Archive of Our Own

1. Fly Away Little Bird

The sniper waited until the very end - after the grand finale, after the last hurrah, when Dick stood between his parents on the central platform, hands held and smiles wide to take their bows in the spotlight.

Then the gunshots rang out, in quick succession, and Dick stood alone. It took him a minute to register the figures laying sprawled on the sandy ground far below, because his parents never fell, they flew, they were called the Flying Graysons for good reason-

Dick sniffled, hovering as high as he could manage while still staying hidden in the shadow of an apartment building. Everywhere he looked, light and dark battled for space, casting parts of Gotham in deep shadow while other places burned too bright to look at directly. In the circus, everything stayed lit up, everything stayed warm and cheerful and inviting, drawing the audience into their tents and keeping the people inside safe and secure. Everything- until-

Until the spotlights froze, casting their light up at the top of the tent, casting shadows as his parents- his parents-

Dick pressed both hands over his mouth, desperate to keep from making any noise. He couldn’t burst out sobbing again, not here, not like he had back in the Big Top, when a perfect stranger came up and curled around him and whispered don’t look, that isn’t going to help, just breathe, alright? Just breathe with me, and you’ll be alright.

Nothing would ever be alright again. Especially not if the cops on the street below were to look up and find him.

Dick had heard the ones back at the circus, heard one call him a freak, heard the other wonder aloud if it wouldn’t be better for him to disappear before the social worker showed up. So disappear Dick did - straight up. Then over the tops of the tents, darting from one shadow to another, until he left the circus and the park behind and started flying through crowded, dirty buildings instead.

Maybe the pair of cops passing by on the street below weren’t actually looking for him, but if they looked up and saw- no. Dick didn’t want to get taken away. He’d heard things, about people who should’ve been called miracles instead locked away like monsters, even though in the circus it didn’t matter, at least half the performers had gifts like him and his- his-

A sob leaked through. One of the cops glanced around. Dick didn’t dare move.

After a minute of checking, both police officers walked onward, and he let himself sag against the worn brick building, relief overpowering everything else for the moment.

And then a hand reached down over the edge of the roof, which grabbed him and hauled Dick up into open air.

So shocked, he didn’t even think to scream.

The large hand came on the end of a massive arm, which led back to a huge man, who towered over Dick even as he continued to float in place. It took a second to realize- not just any man, but Batman.

Dick squeaked.

Richard John Grayson
Date of Birth: March 21st, 1991
Metahuman Ability: Hover

Dick pulled a face at the new paperwork. “Why do we gotta lie on this stuff, anyway? People aren’t gonna know what I can do exactly when I’m Robin...”

“But they’ll suspect,” Bruce answered, typing something on his computer. “This way, if they think Richard Grayson isn’t all that impressive of a metahuman, it’s more cover for Robin flying through Gotham.”

“Hmph.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his new guardian’s mouth. “I know, you’re a Flying Grayson, and showing off is in your blood.”

“Performing is in my blood,” Dick stressed, folding his legs to sit criss-cross applesauce mid-air. Then, just to add to his point, he leaned forward to spin a few times before stopping upside down, right next to Bruce’s head.

With a completely straight face, the man reached up to pinch his nose.

Dick shrieked and flew back, laughing, as Bruce grinned himself.

2. Swing Batter Batter

When he registered the Bat standing over him, Jason didn’t think, he just grabbed and swung as hard as he could. If he’d been a regular scrawny street kid, he didn’t doubt the tire iron would just bounce off with barely a bruise to show for the effort. But Jason stopped counting as ‘regular’ last year, and his skinny arms were plenty strong enough to land a blow that knocked the Bat clear off his feet.

Jason then promptly ran for his life.

He made it to the end of the alley and swerved first around the corner, and again into the narrow gap between wall and dumpster. There he froze, heart pounding, hands shaking, as he waited for either Batman’s footsteps to go past his hiding place like so many others, or for one of those big hands to grab his hoodie and yank him out into the open.

...a couple minutes of nothing went by.

...and then a few more.

Jason’s heart kept pounding at breakneck speed, but shifted from running on adrenaline to fear. He eased himself back out from behind the dumpster, and peeked around the alley corner. Just to double check; maybe the Bat decided to chase him from above, and that fourth tire could be retrieved after all-

Except two thick-soled boots were laying next to the fancy car.

Shit.

He’d killed the Bat.

