Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jason was dead. 

The cruel laughter. The swinging crowbar. The tick tick tick of a bomb.

Batman had been too late. Jason thought that his worst fear had been realized. But then he’d gained a new fear — that his father might join him.

At first, Jason had been disoriented and confused. He’d thought maybe he had survived, that he just had a concussion, and that’s why he felt all floaty and out of it. 

“Jason… no… please— ” 

As he looked down on his father cradling his broken body, Jason realized he was dead. The Joker had murdered him. Batman hadn’t saved him. He was dead. 

He would never be older than fifteen. He’d never go to college. He’d never fire another grapple gun or eat another one of Alfred’s cookies. All that was taken away in an instant. Not with the snip of a string of fate, but by the swing of a crowbar. 

“Dad! Dad, I’m right here!” Jason called desperately, hoping that somehow it was a mistake. 

But Batman didn’t look up. Not when he waved a hand in front of his face. Not when he screamed. Not even when he tried to kick him, his foot just went right through. 

Jason looked down at his hands. They were see-through and glowed faintly with a blue tinge. 

Jason realized pretty quickly that there would be no Angel, nor Devil, coming for him. There was no Heaven or Hell. There was no Reaper with a scythe and black hood. There was no land of the dead. He didn’t get reincarnated. He didn’t vanish into nothingness. He wasn’t alive, but he was still here. He was a ghost.

Jason followed Bruce home. He didn’t know what else to do. He could do nothing but watch the events unfold.

He watched as his father collapsed in Alfred’s arms. 

He watched as his casket was lowered into the ground. 

He watched as Bruce and Dick screamed at each other. Even after his death, that hadn’t changed. 

He watched as all his pictures on the wall were taken down, replaced by a glass case in the Cave. A good soldier. 

He watched as his father tore a hole through Gotham’s criminal underground. Not caring if he didn’t make it back home in the morning. 

Jason couldn’t do anything. It infuriated him. It numbed him. He’d never been good at being benched, and now here he was, permanently sidelined. 

Unable to stand watching his father any longer, Jason wandered to Crime Alley, like he always did when he felt lost. Other ghosts milled around. Some stared at him, others paid him no mind, but none of them approached the boy in the tattered uniform. 

Jason was relieved they kept their distance. His days as Robin had long desensitized him to gore, but other ghosts were an uncomfortable reminder that Jason was dead too. He couldn’t pretend anymore. He was dead and there was no going back. 

As he drifted past decrepit buildings, Jason wondered if he’d see his mom. His real mom. Not that bitch who’d sold him out to the fucking Joker. 

He clenched his fists, shaking with barely contained rage. If he could still breathe he’d be exhaling steam. Other ghosts gave him a wide berth. Even living passerbys shivered and looked over their shoulders, as if they could sense his wrath. But no one looked at him, their gazes passed right through him, as if he wasn’t even there.

Technically, he supposed he wasn’t. He’d never paid much attention to talk of the paranormal, but if he had to guess… he’d say he was on a different astral plane or behind the veil or whatever shitty fortune tellers said on TV. 

Jason hadn’t been paying attention to where he was going, but somehow he’d ended up at a specific diner. It was where Bruce had first bought him burgers, back when he'd caught Jason stealing his tires and was still half convinced he was a pedophile. 

It wasn’t the best place to eat, but it was open 24/7, which made it perfect for their nocturnal clientele. 

Jason sat down on one of the empty barstools with a sigh. He closed his eyes, pretending for a moment that it was just another night of wrapping up patrol with a milkshake. 

Jason didn’t even get hungry anymore, but there were few things he wouldn’t do for a milkshake right now. He’d even take a greasy burger and stale fries. He just wanted to feel alive again. 

“Come here often?”

Jason jumped at the sound, swiveling around, his hand automatically going for a birdarang that would do jack shit as a ghost. His eyes widened in recognition. 

“Delilah?” He gasped, his gaze flickering down her ghostly form, lingering on the bullet wound punched into her forehead. 

She smiled, bittersweet. “Looks like we both bit the dust, huh?”

Delilah was — or had been — one of the working girls. She couldn’t have been older than eighteen, but Jason had seen her on street corners from before he was Robin. He’d always tried to look out for the girls once he’d donned the mask. 

And now they were both dead. 

Jason’s eyes were glued to the bullet hole in her head, he wanted to ask what happened, but he figured that might be insensitive. Was there an etiquette to asking fellow ghosts about their untimely demise? Not that Jason had ever cared about etiquette, but he didn’t want to upset Delilah. She’d always been kind to kids on the street. 

Delilah heard his silent question anyway. “My pimp shot me. He—” Her throat bobbed. “He found out I’d been keeping gifts from my clients instead of handing them over to him. I went in for my weekly paycheck and got a bullet instead.” 

More than ever, Jason wished he was still alive so he could kick that bastard’s teeth in. “That’s fucked up.” 

“Yeah.” She agreed, rubbing her arms, as if to keep the chill away. Jason hadn’t been a ghost very long, but he already knew they didn’t get cold. “Greedy pig. It wasn’t like he needed some cheap necklace. And I had mouths to feed.”

That’s right. Delilah had a baby at home. Fuck, what had happened to the kid? Jason knew enough about those types of situations to know that the father wasn’t around to help. 

“Is your kid okay?” Jason asked softly. Almost dreading the answer. 

“He’s as good as he can be.” She chuckled bitterly, twisting a lock of hair between her fingers. “No thanks to me. But I got lucky. I came across his path.” 

Jason’s forehead wrinkled as he frowned. “His path?”

She nodded. “I hadn’t known I was gonna get shot. No one does. I thought I was just gonna be in and out. And—” her breath hitched. “And I’d left him in my car.” 

Jason swore under his breath. A baby left unattended in a car, in that kind of neighborhood… 

How did Delilah even have a car? Did she steal it? Was she sleeping in it? 

“I’d been trying — and failing — to pick Ethan up. Kinda hard to do that, when your arms go through everything and all.” She reached out towards a nearby salt shaker, her fingers passing right through it. “He was crying. I was crying. But then there was a tap on the window. A person, an alive person, was staring right at me.” She shook her head, as if she could barely believe it. “He asked if I needed help and I told him what happened. I thought he’d just call the police, but he didn’t. He broke into my car, got Ethan out, and took him to Dr. Thompkins’ clinic. He didn’t leave until he knew Ethan was in good hands.” 

Jason’s mind was reeling. “Someone can see us?” 

He’d tried everything he could think of to get Bruce and Alfred’s attention since he became a ghost. But even physically floating through their bodies hadn’t elicited a response. 

She laughed. “Crazy, ain’t it? I don’t know if he’s a meta or what, but all the ghosts are talking about him.”

If there was someone out there who could see ghosts… then maybe…

Jason had to find him. “Who is he?”

“He’s known by many names… Veil Walker… Reaper… Half-Pint.”

Jason sputtered. “Half-Pint??”

“That’s the wildest shit. It’s a kid. Like a middle schooler.” Delilah threw out one of her hands. “And he’s out here wandering Gotham every night and chatting up the dead.” 

Jason could only stare at her. Processing. A kid who could see ghosts... What was this? The Sixth Sense: Gotham edition?? He somehow doubted the kid had a ghost therapist trying to help him. 

If he still had a heartbeat it would be racing. “What do you know about him?” 

Jason learned three things. 

One: based off of the kids’ appearance, he was prime material for bat adoption. 

Two: he wasn’t a street kid. He took pains to dress down, but he was too clean to be from a bad neighborhood. 

Three: it seemed like his goal was to help ghosts so they could “move on.” It was what had earned him the Reaper calling card.

It wasn’t a lot to go on, but as he waved goodbye to Delilah, for the first time since he died, hope bloomed in Jason’s chest. 

-👻-👻-👻-

Tim Drake had always been different. He’d always been able to see things others couldn’t. When he was younger, it took him a while to realize that other people couldn’t see what he saw. 

Luckily, he’d been young enough for it to be dismissed as imaginary friends. Teachers and babysitters told him he watched too much television. The other kids thought he was weird. 

However, two people had known better. They knew what a freak he was. That’s why they’d left.

What parents would want to stick around when their son would knock on their door at night, crying about the scary people he saw? The man with the caved-in head. The woman with jagged bloody lines down her forearms. The child with blue lips and missing fingers and toes. And many more horrifying spectors. 

But he’d adjusted. He knew not to talk to ghosts when other people were around. He didn’t bug anyone about his nightmares. He no longer flinched at blood and gore. 

Tim was an actor and his role was being a normal kid. If only he could convince his parents like he’d convinced everyone else. Then maybe they’d come home. 

But part of him did enjoy the lack of adult supervision. It’s what allowed him to run around Gotham at night and eat cheese straight out of the can. 

Tim was once again roaming underneath Gotham’s hazy night sky. There were no stars that watched over him. There was barely even a moon. But Tim knew to be cautious; there were other kinds of watchful gazes lurking in the shadows. 

He pulled his gaiter further up over his nose, which combined with his hoodie, concealed most of his face. Tim wasn’t worried about the living recognizing him. No, he was more concerned about the dead. 

Most ghosts didn’t mean any harm. But Tim didn’t want to risk any of them following him home or to school. He kept those parts of him separate. Day Tim and Night Tim were two very different people. 

Night Tim could be as strange and eccentric as he desired. Day Tim had a part to play — the pleasant normal boy, whose intelligence would serve him well as a future CEO. 

He turned down a dark alleyway, the one that had a conveniently placed dumpster underneath a fire escape. In under a minute he was on the roof. 

Batman’s patrol route went through the roof across the street. It was the perfect place to snap photos of the dynamic duo. But Tim didn’t feel like taking pictures tonight. The dynamic duo was no more. Jason was dead and Dick had left — possibly for good this time. Batman was all alone. 

Tim pitied the man. No one understood being alone better than Tim Drake. 

Tim wished he could help, but he didn’t know how. Tim only knew how to help the dead. He was at a loss when it came to the living. Even if Batman was acting more and more like he wasn’t. 

Batman and Robin were his heroes. They were a beacon of hope to this city. But Robin had died and that beacon had never been dimmer. 

Tim was terrified Batman would stop preventing people from becoming ghosts and start making new ones. 

A few days ago, Batman had beaten a mugger to a pulp. All he’d had was a little knife. Fearing Batman wouldn’t stop hitting him, Tim had thrown a rock at a car and triggered its sirens. It had worked, Batman had left the man to investigate… But how many times would a distraction work?

A flicker of movement drew Tim out of his thoughts. Batman . Tim crouched next to the roof’s air conditioning unit, hiding in its shadows.

Tim would tail the man if he could, but he wasn’t skilled enough at jumping from roof to roof. And surely Batman would notice if he was being followed. It was why picking spots to stake out was the better option. 

He took out his camera, using the zoom lense to get a better look at the vigilante. It was almost as good as binoculars. But Tim wasn’t trying to get a better look at Batman. He was trying to see if Robin was with him.

Ever since Robin had died, his ghost had accompanied Batman on patrol. But since the incident with the mugger, Tim hadn’t spotted him. 

Tim didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing. 

An alarm cut through the air. Both Batman and Tim swiveled towards the sound in unison. Batman fired his grappling hook and swung towards the sound, leaving Tim to once again curse his inferior mobility. 

Tim peered over the side of the roof. The distance was a little too wide for comfort, but it wasn’t impossible for him to do. He bit his lip as he mentally weighed the probabilities.

“I wouldn’t try that if I were you.” 

Tim whirled around, his heart leaping into this throat, then stopped dead.

It was Robin. He was staring right at Tim. One of the lenses of his mask was cracked, showing a sliver of a teal iris. His bruised and bloody arms were crossed over his chest, but it did nothing to disguise the tattered uniform — and what Tim’s mind distantly noted as multiple blunt force trauma wounds. 

Which one had he died from? Had it been just one? Maybe the gash above his left brow? Or had it been a combination of blood loss from all of them? 

Tim didn’t know how Robin had died, but looking at his battered body up close, he could tell it hadn't been a quick death. Tim had seen enough ghosts to be able to know that for certain. 

Seeing Robin like that — Tim’s Robin, who’d always been grinning like a fiend and bringing light everywhere he went — it hit Tim like a physical blow. 

“Jason?” He breathed, eyes wide. Never in a million years had he thought his hero would notice him. Tim was very good at not being noticed. It was a little depressing, but a useful skill nonetheless. 

The nearby street lamp exploded in a shower of sparks. Tim swore and brought up an arm to shield his eyes. 

“How— how do you know my name?” Jason asked, voice mangled, as if he couldn’t decide whether to be angry or afraid. 

Oh. Right. Tim wasn’t supposed to know that. 

He supposed that explained the explosion. Tim was just grateful it had been the street lamp and not his camera. 

“I know a lot of things others don’t.” Tim answered with a simple shrug. He had a reputation as a cryptid to uphold. Even if it was Robin asking. 

Jason bristled, his shoulders hiking up to his ears, hissing like an alley cat. 

“I can call you Robin instead if you want.” Tim offered. 

“NO!” Jason blurted, then clapped a hand to his mouth, as if startled by his outburst. “No, it’s— Jason is fine.” 

“Okay…” Tim knew better than to poke at that wound. “But why are you talking to me? Shouldn’t you be haunting Batman?”

Jason choked. “I’m not— I’m not haunting him.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Then what do you call a ghost following someone around?”

“That’s not— shut up!” He was full on pouting now. It took all of Tim’s self control not to laugh. “If anything I’m a friendly ghost. Like Casper.”

“Okay, Casper .” Tim made sure Jason had a clear view of him rolling his eyes. “But that doesn’t answer my question about why you’re here and not with Batman. Haven't you been watching over him?”

Jason huffed and looked away. “That alarm was for a jewelry store on third. It’s the one Catwoman trips when she wants to see B.”

Ah. Tim was suddenly glad he hadn’t been able to follow Batman. Seeing that would’ve made him feel like a peeping Tom. 

Jason worried his lower lip between his teeth. “I don’t know if she’ll be able to get through to him. Bru— Batman hasn't been taking my death well. I’m worried about him.”

Well, that made two of them.

“I know he’s Bruce Wayne. And that Dick Grayson is Nightwing. You don’t have to censor yourself.”

“Of course you do.” Jason shook his head, a self deprecating snort escaping him. “I guess it’s good that you do. Because I heard you help ghosts and I… I could really use your help.” He looked down as he wrung his hands. “I’m worried Bruce is gonna get himself killed. He— it’s like he doesn’t even care if he makes it home or not. I…” He choked up. “I don’t want my dad to die too.” 

Tim sucked in a breath. “Jason. I want to help. I really do. But he’s Batman . Even Superman failed to get through to him.” His shoulders slumped, defeated. “And I’m… I’m not a superhero. I’m just a kid who sees more than he should.” 

“Bullshit.”

Tim’s head snapped up. “What?”

“I said: bullshit.” Jason jabbed a finger at his chest and Tim shuddered as it went right through him. “If you’re not a hero, then what's all this stuff I heard about you helping ghosts, huh? You rescued Delilah’s baby, didn’t you?” 

Well, yes. But he’d just been doing what any decent person would’ve done. That didn’t make him a hero. “I just dropped him off at Dr Thompkins’ clinic. It was nothing.” 

“It wasn’t nothing to her.” Jason argued. “You saved that baby’s life, kid. Last time I checked, saving lives is exactly what heroes do.” He grinned crookedly and gestured at Tim’s gaiter. “See? You’re even wearing a mask.”  

Tim's cheeks burned. Robin thought he was a hero. His math was wrong, of course. But the sentiment was nice all the same. 

“I guess I can be helpful.” He reluctantly admitted.

He still wouldn’t call that being a hero. He was just a Good Samaritan… a Good Samaritan who could see ghosts. Yeah . He’d never heard that one at Sunday School. Not that his parents ever cared for religion. Church camps were just a convenient place to ship him off to when school was out. Come to think of it… maybe his parents had thought he was possessed and sent him there to get his soul cleansed. That was an amusing thought. 

Tim could see ghosts, but he didn’t know if Heaven or Hell or Reincarnation or any of that existed. He just knew that there was an Other Side. No one knew what was over there. You had to cross over to find out. Once your soul left the mortal plane… there was no coming back. It was a leap of faith.

Tim could only hope it was a better place. Better than Gotham, at least.

“I don’t know how to help, Batman. But someone has to.” Tim stood up, brushing off his knees. He turned to face Jason. “And I’m willing to try if you are.” 

“Fuck yeah!” Jason cried as he fist pumped. “We’re gonna make that emo bastard smile if it's the last thing we do.” 

Tim couldn't help himself. He laughed. He didn't know why he was so surprised. After all, Robin had always been great at making people laugh. 

Chapter Text

Jason watched as the kid paced across the roof. He’d only met him a few minutes ago, but the kid was startlingly similar to Bruce. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Bruce had knocked up a witch or something. 

“If we’re gonna do this… we’re gonna need a plan.” 

Case in point. 

“How about your name, for starters?” Jason was getting tired of thinking of him as “the kid” in his head. And he wasn’t gonna call someone who barely cleared four feet “Reaper.”

The kid visibly hesitated.

“C’mon, you know my secret identity. It’s only fair I know yours.” 

And hadn’t that been a shock. Jason’s best guess was that a ghost had seen them without their masks and told the kid. Despite how paranoid Bruce was, even he hadn’t planned for potential ghost spectators ratting them out.

He sighed. “Fine. But you can’t tell any other ghosts, okay? I like to keep my civilian life and my night life separate.” 

“I get that.” Jason nodded amicably. He refrained from asking why a midget like him had a nightlife. People in Gotham tended to defy the norm. “My lips are sealed.” He mimed zipping his lips for emphasis, which only gained him another exasperated sigh.

Holy shit, he was so much like Bruce. Maybe the kid actually was his secret witch lovechild after all. 

“It’s Tim.” He pulled down his gaiter and looked up at Jason with a wry smile. He didn’t offer a last name. “Nice to officially meet you.” 

Jason grinned back. “Right back at ya, short stack.”

That earned him a scowl. But on the kid’s pudgy face, it was hardly intimidating. 

“What’s a kid like you doing out here anyways?” Jason asked, his hands propped up on his hips. He might be dead, but that didn’t mean his principles had died with him. He didn’t like it when kids were in dangerous situations.

“Would you believe me if I said I wanted some fresh air?”

Jason snorted. “Absolutely not. It’s Gotham. You’d have to be able to fly above the smog to get fresh air here.”

“I’m a Gothamite. My lungs have adapted to breathe toxic fumes. To me it’s practically like that new book smell.”

“Don’t you disrespect the new book smell like that. Gotham, at best, smells like car exhaust.”

“And grease.” Tim added.

“And grease.” Jason agreed. “What part of Gotham are you from?”

“The part that smells like new books.”

“Gotham does not—“ Jason cut himself off with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

As much as Jason liked bantering with the kid… he didn’t have time for it. He glanced back towards third street, well aware of the ticking clock. “We need to hurry, though. Catwoman can only keep Batman distracted for so long.”

“We need a plan.” Tim reiterated. “You know Batman best. What do you think would help him?”

Jason hadn’t really thought that far ahead. He’d been too busy wrapped up in his own frustration over being dead. He hadn’t been thinking about anything else. Except for a certain clown , but Jason hastily shoved those memories to the back of his mind. 

“Alfred, Superman, and Commissioner Gordon have all tried reasoning with him. But nothing they said made a difference.” Jason let out a frustrated growl, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “B is too stubborn. He barely bothers to listen to other people’s opinions on the best of days, and right now…”

“Are some of the worst.” Tim finished grimly. 

“Yeah. He even punched Dick.” Jason had known his dad was grieving, but seeing him hit his golden child… that was what had really hammered it home. “They fight all the time, but that was the first time I’d ever seen it get physical.”

Dying had been horrible. But watching his family fall apart was just as painful, if not more so. Seeing Bruce’s fist connect with Dick’s face… Jason knew the situations were completely different, but for a moment… it had reminded him of Willis Todd. 

“Batman lost both his sons, in a way.” Tim mused aloud. “He can’t get you back. But it’s not too late for Dick. Maybe… maybe getting one of his sons back could help him heal.”

Jason stomped down on the bitter curl of jealousy rising within him. He knew Tim was just stating facts, but being treated as a lost cause still stung. 

“I don’t know Tim…” Jason said hesitantly. “That relationship might be beyond repair.”

Tim stood his ground. “We have to try. Besides, it’s his dad. No matter how mad he is, deep down he’ll want to help.” 

Jason refrained from pointing out that Dick wasn’t adopted, just a legal ward. Back when Bruce had adopted Jason, that had become a bitter point of contention between the two. Dick had never said anything about it, but Jason had enough emotional intelligence to read between the lines. Jason’s adoption had hurt him. 

“Okay, we can try that. But we should have a back up plan in case it doesn’t work.” More like when it doesn’t work, Jason internally grumbled. 

“Already on it.” Tim slung his backpack off his shoulder, retrieving a camera from within. “I was planning on sending these to the Justice League if things kept getting worse. But maybe they could have another use.”

The camera’s screen glowed faintly in the dingy Gotham night. Jason leaned over Tim’s shoulder to get a better look, and the kid adjusted to accommodate him. 

