vigilante. But that outcome seemed to be exactly what Crane had in mind for him.

“It’s okay, son.”

Dick’s eyes snapped open at the familiar voice, his gaze moving to the man behind the wheel of the car he was in the backseat of. He recognized it as a police car. “... Jim…” His throat was dry, scratchy, causing his voice to crack before he coughed.

The commissioner looked back at him through the rear-view mirror, his eyes tired but kind through his glasses. “Take it easy,” he said. “If Crane gave you the same thing he gave your friend there, I assume you’re still reeling a bit.”

Friend?

Dick quickly glanced next to him, seeing Tim with his hands cuffed behind his back. “Ti… Robin…” He leaned closer to his brother, seeing his light blue eyes behind his domino still seemed faint and a bit faraway— lingering effects of Scarecrow’s fear toxin.

Jim’s gaze faltered. “It’s just the three of us… for now,” he muttered. “You don’t have to be quite so careful. Crane went ahead to Arkham on his own, setting up God knows what. We’ve got some militia guys behind and ahead of us. If it were just me in this car, I’d have tried to get out of this somehow, but, well, that wasn’t a risk I was comfortable taking with you two with me. Especially in the states you’re in.”

Sighing when he still didn’t get a response out of Tim, Dick turned back to the older man. “Do you have any idea what he’s got planned?” he wondered. “Anything at all could help.” He remembered something about being told he was playing some sort of role for Batman, but that was all.

“Not really, Crane’s playing things close to the vest,” Jim told him. “All I really know is he’s setting up some grand scheme for Batman.” He sighed, his face dropping. “And I know Bruce wouldn’t leave you two, so I’m sure we’ll be seeing him soon enough.”

Dick shook his head. “No, he wouldn’t, he…” But his sentence trailed off when his brain registered just what the commissioner had called his mentor. “Wait, what?”

Jim gave him a small smile, both fond and sad in equal measure. “I’ve suspected for some time,” he murmured, “that my vigilante ally was Bruce Wayne. But it was confirmed tonight when that Arkham Knight kid… Jason… called him by his name.”

Jason… So he’d still been in Gotham. And by the sounds of it had found their adopted father. Who, according to Jim, was alive. Dick let out a sigh of relief. He’d known, deep down, that enough of his brother had been left beneath all that hate and brainwashing to not follow through and pull that trigger when he had the chance. Or so he’d hoped. He couldn’t have been more grateful that he’d been right and Jason had spared Bruce when given the choice.

“I’m… not surprised you figured him out,” he managed to get out through a wince. “You’re a good cop, Jim. And a better man.”

Jim chuckled. “Yeah, well, when you’re around someone enough, you tend to pick up on things.” He glanced back at him in the rear-view mirror again. “Y’know, I remember one of my most difficult cases fifteen years ago. A young boy’s parents had been killed during a performance for a traveling circus.”

Dick’s gaze immediately moved up to the commissioner.

But Jim’s kind smile remained. “You were so afraid of all of us,” he continued quietly. “You wouldn’t talk at all, not without one of the other performers with you. You didn’t trust us, not that I blame you. But you seemed to be at least a little more comfortable with Bruce, maybe because he didn’t have a gun and a badge on him.”

“He… understood the pain and emptiness I felt, the complexity of how those two things could coexist and overwhelm me. How the hope that things would somehow be okay was too heavy to carry, so he carried it for me until I could myself. But he also took the brunt of my anger because he understood that, too. And he helped me to channel it in healthier ways… so I wouldn’t end up like him.” A similar look appeared on Dick’s face as the tension in his chest eased. “I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised you know it’s me, Jim, it’s not the… biggest leap to make if you know about Bruce.”

“No, that it isn’t,” Jim agreed with a quiet chuckle. “Especially when I see you every other Sunday for a family dinner with Barbara.”

“I knew you’d start recognizing me one of these times.” Dick gave him a sheepish smile.

Jim’s gaze faltered. “Y’know, I do have to say, I’m still not happy knowing Barbara works for you guys, especially after what happened tonight,” he said.

Dick’s face fell. “Jim, I—!”

“Hear me out, son,” Jim interrupted softly. “What happened to her, what Joker did to my little girl… I’ll never forgive myself for it. I wasn’t able to keep her safe when I should have.”

“Trust me, Jim, she’s the one who keeps us safe,” Dick replied with a small smile. “Without her as our eyes and ears, I’m not sure what we’d do.”

Despite himself, a gleam of pride appeared in the commissioner’s eyes. “I suppose it does make me feel a little better that she’s involved in this crazy thing along with you,” he murmured. “I remember when you two were kids, spending all the time you could together, causing trouble. I guess saving the city together, too. She, uh.” He chuckled. “She was always happiest with you, Dick.”

A warmth spread from Dick’s heart. “Well, I’m glad to hear you say that, really,” he told him. “I feel the same way with her.” He chuckled. “Speaking of, I, uh, I may have asked her to marry me tonight…”

Jim’s eyes widened in surprise as he glanced back at him through the rear-view mirror. “She say yes?” When Dick nodded, the commissioner grumbled quietly under his breath as he tightened his hands around the wheel. “Well then, son. We have to make sure we survive this shitstorm, don’t we?”