Shit shit shit - every crook in Gotham would be out for Jason’s blood, looking to curbstomp the little pest trying to make a name for himself. Or worse, someone nuts would show up like the effing Joker in order to get revenge over not getting to off the Bat himself-

One boot shifted. A deep voice wheezed. Jason nearly fell over in relief.

And then, because the Bat didn’t move again, and because Jason was an idiot of the worst kind, he edged his way back towards the car and the crimefighter lying prone beside it. “Uh. Batman? You gonna be okay?”

Another wheeze. Jason got close enough to peek around the car’s fender, and saw the man just staring upwards through the narrowed lenses of his mask. It took a second, but the Bat could apparently tell when he was being watched, because he tilted his head and the lenses opened up a little more so he could stare back. “...’f Robin were here,” the man grumbled, “He’d ask, if you swing for the Knights...”

Jason’s face spasmed as he tried not to laugh. “Nope. Maybe when I’m older, if they pay good.”

Batman snorted, and then wheezed again, one hand starting to grab for his stomach only to stop and clench into a fist. “Got the same spot, as Killer Croc, two nights ago.”

At that, Jason winced. He’d only ever seen Croc in newspaper pictures before, but the guy was definitely huge, and it didn’t take a leap of logic to assume he hit hard, too. “Uh. Sorry?”

The Bat gave an aborted huff. Slowly, he pushed himself up, palms flat to the ground. Then he rolled, to pull one knee underneath himself, and gradually stood while leaning against the car. Jason made sure to keep out of arm’s reach.

After that, the man just braced himself and breathed for a minute, before shifting enough to once again peer down at Jason. “I assume you took the tires to sell.”

He nodded.

“How much?”

Jason lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Depends on which chop shop I take ‘em to. At least a hundred apiece, maybe a bonus if I get all four.” That probably wouldn’t be an option, seeing as he’d wasted enough time for the Bat to get back to his feet. Honestly, Jason needed to run at this point, but he still felt kinda bad. Batman was just about the only good thing in Gotham as far as working folks were concerned, and even if he wasn’t dead, it didn’t seem right to leave him alone and hurting in Crime Alley...

Jason blinked when a roll of green suddenly appeared in front of his face. “Five hundred,” Batman said dryly, “If you bring back the other three.”

Well hot damn.

In the space of twenty minutes, Jason not only brought back the tires he’d spirited off, he went ahead and put ‘em back on the car, just ‘cause the Bat didn’t seem inclined to bend and use his stomach muscles any time soon. And besides, five hundred dollars. That would be food and rent and even new clothes when the weather turned cold.

As he worked, though, Jason couldn’t help but feel Batman’s gaze on him. It didn’t seem angry, didn’t raise the hairs on the back of his neck like when certain guys leered, but he still started to feel just the slightest bit antsy. And then, right as he was tightening up the bolts on the final tire, the Bat made his move. “You don’t want to go into foster care, do you.”

Jason scoffed at that.

“Have you been flagged as a meta?”

“‘Course not, never told anyone. Didn’t get strong until after I was on my own, and I’m not stupid enough to put a target on my back to get ‘recruited’ by any of the gangs.”

The Bat hummed.

Jason Peter Todd-Wayne
Date of Birth: August 16th, 1996
No Known Meta Abilities

“Man, rich people can get away with anything,” Jason huffed. “Park wherever you want, buy shit you’re not s’posed to have, falsify your paperwork...”

Bruce just grunted, but it was an agreeable sound rather than an annoyed one. And, privately, Jason couldn’t help but feel pleased by the adoption paperwork, his brand new name right at the top of the page.

Which just left the matter of deciding on his other name.

When Bruce had found the pages torn out of a notebook with costume designs sketched out and messy notes in the margins, he’d glanced at Jason from the corner of his eye and haltingly said he could be the new Robin. And part of Jason felt thrilled by the idea, but-

But.

Robin flew. He soared around skyscrapers, did somersaults mid-air, zipped along just above the ground to take crooks out at the knees. Jason didn’t do that - Jason couldn’t do any of that. The closest he’d ever get to flight would be grappling from perch to perch like Batman did. Which, admittedly, was really insanely awesome, but still.

Jason couldn’t be Robin.

...at least, not until he sat on the Manor roof one evening a few weeks later with Dick Grayson, who sighed and smiled at him. “You could wear them, y’know. My colors. My suit.”

“But- our powers-”

“Are different,” Dick agreed, “But that just means we bring different strengths to the playing field. Literal strength, in your case.” He grinned and ruffled Jason’s hair.

Batting away the playful fingers, Jason took a few moments to consider it. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I will.”