They were pictures of Batman. Batman jumping head first into a gang fight. Batman with his fist raised over an unconscious criminal. Batman sitting on the hood of the Batmobile, bleeding from wounds he made no attempt to staunch. 

It didn’t paint a pretty picture, despite the high quality of the shots. How the hell had a ten year old gotten those?

“Did you… did you take these?” Jason asked incredulously. Hardly believing it even with the evidence right in front of him.

The pictures went back even further in time. Back to when he was still alive and flying through the sky. Jason turned away. Unable to look at the living, breathing boy he once was. 

“It’s a hobby of mine.” 

A hobby . These shots were better than anything he’d seen printed in the newspaper. The Bats were notoriously hard to photograph. It was so difficult some people didn’t even believe they existed. But then Tim came along, sitting pretty on an entire film roll’s worth of photos. 

How the hell had Batman and him not noticed they had their own mini paparazzo? For fuck’s sake, Tim had pictures of Poison Ivy’s man eating plants. How was it that this kid was still alive and kicking and Jason wasn’t? 

The universe sure did have a cruel sense of humor.

“Why not just show B these pictures from the get go? Why bring Dickhead into it?” Jason asked. 

He may be a bit biased against Dick, but he had good reason. The last thing he wanted was to get caught in the middle of another blow up between those two. He didn’t want to inflict the same on poor little Timmy. 

“Because the pictures aren’t enough on their own.” Tim argued as he stowed his camera back in his bag. “They point out the problem, but they don’t offer a solution. That’s where Dick comes in.” 

The kid sounded so confident that Dick would fix things. Jason didn’t want to burst his bubble. He remembered what it was like to have faith in someone, until the day it was horribly shattered. 

Jason heaved a sigh, then jolted when he heard the telltale sound of a grapple line firing. Looked like the time Catwoman had bought him was up. 

“I need to go back to Batman. But uh… how can I find you again?” Jason edged towards the end of the roof, becoming more and more aware of Batman’s retreating figure. The farther he got away the more it pulled on him, as if they were opposite ends of a magnet. 

“Your input has been helpful. But I can handle it from here.” Tim said, slinging his backpack over his shoulders and heading for the fire escape. 

“Woah, hold the phone.” Jason started to go after him, but was stopped once again by that invisible tug towards Batman. Which just so happened to be in the opposite direction. Jason really couldn’t win. “No offense, Tim, but you’re like ten—“

“I’m not ten! I’m in middle school!” 

“Whatever. The point is, I want to stay involved.” Jason refused to be benched. Not again. Tim was the only connection he had to the living world and he was not gonna let that slip through his fingers. 

Tim’s jaw clenched. “At the outskirts of Wayne Manor, there’s an oak tree with big low-hanging branches. Be there this Wednesday. At midnight.” 

Of course Tim had scoped out where Batman lived. The kid obviously knew way too much about their night lives. If Jason wasn’t dead, he’d be more concerned about that. 

With those parting words, Tim swung onto the fire escape, disappearing into the night as easily as he came. If Jason didn’t know better, he’d think Tim was the ghost. Maybe he was. What if this turned out to be a Danny Phantom situation? That would be cool. 

As Jason returned to Batman’s side, he found himself wondering about the kid. Despite the near twenty minutes they’d spent talking, he’d barely gained any information about him. Just a name. 

Tim . It was an ironically simple name for such an odd kid. It might have been an alias. But as squirrelly as the kid was, his words seemed honest. Jason could only hope that assessment would hold up tomorrow night.  

-👻-👻-👻-

Jason was leaning against the trunk of the oak tree Tim specified at midnight. The moon was high in the sky, shining swaths of light on the dewy grass, and there was no sign of Tim. 

Great. He’d been stood up by a middle schooler. 

He scanned the grounds one more time. Just in case he’d missed something. But there was no approaching figure in the distance. 

“Should’ve known he’d be a no show.” Jason grumbled to himself. He’d known the kid was squirrelly, this just cemented that fact.

There was a giggle above him, eerily similar to Dick’s from his Robin days. “You sure about that?”

Jason’s head snapped up. The leaves rustled and he followed the movement, floating into the air until he came face to face with Tim. The kid had picked a good spot. To anyone on the ground, he’d be completely hidden from view. 

For all his searching, he’d never thought to check the tree branches. Jason internally kicked himself. Dick had always told him people never looked up. It was why the Bats traveled by rooftop in the first place. 

Jason plopped down next to Tim on the branch. It wasn’t like he had to worry about it holding his weight. He was a ghost. 

“How long have you been up here?” He asked, a sigh lacing his tone. 

“That’s not important.” Tim said primly, like the little snot he was. 

Tim was lucky he was so tiny — and that Jason was a ghost — because part of him wanted to smack him. 

“We should figure out a better place to meet up, though. I don’t want to risk sneaking past Wayne security again.” Tim turned to him. “What’s your anchor?”

Jason frowned. “My what?”

“Your anchor. It’s what keeps a ghost tethered to the mortal plane. If a ghost is away from their anchor for too long, they’ll disappear.” Tim explained. It was why so few ghosts lasted for more than a century. The people they loved died, their homes were destroyed… “Usually anchors are a person, place, or object that was significant to them back when they were alive. I’m guessing your anchor is Batman. But some ghosts can have multiple anchors.”

Well. That explained a few things. At first, Jason had thought it was just anxiety that made him not want to leave Bruce’s side. But it had started to feel like there was a physical pull whenever he strayed too far. However, that wasn’t always the case. It had been easy enough for him to go to Crime Alley back when he’d talked to Delilah. Did he have multiple anchors, like Tim said?

It made sense that Crime Alley was significant to him. It was where he was born and raised for most of his life. And he felt oddly protective of the place. They were his people. They needed help. And Jason wasn’t going to abandon them like the rest of Gotham had. But then he died… and Batman was back to avoiding Crime Alley like the plague. All that hard work, gone in an instant. A swing of a crowbar… the ticking of a timer…

Jason shuddered. He shook his head, trying to expel those thoughts. They wouldn’t do him any good. 

What had he been doing before? He glanced at Tim, who was still watching him. His blue eyes were sharp, like shards of ice. Those eyes were too knowing for a face that still had baby fat. They were the kind of eyes that asked questions. The kind of eyes that wanted answers.

Right. Places of significance. Tim was still waiting on his reply. 

Now that Jason thought back, he’d felt free as a bird anywhere in the manor or the cave, even when Bruce wasn’t around. So, that was three places and one person he was anchored to. 

“Uhh… Batman, like you said. Also the manor and the Batcave. And I was able to go to Crime Alley, too.”

Tim nodded. “Crime Alley would probably be the best place to meet up. I don’t have to worry about any security systems there.” 

A little kid like Tim… in Crime Alley… 

“Woah.” Jason held up his hands, palms facing outwards in the universal ‘slow down’ gesture. “No. Bad idea.” 

Tim tilted his head to the side, his eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

“ Why?” Jason sputtered. “Because it’s Crime Alley. Emphasis on the crime . It’s not safe for a little kid to be wandering around there. Especially at night.” 

“Jason…” Tim said slowly, as if he was talking to someone incredibly stupid. “I’ve been going out in Gotham at night for years. Including Crime Alley. I’ll be fine.” 

Jason opened his mouth to protest.

“I’m good at staying hidden. Batman never noticed me following him.” Tim raised an eyebrow. “And if Batman didn’t notice… do you really think some two-bit thug would?”

Jason closed his mouth. The kid had a point. Didn’t mean Jason had to like it, though. 

Jason narrowed his eyes. “Do you have any other ghost powers? Like invisibility or something?” 

It would explain how they’d never noticed the kid — and why he was so good at his disappearing act. 

“Nope.” Tim said, popping the p. He kicked his legs back and forth from his seat on the branch, as if he was on a swing set. “Just the ability to see ghosts. If I have any other powers, they haven’t shown themselves.”

…Or the Bats needed to work on their situational awareness. Great . That really boosted Jason’s confidence. 

“I tracked down Dick.” Tim continued. It was always down to business with this kid. “He’s at Haly’s Circus in New York. It’s out of your range, so you won’t be able to come with me.” 

“How the hell are you gonna get to New York? Last time I checked, you have to be sixteen to get a driver’s license.” Jason said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Tim sassed him right back. “There’s this thing called a bus . You might have heard of it.” He sat back against the trunk with a sigh. “I’ll have to wait until the weekend, but I can catch a bus to New York Friday evening or Saturday morning. We can reconvene the following Monday in Crime Alley. Is there a spot you’d prefer? If not, I have a few rooftops to choose from.” 

“How about Park Row Theatre?” Jason suggested. 

It was the biggest landmark in Crime Alley, so Tim was guaranteed to know where it was. It was also where Bruce’s parents had died — and where he had met Jason. That place was oozing significance. 

“Morbid.” Tim nodded approvingly. “I like it. See you, Monday.” 

He saluted Jason, then hopped down the tree, quick as a rabbit. He took off into the backwoods surrounding the manor, the dense foliage swallowing him up, and disappeared from sight. 

Jason stared at the treeline. That kid… Jason had just met him, but he already knew he was gonna be trouble. 

Dick wouldn’t know what hit him. 

-👻-👻-👻-

As Tim stepped up to the giant circus tent, he was overcome with a feeling of deja vu. This is where he’d first met Dick. It’s what led him to unlocking the Bats’ secrets. 

It was also the first time he’d ever seen someone die. The memories flooded him. The Graysons’ ghosts rising from their crumpled bodies on the floor. Bruce Wayne trying to shield Dick’s eyes. Don’t look, don’t look. But Tim had seen. He couldn’t stop seeing. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to look away. 

Tim had always seen more than he should. 

However, the past wasn’t important right now. Tim was here to secure the future, and to do that… he needed Dick Grayson’s help. 

But first he needed to help Dick Grayson. Haly’s circus was in trouble. 

Chapter Text

Well shit, Tim thought as he watched the lion tamer get mauled by his own lion. His fingers twitched, wanting to do something, to help , but… what was he supposed to do? He was just a kid with a camera. He could only help the dead, not the dying. 

He sighed with relief when Dick, disguised as a clown, threw a net over the lion, preventing it from hurting anyone else. 

But it was too late for the lion tamer, Tim could feel it in his bones. He knew when death neared. He didn’t have to wait long. Within a minute, the man bled out from the nasty slice across his throat. Tim’s eyes tracked the ghost as it rose from the corpse, still clutching his neck. 

Tim really did have shitty luck with the circus. Both times he’d gone, he’d witnessed death. He hoped he wasn’t cursed. 

As everyone around him panicked, Tim took the opportunity to slip beneath the bleachers. He waited as the people filtered out, eyes on the new ghost. The man was obviously distraught; wild eyed as he choked on sobs. People tended to be like that when they died so suddenly and viciously. 

Tim wished the circus members would just leave already. He couldn’t have an audience if he wanted to comfort the man. 

He needed to get the lion tamer’s attention somehow. He needed to get the ghost to come to him. But that was easier said than done. The tent was still full of the horrified circus staff, and like with any horror, people couldn’t look away from it. Everyone’s eyes were pinned on the bloody scene before them. Any move, or sound, he made would alert them to his presence. 

Luckily, Tim had scoped out the place earlier. There was another ghost here; one that could act as his liaison. 

The bearded lady was curious about him, like all ghosts were, so he knew she’d been lurking nearby. He scanned the area and quickly found her. She was standing in a corner, a hand clapped over her breast, her eyes on the lion as it was hauled into a cage. 

At least she wasn’t in the middle of a group of people like the lion tamer was. Tim slipped out from under the bleachers, keeping to the shadows as he made his way over to her. Her eyebrows jumped as she noticed him approaching. He motioned for her to follow him, and together they ducked back under the bleachers. 

“Hi, Julia.” Tim greeted. His mother hadn’t been around much, but when she was she had drilled the importance of manners into him. “I know that was hard to see, but do you think you could get the lion tamer to come over here? I can’t risk being seen.”

Law enforcement had started to swarm in, which was the exact opposite of what Tim needed. He huffed out a frustrated breath. Cops always made his self assigned duty much more difficult. They didn’t like kids hanging around their crime scenes. 

Julia’s lips pursed, but she nodded decisively. “I can do that.”

She hiked up her poofy dress and marched over there, her head held high. It wasn’t like anyone else could see her, but when they’d first bumped into each other, Julia had said the way one carried themselves was important. If Tim didn’t know better, he’d think she was trying to mother him. 

Julia spoke softly to the lion tamer for a few moments, then dragged him back to Tim. The man was a sniffling mess. Ghosts couldn’t produce snot, but the pure devastation on his face made up for it. 

“It was him!” The lion tamer wailed. “I know it was!”

“Who?” Tim asked and the man startled, likely not expecting that Tim was able to see him. None of his colleagues had. 

He recovered quickly though, like a true performer, the show must go on and all that. “Th-the old clown. He knew I was suspicious of him and he must’ve done something to my sweet girl.”

Tim assumed he was talking about the lion. 

“How? Drugs?” 

“Why else would she have attacked me?” He wiped at his eyes. “I’m the one who takes care of her.” 

Julia nodded her agreement. “The animals here know better than to bite the hand that feeds them. It must have been sabotage.”

“He's a miserable drunk.” The lion tamer growled, looking eerily similar to his lion with the flash of teeth. “And he’s taking it out on the rest of us.”

“Have either of you seen the old clown sabotage the acts here?” Tim asked. 

They both hesitated, then shook their heads. So they both suspected, but neither of them had caught him in the act. Luckily, Tim was an aspiring detective, ghosts pointing him in the right direction was all he needed.

“All right. Thank you. I’ll make sure to look into that.” Tim turned to the lion tamer. “Don’t worry, sir. I’ll make sure your killer won’t get away with it.” 

The lion tamer stuttered out his thanks and Tim left him in the capable hands of the bearded lady. He knew she’d help him gain his footing as a ghost. She really cared about this circus. Just like Dick did.  

Tim ducked out of the tent. Fortunately, He’d already surveyed the area, so he knew exactly where the trash was kept. He rummaged through it, wrinkling his nose. Dumpster diving was one of the worst parts of being a detective. 

Within minutes he’d found his prize. The old clown’s flask. A perfect place to keep the drugs. No one would look twice at a drunk for carrying that around. The cops could analyze it and then they’d have their killer, dead to rights.

Tim smiled to himself as he tucked the flask into his bag. He couldn’t wait to tell the lion tamer the good news. 

Tim walked back towards the tent, then smacked right into two of the circus security guards. Tim internally cursed his luck. He was so used to having Gotham’s night to hide him, that his skills deteriorated in the daylight. 

“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re not allowed back here, kid!”

Tim didn’t have time for this. He grabbed one of the nearby trash cans and shoved it at one man, jumping over the other as he tried to grab him. 

“Stop him!”

Tim took off, knocking down trash cans as he went, creating obstacles for any would be pursuers. 

“Woah!” A hand latched onto the back of his jacket. “I don’t know who you are kid—“

Tim twisted, grabbing the hand and using it to flip the man over his head. “You’re not gonna find out either!” 

Jason might think he was an idiot, but he’d known going out into Gotham was dangerous. He’d made sure to prepare himself. Luckily, his parents didn’t even notice he’d used their credit card to pay for Judo classes. They didn’t want to notice when it came to Tim. For once, he was happy to be ignored. If only these circus guys could get that memo. 

Tim yelped as his feet left the ground, the momentum of the move changing so he was the one who ate it, his tailbone slamming into the dirt.

He looked up, dazed. Then sucked in a breath when he saw who was standing over him. It was Dick Grayson. Tim couldn’t believe his luck. 

Dick grabbed him by his shirt and hauled him up, his teeth bared. “Okay kid, I think we should talk.”

“Dick! It’s you! Thank god!” 

Dick reeled back as if he’d been smacked. Right. Tim probably wasn't supposed to know his name. He thought he’d learned that lesson when he’d met Jason.

But it was Dick Grayson. Tim’s idol. The one who’d hugged him and promised a special trick, just for him. Tim couldn’t remember the last time he’d basked in such attention and affection.

He really needed to cool it with the hero worship, though. If Dick thought he was an overeager fanboy, he’d never listen to him.

Tim straightened up, smoothing his face to seriousness as he looked Dick dead in the eyes. “I’ve been digging up proof and I think the old clown killed the lion tamer.”

Dick was still staring at him. Tim resisted the urge to squirm under his gaze. He wasn’t going to show his nerves in front of his hero. He refused to. 

The other guys had caught up to them, clearly agitated. That tended to happen when they got their asses handed to them on a silver platter. Adult men’s egos were pretty fragile. They didn’t like when anyone threatened it, especially if it was a scrawny kid. 

Thankfully, Dick brushed them off, stating that he’d handle it, and dragged Tim off to a secluded spot. 

Dick didn’t beat around the bush. “Who are you? And how do you know me?” 

Tim resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Dick’s the son of the wealthiest man in Gotham, he’s a mini celebrity, he shouldn’t be surprised people know who he is. Especially with the clown make-up wiped off.

“That’s not important, right now. The old clown could be the killer. We need to make sure he doesn’t bolt.” Tim made sure not to mention Batman. He knew if he did Dick would waste even more time questioning him. 

“We don’t need to do anything.” Great. Now Dick was talking down to him. This was the exact opposite of the way Tim wanted this conversation to go. 

Tim dug in his bag and retrieved the flask, hoping the evidence would sway him. “I found the old clown’s liquor flask in the trash. Analyze it and I bet you’ll find evidence of the drugs that made the lion go crazy. It’ll prove it wasn’t an accident. Then the circus will be cleared.” 

Dick took the flask from him with a frown. “Harry’s a drunk.” — Ah, so that was his name — “But he’s not vicious. The flask being his doesn’t prove he’s responsible.”

“Harry and the lion tamer had a nasty fight before this. We have a motive for killing the lion tamer and the means. It doesn’t paint things in Harry’s favor.” 

Tim thought he was making a good case, but Dick’s frown had only deepened. The pieces clicked together. Dick didn’t want the old clown to have done it. Maybe the two of them had been close back when Dick was in the circus. Personal ties like that always got in the way of logic. 

“I know you don’t want to believe Harry would do this.” Tim tried to make his expression sympathetic, but he doubted he pulled it off. He’d been taught how to wipe expressions off his face, not create them. “But you can’t deny the evidence. The killer’s got to be Harry.”

Dick let loose a growl and stalked off. 

“Hey! Where are you going?” Tim started to go after him, but Dick’s next words stopped him in his tracks. 

“You stay put. We’ll talk later. I’ve got things to check out.” He broke into a jog, headed towards the old clown’s trailer. 

At least he was going to investigate Harry like Tim had suggested, even if this wasn’t moving as quickly as he would’ve liked. 

Stay put. Tim scoffed. If Dick thought Tim was going to follow that order he was as loony as an Arkham resident. 

Just to be safe, Tim took an alternate route, crouching behind an elephant stand, and waited. 

Tim was good at waiting. He’d waited for months on end for his parents to come home. He’d wait for hours on chilly rooftops for the chance to catch a glimpse of Batman. So why was waiting for Dick to finish up this case making him so antsy?

It was like there was a clock ticking in the back of Tim’s brain. Tick, tick, tick. Every second that passed, increased the chance that Bruce would join Jason. Tim couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let another one of Gotham’s protectors fall. Gotham was already riddled with ghosts and without Batman, the ghost population would increase exponentially. No one would ever get any peace. Not the people who’d been killed or the ones still struggling to live. 

Sounds of a commotion inside the trailer snapped Tim out of his head. He looked up in time to see the dwarf burst out of the trailer, running like the hounds of hell were on his heels.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Tim growled to himself. He leapt out from behind the elephant stand and jabbed him with his taser. 

The dwarf screamed as the electricity crackled over him, falling to the ground in a heap. Tim tucked the taser back into his pocket. Just because he knew Judo didn’t mean he should ignore the other tools at his disposal. He was from Gotham. He never went anywhere without some kind of weapon. 

The scream attracted others, Dick leading the crowd as they ran over. Their eyes widened as they saw Tim standing over the dwarf’s crumpled form. 

“He tried to get away.” Tim explained. “I stopped him.” 

He could tell some of the others didn’t believe him. But Dick did. That was the important part.

“You and I have got to talk.” Dick repeated. 

Deciding to be a little sassy. Tim gave him a jaunty salute. God, he’d only met up with Jason twice and he was already being influenced by him. 

Dick was quickly pulled in by the crowd of people, all claiming their disbelief at what had happened. Harry thanked Dick for believing in him and Dick quickly explained how he knew the killer couldn’t have been Harry. 

Dick told them that he had thrown out Harry’s flask before the lion tamer had been murdered. So he’d known it couldn’t have been Harry and that Pedro, the dwarf, had seen him throw out the flask. Dick had looked into Pedro and found out that he’d worked for the company that was trying to buy Haly’s circus. 

Tim mentally kicked himself. He’d relied too heavily on the ghosts’ accounts. Just because they were ghosts, didn’t mean they were omniscient. They could have wrong suspicions just like anyone else. He needed to rely more on his own detective work than ghostly witnesses. 

At least Dick had caught the killer. He really was the coolest. 

-👻-👻-👻-

Dick walked away from Mr. Haly, a bounce in his step. Co-owner of Haly’s circus. For the first time in a long while, he felt connected to his family again. His only family. Bruce had made that pretty clear. With that one thought, his euphoria drained out, his face twisting into a scowl. 

“You didn’t rejoin the circus?” 

There was another dampener on his good mood. The kid who’d tried to stick his nose into all of this. 

“Better, I’m becoming it’s co-owner.” He turned to the kid. He was tired of games. He wanted answers. “Now, who the hell are you?”

Instead of a response, the kid handed him a sealed manila folder. “It doesn’t matter who I am. You need to look at this. Please.”

There was an edge of desperation to his tone that made Dick frown. Maybe the kid was in some kind of trouble. Still… he wanted a real answer.

“Kid, I don’t like games.”

“This isn’t a game, I assure you.” The kid’s face was stone cold in his seriousness. Dick believed him. “It’s important. Batman needs you.”

Batman? Did the kid know? No… he couldn't know. He was just a kid. 

Not wanting his response to give himself away, Dick instead looked to the folder. His heart dropped into his stomach at what he saw. 

High definition pictures of Batman. Bloody and broken and violent. The part of Dick that still cared about the man cried out at the clear agony written in Batman’s actions. 

“My god…” Dick whispered, his hand coming to his mouth. He whipped his head towards the kid. “How did you get these?”

“That's not important.”

That seemed to be the only answer the kid gave to questions about himself. 

“You know as well as I do that Batman hasn’t been acting right since Jason Todd died.” 

Batman. Jason. Being here at the circus looking for Dick…

“You know?”

The kid nodded solemnly, but his eyes… they held a spark in them. Sharp like cut glass. Bright like a propane fire. He knew. That much was certain. The real question was: how much did he know?

“How?” Dick asked sharply. He wanted answers. He wanted them now.

The kid ignored the question. “I know you were Robin and that now you’re Nightwing. Then Jason became Robin and when he died, Bruce Wayne went to pieces. He lost one of his sons.” — Sons plural . As if Dick still counted. Bruce certainly didn’t seem to think so. — “But he still has you, Dick. You need to remind him of what he used to be. Before all this death.” 

Dick didn’t answer. He continued to flick through the photos. There were dates in the corners of them. The most recent one showed a picture of Scarecrow, out of Arkham, and back to causing trouble in Gotham. This was bad. This was really, really bad.

The last thing Bruce needed was to face a rogue who played with a person’s fears. He was too fragile. If fear gas made him see a vision of Jason… he might just shatter. 

Dick cursed softly, then winced, mindful that there was still a kid around. He might hate Bruce’s guts, but Alfred had taught him better than that. 

“You can tell me how you know all this, and how you got these pictures, on the way back. C’mon.”

The kid obediently followed Dick to his car, sliding into the back seat, the one behind the driver’s. A smart decision. Dick wouldn’t be able to see most of his face. It would be harder to get answers out of him. 

Dick tore out of the parking lot, breaking more traffic laws than the Batmobile did in one night as he set a course for Gotham. 

“Now…” Dick kept his eyes on the road, but his ears were trained on the person behind him. “Why don’t you tell me how you know all this?”

“I’ll tell you and Batman at the same time. I don’t want to have to repeat the story over and over again.” 

A story . That didn’t bode well. 

He was refusing to tell him. Which ensured Dick would go back to Gotham and talk to Batman. The kid was smarter than Dick had given him credit for. He knew their secret identities, he had to be smart — or at least know someone who was smart. Dick wouldn’t make the mistake of assuming he knew better than everyone like Bruce did. He’d be careful around the kid. 

But people who were that smart tended to want to show it off. They wanted someone to acknowledge how smart they were. Maybe Dick could use that to his advantage. 

“You’re smart, kid. I’ll give you that.” Dick angled the rear view mirror so he could at least get a glimpse of the kid’s face. “What’s your name?”

“Rumplestiltskin.” 

Okay. So the kid was cheeky. Dick could deal with cheeky. He worked with a group of teenaged superheroes. And it wasn’t uncommon for Nightwing to be a little cheeky himself.

“Okay, since you won’t tell me your name. I’ll have to call you… Pee-Wee.”

As anticipated, the kid made an offended noise. Most kids hated jabs about their lack of height. Dick would know. Once upon a time, he’d been that short kid. 

“Do not call me Pee-Wee. ” He spat, as if the nickname was a filthy curse. 

Dick had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. “Well, you won’t tell me your name. What else am I supposed to call you?”

“Not Pee-Wee.”

“Okay, not Pee-Wee.” —The kid let out a hiss— “Is there anything you will tell me about yourself? What’s a kid doing all the way out here, all by yourself?”

The kid muttered something under his breath. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” He said, too quickly for it to actually have been nothing. 

“Do you parents know where you are?” Dick asked, taking care to soften his voice. 

He didn’t know the kid’s situation. Maybe his parents weren’t in the picture. Maybe they were just shitty. The more Dick knew, the more he could help. The kid obviously needed it… he was out here all by himself and had pictures of Batman. 

“Doesn’t matter. I can take care of myself. I always have.” 

Okay… so parents were a touchy subject. It was clear that wherever his parents were, they weren’t around. What would be worse? If his parents were six feet under or something else? 

He’d willingly gotten into Dick’s car. He hadn’t put up a fight about it like a street kid would. He was also too clean to be a street kid. His clothes weren’t expensive, but they were obviously well taken care of. No old stains or rips. 

“Those pictures… did you take them yourself?” 

“Yeah, I did. And before you freak out—“ The kid hurriedly tacked on. “My camera has a parfocal lens. I was at a safe distance when I took those pictures.” 

Dick didn’t like the fact that the kid was anywhere near Batman. He faced some nasty people and it was no place for a kid. Dick shouldn’t have been out there. Jason shouldn’t have been out there. The kid certainly shouldn’t have been out there. But Dick had a feeling that getting on the kids' case about it would just make him clam up.

The most worrying part was the picture of Scarecrow. Batman hadn’t been in that picture. If Tim had gotten caught, no capes would have been around to save him.

“What about Scarecrow? He broke out of Arkham?” 

“Yeah, about a week ago.” The kid said easily, as if he was reading a weather report, and not talking about one of Gotham’s worst rogues. “There’s been chatter about him on the streets.”

Chatter . Why the fuck did he have an ear to the streets? Dick really hoped this wasn’t a kid wanting to try his hand at vigilante justice. He was going to get himself killed.

Dick was definitely going to keep an eye on him. 

“Scarecrow is a nasty piece of work. His fear gas is no joke. And he won’t hesitate to experiment on kids.” Dick knew from personal experience. He didn’t know what was worse, the fear gas experience or the dead kids he’d found. “I know you said you keep a safe distance, but can you promise me not to go anywhere near Scarecrow, especially if Batman isn’t around?” 

“…if Batman isn’t around.” The kid reluctantly agreed. It wasn’t what Dick had asked, but he supposed he’d have to take what he could get. 

The kid didn’t seem scared though. He didn’t even flinch at the mention of Scarecrow experimenting on kids, or the implication that he could be one of those kids. He was too smart not to have noticed what Dick had implied — too smart to not have a healthy wariness of Gotham’s Rogues. 

But in all fairness, Batman was extremely smart and he still tangled with them regularly. However, Batman was trained in multiple martial arts, had top tier technology, including his suit, and had back up… or at least he used to. That was very different from being a clever kid with a camera. 

“If you won’t tell me your name. Is there something else I could call you, besides Pee-Wee.” The mention of the height jab made the kid scowl. “Like a nickname?”

Maybe the nickname could give him a clue. Nicknames didn’t come from nowhere, they were based on something. Lots of people didn’t know Dick was short for Richard. His other nicknames like Goldie or Boy Wonder were also telling in different ways.

From the kid’s silence, Dick could tell he was considering it. But then he shook his head. “Nah. The nicknames people have for me aren’t very nice.”

Well, that wasn’t reassuring. The more the kid said the more concerned Dick became. After he talked to Batman, he couldn’t let the kid out of his sight. 

“Are the other kids at your school mean?” Dick asked carefully.

The kid snorted. “Something like that.”

Okay… the kid wasn’t giving him a lot to go off of. At least he wasn’t wearing a mask. Dick knew his face now. That was a start.

“What about your age?” Dick prodded. “Will you tell me that? How old are you? Nine? Ten?”

“I have a youthful complexion.” The kid said dryly. 

So he was older than he looked. Probably more around twelve. A twelve year old from Gotham, who had come to New York all on his own, and it was extremely likely no one knew where he’d gone. Fuck . Dick supposed he should be relieved the kid wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere. 

Dick shelved that internal freak out for later. He’d seen kids in way more dangerous situations. Why was this one getting to him so bad? Because the kid knew their secret identities? 

He glanced at the rearview mirror. He couldn’t see much of the kid, since he’d opted to sit behind the driver's seat, but he could hear him. The kid was quiet. Oddly quiet. Kids weren’t supposed to be that quiet. Especially not during a car ride. They were supposed to point out cows and play music and ask “are we there yet?” a million times. The kid didn’t do any of that. He just sat there and fidgeted with his long sleeves. 

Dick opened his mouth, about to ask if everything was alright, but the kid beat him to the punch.

“What… what happens if we’re too late?” The kid asked suddenly, his breath hitching. “What if Scarecrow already has Batman? What if he’s already dead?”

Dick swallowed thickly. He didn’t know what to say to that. But the kid was fidgeting in the backseat, still waiting for a reply to the question both of them dreaded to answer.

“Bruce is too stubborn to die that easily.” Dick eventually managed, trying to go for a reassuring joke, but it fell flat.

“Yeah…” the kid muttered, turning to look out the window. “I hope so.”

They spent the rest of the car ride in silence. 

Chapter Text

Tim swallowed thickly as he gazed up at Wayne manor. It may as well have been Dracula’s castle with how nervous Tim was. He’d always kept his distance, observed from afar… and now he was right in the thick of it.

He could’ve happily stayed a cryptid, but no, he had to try and play hero. Now it was coming back to bite him in the ass. 

The imposing double doors opened, revealing Alfred Pennyworth. He was known to the public as Bruce Wayne’s butler, but Tim knew he was much more than that. 

“Master Richard, it’s good to see you.” Alfred greeted the man as he waved them inside and started preparing tea. He peered at Tim. “And who might this young lad be?” 

Dick accepted a cup. “I was wondering that as well.” His eyes bored into Tim over the rim of his cup. “Since we’re here, will you finally give me your name?”

Tim was already uncomfortable with them knowing his face. If this went the way Tim wanted it to, they’d never know his name. 

Tim shrugged, trying to play himself off as unaffected. “I have many names. I couldn’t possibly choose one.” 

Dick didn’t back down. “You could tell us all of them.” 

“That would take far too long.” Tim replied, careful to keep his voice steady. 

Dick and Alfred glanced at each other, seemingly having a silent discussion over his head. Rude. But Tim was used to adults talking over him, telepathically or otherwise. So he patiently waited them out. 

“Perhaps I could entice you.” Alfred suggested, sliding a plate of cookies towards him.

Tim didn’t bite. He left them untouched, as he had the cup of tea. But the pleasant aroma wafting from them had his stomach clenching. He hadn’t eaten since his arrival at the circus. Even on the bus ride over he’d only had a granola bar. 

Then, to make matters worse, Jason wandered in. He stopped short when he spotted Tim, his mouth hanging open. 

“Tim? What are you doing here?” 

As much as Tim hated it, he knew he couldn’t acknowledge Jason’s presence. Alfred and Dick were watching him too closely for that. Tim just had to hope Jason wouldn’t get butt-hurt over being ignored.

“I’m not hungry.” Tim lied. “Is Mr. Wayne here?”

He took the opportunity to look around, head turning in each direction until his eyes landed on Jason. The boy silently shook his head. 

So Batman wasn’t here. Tim didn’t know whether to be frustrated or relieved. 

“I’m afraid Master Bruce isn’t here at the moment.” Alfred answered. “Is there a message you would like me to pass along?”

On one hand, if Tim told Dick and Alfred what he knew, he could avoid an encounter with Batman. On the other hand, as soon as Dick had that information, he might leave again. Tim couldn’t let Dick leave Gotham. 

“I’d rather tell him in person. Do you know when he’ll be back?”

Dick and Alfred exchanged looks again. That could only mean one thing. Bruce was out as Batman right now. 

Tim groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “Please tell me he’s not going after Scarecrow.” 

Above him, Alfred inhaled sharply. “I— I beg your pardon?”

“He knows, Alfred.” Dick said, exasperation lacing his tone. “Don’t ask me how, but he knows.”

Jason came to sit on the empty barstool next to Tim. He’d always found it weird that ghosts could sit on furniture, but couldn’t move it. If they were truly intangible, wouldn’t they go right through? It was one of the few mysteries Tim had yet to crack.

“How do you know? I’ve been wondering since we met and I’m sure” — Jason jabbed a thumb at Dick and Alfred — “it’s driving those two crazy.” 

Tim didn’t respond. If Jason and him continued interacting in the future, he’d have to accept that Tim couldn’t talk to him in front of others. No matter how rude it was. 

Alfred stepped closer to Dick, his voice low. “Sir, just who is this lad?” 

Dick shook his head. “You know almost as much as I do, Alfred. Which isn’t much. He tracked me down at Haly’s and said Bruce needed my help.”

It seemed like the adults were playing the ‘pretend Tim isn't there’ game. He supposed it was fair, since he was basically doing the same thing to Jason. But it was annoying that they were pretending he couldn’t hear them when he was only on the opposite end of the counter.

“I couldn’t let a twelve year old wander around alone, so I brought him with me.”

Tim bit down on the need to correct them. People always assumed he was younger than he was. It wasn’t his fault he was a late bloomer. He’d just turned thirteen for god's sake! Also, he hadn’t needed Dick to drive him back to Gotham. He’d gotten to the circus by himself and he could get back by himself. He knew they lived rich, but so did Tim… why was it that none of them ever remembered the fact that the bus existed?

“Good heavens.” Alfred brought a hand to his heart. “Master Bruce won’t be pleased.”

Dick snorted without humor. “Don’t I know it.”

“Yeah…” Jason drawled next to him. “B’s gonna flip.”

And didn’t that do wonders for Tim’s confidence. But he could handle an angry Batman. Tim knew how to handle those twisted by grief, he’d been doing it for years. At least Batman wouldn’t be covered in gore — well, hopefully he wouldn’t be. Even if he was, Tim had been desensitized to that long ago. 

Echoing his deceased brother's earlier question, Dick turned to him, blue eyes beseeching. “Kid, please tell us what’s going on. Knowing secrets like that is dangerous, for us and you. We need to know so we can take precautions.” 

Yeah, like locking him in a hole and never letting him out again — or getting Martian Manhunter to mind wipe him. As soon as Tim lost his leverage, they could do whatever they wanted. He wasn’t stupid. 

“I know how this works.” Tim said hotly, annoyed that they were treating him like some naive child. “Once you get what you want from me, you’ll leave. And I can’t let that happen. Bruce needs you, Dick.”

“I won’t leave until I’ve talked to Bruce.” He laid a hand over Tim’s, squeezing lightly. “I promise.”

Jason scoffed. “You mean yell at him? We both know your conversations always end up being screaming matches.”

Thanks for the vote of support Jason. It’s not like he was risking everything to try and help them. A little faith would be nice.

Tim closed his eyes and shook his head, resolute. He knew he couldn’t tell Dick. Not just because he was worried about him leaving, but because of the effect he knew it would have on the man. Tim had seen the Graysons fall as a stranger, and he had nightmares about it for years. He couldn’t imagine how the memory of that night still hurt Dick. 

“If you tell me… I’ll show you the Batcave.” Dick bargained, a hint of glee in his voice. He knew how enticing his offer was.

As much as Tim hated himself for it, he perked up slightly. He’d always dreamed of seeing the Batcave. Batman and Robin were his heroes. His fascination with them had never changed, even after everything went so horribly wrong. 

“Shouldn't you be going there anyways? If Bruce is going after Scarecrow he’s going to need your help, ASAP.” Tim shot back. Redirection at its finest. 

It wasn’t like he was wrong, either. If Batman found Scarecrow before they found him, he’d be in big trouble.

“Master Bruce has a gas mask. If he encounters trouble, he has an emergency beacon to alert us.” Alfred informed him. The man must be worried, but Tim had to admit, he had an impressive poker face. 

“If he’ll use it.” Jason grumbled. 

“Will he even use it?” Tim asked pointedly, snatching the tidbit of information from Jason. “I know you don’t want to acknowledge it, but Batman has been exhibiting suicidal tendencies. I don’t think he cares if he comes back or not.”

Alfred looked away and Dick tightened his hand around his cup, white knuckling it. Jason’s shoulders were slumped in defeat, having already accepted the truth. It’s why he’d come to Tim for help in the first place. 

Tim knew that if he pressed harder, it’d hurt them. Even more than it did now. Because as much as they wanted to deny it, they knew what he was saying was true. Their silence said it all. 

“Fine, I’ll tell you how I figured out your secret identities.” Tim sighed, because he was a sucker and couldn’t stand seeing his heroes hurting. They perked up and Tim lifted a finger to stop it, not wanting them to get too excited before they heard the rest of what he had to say. “But only on the condition that you won’t try to lock me up or alter my memories. Batman isn’t here to agree to those terms. So you two will have to team up to make sure he upholds the bargain, deal?” 

Dick and Alfred looked at each other, then back at Tim.

“Deal.” They said in unison. 

“Alright… ” Tim took a deep breath, preparing himself. “It’s a bit of a long story. So get comfy.”

Maybe he was stalling. But he was nervous, okay! He was about to tell his hero, the Dick Grayson, that he’d figured out his secret identity. And he’d have to tell him how. He’d have to admit that the worst day of Dick’s life had stuck in Tim’s three year old mind, not just because of the death he’d witnessed, but because it was one of the few memories he had of being shown such open affection.

“We’re listening.” Alfred assured him and Dick nodded in agreement; both of their attention focused solely on him.

Tim was starting to wish they’d go back to pretending he wasn’t there. But he wasn’t going to chicken out now.

He turned to Dick. “We’ve met before. It was years ago, and I was really little, so I don’t blame you for not remembering me.” Tim swallowed thickly, before continuing. “I was there. When the Graysons fell.”

Stifled gasps echoed throughout the room. Alfred put a steadying hand on Dick’s shoulder. 

“It was the first time I’d ever seen anyone die.” The first time he could remember seeing a ghost. “That day may as well have been branded into my brain. I could never forget it. I… I had nightmares for years.” 

“Oh my god…” Dick whispered brokenly, devastation written all over his face. 

“I don’t mean to imply… it— it was nothing compared to what you went through. I mean… they were your parents .” Tim looked down at his lap, wringing his hands. “I was just another stranger in the crowd.”

“No, buddy.” Dick shook his head rapidly. “That’s not what I meant at all. I’m just horrified that someone that young saw that.” 

If that horrified him… Tim couldn’t imagine his reaction if he found out Tim had been able to see ghosts since he was in diapers. Falling to death was actually on the tamer side of cause of death wounds. Tim wasn’t going to mention that though. 

“Still… I’m sorry I have to bring that up. But it’s important, I promise.” Tim flexed his jaw as he wondered how much detail to include. He didn’t want to mention his parents… but he had promised them the truth. Besides, that was years ago, for all they knew his parents were out of the picture now. “My parents had brought me to the circus and we saw you all in your costumes, the red green and yellow…” — trademarks of the robin suit — “and asked if we could take a picture with you.”

Tim hadn’t brought the photo with him. He didn’t want to risk his parents being recognized. Also, a part of him was afraid they might take it. That day… as horrible as it had been for Dick… had been one of the best for Tim. His parents had been paying attention to him, they’d been having so much fun together. He’d even… he’d even gotten a hug from the Boy Wonder himself. He didn’t want to give that up. 

“You’d held me in your lap and promised you’d do a special trick. Just for me. And in my eyes… you were the coolest kid ever.”

To his right, Jason grumbled something under his breath. Probably about how he was the cool one or whatever.

“The rest of the circus didn’t matter to me after that. I was just waiting for you to do your special trick. And you did. A quadruple somersault. A trick that only three people in the world could do.” Tim knew the story was getting long winded, and that he should get to the point, but the day’s events were spilling out of him like a torrent and he couldn’t stop them. “Then the ropes snapped and your parents fell. My mom tried to shield my eyes, but it was too late, I’d seen. I’ve…” Tim glanced at Jason. “I’ve always seen more than I should.”

He took a deep breath, before continuing. “When I got my mom to take her hand off, I saw you down there, with your parents.” Their ghosts had been huddling over him, trying to comfort their crying son, not yet realizing they were lost to him. “And then I saw this dark shape flying down, right at you. I thought it was what had hurt your parents and— and that it was going to hurt you.” 

Dick’s parents had thought that too. John had tried to charge him and Mary had thrown her body over Dick’s. In that moment, Tim had wondered, if he was in danger… would his parents try anything to protect him too? 

“I’d cried out to try and warn you, but then… when he touched you… his hands were kind. That was when I realized he wasn’t trying to hurt you, he was trying to help. That was the first time I saw Batman. That moment… that was when Batman went from monster to hero in my eyes.” 

After that, he’d followed Batman and Robin’s careers religiously. They were the things he had to look forward to, after he’d all but given up on his parents coming home on time. 

“Kid, what does this have to do with anything?” Dick asked, letting out an exhausted sigh. “I know what happened that day. Why are you repeating it?” 