(Dick still argued viciously with Bruce in nine out of ten conversations. But every so often he’d come by to pick up Jason, and they’d go flying over the forested property, or drive into the city to get ice cream, or a dozen other things Dick very firmly insisted on referring to as Civilian Brotherly Bonding Activities. And a couple years later, when Jason started having his own problems with Bruce, and found his birth certificate in an old box with a different woman’s name listed as his mother-

Well.

He knew just who to go to with it.)

3. The Boy Not Seen

Tim didn’t turn invisible. Not really, not as in genuinely see-through.

He just, didn’t register. Not to most people. Certainly not to his parents, even though they knew him, knew what he looked like, and after observing and testing with the various nannies and temporary household staff over the years, Tim had a pretty decent understanding of how his metahuman ability worked, and-

-his parents should still see him. Should still care about him.

They just... didn’t.

A very young part of Tim clung to the belief he didn’t understand his ability after all, that it must be the reason they didn’t come home more than three times a year or call more often or remember how old he turned on his birthday. But when Mrs. Mac could see and talk to and remember him just fine, after interacting regularly with Tim for the first few months, he could only conclude his parents weren’t affected at all. They were just, like that.

It didn’t hurt. Not that much. And he was used to it, anyway.

At least when it came to following Batman and Robin through Gotham, Tim could say he genuinely appreciated his metahuman power. Eyes that might otherwise follow him down the length of the block instead blinked once and stared elsewhere; people who frowned and asked what he was doing out so late could be distracted for a moment and completely forget Tim had ever been there. It gave him the freedom to go anywhere he wanted to take his photographs, something Tim did more and more often after his thirteenth birthday passed without so much as a postcard from his parents.

And then came the night it changed his life.

Pure chance put Tim in just the right alleyway to overhear a pair of men with cigarettes debating what to do with the bird they’d caught. One suggested a quick death and dumping the body before the Bat showed up - his friend dismissed the idea, insisting they ought to go to Penguin, or Falcone, and earn a quick buck.

Tim stood frozen not ten feet away, breath coming out in panicked little gasps. Robin hadn’t been back on the streets more than a few days - there was the accidental death of Felipe Garzonas, and a trip out of the country for Jason Todd and Dick Grayson, and then weeks of nothing. No sightings, no quips, just a furious Batman stalking Gotham alone. Tim hadn’t even been able to get a glimpse during the day; supposedly, a small private plane crash in Africa had put both of Bruce Wayne’s sons on bedrest, which meant no public appearances and no guests in the family’s Manor.

Then, like the first ray of sunlight after a bad thunderstorm, Robin reappeared, knocking goons out with a fierce smile as if he’d never gone away in the first place. For three nights, Tim focused solely on following that grin with his camera, practically excluding Batman from his photos entirely.

And now here he was, unnoticed, overhearing a random couple of crooks discussing ending Robin’s life like it meant nothing.

No. Not on his watch.

Tim slipped after them down a set of stairs to a basement level door, and managed to get in before it slammed closed. Hardly daring to breathe, he kept his movements slow and cautious to avoid drawing even a flicker of attention, and it worked. The men didn’t notice him; they kept arguing whether to call a Rogue or a mob boss to sell their prize, and Tim trailed along as they headed through a short hall, then down a ladder into the- sewer?

Yep. Sewer. Tim scrunched up his nose and clambered down as gracefully as he could manage.

At least after that it wasn’t much further - another door led into what probably used to be a sanitation worker’s monitoring station, with slime-slicked workshop tables and a padlocked storage closet. Tim spotted a key hanging next to the closet door; as soon as the men sat down with their phones out, he tip-toed over to grab it.

Then came the tricky part.

Nothing to see here, Tim chanted in his mind, inserting the key into the padlock. Nothing going on, no noise, no movement, nothing of consequence. Whether his metahuman power actually worked that well or Tim just got lucky, he didn’t know, but as the lock clicked open he really truly did not care.

The men didn’t notice him ease the door open, a millimeter at a time to try and keep the rusted hinges from squealing. Once there was just barely enough space, Tim squeezed through, and finally let out a deep breath of pure relief.

“The hell?”

He jumped. Robin stared at him, halfway through the process of unchaining himself from a big metal rack at the back of the closet.

“Oh.” Tim gulped. “I- um. Can I help?” Belatedly, he realized there hadn’t been any sort of plan whatsoever with regards to getting Robin out of harm’s way, but. Well. Here he was regardless, and the older boy looked to be bent at an awkward angle in order to reach the lock keeping his legs restrained.