Why are you making me relive it?

“It’s important context.” Tim said, a little snappier than he’d meant to. God why was he being so defensive? “Remember the quadruple somersault? Well, after what I’d seen at the circus, I’d always kept an eye out for news about Batman and Robin. They— They were my heroes . And one day, when I was watching TV, the news played a video of Batman and Robin fighting the Penguin. Robin was on the crossbeam above him and he’d done a crazy flip to take him down.”

“I still don’t understand…”

“C’mon Dick.” Tim huffed, frustrated he still wasn’t getting it. “That flip was a quadruple somersault. That special trick you’d promised to do for me? The one the ringmaster said only three people in the world could do? I knew that somersault like I knew my own name.”

Which he still wasn’t going to tell them. Whoops. Maybe he shouldn’t have used that comparison. 

“After that all the puzzle pieces clicked together. You were the only person who could do that somersault that was the right age to be Robin. You were the only one on this side of the world, much less in Gotham. It all made sense. Batman had shown up at the circus to help you. Bruce Wayne took you in as his ward and about six months later Robin appeared. If you were Robin then Bruce Wayne had to be Batman. Bruce Wayne had the wealth needed to be Batman. He had the right build, the right motivation. The more I thought about it the more convinced I was.”

Dick, Alfred, and Jason were all staring at him now, shock written all over their faces. Tim knew figuring it out from a somersault was a stretch. But that was how it had happened. 

“And here I thought a ghost had seen us and told you.” Jason grumbled, his arms crossed over his chest. “But noooo, Dick being a show off was what did it.”

“I’m not saying it was easy… you guys really covered your tracks,” — the Brucie persona really threw people off the scent — “but once I knew where to look, the clues were all there. Dick moved to New York to become Nightwing and there wasn’t a Robin for a while. Then Bruce Wayne adopts Jason Todd and there’s suddenly a new Robin. Then I heard about Jason’s death…” Tim glanced at him, the ghost that was forever a beaten and bloody boy wonder. “…and again there was no Robin. Batman was going on a rampage and I knew Jason’s death was why he’d become so violent.”

“Also I told you.” Jason huffed, picking uselessly at the plate of Alfred’s cookies. 

“I’m really worried for him. I’ve seen what Jason’s death has done to him.” The petty criminals he’d landed in the hospital… the hits he’d received himself that never should’ve landed in the first place… “He’s going off the deep end and he needs your help Dick.”

“You keep saying that, but how the hell am I supposed to help him?” Dick threw his hands up. “All his friends have tried and failed.”

“Batman’s acting like this because he lost a son. But he didn’t only lose Jason. He— he lost you too. Having you back could help him.” It had to help him. If it didn’t… Tim didn’t know what else would. Maybe forcing Bruce to go to therapy? Somehow Tim knew that would be an even harder sell.

“I’m not— I’m not gonna go crawling back to him. But you’re right. He needs help.” Dick stood up, jerking his head to the side. “C’mon, I believe I promised you a tour of the Batcave.”

Tim jumped to his feet, following Dick through the Manor until they reached what looked like a private study. Dick walked right up to an old Grandfather clock. He turned the hands to a certain placement — 10:48 — and the clock slid to the side, revealing a passageway down into the dark. 

“This is so cool.” Tim whispered to himself. He wondered how many other secret passageways were littered around the manor. It was probably like the Clue game in here. 

They walked down the steps until they entered a giant cavern. Tim’s jaw hit the floor as he gaped at everything. The giant computer, the trophies, the weapons wrack. Tim spun around, taking it all in — then froze. 

“I must be dreaming. Because I’m pretty sure I just saw a Dinosaur.”

Tim had seen animals’ ghosts before, but he’d never seen a dinosaur. The biggest animal ghost he’d ever seen had been a horse. Dinosaurs went extinct thousands of years ago, there was no way a ghost of one was still lurking around. Especially not in the fucking Batcave.

“I assure you sir, you are not dreaming. The T-Rex is an animatronic and one of Master Bruce’s souvenirs.” Alfred informed him, Jason snickering at his side. 

By the time Tim had finished gaping at everything, Dick had changed into his Nightwing suit. The black and blue suited him. He was darker than Robin, yet brighter than Batman could ever be. 

Dick rested his hand against the glass case holding the Robin uniform. “I can’t go back to being Batman’s partner. I’m my own man now. I can only go forwards, not backwards.” 

“But Batman needs a partner.” Tim insisted, his hands balled at his sides. Why would no one listen to him? “He needs someone to care about. He needs someone who cares about him.”

“I've gone through Hell with him and because of him!” Dick spun around and jabbed a finger at Tim, face twisted in a snarl. “Don’t you lecture me about caring. You know nothing of how much I cared about that man.” 

“Cared? As in past tense? Bullshit. Caring doesn’t stop no matter how upset you are with someone.” Tim knew that all too well. He loved his parents and he resented them. Anger did not negate love. 

Dick glared at him. “What do you know? You’re just a kid.”

He was right. Tim didn’t know what it was like to be cared for. He cared about the Bats, but that “relationship” was a parasocial one at best. He’d never been able to forge connections with people, no matter how hard he tried.

“Master Richard.” Alfred started, seemingly trying to soothe the growing tension. “Perhaps the lad has a point. Master Bruce has not been the same since… since he lost his Robin a second time.” 

“It’s true, Dick.” Tim stepped towards him, palms splayed. “He needs you back. The dynamic duo—“

“The dynamic duo is done. Robin is done.” Dick spat. “They both died with Jason.” He stalked over to his motorcycle and swung his leg over it. “And no matter how much anybody may want it. You can’t bring back the dead.”

Then he sped out of the cave, leaving them all behind— leaving Tim behind. Tim had driven him away. Just like he’d driven away his parents. He’d been too pushy and now Dick was gone. Tim fell to his knees. It was all his fault. 

Alfred put a hand on his shoulder and Tim nearly jumped out of his skin. “I’m sorry, lad. At times Master Dick can be as stubborn as his mentor. Consider your success, they shall be working together again.” 

“Yeah… but how long will that last?” Jason muttered. Ever the optimist. 

Tim picked himself up off the ground. His vision swam and he hurriedly wiped at his eyes. God, he hadn’t cried in years. He thought his tears had all dried up ages ago. Why were the floodgates suddenly open now? 

“Alfred, can I ask you a question?”

His brows raised, surprised by the query but apparently willing to indulge it. “Of course, lad.”

“What do you think is worse? To have someone you care about and lose them? Or to never have anyone at all.”

Alfred silently pondered the question for a moment, before putting a hand on Tim’s back and guiding him back up the stairs. “I believe we should save that query for when the Masters return.”

If they returned. Tim could only hope Dick would uphold his promise. Good guys kept their promises, right?

Chapter Text

The child sitting at the kitchen table was a peculiar boy. Alfred had experience with peculiar boys. He’d raised one. Nothing was more peculiar than dressing up in a Bat suit and punching criminals. But Bruce had been a known quantity, this child was not.

“Is there a reason you will not tell us your name?” Alfred asked as he set a plate down in front of the boy. The lad was much too scrawny for Alfred’s liking. 

“There are a lot of reasons.” The boy said. His eyes flicked to the sandwich, but he made no move to touch the food. 

“I have time to listen, dear boy.” Lately, Alfred had done nothing but wait for his boys to return home. This lad, as unsettling as he was, came as a welcome reprieve. 

The boy shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. If Alfred hadn’t witnessed how adamant the boy was about helping Batman, he’d think the child didn’t want to be here at all.

“It’s—“ the boy cut himself off, fiddling with his sleeves. “You don’t need to know who I am. I’m nothing important. I— I never wanted to get involved. I never wanted to reveal I knew your secret identities. I’d been content to take it to my grave, but… I saw Batman needed help, and I couldn’t stand by and not do anything.”

For someone who said he didn’t want to get involved, this child certainly had the makings of a would-be vigilante. I couldn’t stand by and not do anything. That line was awfully familiar. Every hero subscribed to that belief. 

“Hopefully bringing back Dick will be enough. If it works, I won’t ever bother you guys again.”

Alfred sighed. “Hopefully indeed.”

The boy ran a critical eye over him. “But you don’t have much faith that it will work, do you?”

Well, he certainly was a perceptive one. “No, I don’t. They’d been fighting even before Master Jason was lost.”

Bruce didn’t know how to let things go. Especially not his loved ones. When Dick had strained for independence, Bruce had reacted badly. To him, his family had been leaving him all over again. Bruce held onto Dick too tight, and in the end that’s what drove him away. Jason had been the result of Bruce failing to cope with his empty nest syndrome. 

After Jason died, Bruce had only pushed Dick away even more. Despite Alfred’s urgings, Bruce had refused to apologize to Dick for how awful he’d been to him in his grief. Alfred suspected that Bruce was withholding an apology on purpose. He lashed out and didn’t apologize because he wanted Dick to hate him, so he’d be justified in hating himself. 

Alfred had known Bruce all his life. As secretive as he was, he could never hide from his gaze.

“I know Jason’s death is a sore subject. But if… if you ever want to talk about it, I’m willing to listen.” The boy offered him a small smile. It looked painfully awkward on his face. “I know Bruce is taking it badly. But I also know he isn’t the only one affected by Jason’s death.”

Alfred wasn’t sure what to make of that. He’d never expected a mere child to be so considerate — but then again, he’d brought up Bruce’s suicidal tendencies to their faces, so maybe he wasn’t that considerate. What a strange boy indeed… 

“That’s kind of you to offer, lad. But I’m an adult. I wouldn’t dare burden a child with my problems.”

The boy shrugged. “If you say so. But if you change your mind, we’ve got all night.”

“Thank you.” 

A silence fell over them. The boy looked down at his plate, but he still didn’t eat. 

Alfred’s brows furrowed. “Is the food not to your liking?”

The boy startled, his head snapping up. “Oh no, it’s— I’m sure it’s great. I’m not snubbing your cooking. I swear!”

“Then why won’t you eat?” Alfred rarely had trouble getting young boys to eat. Dick and Jason practically inhaled their food. The last time he’d had this problem had been with a newly orphaned Bruce. 

The boy’s eyes narrowed, squinting at Alfred like he was a puzzle to be solved. “I already gave you all the information I’m willing to part with. You’re not going to get anything else out of me.”

Alfred blinked, decades worth of military instincts prevented him from reeling back in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

The boy huffed. “I’m not giving you information in exchange for food. I can get my own later.”

Perhaps I can entice you. Alfred had previously offered the boy cookies to try and tempt his name from him. He’d refused then too. Did he think that Alfred wouldn’t feed him unless he gave something in return? 

It reminded him of when Jason had first come to the manor. He’d been suspicious of the meals Alfred had easily given, but he’d never refused them. They had always been devoured as quickly as possible. He'd barely taken a second to breathe, as if afraid Alfred would change his mind and the food would be taken from him. Jason’s food stash of nonperishables was still in the back of his closet. Untouched. Just like everything else in his room. Bruce had refused to let Alfred clean it and the room had become a dusty tomb. 

Just like the Robin uniform, which hung in the cave behind a wall of glass. Alfred wondered if they were Bruce’s way of preserving Jason’s memory or simply another way to punish himself. 

Bruce had never forgiven himself for his parents death, despite the fact that he’d been an eight year old at the time. Alfred knew he’d never forgive himself for Jason’s death either. Not when he knew he could’ve saved him. 

“You do not have to repay me for the food. It is freely and gladly given.” Alfred said, knowing he needed to be direct, especially when it came to stubborn young lads. At the suspicion still lurking in the boy’s expression, he added, “You did return Master Dick to us. It’s the least I could do to thank you.” 

The boy flexed his jaw, but cautiously reached for the sandwich all the same. When his face lit up at the first bite, Alfred gave himself a mental pat on the back, quietly celebrating his small victory. 

-👻-👻-👻-

“Alfred? What’s wrong?” Tim asked, his stomach sinking like a stone as Alfred rushed down the stairs of the Batcave. 

Jason flitted anxiously over Alfred’s head, his pleas to slow down going unheard. A man that old running down the stairs sounded like an accident waiting to happen, but Tim knew Alfred wouldn’t rush if he didn’t have a good reason. 

“Danger, I fear, lad.” Alfred’s fingers flew across the keys of the Batcomputer, the screen lighting up with an address. “Master Richard’s homing signal abruptly cut off.”

Had Dick’s suit been damaged somehow? Was he hurt? Ambushed? Kidnapped? Dea—

“Something must’ve happened. Something bad.” Tim realized aloud and Alfred nodded solemnly. 

“Fucking Scarecrow.” Jason hissed, bristling like a cat. “He’s Gotham’s second worst rogue. And he’s competing with a mutant crocodile who eats people.”

Tim didn’t have to ask to know who the first one was. He liked to believe in second chances, but the Joker had become irredeemable in his eyes long ago. Poison Ivy and the Riddler he could imagine reforming. But the Joker? Tim was honestly hoping Harley would kill him and solve that problem — to finally put the Joker down and prevent Batman from being the one to do it. If Batman killed someone… if he crossed that line… especially while he was like this… Tim didn’t believe he’d ever find his way back. 

“What do we do?” Tim asked, turning to Alfred with wide eyes. There had to be some kind of contingency plan set up, right? It can’t be the first time Batman and Nightwing have been in trouble. 

“We do what I always do. We wait here. Patiently.” 

Tim and Jason’s faces both twisted in unison. Clearly it was a bitter pill to swallow.

“We can’t just leave them there.” Tim insisted, desperately. “They went after Scarecrow. You know how dangerous that is! Especially with their current mental states.”

“I am well aware.” Alfred didn’t raise his voice, but something venomous slipped into his tone all the same. It warned of danger, like a snake rattling its tail. “I am consumed with worry every time the Masters leave the cave. I spend every night fearing the worst and praying for that feeling of relief I get when they return. No matter what condition they’re in.” 

“Alfie…” Jason whispered, sounding heartbroken.

Alfred sat down in the computer chair heavily, his shoulders slumping. “Lad, you cannot dwell on worst case scenarios. You’ll worry yourself into an early grave. You have to have faith that they will return. No matter what your head may say otherwise.”

With Jason’s death still hanging heavy on their shoulders, they both knew having faith was difficult. One of them had already died. It was proven that they were all as mortal as any man. 

“Sorry…” Tim muttered, looking down at his shoes. He didn’t know what else to say. 

Another heavy silence lingered and Tim hurried to break it. He’d always hated silence, hated that deafeningly quiet house. It’s why he went out into Gotham at night, just to experience the thrumming city. It was why he played his music deafeningly loud. It was why he was such a chatterbox when he got nervous. 

“But I’m not like you, Mr Pennyworth.” His head would always win out over his heart. Faith was for other people. “I don’t have your… your…” Tim trailed off, grasping for the word.

“Fortitude.” Jason interjected.

“ Fortitude.” Tim repeated, gratefully snatching the term. “I have to do something or I’ll start to lose my mind.”

He’d never been able to ignore ghosts. At first he’d been afraid. He’d started doing research and putting salt circles around his bed like he was in an episode of Supernatural. But then he’d realized ghosts weren’t bad, they were just sad. People often didn’t try to differentiate between the two. Ghosts were tied to the living world by unfinished business, unable to move on until it had been handled, and that was where Tim came in. Whether it was bringing their pet to a no-kill shelter or ensuring their murderer was brought to justice. He helped where he could. 

He remembered them all. Christina, the pregnant girl in highschool, who’d been bullied to death by her peers. Don, the henchman who’d just been trying to put food on the table, and got his brains blown out for being on the wrong side of a coin flip. Santiago, the social worker whose domestic violence call had gone horribly wrong. CK, the non-binary kid living on the streets; even their firey spirit hadn’t been able to protect them from a harsh winter. Hakeem, a victim of a school shooting who’d died while trying to call his mom, the voicemail containing the deafening sound of gunshots. Grace, who’d been caught in the crossfire of a gang war when she took her little sister out for ice cream. 

Countless others ran through his mind. The ones he could help and the ones he couldn’t. The ones who’d been so twisted by rage or despair that they’d become unrecognizable. The ones who’d given him a parting wave before they moved one. Tim remembered all of them. He didn’t want Batman or Nightwing to be another ghost in his scrapbook of memories. 

For once in his life, he wanted to prevent death instead of sharing a bus seat with it. 

“We know their location.” Tim paced the floor of the cave as he thought aloud. “We could send someone. The Justice League—“

“Batman cut off contact with them.” Alfred interjected, rubbing his forehead. “And Superman is off-world.” 

“The GCPD—“

“Are more likely to arrest Batman than help him right now. He has been rapidly burning bridges as of late.”

“Tim...” Jason called softly, but Tim didn’t turn to look. He couldn’t. He was too worked up. 

“There has to be someone or something… ” 

Alfred looked away. 

Tim clenched his fists, having to bite down on the urge to scream. Batman didn’t want help. He’d made sure he wouldn’t get it. He wanted to die, and he was going to take another one of his sons with him. All because Tim had brought Dick here despite everyone’s wishes.

“Tim.” Jason was calling his name again. Couldn’t he see that Tim was busy?

Didn’t Alfred used to be a spy for British Intelligence? Maybe he could use his skills… wait, no, he was old now, and as retired as he could get living with Batman. He wasn’t exactly in fighting form. Not when his opponent would be Scarecrow. 

“TIM!”

Years of practice were all that kept him from snarling “what?!” at Jason as he spun on a dime. His eyes widened and his stomach dropped. Jason was standing next to the glass case holding the Robin suit. It was pristine compared to the one Jason wore, free of rips and tears and blood. “A Good Soldier” the plaque read.

“Please. ” Was all Jason said. 

Tim sucked in a breath. Batman needed Robin. Jason needed Tim. He knew what he had to do. 

Alfred was there, still watching him wearily from the office chair, so Tim couldn’t ask Jason questions like “are you sure?” and “will the Bats hate me for this?”

He knew what he had to do. Only Robin could save Batman. 

Tim approached the glass case. He laid his hand on it, right over Jason’s. That way it felt less like sacrilege, as if he was merely acting as a conduit for Jason. Saving his family would be Robin’s last act. Then maybe Jason could find peace.

Alfred sucked in a harsh breath, realizing why Tim was standing in front of the case. “Lad, that is not—”

“I have to. It’s the only way.”

Alfred’s hand landed on his shoulder. Tim hadn’t even seen him get up. Points for spy training. “Don’t. You know what happened to Jason. I will not allow another boy to die in that suit.”

Tim's eyes flicked to Jason, his Robin , whose desperation was leaking off of him in waves. He doubted Jason wanted him to be Robin. But they didn’t exactly have a choice right now. 

“I know, Mr. Pennyworth. Believe me, I do.” His eyes were glued to the tattered copy Jason wore. “But Batman needs help. He needs Robin.”

Tim reached out, together with Jason, and opened the case. 

-👻-👻-👻-

“Okay, we need a plan of action.” Jason said. For some reason, he’d claimed the front seat of the car and was choosing to twist around in order to talk to Tim instead of just sitting in the back with him. “You’re good at being sneaky, so we’ll want our plan to play to those strengths. You sneak into the warehouse, do some recon, then get the drop on them with the element of surprise.” 

Tim nodded, a shallow dip of his head. Hopefully, his choice to sit behind the driver’s seat would aid him in this situation as well. Tim hadn’t been able to set up any discrete signals with Jason yet. He internally cursed his past self for the oversight. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Alfred repeated, as he’d been doing since Tim donned the Robin suit. His knuckles were flushed white across the steering wheel. “This is wrong. You don’t have any training.” 

“I’ve taken martial arts classes and I’m good at staying hidden.” He’d proven that to Dick, but Alfred didn’t know about the photos he’d taken, nor had he seen him demonstrate his combat skills. “I know I’m nowhere near the Bats’ level, but right now, I’m all you’ve got.” 

Tim’s fingers brushed against the domino secured to his face. The fabric of the cape tickled his legs and the suit felt two sizes too big. Tim knew he was a poor substitute. He didn’t fit into the role. He wasn’t Dick. He wasn’t Jason. He wasn’t Robin. He was just a pretender.

The car rumbled to a stop. It was a nondescript one, meant to blend in, but it was still a car on an empty street. That drew attention. 

“This is as far as we can go without alerting Scarecrow to our presence.” Alfred informed him, a silent “what now?” hanging in the air.

Tim wasn’t Robin. He knew that. Robin was sitting right in front of him. But Tim was someone who wanted to help and that would have to be good enough. 

“I’ll climb a fire escape and use the roofs to get the rest of the way. I’ll sneak in, do some recon, then get back to you.” 

Alfred frowned, but didn’t object. He pressed a rebreather onto Tim’s face, a comm in his ear, and an antidote into his hand. 

“Don't cause me to regret this young man.” Alfred said, sternly. “You will come back safely.” 

“Don’t worry, Alfie. I’ll be watching his back.” Jason grinned, but Tim could see the shadows of worry still clinging to him. 

Jason didn’t like the situation either. He didn’t know if Tim could pull this off. Hell, Tim didn’t even know if he could. He'd only taken pictures from afar. He’d never faced one of Gotham’s rouges before. He was an information gatherer — a planner, not a fighter.

“You’ll be with me the whole time.” Tim tapped the comm in his ear, then took a deep breath and opened the car door.

He slipped into the shadows of the alley. It would be harder to blend in with the bright colors of the Robin suit, but it had built in gadgets and armor, something Tim’s night gear didn’t. He didn’t even have his night gear with him. He’d left it back at his house, hidden under a loose floorboard in the back of his closet. Tim couldn’t exactly ask Alfred to make a stop at the Drake residence if he wanted to keep his name a secret. 

The Robin suit also had the benefit of having a reputation. Gotham knew Robin wasn’t something to sneeze at. Even without Batman, Robin posed a significant threat. They wouldn’t know that Tim wasn’t the real Robin. He’d have to use that to his advantage. 

He clambered up the nearest fire escape to find Jason waiting for him on the roof. He’d cheated and used his ability to float. But even without that, he probably would’ve beaten Tim to the top anyway.

“The comm doesn’t transmit unless you press the button on it. You don’t have to worry about Alfred overhearing you talk to me.” Jason explained and Tim sighed in relief. That was one less thing to worry about.

“Good to know.” Tim started to creep across the roofs. The good thing about the warehouse district was that the buildings were stacked pretty close together, in order to utilize the limited space. It made crossing from roof to roof much easier. “I’m sorry about ignoring you earlier, but I can’t talk to ghosts when other people are around. They’ll think I’m losing it.”

“It’s cool, man. I get it.” Jason rubbed the back of his neck. “Hey, I’m really sorry you got caught up in all this. I— I never wanted to put you in any kinda danger.” 

“I know, Jason.” Tim landed softly on the roof of the address where Nightwing’s signal had cut off. “But now we’ve gotta be quiet.” He pressed a finger to his lips. “Wouldn’t wanna tip off the bad guys.”

Jason mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key, and Tim bit down on a laugh.

He pressed a finger against the comm in his ear. “Agent A, I’m at the address.”

“…how do you know my code name?”

Oops. This was the third time this has happened. Tim really had to get better at hiding what he knew. 

“No time to explain. I’m gonna head inside; I won’t be able to talk, but I’ll leave the comm on so you won’t worry.”

The crackle of the comm didn’t hide the dryness of Alfred’s voice. “How thoughtful of you.”

“I figured people dressed in spandex have caused you enough stress lately.” Tim shrugged, smirking when he heard Alfred chuckle over the line. “Going quiet.”

He cracked open the skylight and dropped as lightly as he could onto one of the rafters. Tim had to admit, feeling the cape flutter behind him was pretty cool. So was having Jason by his side. 

When he was little, Tim would daydream about being Robin. Running across rooftops and solving crimes together with Batman. He’d gotten lots of pictures of Batman with his Robins; action shots of the dynamic duo punching criminals or soaring through the air. But Tim’s favorites had always been the quieter shots. Ones of Batman ruffling Robin’s hair or of the duo eating burgers on a roof. Everyone called Robin a sidekick, but it was undeniable that he was Batman’s son. They were a family. Tim had several domestic shots that he’d take out of a shoe box and stare at when he was feeling particularly lonely. Batman and Robin. Father and son. He wondered what it was like to have your family so close. 

“I’ll start looking for Batman and Nightwing. You make sure to stay out of sight from the guards.” Jason instructed, then peeled off towards the better lit areas that Tim wouldn’t be able to risk going near. 

Tim wasn’t complaining. As a ghost Jason was far stealthier than he was. He knew some thought him reckless, but he didn’t have a death wish. He’d happily stay hidden in the rafters until Jason came back. 

Meanwhile, he took count of the guards roaming around. Scarecrow was nowhere to be seen and neither were the Bats. Tim didn’t like what that implied. His running theory was that Scarecrow and his men had gotten the jump on the Bats, then had taken them back here to experiment on them. 

Tim counted half a dozen guards. He’d overheard some of them complaining about “those damn bats,” so he assumed the small number was because the rest had been injured in the scuffle that led to Nightwing’s signal cutting off.

“Okay, there’s good news and bad news.” Jason reappeared at his side, grim-faced. If Tim wasn’t so used to jump scares from ghosts, he probably would’ve fallen off the beam he was perched on. “Good news: Scarecrow is alone with Batman and Nightwing in a back room. Bad news: Batman was—“ his voice wavered for a second, “was fear gassed. Nightwing is tied up, but still aware.”

From the look on Jason’s face, the fear gas wasn’t exactly a pleasant trip for Batman right now. What kind of hallucinations was Batman seeing? Jason dying all over again? His parents? Dick joining them?

“Scarecrow is in a back room with them. Batman was fear gassed.” Tim whispered, relaying the information to Alfred.

“And Nightwing?”

“Tied up.”

“With ropes or chains?” Alfred asked

Tim glanced at Jason; luckily he’d been leaning close enough to hear. “Ropes, all over him. I think Crane has a fetish.”

Tim pulled a face. “Ropes.” He repeated. “But I have a knife I can cut them with.”

“You found the one in the utility belt, I presume.”

Oh, great. An extra. Good thing Alfred didn’t know that. Tim wouldn’t want any more uncomfortable questions.

“Ideally, I’ll return to the back room, cut Nightwing loose, and give Batman the antidote without getting into a fight with Scarecrow or alerting the guards.”

Tim knew the chances of everything going perfectly were slim. He could probably handle Scarecrow — the man was built like a twig — since he had a gas mask, but if the guards got called in before he could get Nightwing untied… he’d be screwed. 

“It would probably be a good idea to distract the guards somehow, but I’m blanking. I doubt throwing a rock would be effective.”

“I will cause a diversion out front.” Alfred said. Tim thought he’d click off after that, but then Alfred added, “Good luck, lad.” 

The words warmed Tim’s insides, even as the click of Alfred’s comm turning off caused a flutter of nervousness. 

Jason guided him through the warehouse, weaving between crates and avoiding the yellow beams of light. It was odd, seeing the talkative boy so quiet, keeping to the shadows when he’d been such a bright light. The bright colors of the Robin uniform looked perfect on him. Tim, used to decking out in darker tones, stuck out like a sore thumb. 

“Oi, what’s going on out there?” One of the guards huffed, his fingers pressed to his own comm. He left his post, lumbering off in the opposite direction. 

Tim didn’t know what Alfred had done, but soon even more guards broke off in pairs towards the front exit. Only one remained, guarding the entrance to the backroom. 

The lone guard was tense and alert. While the diversion reduced the number of guards, it had also woken them up from any lazy stupor they might have fallen into. He needed to be taken out quickly and quietly, so Scarecrow wasn’t alerted. His looming figure didn’t do a lot for Tim’s confidence. Neither did the jagged knife he held. At least it wasn’t a gun. 

Maybe Tim could lure him away somehow. He rummaged through his utility belt, looking for something he could use. He paused when he found a packet containing some gel-like substance. He held it up to Jason, silently asking what it was.

“That’s napalm gel.” Jason explained, a grin starting to spread over his features. “It’ll stick to whatever you throw it at, then set it on fire.” 

Tim started smiling too. He could throw it at the guard and catch that ridiculous sack mask of his on fire, but that would likely cause him to start yelling. Tim crept onto a nearby crate, close enough for the guard to see, but not too close to put the backroom in danger of the blaze, and shook out the contents of the packet. It immediately caught on fire; the wood quickly being eaten up by tongues of flame. 

It didn’t take long for the guard to notice, swearing under his breath as he lumbered over. “ Fuck . Boss’ll kill me if his shit gets torched. I knew letting those dickheads smoke inside was a fire hazard. But no one listens to lil’ ole me.” 

Jason chuckled as the guy left, then turned to Tim. “I’ll tell you when Scarecrow’s back is turned. Then you can come in through the door.” 

Jason phased through the wall and after a few seconds of waiting…

“ Now!” 

Tim creeped through the door as quickly and quietly as possible. For once, his scrawniness was coming in handy. He’d barely had to crack it open to slip through.

He ducked into the nearest collection of shadows, once again cursing the damn yellow cape. He should’ve detached it and left it outside. But it was too late for regrets now.

“How does it feel, Nightwing? To see Batman defeated by fear.” Scarecrow let out a sinister cackle, drawing Tim’s attention.

Batman was crumpled on the floor. Tim’s heart stopped in his chest. He looked… he looked dead . But then he noticed, with a mix of relief and dread, that Batman was trembling. 

“Joker, stop. Please.” Batman choked on a sob. “He’s just a child! Let me take his place.” 

“I do wonder what the Joker did to make Batman so afraid of him. I have to admit I’m jealous.” Scarecrow’s voice lowered, dark and dangerous. “Only I should provoke that kind of fear.”

Scarecrow pivoted and Tim bit back a squeak, darting behind a nearby desk. The comfort of cover didn’t relax him in the least though, not when Scarecrow approached a silver cart full of gleaming tools. 

He picked up a scalpel and lifted it to Nightwing’s neck. The vigilante went deadly still, his eyes glued to the scalpel. “Maybe it has something to do with the disappearance of a certain bird?”

Shit. Tim couldn’t do anything when Scarecrow had the scalpel to Nightwing’s neck. Even revealing himself to fight Scarecrow wouldn’t prevent it. Nightwing could just be used as a hostage. 

“I am right here .” Jason complained loudly, leaning against the desk. 

Jason might seem to be acting casual, but Tim knew it was for his benefit. Jason was trying to lighten the air. So Tim would be less afraid. He really was such a good Robin. 

Tim’s hand drifted to his utility belt. Maybe the same distraction would work twice. 

Tim snuck behind the cart, a packet in hand. As Scarecrow taunted Nightwing, he reached out and shook the gel onto Scarecrow’s pant leg. 

The fabric burst into flames. Tim and Scarecrow reared back in unison. Scarecrow even screamed and it was glorious.

Jason cackled. “Take that! Burn you straw stuffed bitch!” 

Tim leaped into action, his knife in hand as he started desperately sawing through Nightwing’s bonds.

Nightwing choked on spit. “Robin? What—“

“Just a substitute.” Tim said under his breath. “Sorry.”

The lenses of Nightwing’s domino widened comically. “Pee Wee?”

Irritation flooded through him. The rope snapped under his hand and he moved onto the next one. Tim needed to come up with a code name. If only to stop Nightwing from calling him that .

“You! You’re not dead?!” Scarecrow screeched. “You little shit! You’re gonna wish you were dead when I’m through with—“ He cut off with a string of curses. 

Smoke filled the air, the smell curling in Tim’s nose. But he paid it no mind, just kept sawing through the ropes. 

There was a muffled thump behind him. Jason and Nightwing yelled: “watch out!” in unison.

Tim dropped the knife into Nightwing’s lap and rolled to the side. Scarecrow was standing over him in his boxers . It was so comical Tim almost didn’t notice the sickle in his hands until he was instinctively ducking under it. 

“Flannel boxers? Wow, you really are committed to the farm aesthetic.” Tim laughed meanly. 

Scarecrow howled in rage, his sickle slashing back and forth through the air as he tried his damndest to maim Tim. Provoking him like that probably wasn’t his smartest idea. But hey, anger made people sloppy, right?

Scarecrow swiped at him again, a vicious cut from above, and Tim dove behind the torture cart. The sickle cut through the metal with an ear splitting screech. Tim’s heart shot into his throat. Yeah… he definitely did not wanna get caught by that. 

He dove again, tucking into a barrel roll in his haste to get away. But when he rolled back upright, Scarecrow wasn’t following him. He was tugging at his sickle. The weapon was stuck. Imbedded in the cart. Yes. This was his chance!

Tim kicked out, his foot colliding with Scarecrow’s bare shin. He darted away from the rogue’s answering boot. 

“You brat!” He snarled venomously. Giving up on prying his weapon free, he stalked towards Tim, fists raised. “Forget experimenting! I’m gonna turn you into a bloody pulp.” 

Now that it was a hand to hand brawl, Tim wasn’t purely on the defensive. He threw more punches and kicks, but Scarecrow was surprisingly resilient. He had this weird way of moving his lanky limbs that kept throwing Tim off. 

He landed a hit, a punch right to the gut that had Scarecrow wheezing. But then, Scarecrow used the close proximity to grab his arm with one hand and yank off his rebreather with another. FUCK! 

Tim grappled for the rebreather but Scarecrow just cackled. In their struggle, they crashed into the cart, sending tools flying. Tim let go to cover his head from the shower of sharp edges. Scarecrow took the opportunity to grab a canister and depressed the trigger, right into Tim’s face.

Tim jumped to his feet, stumbling back as he coughed and hacked.

Jason swore and yelled. “Don’t breathe!” 

Which was great advice. Thanks, Jason. 

Scarecrow stood up, laughing maniacally. “Time for Robin to join his mentor! I wonder what the Boy Wonder fears. Is it the same as Batman? Are you gonna beg for Joker not to hurt you?”

Jesus Christ. Scarecrow was a grade-A asshole.

Tim had heard tales of Scarecrow’s fear gas. The terrifying visions it made a person see. He looked around and sure enough, there they were. His parents sneering down at him in disgust. Batman’s crumpled body lying in a pool of blood. Moaning ghosts reaching out to grab him, blood dripping down their translucent skin. 

“Tim? Tim, are you okay?” Jason asked, hovering in front of him. 

Unease curled in his stomach and anxiousness itched at his skin. But it wasn’t enough to make him scream or cry or anything. It just had him on edge. 

“Tell me Robin…” Scarecrow approached him and he could hear the twisted grin in his voice. “What does fear taste like?”

Tim turned to him. The illusions surrounded him, but he knew that’s all they were: illusions. Tim saw scary shit that “wasn’t really there” all of the time. He had a lifetime of practice discerning between the two. 

The ghosts reached for him, but Tim ignored them. His focus was pinned on Scarecrow’s smarmy face. “Like this.” Then he swung, his fist soaring through the air and crunching against Scarecrow’s nose. Bullseye.

Scarecrow’s hands flew to his face, and Tim took the opportunity to sweep his legs out from under him. The rogue fell to the ground with an “oomph.”

“Hope you have sweet dreams.” Tim crooned, raising his foot above Scarecrow’s head before bringing it down. 

Scarecrow went out like a light. 

Tim rushed over to Batman, antidote in hand. He was still lying on the floor, shuddering and holding himself, as if trying to keep warm. Tim tried not to think about that too hard. 

He averted his eyes, uncomfortable with seeing his hero so vulnerable. He focused on the task, prying one of the gauntlets off and letting it clatter to the floor. He turned Batman’s wrist up towards himself. 

“Jason?”

Tim froze, the needle poised over his skin.

“I’m sorry, Jason.” Batman whispered brokenly. “I’m sorry I didn’t save you. I’m sorry I ever put you in that suit in the first place. I’m so sorry.”

“Dad…” Jason's voice came out thick and choked. “It’s not your fault. I— I don’t blame you for not being able to save me. I was stupid and didn’t listen to you and… I’m sorry too.”

A hand landed on Tim’s shoulder and he nearly jumped out of skin. He whipped around, heart in his throat… but it was only Nightwing. 

The vigilante stood over Tim, exhaustion written all over him. He held out a hand. “You should let me do that.”

Tim silently handed over the antidote and shuffled away, dipping back into the shadows. He didn’t want Batman to see him and mistake him for Jason again. The man had been tormented enough for one night. 

So Tim did what he did best and faded into the background. 

Chapter Text

Antidotes were distributed. Scarecrow and his goons were tied up for the GCPD. Batman had been stowed safely in the back of the Batmobile while he recovered from the fear gas. 

All in all, Tim’s little outing as Robin had actually gone relatively well. The worst injury he had were a few blooming bruises. 

Even better, he was inside the Batmobile. The actual Batmobile . All black leather, shiny surfaces, and mysterious buttons galore. Since Tim was wearing the Robin suit, Nightwing had reasoned it best for him to be driven back in the Batmobile. So Alfred wouldn’t look suspicious if anyone saw Robin in a random car with him. 

Nightwing was behind the wheel, Jason had once again claimed shotgun, and Batman was passed out next to Tim. With how big and hulking the man was, there wasn’t exactly a lot of room for him to splay out. He was taking up two seats and a third of Tim’s. 

Now, he was starting to stir. Tim’s heart leapt into his throat. The car ride had been silent so far — to the living at least, Jason had been waxing poetic about Tim setting Scarecrow’s pants on fire for the past ten minutes — and he didn’t know how Batman would take seeing him in Jason’s suit. Tim didn’t want to be trapped in a car with him if he got angry. 

Batman lifted his head. “Jason?”

Motherfucker again. Tim went rigid, his entire body locking up under Batman’s gaze. Tim really wanted to get out of this damn suit already. 

Batman’s white lenses narrowed, then he went deathly still. “You’re not Jason!” He snarled and ripped the mask off Tim’s face. 

Tim tried not to wince at the sting. It was like ripping off the world’s strongest band aid. But that was nothing compared to the cold fury leaking off Batman. 

“B!” Jason exclaimed.

Tim refused to let himself be afraid. He’d seen disemboweled ghosts with guts spilling out and bone splitting the skin. He’d seen ghosts so twisted by grief they didn’t look human anymore. He wasn’t going to cower under Batman’s fury. 

“Batman.” Nightwing said, voice hard. “He’s a kid. Calm down.” 

Tim bristled at the ‘kid’ comment. “I’m also the one that rescued you guys from Scarecrow. You’re welcome.” 

“I don’t know who you are, but you’re not Robin. How did you get that suit?” Batman demanded. At least he wasn’t actively snarling like a beast anymore.

“I know I’m not Robin. I’m not trying to be.” Tim sighed and looked down at his feet. At the green pixie boots that didn’t quite fit. “But it was the only armored suit around that would fit me and beggars can’t be choosers. You think I want to be wearing scaly underwear?”

“PREACH!” Jason whooped. 

Tim appreciated Jason’s attempt to make him laugh, but things were too heavy right now. He could feel Batman’s glare burning into him. He pulled the cape tighter around himself, trying to preserve some semblance of dignity. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne.” Tim hung his head. “I didn’t know how else to help.” 

The car went eerily silent. “What did you just say?”

Shit. Tim really wasn’t learning from his mistakes, was he? But he supposed he would’ve ended up telling Batman anyways. 

“I know you’re Bruce Wayne. I know Nightwing is Dick Grayson. I know what happened to Jason Todd. So believe me when I say I’m sorry for wearing the Robin suit.” Tim knew it wasn’t a welcome sight, that it likely triggered some unpleasant memories. Especially with the after effects of fear gas still running through Batman’s veins. “But it was either that or leave you with Scarecrow and I wasn’t willing to let any more of my heroes die.”

“Speaking of Scarecrow…” Nightwing began and Tim tensed up. “How the hell did you do that? I saw him knock off your gas mask.” 

“What?” Batman growled, just as confused and doubly as angry. 

“Kid kept fighting even after he got blasted with fear gas. He took down Scarecrow.” Nightwing’s voice held a note of praise mixed in with the disbelief. “It was… that’s not an easy feat.” His eyes met Tim’s in the rearview mirror. “You did good, kiddo.”

Tim barely kept himself from squealing. He’d impressed Nightwing. If the circumstances weren’t so awful, today would’ve been Tim’s dream come true. 

For the first time since he woke up, Batman seemed to genuinely consider Tim; without a haze of anger clouding his sight. “You were unaffected?”

Tim straightened. “I wouldn’t say I was unaffected. I saw hallucinations. But I knew they weren’t real and I didn’t let them affect my performance.” 

“Hn.” Batman grunted.

Jason leaned over the seat and whispered to Tim. “That means he’s impressed.”

There’s no way. There’s no way Tim impressed Batman. He was wearing his dead son’s suit for god's sake. If he’d received anything from Batman… it would be his ire.

“How did you resist the fear gas?” Batman asked, a muscle flickering in his jaw. “Most civilians wouldn’t be able to ignore their fears. They’d be helpless.” Batman had been helpless.

Tim reigned in a snort. At the fact that Batman considered him a “civilian” and the bit about ignoring his fears. Ah, the irony. “I don’t ignore them. I live with those fears every day.”

Batman‘s lenses narrowed. The cowl was incredibly intuitive. “What do you mean by that?”

Tim paused. Batman was watching him. Nightwing wasn’t looking at him, but from the quiet in the car, Tim knew he was listening just as intently as Batman. Tim couldn’t just tell them the truth. 

Oh, it’s because I can see ghosts and I’ve seen scarier shit since I was a toddler. Also Jason’s right there. 

Yeah, that would not go over well. 

Tim felt his palms start to sweat. He couldn’t let Batman suspect anything. The truth or something completely backwards, like domestic abuse. 

“Oh, uh…” C'mon, Tim think . “It doesn't work on me because... I um… have anxiety?”

“Anxiety.” Batman repeated, tone completely flat.

Tim nodded. It technically wasn’t a lie. Seeing ghosts did make him anxious. 

Tim mentally patted himself on the back. An anxiety disorder was a good cover. It explained away his weirder habits without getting him shipped off to an Asylum. Tim was a well practiced liar, but lying to the world's greatest detective was asking for trouble. His words had contained just enough truth to satisfy them and in addition… redirect them away from the real answer. Even his earlier hesitation could be explained away as him being unsure whether to disclose it.

Before Batman or Nightwing could ask any follow up questions, they arrived at the cave. The Batmobile rumbled to a stop and Tim hopped out before Nightwing even took the keys out of the ignition, eager to be free. 