Slowly, Robin straightened up. “...yeah, I guess. Those two idiots gone?”

“No,” Tim answered, hurrying forward and pulling a small homemade lockpicking kit from his pocket. “They just didn’t see me.” He crouched and started fiddling away, ignoring the sensation of Robin staring down at the top of his head.

It took a few minutes for him to depress all the tumblers and turn, every one of them spent wishing there’d been another convenient key hanging around. Robin never stopped watching him, half wary, half confused.

Tim couldn’t blame him. Distrust and bafflement were perfectly appropriate reactions to a random kid appearing out of nowhere to help a crimefighter out of his sticky situation.

Even so, a bright and grateful grin came his way when the last loops of heavy, industrial grade chain settled on the floor, freeing Robin to properly stretch his limbs. “Thanks, pipsqueak. I owe you one.”

Turning bright red, Tim rapidly shook his head. “N-no, you- I’m not-” He bit down on his tongue to keep from babbling. “Um. The two guys are, they’re right outside this door, at a table. You should have a clear path to the first one, but the second’s sitting on the other side, and- I don’t know if they’re armed or anything-”

Robin reached over to put a hand on his shoulder, shutting Tim up instantly. “It’s fine, I can handle two mooks in close quarters. They only managed to conk me over the head earlier ‘cause I was distracted with a third idiot.” Tim nodded, and they both moved a little closer towards the cracked door - only to freeze at the sudden sound of shouts, and a gunshot, and several rapid thumps followed by a loud crash.

Robin’s hand tightened on Tim’s shoulder, and he found himself tugged behind the older boy.

It proved to be a moot point, however, because when the door slammed open, Batman stood on the other side.

Timothy Jackson Drake
Date of Birth: July 19th, 1999
Metahuman Ability: Invisibility

Tim bit his lip, staring at the computer screen. He’d deliberately chosen to misrepresent his ability ages ago when submitting some paperwork for school his parents had forgotten about, but debated hacking the database to update it privately, or erasing it entirely. After all, he’d stutteringly shared quite a bit more information than he meant to the night before, when the actual Batman demanded to know how he’d gotten past the men holding Robin prisoner. After learning about his not-actually-invisibility, it sure seemed as if the pair of crimefighters didn’t intend to let him out of their sights, but thankfully a call on their comms came through at just the right moment for Tim to slip away.

He didn’t... he didn’t really want Robin and Batman to forget about him like everyone else did, but- but. No matter how much Tim tried to limit the effect of his meta ability on other people, unless they genuinely wanted to remember and think about him, they’d forget regardless. One nanny who liked looking after Tim could recall his birthday and bring him a present; another who’d only thought of him as yet another job needed to be reminded of his name one day to another.

Batman and Robin had far more important things to worry about than one quiet kid who thought he could help. They wouldn’t waste time thinking about Tim, and if he ever happened to be lucky enough to run into them again, the pair likely wouldn’t even recognize him.

...that expectation only lasted up until Jason Todd knocked on his front door that afternoon.

When Tim opened it, all he could do was stare in blatant shock. Jason shuffled a little awkwardly, trying to smile rather than grimace and falling a bit short. “Uh, hey, Tim, right? This uh, this might seem a bit odd, but would you mind if I hung out here for a while? Bruce and Dick are being a bit unbearable today, and I figure getting some distance without actually going too far...”

Tim wordlessly stepped back and held the door open.

Jason - the Jason Todd, the Robin who could throw grown men through walls and twist gun barrels into pretzels - stepped inside with a grateful grin. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing,” Tim said faintly.

“So, uh. Your folks around?”

He shook his head. “They’re in South America right now.”

Jason made an attempt at looking surprised, but Tim suspected he’d already known. “Cool, that’s cool. Archaeology, right? They ever bring back any cool souvenirs?”

“When they come back, yeah.” Tim winced as soon as he said it, and Jason’s eyes narrowed. “Um. Do you- do you want to wait in the sitting room? Or- I could heat something up in the kitchen?”

“Nah, that’s okay, I’m not hungry. How about your room?”

Yeah, that sounded more normal for kids, didn’t it. Tim nodded, and led Jason upstairs. “It, um, it’s kind of a mess - our housekeeper doesn’t come until Monday so I haven’t tidied up...”

“That’s fine,” Jason assured him. “I mean, no offense, but my definition of a mess is probably a lot different from yours.”