“I’m gonna go change! Bye!” He called back, so they didn’t think he was making a break for it.

He ran into the changing stalls, closed the door behind him, and collapsed onto the bench. 

Tim had done it. He’d saved Batman and Nightwing. It hadn’t really hit him until now. But the one save wouldn’t mean anything if Batman kept throwing himself into fights he didn’t want to come back from. Tim couldn’t be there every time. He didn’t have the skills to fight off all the danger Batman put himself in. 

What was he gonna do?

-👻-👻-👻-

The kid disappeared into the changing stalls and Batman immediately marched to the Batcomputer.

Dick sighed as Batman immediately opened a new file in his folder of “persons of interests.” Right down to business then. No welcome home, chum. I missed you, chum. I’m sorry I didn’t wait to have the memorial service until you were back on earth, chum. 

He hoped Alfred would get back soon. He knew Alfred wouldn’t have been able to beat the Batmobile back to the cave, but he could still dream. 

“What do you know about that boy?” Batman didn’t look at him as he laid out his commands. 

Dick tried not to bristle. In another circumstance, he might’ve snapped at Bruce, but the kid was more important right now.

“Not much.” Dick admitted, leaning against the desk. “Kids a steel trap when it comes to information about himself. He wouldn’t even give me a name.”

Batman grunted like the caveman he was. 

“He said he figured out our identities because he was there at the circus the day my… my parents fell.” It still made his throat close up, after all these years. He couldn’t even stand to say that they died, just that they fell. “He recognized me from a quadruple backflip I used to do at the circus and made the connection.”

He braced himself, waiting for Batman to scold him. Dick was a grown man, but he still dreaded lectures from his fath— from his former legal guardian. 

“Hrnghh.” 

On the screen, Batman had typed out bullet points of information:

• Short black hair 
• Blue eyes
• Abnormally pale skin
• Short, estimated 4’11”
• Skinny but doesn’t look malnourished 
• Around 10 years old
• Intelligent
• Refuses to share name or other personal details
• Experience with anxiety disorder enabled him to resist fear gas
• Saw and remembered Flying Graysons act at a very young age

Dick’s eye caught on the part about his age. “The kid said he was older than he looked when I guessed he was ten. He could’ve been lying though.”

Batman silently added the information. 

“He tracked me down at the Haly’s Circus in New York all by himself, so he’s also worryingly unsupervised. But I didn’t get a street kid vibe from him. And since he went all that way to tell me…” Dick hesitated, not wanting to tell Batman the kid was worried he’d kill himself. “To tell me Scarecrow had busted out. That shows that he cares about us as vigilantes.” 

• Lack of adult supervision concerns 
• Doesn’t seem to be a street kid
• Cares about Gotham vigilantes 

“He has some basic martial arts training.” Dick almost hadn’t believed it when the short stack had tried that maneuver on him. But he knew all too well not to underestimate someone because of their size. “He also took pictures of you and Scarecrow without getting noticed.” 

Dick knew Batman was off his game lately, but the fact that he hadn’t noticed the kid was bound to smart. Hopefully, it would teach him a lesson. Or at the very least knock him down a peg or two. Batman deserved to be humbled. 

• Basic martial arts training
• Skilled at stealth
• Photographed Gotham vigilantes and rouges 

“Honestly, B. I’m worried he might try to become a vigilante. If he isn't already one.” Dick propped his hand up on his hip, frowning at the information up on the screen. “And with what he just accomplished… that would only encourage him.”

“It is truly a concerning situation.” Alfred piped up. 

Dick would forever deny that he’d flinched. He hadn’t even noticed the butler return. Point to Alfred. 

“I’m glad to see you both safe and sound.” That earned him a grunt. “May I inquire as to the lad’s whereabouts?”

“He’s in the changing stalls.” Dick answered. Actually, he’d been in there for a while. He suspected the kid was hiding from Batman. Not that Dick could blame him. 

“I’ll hurry him along.” Alfred gave his manchild a pointed look. “I trust you won’t jump into an interrogation. The lad has been through a lot today.”

Then he turned on his heel towards the changing stalls. 

“Alfred’s right. We don’t want him to shut down. We need to be careful not to push too hard.” Dick said as he peeled off his mask. If the kid was able to see his whole face it might help him open up. 

He didn’t ask Batman to take off the cowl. He rarely did since Jason died. Right now… he couldn’t stand being Bruce Wayne. But he couldn’t hide behind that mask forever. 

Dick didn’t know how to help him. The kid seemed to be under the notion that having family around would magically fix things. Dick wasn’t so naive. 

He didn’t know how to fix Bruce. No one seemed to know how to fix Bruce. Not Alfred, not Commissioner Gordon, not even Superman. Dick wasn’t going to devote himself to fixing a broken man. Dick wasn’t going to become anyone’s crutch. Bruce was an adult. He could fix his damn self. 

“Sirs.” The urgency in Alfred’s tone had both their heads snapping up. The butler's face was pale, the Robin suit clutched in his arms. “The lad is gone.”

Gone. Dick’s stomach dropped into his feet. The last Robin that ran away hadn’t come back. Dick had run too. Driven away by a man who couldn’t let go of control. A man who’d cared more about his ideals than the children who relied on him. 

“You weren’t watching him?” Batman snapped as he swiveled around in his chair. It was the first time he’d looked at Dick all night. 

Dick crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “You weren’t either!”

“You’re the one that brought him here. He’s your responsibility.”

“Don't you blame this on me!” Dick hissed, stalking towards Batman, hackles raised. “Maybe the kid wouldn’t have bolted if you hadn’t been such an asshole to him. You literally ripped the domino off his face!”

Batman’s lips pulled back in a snarl. “He should never have been wear—“

“That is quite enough!” Alfred yelled, stepping in between the two of them, his arms raised. “We don’t have time to waste placing blame. We need to find the lad.” He dropped his arms and adjusted his tie. “I suggest you check the security cameras, Master Bruce.” 

Batman pulled up the security feed, carefully clicking through the boxes. First the ones in the cave, then the ones at the exits, and finally the ones inside the manor itself. 

“He’s in the study.” Dick breathed, watching as the kid rummaged through the desk, the grandfather clock looming behind him. “He’s right outside, I’ll go—“

“ Wait.”

Years of Robin training were the only reason Dick obeyed the order, his body stilling on instinct. 

They watched as the kid took out a notepad from one of the desk drawers, clicking a pen and starting to scratch out a message. Good to know the baby bird wasn’t going to leave them high and dry. 

Hold up… baby bird? Why was Dick thinking of the kid that way? Because he’d worn the Robin suit? Because he was already acting like one of Bruce’s kids and sneaking out of the house? Because—

No. He wouldn’t go down that road. The kid was the kid. Dick could deal with kiddo, peewee, buddy, squirt, and the like… but not baby bird. It was too close to Little Wing. Too much like a nickname he might give a Robin. 

When the kid slapped a familiar folder on the desk and shouldered his bag, Dick darted for the stairs, Batman’s orders be damned. 

He couldn’t let the kid leave. Not when they didn’t know anything about him. Not when it was all too likely he’d go out into Gotham and get himself killed. Dick wasn’t going to let another kid die. Not on his watch. 

He burst into the study and the kid froze in the doorway, staring at Dick like a deer in headlights. 

“I’m leaving.” He stated, his fingers white knuckling the door knob. “You promised you wouldn’t detain me.”

Dick carefully shut the grandfather clock behind him. He made no move to approach, not wanting to scare off the kid.

“You also promised you wouldn’t go anywhere near Scarecrow.” Dick pointed out with a raised eyebrow. 

When Dick had first realized it was the kid in the Robin suit, his heart had nearly stopped in his chest. He’d desperately sawed through the ropes as a kid, with no Bat training, went face to face with one of Gotham’s worst rogues. When Scarecrow had knocked the gas mask off the kid’s face… Dick’s body had iced over, cold dread pooling in his stomach. Not again! His bruised and bleeding heart had cried out. I don’t want Robin to put another kid in the ground!

Miraculously, the kid had managed to come out on top, but it had been too close for comfort. They hadn't known experience with an anxiety disorder would help him resist fear gas. Scarecrow didn’t either. It had made him overconfident when he’d gotten the gas mask off. He hadn’t expected the kid to still be able to fight. That was what had led to his downfall. They’d been lucky. They’d been really, really lucky. 

But Dick knew that kind of luck didn’t hold. 

The kid merely raised his chin. “I agreed not to go near Scarecrow if Batman wasn’t around. He was in the same room.” 

Dick gritted his teeth. This kid — “He was incapacitated.”

“You didn’t specify anything about incapacitation in the terms of our agreement.” 

Fantastic. Not only was the kid a would-be vigilante, but he was also a miniature lawyer. Dick could already tell this was going to be an uphill battle. 

Then, the kid sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Look, I don't usually charge headfirst into danger like that. But you guys were in trouble and I didn’t— I didn’t know what else to do.” 

Dick didn’t want to admit it, but he didn’t know if Batman and him would’ve been able to escape without the kid’s help. Some heroes they were…

“Gotham needs Batman.” The kid said quietly, but not weakly. “Batman has fought so hard and for so long to save this city.” He lifted his head, his piercing eyes meeting Dick’s. “Isn’t it time someone fought just as hard to save him?”

Dick stared at the kid, speechless. Those eyes… it was like they were staring straight into his soul. 

“Remember your promise.” The kid nodded to the folder, then slipped out the door, leaving Dick frozen in his icy wake. 

Eventually he managed to unstick his feet from the floor and collapsed into the desk chair. The kid was right. Once upon a time, Batman had saved him, back when he’d been a grieving child fueled by burning rage. Bruce wasn’t a perfect father. He’d messed up so many times, made so many mistakes. But Bruce had saved him, he’d given him a purpose. Now, Bruce needed a purpose. He needed a reason to keep going. But Dick didn’t know what that reason could be… 

Dick wasn’t much better off than Bruce. He had the Titans, but after Jason… he’d gained a new found horror towards teenaged superheroes. He didn't want more kids falling into the life. 

He was barely holding his head above the water. He couldn’t help Bruce. The man was drowning and if Dick tried to save him… he feared he’d just get dragged under too. 

But he’d made a promise to the kid. He’d at least try to talk to Bruce. What was the worst that could happen?

Dick swallowed thickly. He moved to stand up, but paused, his eyes catching on a folded sheet of paper. The note. After everything the kid had said, Dick had almost forgotten he’d left a note. 

He picked up the sheet of paper, unfolding it and smoothing out the creases. 

Sorry for leaving so soon, but I couldn’t risk being kept here. I never meant to offend you or disrespect Jason’s memory. But Gotham needs a Batman it can rely on. Please stop trying to throw your life away. Rebuild the bridges you burned and let people help you. 

Don’t come looking for me. I am perfectly fine. Your secret is safe with me.

Goodbye. 

Well, shit. Dick rubbed his forehead. 

“You let him leave?”

Dick startled, nearly tearing through the paper with how hard he gripped it. Batman was looking over his chair, his cape pooling around him like a fluid shadow. 

Of course he hadn’t bothered to show up until after Tim was gone. God forbid he participate in an emotional conversation. 

“I really hate it when you do that.” Dick grumbled. Alfred should really put a bell on him. He handed the note to Batman, along with the folder full of photos. “You should look at these.” 

“Later.” Batman barely even glanced at them. Part of Dick was annoyed, but the rest of him was relieved. He didn’t want to have that conversation yet. “We need to follow the boy.” 

He turned back to the Cave with a dramatic flick of his cape. Even grief hadn’t completely taken the theatre kid out of him. Just everything else. 

“What impression does the kid give you?” Dick asked as they walked down the stairs. “I think his heart is in the right place, but that he’s in over his head and doesn’t want to admit it.”

“Hmm.” Bat translation: agreed . 

“Any other input?”

He was met with silence. The only sound was the distant screeching of the bats high above. 

“Alrighty then.” Dick used false cheer to hide his annoyance, but he was sure Batman picked up on it. 

He bounced up to the Batcomputer, pulling up the security feeds from around the exits. When the kid figured a way out of the maze that was Wayne Manor, they’d be able to see which way he was headed. 

“We really need to come up with something to call him.” Dick mused as he settled down in the desk chair, knowing it’d likely be a while before the kid found an exit. There was a reason Bruce chose a study so deep in the house for the secret entrance. “‘The kid’ isn’t really identifying enough. And I doubt it’s gonna do us any favors if I keep calling him Pee Wee.”

It was hilarious how puffed up the kid got when Dick called him that. But they needed to win the kid over, not piss him off. He could save the teasing for when he knew the kid was safe. 

Alfred set down a tray of tea. “Do you have a codename in mind, Master Dick?”

Dick frowned, not liking the use of the word: codename. It made the kid sound even more like a vigilante. Which was the exact opposite of what Dick wanted. But picking a random name for him, like Alvin or something, felt wrong. 

What did he even know about the kid? He was a promising fighter and obviously a skilled photographer… but that wasn’t much to go off of. He didn’t want to refer to him as the kid with an anxiety disorder either, that just felt meanly targeted. It was like if someone called Dick the circus kid or Bruce’s ward. As if that was all he was. 

“What about Crow?” Dick suggested, the idea suddenly hitting him. “Since he wasn’t afraid of Scarecrow?” 

“Quite fitting.” Alfred said primly as he attempted to get Batman to drink some tea. “Don’t you agree, Master Bruce?”

“It’s fine.”

Wow. Two whole syllables. Alfred really did work miracles. 

“Great.” Dick fitted his domino back onto his face, his eyes fixated on the screen as the kid slipped out a side door. He’d found an exit surprisingly quickly. “Let’s go stalk Crow.”

Chapter Text

“Y'know they’re totally gonna follow you, right?” Jason pointed out as he floated alongside Tim. 

Jason had helped Tim find his way out of Wayne Manor, but even once he’d left the premises, the ghost had stuck to him like glue. It seemed saving the Bats had gained at least one person’s gratitude.  

“I know.” Tim was all too practiced at noticing what lurked in the shadows. “But you’re anchored to Batman. Once you feel the need to return to him, I’ll know he’s lost me.” 

The sun had also just broken over the horizon, bathing Bristol in an orange and pink glow. That would make it harder for the Bats to hide. The city would wake up soon and then Tim could disappear into the crowd. Hopefully. The Bats’ skills were nothing to scoff at and he wasn’t sure if he could pull it off. If only Killer Croc was in Arkham, he could’ve taken the sewers. 

“It’s not gonna be easy to shake them. Especially since you’re a kid.” Jason said, like he wasn’t also a kid. “In their eyes, it’s their duty to make sure you get home safe.” 

Tim knew the Bats were particularly determined when it came to children. But he also knew that wasn’t the only reason. Tim wasn’t just a kid in possible danger, he was the danger . He knew their secret identities. They wouldn’t allow him to disappear into the night. 

“And knowing where I live would make it easier to interrogate me.” 

“That too.” 

Tim didn’t break into a run, despite the urge too. That would just tire him out and concern the Bats. He doubted they’d try to snatch him off the street. If a kid got grabbed in a nice neighborhood like Bristol, someone would call the cops.

“So…” Jason glanced behind him, eyes darting across the rooftops the Bats were undoubtedly tailing them from. “How are you gonna lose them?”

“I’m gonna get a burger.” Tim said decisively. 

“What?”

-👻-👻-👻-

Jason sat in a booth at Batburger, at ass o’clock in the morning, watching Tim as he stuffed his face with fries. What even was his life?

First he died and learned ghosts were real. Next he learned there was a living kid who could see ghosts. Then that kid donned the Robin suit and set Scarecrow’s pants on fire. 

It had been a wild few days to say the least. 

“Tim… can we talk?” Jason had a lot on his mind. A lot of things that couldn’t be left unsaid — or unasked. 

Tim paused. He set down his food and held up a finger, the universal sign for:  ‘gimme a second.’

He dug into his bag and pulled out an AirPod case, sticking a bud in each ear. “Okay, now we can talk. People will think I’m on the phone instead of talking to myself.” 

It was an admittedly good strategy. But still… AirPods. Jason snorted. He’d given Bruce so much shit for wearing them. The meme references had been endless. He and Dick had even tag teamed him on it. The family group chat had practically exploded that day. Now that Jason thought about it… that was probably the most he’d texted Dick in one go — rants about Bruce’s parenting skills notwithstanding. He missed being a part of a family. He missed it so much it felt like a physical blow. It was like his chest cavity had been opened and hollowed out. That was all Jason had felt lately… hollow.

Until a certain someone had lit a fire inside of him. Literally. Seeing Scarecrow’s pants burst into flames had invoked glee Jason hadn’t felt since before he died.

“First off, fantastic work with Scarecrow. I think you emotionally scarred the man.” After everything fear gas put his victims through, the bastard more than deserved it. “Second of all… I’m sorry B was such an asshole. You didn’t deserve that. I was… I was the one who asked you to be Robin. I didn’t stop to think about how that would bring Batman’s wrath down on you.”

Jason remembered how scared he’d been, back when Batman had caught him jacking his tires. Sure, he’d hidden it behind bravado and violence, but he’d been terrified. And Tim had swiped something way worse than tires. 

Tim waved off his concern. “It’s fine. It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.” 

He’d used the word fine. That never meant anything good. Neither did his tough guy act. The kid had just fought Scarecrow, got yelled at by Batman, and was now being stalked by the Bats. He should at least look a little distressed. Even Dick got shaken up after encounters with Scarecrow. 

“Still… how are you gonna get home with the Bats on your tail? Won’t your—“ Jason hesitated, before pressing onwards. “Won’t your parents be worried if you don’t get home soon?” 

The sun was rising and people would soon follow. Tim had mentioned having a place to live. Surely that meant he had people looking after him. People who would notice his empty bed.

Jason’s question was met with nothing but silence as Tim picked at his food. 

…Or maybe not.

“Unless they’re uh… not around anymore?” Jason cringed at the way his voice pitched higher, at his pathetic choice of words. He’d ran away from social workers for less. He wouldn’t be surprised if Tim got up and left. 

Luckily, Tim didn’t seem to take offense. “They're not dead, if that’s what you're asking.” His face darkened and the snort he let out did nothing to lighten it. “Hell, I’d probably see them more if they were dead.”

Jason knew a field of landmines when he saw one. He’d have to be careful if he didn’t want their conversation to explode. Tim was a kid, out in Gotham at night, with only a ghost for company. That didn’t exactly point towards a loving home. 

Jason inched down the safest route. “They work a lot or somethin’?” 

Tim’s lips thinned. “Something like that. But enough about me. How are we looking on the Bat front?”

Jason’s shoulders slumped. A part of him was relieved he wouldn’t have to stumble his way through anymore emotional conversations. Even if those conversations would likely need to be rehashed later. That kinda stuff was Dick’s forte, not Jason’s. He couldn’t exactly ask the man for advice anymore. 

“Batman and Nightwing are watching from a roof across the street.” Jason reported. He didn’t even need to look. He just knew. 

“Good. I hope they’re tired and hungry and jealous of my burger.” Tim stated, taking a bite out of the said burger and Jason snickered. 

He reached out for Tim’s plate, aiming to swipe a fry like he’d done so many times to Bruce and Dick, but his fingers passed straight through. His amusement quickly dropped at the reminder. He couldn’t eat anything. He would never need to eat again. It was a trait he would’ve killed for back when he was on the streets, back when the hunger hurt worse than any bruise. Now, he was jealous of a preteen’s greasy burger. 

“Hey, Jason?” Tim called and Jason slowly lifted his gaze back to the boy's face. He didn’t like the expression he wore. The pity . “Y’know you don’t have to stay, right? I know you want to make sure Bruce is okay, but he has other people in his life who can help him. I will help him. You don’t have to supervise. You can let go.” 

“I’m not dumb!” Jason barely kept himself from shouting, hackles raised. “I know there’s an ‘Other Side’ or whatever. I know that Bruce has other family, other friends.” Jason didn’t have that. The Titans had been Dick’s friends and saying he had a Pen Pal felt kind of pathetic. Dick was distant and Alfred, as much as they loved him, had always kept an air of professionality around him. But Bruce… Bruce had been his dad. He’d adopted Jason. He’d wanted him. He’d loved him. It had been the dream he’d never imagined. On the other hand… if Bruce had never taken Jason in. He might’ve been better off. He might have felt Dick’s absence more, but he wouldn’t have shattered, not like he had because of Jason’s death. “He— he didn’t need me as much as I needed him.” 

Tim sat there, fiddling with his long sleeves as Jason’s words sank in. “He wanted you, though.” Tim spoke quietly, his voice blanket soft. “Isn’t it better to be wanted, than be there out of necessity or obligation?”

“I guess. I— I don’t know.” Jason ran a hand through his hair, a nervous tick that used to exasperate Alfred to no end, especially when he did it right before galas. “I just… I just want my dad back.”

Tim was silent for a moment, before he pointed out the window. “He’s right there. He can’t see you, but that doesn’t mean you're not there. You’re still in his heart Jason.”

In his heart. It was a corny line. The kind of speech Dickhead would give. But somehow, it encouraged Jason, just a bit. He knew Bruce wouldn’t forget him. He knew he wouldn’t stop loving him. He would never not be his dad.

Tim smiled reassuringly. “Go to him.”

And Jason did. He vanished from the restaurant booth and reappeared at Bruce’s side. 

Batman and Nightwing were crouched on the rooftop, white lenses focused on the diner. Luckily for Tim, neither of them had thought to grab binoculars — or Batnoculars, as Dick called them. 

“I swear he just pointed at us.” Nightwing shrieked, grabbing Batman’s arm and tugging him further away from the roof’s edge. “He knows we’re up here. How does he know we’re up here?” A hysterical note had entered his tone. One Jason couldn’t help but grin at. Tormenting his older brother had always been fun. 

Batman grunted.

“Do you think he’s a metahuman?” Dick asked anxiously. “Maybe that’s why he’s so self assured?”

Damn, Tim had really gotten him into a tizzy, huh? Dick didn’t like kid heroes, even when he’d been one of the first, the hypocrite. It was what Robin was famous for. The boy so wonderous he could fight side by side with Batman. 

“Crow has displayed feats of stealth no ordinary child should be able to accomplish. He could be a metahuman or he could have been trained. We don’t have enough information to rule out those possibilities.”

Jason gaped alongside Nightwing. That was the most he’d heard Bruce say in months. The last time Bruce had spoken that much… he’d been sobbing out the details of Jason's death to a stricken Alfred. 

Gears started to turn in Jason’s head. Was Tim’s mystery actually helping Batman? Unlike the usual criminals, Tim wasn’t a problem that could be punched through. He was a child vigilante. A talented, determined child with no adult supervision in sight. 

Bruce had often said how Dick and Jason had saved him. Was a child in potential danger helping Bruce step out of his shell of grief? One step that moved him back towards his original, compassionate self. The one who helped pay for research into Norma Freeze’s treatment. The one who visited Harvey Dent every month in Arkham. The one who saw death kissed, revenge fueled boys, and opened his arms to them?

Was Tim really the key to all of that?

Nightwing managed to close his mouth before he caught flies. “What should we do after we follow him home?”

“That depends on what his home looks like. If necessary, we will alert the Commissioner and social services. Maybe even introduce him to a metahuman youth center, if that’s what this is.” 

Woah. Even more words. Batman was really on a roll tonight. 

“Not the Titans?”

“No.” The word was hard, cold, and sharp as steel. “The world has enough teenaged vigilantes. We don’t need to help add to it.”

Dick nodded. For once, the two of them were in agreement. “Right. We need to figure out what Crow’s deal is and ensure he stops his dangerous nighttime habits.”

Crow . Jason hadn’t picked up on the use of the nickname before. He’d been too shocked at Batman actually using his words for once. It was a fitting alias for Tim. It even had a death motif. He’d have to tell the kid about it later. 

Batman stilled. He’d been still before, but this was different, it was the kind of stillness that meant he was gearing up for something. 

“Would you… would you work this case with me?” He asked carefully, not looking at Nightwing. “You’ve built a rapport with Crow that I wouldn’t be able to replicate.” 

And now Batman was asking for help. This night just got better and better. Jason barely kept himself from squealing. 

“O-okay.” Dick breathed, like he barely believed what he’d just heard. “I have obligations to the Titans, but I’ll spend what moments I can spare on Crow’s case.” 

Batman grunted his assent. 

A family team up. Holy shit. Tim really was a little miracle worker. 

Nightwing suddenly snapped to attention. “He’s on the move.”

The two of them rose to a crouch, ready to leap across rooftops after the persistent boy who’d carved his way into their lives. 

Tim had left via the back door. It was a smart move. But not enough to evade the Bats.

Once the streets started to flood with people, Jason gave Tim about a fifty-fifty chance of losing the Bats. Maybe sixty-forty since he was so tiny. 

The city was starting to wake up. Gotham never really slept. All kinds of people roamed the night. Daylight just brought about a different, tamer crowd.

A scream broke through the air. 

But it wasn’t without its troubles. The Bats’ heads swiveled in unison towards the sound. Perfect.

Jason reappeared at Tim’s side. The boy didn’t even flinch. He simply acknowledged Jason with a shallow dip of his head.

“The Bats are distracted.” An alarm hadn’t followed the scream, so it was probably a standard Gotham mugging. “Now’s your chance. Hurry.”

Tim didn’t need to be told twice. He broke into a run, flying down the street. He turned and twisted through Gotham, quick as a viper, and Jason was slowly starting to feel a tug back towards Bruce. 

“You’re gaining distance. I’m feeling a tug.”

Tim slowed his gait, falling back into a casual walk. A smart move. A kid sprinting down the streets would draw attention. Any additional distance wouldn’t be worth it. 

Tim took a sharp left, off the street and towards a church of all places. It was an old one, with a tall spire and stained glass windows marking its gothic architecture. It also had a field of graves next to it. 

Jason turned to Tim with a raised eyebrow. “Really embracing the ghost theme, aren’t ya?” 

Tim shrugged. “Might as well. It’s not like I can turn it off.” 

Jason blinked. For a moment there, Tim had almost sounded bitter. He supposed being able to see ghosts wasn’t the most pleasant ability. Some of the Titans had seen their powers as more of a curse than a blessing when they’d first gotten them. Did Tim feel the same way?

“Besides,” Tim stepped through the wrought iron gateway, “there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Jason immediately stiffened. He’d only agreed to help Tim shake the Bats. He had not signed up for any social interaction. 

And if Tim wanted Jason to meet someone, then it was definitely another ghost. Jason hadn’t really talked to any other ghosts besides Delilah. Back when he’d first died, he’d been too focused on Bruce to check if Sheila had stuck around. There was also the predicament of the Robin suit. He’d died in it. So, that was what he was stuck wearing as a ghost and they weren’t allowed closets. He couldn’t just be any other kid in that thing. They’d all know who he was. Robin. Not Jason. 

“Hey! I’m back!” Tim called out as he walked further into the churchyard, carefully weaving around the gravestones, not a single wilting petal disturbed. “And I brought a friend.”

Jason stumbled. He hadn’t even really been walking, but he’d tripped all the same. Tim considered him a friend? Allies sure, but friends? Well… he liked Tim. He was cool. Anyone who set Scarecrow’s pants on fire was definitely friendship material. 

A deafening WOOF thundered across the church yard and a giant black dog bounded up to them. As it got closer, Jason realized it was no ordinary dog. Shadows clung to its form, trailing after it like streams of ink. Its eyes blazed red, like burning coals. There was also the sheer size of the thing. It was massive. If Jason didn’t know better, he’d think it was a wolf. 

“Hector, this is Jason. Jason, this is Hector.” Tim introduced, as if they were two socialites at a gala and not talking to a demon dog in a fucking graveyard. “He’s a church grim. He guards the church yard from any who’d wish to harm it. He's a good doggie.”

Hector wagged his tail.

A good doggie. It was official. Jason should’ve guessed it from the way the little menace took to arson. But Tim was certifiably insane.

“Hi, Hector.” Jason eventually said, falling back on the manners Alfred had instilled in him. 

Hector dipped his head in return. The rosary around his neck jingled with the movement. 

“I wanted to introduce you in case you run into any bad ghosts.” Tim explained. He pointed back to the wrought iron gates. “Once you pass through those gates you can ask Hector for sanctuary. He’ll protect you until they lose interest.” 

There was a lot to unpack there. Bad ghosts. Guardian dog. The fact that Tim had a reason to know that. But most of all…

“You think I can’t defend myself?” Jason asked, trying not to feel insulted. He was Robin. Tim knew that. 

“Jason…” Tim raised his hands in a placating manner. “Have you ever fought anyone as a ghost?” 

Jason opened his mouth to argue, then snapped it shut. He hadn’t fought anyone as a ghost. How could he when he couldn’t even touch anyone? He’d never stopped to consider the fact that other ghosts might be able to hurt him. Pick a fight, sure. Maybe jeer some insults. Harassment at worst. But cause actual physical pain? He’d thought that was just another sensation lost to death. 

“Ghosts can affect each other.” Tim gestured at the dog. “Go on. Try and pet Hector.”

Warily, Jason extended a hand towards the dog. Hector didn’t try to snap at his fingers, so he placed his hand on top of his head. He’d expected it to pass right through, but it didn’t. It just rested there, in between Hector’s fuzzy ears. He could actually feel the dog’s fur. How crazy was that? 

He smoothed his hand over the black fur. It didn’t feel solid necessarily, but not liquid either. It felt kind of like jello. Firm, but if he exerted enough force, he could dip into it. He scratched at the dog’s head and the tips of his fingers sank into his form. Weird . 

Jason quickly pulled his hand away, shuddering. He resisted the urge to wipe his hands on his pants. It’s not like he was wearing any. He really should’ve asked to redesign Dick’s costume. 

“I’ve seen some nasty ghost fights. They don’t fight like humans do. It’s more like— like beasts.” Tim wrapped his arms around himself. He didn’t look at Jason. “They tear at each other’s forms until one of them destabilizes enough. It’s not… it’s not pretty.” 

Jason didn’t reply. He just watched as Tim shakily drew in breaths, his eyes unfocused. Jason had a feeling Tim wasn’t totally present, but trapped in a memory. 

“It’s better to just run. To hide.” His head snapped up. His eyes edged with desperation. “Promise me. Promise me that if you get dragged into a ghost fight, you’ll run.” 

Indignation sparked inside him. Jason wasn’t the type to flee. He stood his ground and fought. He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t crawl again. He wouldn’t be that pathetic again. 

“Please, Jason.”

Please. Just like how he’d begged Tim to don the Robin suit. So much desperation in that voice breaking word. 

“If I can’t handle it, I’ll run.” Jason eventually said. He didn’t believe he’d run into a fight he couldn’t handle, but the fights Tim had seen… well, they’d obviously shaken the kid. So he’d make that promise. For Tim’s peace of mind. 

Tim breathed out a sigh of relief. 

“Alright. Good.” It seemed like he was saying it to himself more than Jason. “I’m just gonna… go…” He pointed a thumb behind him. 

Jason was fairly certain Tim had lost the Bats, since the tug was pulling even more insistently now. It would be easy to give in and let himself return to Bruce’s side. But part of him hesitated to leave Tim. 

“We still meeting up tomorrow night?” Jason asked. He doubted Tim had forgotten, but he wanted to double check. “At Park Row Theatre?” 

Tim nodded. “Midnight.”

And Dick thought Jason was the theatre nerd. The kid was almost as macabre as Bruce. But with his abilities… he’d been doomed to be emo from the start. 

Satisfied Tim was safe for now, Jason let himself be drawn back to Bruce’s side. From the visible frustration on Batman and Nightwing’s faces, he knew they’d lost Tim. 

Jason only grinned. A plan had started to form in his mind, and if Tim agreed to it, the Bats would be seeing an awful lot more of him. 

Chapter Text

Before Tim’s boots even landed on the theatre roof, Jason was calling out to him.

“Tim! You’re here!” Jason rushed up to him, his tattered yellow cape whipping behind him. 

Tim blinked. “Uh… yeah? I said I would be.” 

Did Jason still think he was flaky? Tim had brushed him off in the past, but that was only the one time. He’d proven he was a man of his word. He’d met Jason in the tree. He’d brought Dick back. He’d saved the Bats from Scarecrow. 

It was ironic how much it stung. Tim was a world class liar — with his ghost sense, he had to be. But he always tried to be honest with ghosts. 

“I know! But it’s Crime Alley.” Jason pulled anxiously at the ends of his green gloves. “I was worried you’d get mugged on your way here or something.” 

Tim tried not to scoff at the concern. He knew why Jason was wary. He’d lived on these streets for years and seen all the horrors that could unfold. But Tim knew how to fly under the radar. It was a lesson he learned early on.

His parents' marriage was a rocky one, especially in recent years. The few times they were home, they fought. They yelled and stomped and slammed doors. If Tim didn’t want to get caught in the middle of it, he had to make himself scarce. Either he was a target or wallpaper — and he much preferred being wallpaper. 

It wasn’t all bad, though. Sometimes his dad called him sport and ruffled his hair, or his mom baked cookies with him. One time, when Tim was sick, his mom had taken him to work with her and let him sleep under her desk in a pile of blankets. It was the fondest memory he had of her. The best one with his dad was the time he took Tim to a baseball game. Tim didn’t like baseball, but he’d appreciated the gesture. He’d cheered along with his dad as the player slid to home base and ate his weight in nachos.

Tim cherished those moments. He tucked them away in his mind and hoarded them like a territorial dragon. They were a rare commodity more precious than any gold or jewels. 

Yeah, they argued. But what couple didn’t? His parents were just under a lot of pressure and Tim understood that. Running a company as successful as Drake Industries wasn’t a skip in the park. So what if they were a little snappish?

A small, yet persistent, part of him was concerned they’d get divorced. But they said their trips helped. Archeology was the shared passion that had brought them together, after all. 

Did it make Tim awfully selfish that he wished they’d come home? When all it did was cause them grief? 

It was probably for the best that Tim was left alone. That way he could easily help ghosts and his parents could be happy on their trips. It was a win-win.

So why did it feel like such a loss?

“Uhh… earth to Tim?” Jason waved a hand in front of his face and Tim startled, snapping back into the present. “You there?”

“Sorry.” Tim apologized, his mouth dry as sandpaper. It was alarming how easily he’d drifted away from reality. God, what if that happened at school? Or worse… a gala? He shuddered involuntarily. “I spaced out there, for a sec. What were you saying?”

Jason huffed, his hands propped on his hips. “I was just telling you my super awesome plan to fix the Bats. But I guess I can repeat myself. Great epics deserve to be retold.”

Tim resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Sure, Jason. Go ahead. I’m listening this time, promise.” 

“Okay, so…” Jason started and Tim could tell he was gonna be in it for the long haul. “I was listening in on the Bats and guess what? They decided to work together on your case. B was speaking in full sentences and Dick agreed to come to Gotham regularly. It’s a fu— I mean freaking, miracle. And it’s all because of you, Timmers.”

Miracle? Tim didn’t cause miracles. If anything he was a curse. He never really got along with the living, and he was even more of an oddity to the dead. Witchling, death’s shadow, the all seer. The calling cards were whispered with reverence and fear. No matter where he went, or who he spoke to, Tim was always an outsider. 

Miracles and curses aside, another part of what Jason said had caught Tim’s attention. 

“My case?”

“Yeah. You freaked out the Bats good.” Jason chuckled. “They’re concerned you’re a kid vigilante in the making.”

Well, shit. The last thing Tim needed was the Bats crawling up his ass. He couldn’t do his job if they interfered. He couldn't risk them finding out the truth. Fuck. This was why Tim hadn’t wanted to get involved. If only he’d left the Bats alone, then he could’ve stayed as nothing but whispers and shadows. Tim had always known his unfortunate moral compass would get him into trouble, but he’d always thought it would be with ghosts, not vigilantes. It was just his luck that as soon as he tried to help a living person, the universe kicked him in the balls. The message was loud and clear. Stay in your lane. 

However, Tim had always been stubborn. He’d started this. He’d known what he was walking into when he booked a bus ticket to New York. There was no weaseling out of it. He was going to have to stick by his decision. Tim was a lot of things, but a quitter wasn’t one of them. 

“How do we stop them?” Tim asked, his mind already whirling with the possibilities. Laying low for a while, hoping for an Arkham breakout, blackmail— 

“It’s simple.” Jason smiled. “We don’t.”

“ What? ”

“Your ‘case’ has got Batman and Nightwing working together. It’s bringing them closer, just like you wanted. But if you disappear after this, their partnership will fizzle out.” Jason spread his hands as he calmly explained the situation. Tim hated to admit it, but Jason was making more and more sense the longer he talked. “So, you’ll need to play a risky game of cat and mouse with them. Get close enough to keep them on your trail, but don’t let them get close enough to catch you.”

Tim sighed heavily, rubbing a hand down his face. “Alright. I see your point. But like you said: it’s risky. I could get caught the next time I go out, and this would all be for nothing.”

Tim didn’t know what the Bats would do if they caught him. Turn him over to the GCPD? Wipe his mind? Tell his parents and confirm he was nothing but trouble? 

He couldn’t let any of that happen. 

“I’ll help.” Jason said, an unspoken ‘ duh’ coloring his tone. “I know how the Bats operate and I can listen in. We know what’s going on, they don’t. That gives us an advantage.”

Tim nodded along. His mind was already racing, the bare bones of a plan forming.

“I used to call the GCPD tip line.” 

Before he’d realized they were useless and wouldn’t listen to a word he said. It wasn’t like he could say a ghost told him who the murderer was. The fact that he’d had the squeaky voice of a child didn’t help either.

“I could just start sending tips to the Bats instead.” Tim mused aloud. However, there was a snag in his plan. “But I don’t really trust the postal system, and it’s not like I have their phone numbers.” 

“Uhh… hello?” Jason gestured at himself. “I do. Get out a piece of paper.”

After a minute of scribbling down Jason’s rapid fire string of digits; Tim had Bruce, Dick, and Alfred’s personal numbers. He stared down at the inked digits, hardly believing it. His heroes, just one phone call away… 

Tim wasn’t stupid, though. He knew he couldn’t just call them. That would be like sending up a flare to his location. He made a mental note to buy a pile of burner phones later. 

“That’s one way to fuck with the Bats down.” Jason grin was positively gleeful as he rubbed his hands together. He was really getting into the evil mastermind persona. “What else should we do?”

They brainstormed for the next hour or so, tossing around ideas anywhere from simple to downright wacky. Some Tim considered, others he straight up shot down. But soon enough he had an entire page filled.

Ideas to Give the Bats Gray Hairs

• Send them murder tips
• Send them photos of Gotham’s criminal underbelly 
• Blackmail or expose corrupt people in positions of power 
• Destroy anti-homeless architecture 
• Vandalism Banksy style
• Good old fashioned B&E
• Pull a Catwoman 
• Get spotted running along rooftops 
• Hack into the GCPD (already did this lol)
• “Accidentally” let it slip that you know half the Justice League’s secret IDs
• Wear a vigilante style mask

Jason insisted on the title.

“Y’know…” Jason said, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Nightwing already gave you a codename.”

Tim’s head snapped up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. “What? He did?” He scrambled closer to Jason. “What is it?” 

Dick Grayson, his hero , had given him a codename. When Tim was younger, he’d doodled his own ideas for a superhero costume, with lame names like Batboy or Drake. He couldn’t believe he’d once considered using his surname as a vigilante codename. That was so stupid . At least he’d had the excuse of being eight at the time. 

“It’s Crow. Because you weren’t scared of Scarecrow.” 

“Huh.” If any bird suited Tim, it would be a crow. A group of crows was called a murder. They were seen as bad omens. They were small, dark, and clever. Yeah, it suited him. “That’s not half bad. I think I’ll keep that.” 

Ghosts did always gripe about not having something to call him. Crow was as good a name as any. 

Jason’s sly grin turned devilish. “And you know what the best part about that codename is?”

Tim’s eyes narrowed. He squashed down on the urge to take a step back. “…what?”

“You know the therapist from the movie Sixth Sense?”

He nodded carefully, his gaze never leaving Jason. Tim had seen the movie multiple times. It had helped him come to terms with his ability. Had encouraged him to use that ability to help the ghosts of Gotham. 

“Well, his name is—“ Jason cut off with a wheeze. “His name is Doctor Malcolm Crowe.” Jason finished and burst into a fit of laughter. 

Tim’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t even thought of that. Malcom Crowe. Woah. Nightwing doesn't even know how close he came to the truth with that codename. 

“Holy shit.” Tim breathed, the sensation of having narrowly dodged a bullet sending his heart rate into overdrive. “And they don’t suspect—“

Jason shook his head, his laughter thankfully subsiding as he sobered up. “Not the truth. They’ve theorized you might be a meta, but they think you’re a telepath or have invisibility or something. Ghosts aren’t even on their radar.”

Tim let out a sigh of relief. “Good. That’s— that’s good.” He said shakily. 

He could deal with the Bats thinking he was a meta-human. Better that than thinking he’s looney tunes or a conman. 

Or even worse, they might believe him. They would learn he can see ghosts and that Jason was here. Old wounds would get reopened and never close. Jason would never move on. Batman would never move on. They’d be stuck in a limbo where they could never really interact and only hurt themselves in the process. They’d never get any kind of closure and it would be all Tim’s fault.  

“They can’t find out, Jason.” Tim stared down at his hands, where his nails dug into the meat of his palms. “They can’t. It would ruin them.” 

Tim would do anything to keep them in the dark. No matter what lie he’d need to tell or who he’d need to manipulate. He’d do it without hesitation. 

Jason shifted on his feet. “Would it really be so bad…”

“Yes.” Tim hissed, cutting him off before he could even start. “Telling them you’re here would only hurt them. You’d all be hanging onto something you could never really have. There would never be any healing or closure. I know it’s cruel, but you’re just a memory to them now, Jason. You’re their grief and their love. You're inside their thoughts and their hearts, but you aren’t here. You're on a different plane of existence. You’ll just have to be content to wait until they eventually join you.”

Tim lifted his head, finally daring to look up. Jason’s entire body had gone rigid. His fists were balled and his jaw was clenched, his teeth grinding together.

“Then what was all that you said before? About how even though Bruce can’t see me, I’m still here?” Jason’s voice was deadly quiet, like the calm before a storm. “Was that just a bunch of bullshit? A way to get me to leave you alone because I don’t technically exist anymore?”