He tried to keep from wincing again, because yeah, of course that would be the case, for a boy who used to live on the actual street. Tim brought snack lunches he didn’t use to the homeless kids sometimes, he knew what kinds of conditions they considered adequate living spaces.

Even so, he felt extremely self-conscious letting Jason into his room, with the dirty clothes he wore out into Gotham lying in a heap on the floor, notes and homework scattered in organized chaos across the entire desk, a few dirty dishes he’d yet to take back down to the kitchen cluttering his bedside table.

The older boy at least didn’t say anything; he just went and sat on the bed and fixed Tim with an inquisitive stare. If it were coming from any other teenager, Tim would brush it off - he got a lot of weird looks from classmates who couldn’t figure out where they knew him from, as if they hadn’t occupied the same school for years. But this was Robin, whom he’d tried to save the night before, no matter how pointless the gesture had been.

And Tim seriously doubted that Jason Todd would happen to think of him as a place to seek refuge from a family argument.

So.

That left the question, how to handle the situation?

“...you’re really not used to having company over, are ya,” Jason said slowly, when Tim continued to stand uselessly in the middle of the room.

He shook his head, swallowed down the bitter little laugh that tried to claw free of his throat. “Not- not used to people thinking of me, really.”

Jason tilted his head a little to one side. “Do you want people to think of you?”

“Of course I do!” Tim insisted, before wilting a bit. “I mean- it’s helpful, sometimes, when I don’t get noticed, but- but not always.”

The older boy made a noise of agreement. “It’s your meta power, right? You don’t go invisible so much as unnoticeable.”

Tim’s eyes dropped to the floor. “Yeah. Exactly.”

“But it’s not a blanket effect. And reading your name somewhere else helped me remember it just fine on the way over-”

“It won’t stick,” Tim said tiredly, finally shuffling over to his desk chair in order to sink down. “Teachers know my name’s on their rosters, but they’ll forget to mark me present at the start of class. I sat next to the same girl for two years in a row, and she still didn’t recognize me when I tried talking to her at lunch.” The bitter laugh made a reappearance, and this time he let it escape. “You’ll leave and won’t remember you visited me in an hour.”

Absolutely none of this should’ve been coming out of his mouth, but Tim felt tired and wrung out and just- just done with never being remembered even when he wanted-

Jason was suddenly standing next to him and putting a hand on his shoulder, just like he’d done as Robin the previous evening. “I’m not going to forget you, Tim,” he said firmly. “I might go a little fuzzy on the details, but I want to know more about you, and that means I am not going to forget.”

...oh. That meant- Jason meant the night before. He remembered the night before, enough that he’d been able to piece together enough information to find Tim afterward. He knew he wouldn’t forget because he hadn’t forgotten.

So of course Tim went and ruined the moment by staring up at him and asking, “How did you find me?”

Jason’s expression wavered for a moment, as he likely debated between a lie or the truth, before it settled into determined confidence. “Your camera was expensive. You didn’t talk with a street kid’s accent. You mentioned taking the number forty-two bus when trying to get out of us giving you a ride, and that’s the only late night bus that comes across the bridge into Bristol.”

Tim gaped. “And- that was enough?”

“Well... a friend might have also managed to find you through some ATM security footage, and running your picture through facial recognition got us a hit from the background checks done on all guests to parties hosted at the Manor.”

Right, Tim thought distantly, he’d attended a charity fundraiser just three years prior, and spent the whole evening trying to get glimpses of the newly adopted Jason from a spot in the corner. And the photo recognition thing made sense, his ability obviously didn’t work on machines- but much more pressingly, he focused on the rest of what Jason had said: the things that he’d remembered.

Tim could wish people would recall him all he wanted, but unless they cared enough to try it never stuck.

Jason had cared.

Robin had cared.

When the tears started to spill from his eyes, the older boy tugged him into a tentative hug. Tim went willingly, and when he clutched back Jason’s arms tightened, giving him a warm feeling that sank in all the way to his bones. “‘Membered me,” he muttered, face pressed against the dark red hoodie. “Actually remembered me...”

Jason stayed silent for a moment, one hand starting to rub Tim’s back. “Your parents remember you, kiddo? ‘Cause, no offense, they’ve kinda been in South America for a few months now, and Zimbabwe for half a year before that...”

“I’ve tried,” Tim sniffled, “I want them to and they don’t, but I wanted you to and you did, so- so they-” Jason’s arms squeezed even more. “Don’t forget me, Robin, please.”

“I promise, Tim,” the older boy murmured. “I promise.”