Tim’s heart leapt into his throat. He’d been so worried about his secret— so determined to convince Jason of his opinion, that he hadn’t realized how much his callous words could hurt him. He hadn’t meant to imply that Jason was somehow lesser. He hadn’t meant to dehumanize him. 

He took a step forward. “Jason, that’s not what I—“

“No! No. I hear you loud and clear.” His face darkened. “I know when I’m not wanted.” He turned his back on Tim. “Good luck with your plan.”

Then he disappeared, dissolving into the night, as if he was never really there. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck! Tim barely kept himself from screaming in frustration. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to throw shit off the roof. For once in his life he wanted to stop fucking up so badly. No wonder his parents didn’t want to be around him. No wonder he didn’t have any friends. He always ruined what little beginnings he could find. 

They said ‘grief is the price we pay for love,’ and for all Tim’s efforts to try and prevent the remaining Bats from paying twice, he’d forgotten that Jason was mourning his life too. He’d been so focused on the living he’d forgotten about the dead. The irony didn’t escape him. 

He huffed a bitter laugh. His vision had been so tunneled on saving Batman— on saving Gotham— that he’d forgotten the person who’d asked him for help in the first place. He’d been so wrapped up in his own fears that he’d chased away the one person who actually wanted to be around him. 

Tim curled into a ball, trying to make himself as small as possible, as if it would somehow minimize how awful he felt. It didn’t. He wanted to scream until his voice went hoarse. But he couldn’t do that. Not on a rooftop in one of the seediest neighborhoods in Gotham. So, he shoved his fist into his mouth, biting his knuckles until he tasted copper. Better to bleed than to acknowledge the tears streaming down his face. Somehow bleeding felt like less of a weakness.

He didn’t know how long he laid there, but when he eventually got up, it was still dark out. 

Tim forced himself to take deep breaths. He couldn’t let himself fall apart. The Bats may not want him, but they needed his help. They needed him just like Gotham needed them. 

Tim couldn’t fail his city. He wouldn’t fail the people in it, living or dead. 

He tucked away the hurt and the pain, shoved it all down until all he felt was numb and cold. He shouldered his backpack and dusted off his knees. He scrubbed at his face until any evidence of weakness was gone. 

He could do this. He was Timothy Drake. The boy who’d been acquainted with death and grief since he could walk. He wasn’t going to let this defeat him. 

Tim dragged himself home and collapsed into bed. Hopefully, he’d feel better after some rest. Hopefully everything would be okay in the morning light.

He was so exhausted, he slept right through his phone buzzing with a message alert. 

Your father and I are on a flight home. We will arrive tomorrow afternoon. I can’t wait to see how much you’ve grown. We might even need to get you a new tux. Be a dear and try on your old one to see if it still fits. 

The Gotham Natural History Museum will be holding a fundraising gala and you will be attending with us. Make sure to familiarize yourself with the attached guest list. 

Your father checked your report card and saw that you received all A’s as expected. He’s thrilled that he can brag about how intelligent his son is to the other parents. As am I. Keep up the good work. 

Love, Janet

-👻-👻-👻-

They’d lost him. What should’ve been a quick detour to stop a simple mugging had turned into a hostage situation when the mugger had run into a nearby corner store. By the time the Bats had returned to their rooftops, Crow was long gone. Dick had barely kept himself from tearing out his hair in frustration. 

They’d continued their investigation, but so far, nothing had turned up. It had been days and they were no closer to finding Crow. 

They knew what the kid looked like, but in a city as big as Gotham, it was unlikely they’d bump into him again. They had security footage of him in the Cave, but the images were too grainy to get a hit off of facial recognition. What little information they had on him didn’t narrow the search pool much. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. A wet, gloomy, and polluted haystack. 

At this point, Dick knew they’d have no choice but to wait for Crow to show himself again. But who knew how long that’d take? They only knew the kid existed because he’d come to them. What if Batman had scared him off for good? 

“Have you had any luck locating the boy?” Alfred asked, as he did every time he brought food down to the Cave’s occupants. 

Dick’s answer was the same. “No. No luck.”

“Master Bruce?” Alfred lightly prodded the man. Trying to get a conversation out of Bruce was like pulling teeth, but Alfred kept at it with the patience of a saint.

Bruce grunted. Which meant he was coming up dry as well.

Dick gnawed on his lower lip. He knew Batman didn’t want to admit it, but they’d hit a brick wall. If they wanted to find Crow… they’d need help. 

There was nothing Batman hated more than asking for help. But as luck would have it, Nightwing had decided he didn’t give a damn what Batman thought. Dick was another story — but he wasn’t Dick right now. He was Nightwing. And a kid was in danger. 

“What if we call in the Titans?” He suggested, carefully. “They could help sear—“

“No.”  

“But—“

“No metas in Gotham.” 

Dick clenched his jaw. He’d expected the refusal. He’d known it was coming. But it still grated on him. Bruce was Gotham’s prince. Batman was Gotham’s knight. He acted like he ruled the goddamn place, that his word was law. It was infuriating. 

“Why are you so insistent on that stupid rule?” Dick demanded, stomping his foot. He knew he was acting like a child but he didn’t care. He was so tired of Bruce’s bullshit. “Most of my friends in the Titans are meta-humans. My girlfriend is a super-powered alien. I should be able to hang out with them in Gotham. What happens if I marry Kory, huh? Will she not be allowed to visit her in-laws? Would our future child be able to come here?”

He hadn’t talked about marriage or children with Kory yet, but when he thought of the future that’s what he saw. A few years down the line, he could picture it. A crib. A fridge covered in drawings and photos. Maybe a dog. 

“Dick, you are being overdramatic—“

“Oh, I’m being overdramatic?” Dick scoffed. “You don’t own the fucking city, Bruce. I can’t believe you’re letting your stupid pride get in the way of helping a kid.” 

The cowl hid most of whatever nasty expression was on Bruce’s face, but not enough. “That is enough. Gotham is bad enough without super-powered showboaters attracting more threats. That rule is there for a reason.”

A heavy silence fell over the cave, the bats screeching overhead the only sound. 

Dick had never been one for broody silences. That was Bruce’s M-O. Not his. He was Nightwing. He was his own hero. He’d never wanted to be Batman and now he was even more sure of his decision. 

But Nightwing hadn’t been created by Dick alone. He’d taken inspiration from another hero. He’d only reached this point because he’d been trained by Batman. He wouldn’t be anywhere near as strong as he was today if not for the help of his fellow heroes.

Dick glared at the ground, refusing to look at his mentor. “I don’t understand why you refuse to let other heroes into Gotham. Didn’t you form the Justice League to accomplish what you couldn’t do as individuals?”

Batman didn’t look at Dick either. His focus remained on the Batcomputer. “Crow isn’t a big enough problem to warrant calling in the Titans, much less the Justice League.” 

“Did you call them in for Jason?” 

Silence fell so quickly he could’ve heard a pin drop. 

Dick clapped a hand over his mouth. He hadn’t mean to say that. It had just— it had just come out. 

“What did you just say?” Batman’s voice was deadly quiet. 

Dick straightened, squaring his shoulders. He hadn’t meant to say it. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t justifiable. “Did you call them in for Jason? Superman or Flash could’ve gotten there in secon—“

“Get out.” Batman growled. 

“Master Bruce—“ Alfred tried to intervene, but Batman wasn’t having any of it.

“Get out!” He roared, jabbing a finger towards the mouth of the cave. 

Dick hated how he automatically wanted to run. How his legs locked up. He hated that his Dad was making him feel this way.

He forced himself to stand tall and firm. To become as stony as the man who raised him. “Bye, Alfred. It was good to see you.” 

Alfred smiled weakly at him. “You as well, Master Dick.” 

As calmly as he could, Dick walked over to his motorcycle. His hands didn’t shake as he clipped his helmet on. He remained steady as he sat on the bike. 

“I’ll help on Crow’s case.” He stated, refusing to look at his seething mentor. “But other than that, don’t bother contacting me.”

Then he peeled out of the cave, the roar of the engine drowning out his father’s screams echoing inside his head. 

Chapter Text

To say Tim was stressed was an understatement. Normally, he’d be overjoyed that his parents were home. But his parents being home meant he couldn’t go out. No ghosts. No Jason.

Not that Jason would want to talk to him. Tim didn’t even know if he’d be able to find Jason— not without risking getting caught by Batman. 

And without Jason, their plan would never work. It hinged on Jason being Tim’s eyes and ears. To keep him one step ahead of the Bats. But Jason was gone now. All because Tim couldn’t keep his own fears locked away. He’d inhaled Scarecrow’s fear gas and been fine, but now he let his fears control him? It was so stupid. 

Tim could only hope that Dick had kept his promise. Maybe that would be enough. Maybe Tim and Jason’s interference would no longer be needed. 

But maybe that was just wistful thinking. 

With everything going on, it was a struggle to keep his “normal and dutiful son” mask on. His parents weren’t attentive ones, but he didn’t want to risk them noticing a crack. He’d kept up the charade too long for it to fall apart now. He didn’t know if he could stand it if another thing fell apart. It might just break him.

Janet gasped across the dinner table, grabbing Tim’s attention. “Jack, look at this.” She angled her phone towards him and he leaned in to look.

Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, I’ll be.”

Tim looked between them anxiously. “What is it, mother?”

“One moment, Timothy.” She lifted her finger, eyes glued to her phone. 

It was a signature Janet move. That upheld finger. Stop bugging me, Timothy. Not now, Timothy. I’m very busy, Timothy.  

He should’ve expected it. His parents just got back yesterday; the jet lag was bound to thin their patience. Tim’s clinginess wouldn't help. Holding on too tight only drove them away.

“I can’t believe it. Bruce Wayne, coming to the Museum Gala.” Janet fanned herself. “I’ll have to wear a much nicer dress.”

Tim’s stomach dropped. Bruce Wayne was coming to the same gala as him. Batman was coming to the same gala as him. Oh no. Oh no no no. If he saw Tim…

He put his fork down, his appetite abruptly leaving him as he swallowed thickly. 

“Oh? So you can dress up for Bruce Wayne but not me, huh?” Jack asked playfully, but there was an undercut of frustration in his tone that had Tim stiffening. 

“You know it’s not like that.” Janet huffed. “Bruce Wayne hasn’t gone to a gala since that boy of his died. Anyone who’s anyone is going to be there.” 

Jack shook his head. “Shame what happened. But what did Wayne expect after taking in that street rat? It shouldn’t have surprised him when he ran off. Hell, I bet the brat’s pockets were full of Martha’s jewelry.” 

Tim saw red. His chair screeched as he abruptly stood up. Do not blow up. Do not blow up. “May I be excused?”

It took all he had to keep his voice pleasant, to not grind his teeth together. He couldn’t just sit there while his father insulted Jason, while he implied he was nothing but a dirty thief. Jason died a hero.

His parents murmured their consent, not even looking up from their phones. Neither noticed Tim had barely touched his plate. After all, they had more important things to focus on. 

Tim fled to his room, stomping down on the urge to slam the door. The last time he’d done that, his father had threatened to take his door off. Tim had been ready to move into the bathroom, but luckily Jack hadn’t been able to figure out how to get the door off its hinges and gave up. By the next day, the whole thing had been forgotten. Well, Jack had forgotten. Tim never would. 

Tim slumped down on his bed, huffing out a frustrated breath. His emotions were on a hair-trigger lately. Anger being the most common one. 

But what right did Tim have to be angry on Jason's behalf? Jack called him a street rat and a thief, but at least he hadn’t implied he wasn’t human. Not like Tim had. 

He’d really screwed up with Jason. Tim couldn’t even enjoy his parents being home. He was too stuck in his own head. All his past — and potential future — failures playing on a constant loop. 

God, he hated how much he wanted to cry. But there was one desire he hated even more. It was a childish urge, wishing for companionship. But part of Tim wished Jason was here. Having Robin at his side had made Tim feel empowered, like he could do anything. Now that he was gone, all Tim could see was his own helplessness.

There was so much to do. So much to worry about. His parents. Jason. Batman. Not to mention all the other ghosts out there who needed help. 

Just give up. A voice in the back of his mind whispered. Why try to help? All you do is make things worse.

The doorknob rattled and Tim startled. 

“Timothy. Why is this door locked?” Janet asked irritably from the other side. “You know how I feel about locked doors in my house.”

Tim lurched up to open it. He could only hope he didn’t look as disheveled as he felt.

“Sorry, mother.” Tim apologized, his head bowed. “I was about to change into my sleepwear.” And you don’t knock.

She pursed her lips, but apparently the excuse had merit because she didn’t scold him further. “I just wanted to remind you that we have a suit fitting tomorrow at three. While we’re out you can pick out a mask as well.” 

“A mask?”

“Yes. It’s a masquerade gala. Didn’t I already tell you this?” 

She hadn’t, but Tim wasn’t going to point that out. “It must’ve slipped my mind.” 

Better to take the blame upon himself then point out their faults. It made things smoother for everyone. Tim loved his parents, but he knew they were prideful people; wound that pride and they’d lash out like cornered animals. 

“There’s a shop that sells them in the fashion district. Benefits of living in Gotham I suppose.”

Tim snorted and his mother smiled, pleased her joke landed. 

“Well, I won’t keep you, get some rest.” She leaned down to press a kiss to his hair. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Tim could’ve glowed from happiness. His mother left and he partially bounced all the way back to bed, his fingers brushing over his forehead. 

It felt like one of those TV moments. He’d thought that gooey parent stuff had been made up. Tim would sit in front of the screen, all by his lonesome, and wish for things that could never be. But now it had happened. He was being a good son! Maybe he’d get a story read to him next! Or get tucked into bed! But he wasn’t a baby. He didn’t need his parents to do those things. It was just… a nice thought. That’s all.

As he laid down, thoughts of the upcoming gala swirled in his head. A masquerade. No wonder Batman was showing up. It was pretty much guaranteed to get attacked by a rogue. 

At least with the masks Tim wouldn’t have to worry as much about getting recognized. When he went out he always made sure to disguise his Bristol accent, he’d just have to lay it on thick at the gala. Not to mention how preoccupied Batman would likely be with the rogue attack. They might not even cross paths. There was no reason to get worked up about it. 

Was it a bad thing that the possibility of a gala getting attacked made Tim feel relieved? Did that make him a bad person? He wasn’t sure. But he did know that having a masquerade gala meant the event organizer was an idiot. And Tim wasn’t idiotic. 

A masquerade was also a perfect opportunity to get his own mask. Maybe he could pull off the plan after all. And if Bruce Wayne was showing up, Jason would likely be with him. Tim could pull him aside and apologize, then — providing Jason forgave him — everything could go back to business as usual. 

Tim had a plan. He had a goal. His previously panicked brain latched onto it like a lifeline. As long as he had a plan of action, he’d be just fine. 

-👻-👻-👻-

Jason was miserable. He’d had an awful fight with Tim, and he’d come home only to witness another fight play out in front of his eyes. His partnership with Tim had fallen apart and so had Nightwing and Batman’s truce. Everything was fracturing down the middle and there was nothing Jason could do to fix it. 

He’d turned his back on his only chance to fix things. Turned his back on Tim. His anger and hurt swirled around in him like a cyclone, blinding him to everything else. The tremble in Tim’s voice. The fear. The apology he tried to start. But Jason hadn’t wanted to notice any of that. 

All he could do was despondently follow Bruce around as he worked himself into an early grave next to his own. 

Tim’s words echoed in his mind. You aren’t here. You're on a different plane of existence. You’ll just have to be content to wait until they eventually join you.

Jason didn’t want Bruce to die, but with the way he was “living,” maybe death was the better option? Would he be happier if he could reunite with Jason? But what about Dick? What about Alfred? It’d be trading another devastating loss for his own gain. It was selfish to want that. It was horrible of him to even entertain the idea. Maybe that’s what Tim had been trying to tell him before, but he’d been too caught up in his own pain to see it.

He’d thought all hope was lost. Until one evening, Bruce did something entirely unexpected. He shed the Batman suit and replaced it with a tuxedo. 

Jason’s eyes bugged out of his head. He hadn’t seen Bruce wear a tux since his funeral. After Jason’s death, he’d practically lived in the Batman suit, only changing into sweats to sleep when Alfred threatened to drug him. 

Bruce was going out. To a party of all things. Jason could hardly believe it. After his fight with Dick, Jason had thought Bruce’s isolation tendencies would get worse, not better. 

Then Bruce stuck a ‘Phantom of the Opera’ style mask on his face and Jason understood. Some rich moron was holding a masquerade ball. Bruce wasn’t going to a party. Batman was going on a mission. 

They arrived at the museum and were bombarded with socialites wearing the gaudiest masks possible. Feathers and glitter and gemstones galore. Someone even had the gall to wear a jester mask. Jason tried to knock it off their face to no avail. Being a ghost really sucked. 

Bruce was immediately mobbed by leeches and Jason floated away, not wanting to listen to the flirting and proposed business deals. The fact that he was in a museum held appeal. Dinosaur bones were never boring. Jason could even float to the ceiling and see the suspended Pterodactyl skeleton up close. 

He usually dreaded galas, but he was actually having some fun at this one. After the shitty week he’d had, maybe the universe decided it owed him some semblance of joy. 

“Psst.”

Jason swatted around his head on reflex, forgetting for a moment that, as a ghost, he was intangible and couldn’t hurt a fly.

“Pssst.” It insistently buzzed on. “Jason!” 

Jason swung around. He could’ve sworn he just heard his name. But the room was empty; all the party goers were in the main reception hall.

“Down here!” The voice whisper-yelled.

Jason squinted down at the polished floors, cautiously floating lower. Then, he saw it. There was a kid crouched behind a trash bin. He was wearing a suit and tie, along with a black feathered mask that stretched from his forehead to a small curved beak off his nose. 

The kid came out of his hiding spot, shifting anxiety from foot to foot. “Do you like the mask I chose? I got one, like you suggested.” 

Jason’s jaw dropped. “Tim?”

“Hi, Jason.” Tim said softly. “I know you might not want to see me, but I’m really sorry about what I said before. I was afraid of my secret being discovered and I snapped at you. Do you think you could forgive me?”

Jason swallowed thickly. Tim was here. He hadn’t forgotten him. “I…”

A deafening BOOM echoed through the room. The suspended skeletons and light fixtures creaked as they swung back and forth. Screams pierced the air. It looked like the expected rogue had made their entrance.

Tim dove towards the wall, flattening himself against it as he crept back towards the entryway. Jason followed his lead, even though he didn’t have to worry about being seen or having anything fall on him. He just wanted to be close to Tim. 

“I betcha it’s Two Face.” Jason said, trying to lighten the mood. “He’s always liked explosives.” 

“I think it’s the Penguin.” Tim whispered back.

Jason hummed, considering. The Penguin had a well known hatred of rich people, ever since he’d lost his family wealth and name way back when. “Yeah, I can see that.” 

Tim edged along the empty hallways, back towards the party. Jason floated a few feet ahead of him, acting as his early warning system. They didn’t even need to discuss it. They just fell back into the roles they’d played at Scarecrow’s hideout. 

Jason stopped Tim at the entrance of the reception hall. “I’ll check it out and report back, okay? You stay here.”

He floated in, scanning the room of cowering socialites, sniffling as they dropped their jewelry and wallets into a passed around sack. 

“Put all ya goodies in da bag! I’ll know if ya skimpin’ me!”  

Jason’s blood iced over. He knew that accent. 

Standing in the middle of the chaos, with a comically large hammer resting on her shoulder, was Harley Quinn. 

-👻-👻-👻-

Tim was planning to stay there until Jason came back. Really, he was! But then he caught a glimpse of a black and red outfit. 

At first he’d denied it. Because no… it couldn’t be her. The Joker was in Arkham. Why would his girlfriend be here?

Tim crept closer, crouching down next to the doorway and peering inside. There she was. Harley Quinn . And it wasn’t only her. Tim’s dread increased as his eyes fell on Poison Ivy. Thick vines of an unnatural size crept in through a hole blasted in the wall — likely the courtesy of her partner in crime. 

The women had corralled the socialites into a line against a wall. They were depositing their valuables into a bag, stiff from terror. He scanned the line of people, but he didn’t see his parents. There was no sign of Janet’s peacock mask or Jack’s long beaked one. Nor was there a sign of Bruce. Hopefully, he’d been able to duck out and suit up. 

To his relief, there was also no sign of the Joker either. Just his girlfriend. Or ex-girlfriend? Tim was never sure with how often Harley left, only to go crawling back. He hoped she’d left him for good this time. 

Ivy being there was promising. She had never hidden her disdain for Harley’s taste in men. But her presence did complicate things. She was intimidating enough on her own. Together, Harley and her made a formidable team. 

Tim knew he couldn’t take them on alone. He’d be hopelessly outmatched. But if he found Batman he could lend a hand. Jason would know where he was, but… Tim looked around the room, the furrow in his brow increasing the longer he went without spotting the ghost. Where had he—?

Oh. Jason was floating near the chandelier, frozen in place, his eyes locked on Harley. Oh shit. Tim internally cursed. Harley may not be the Joker, but she was still heavily associated with the clown. Of course she’d remind Jason of his murderer. Tim was such an idiot.

He couldn’t even help Jason. Not when he was on the ceiling. Not when Tim couldn’t call out to him without alerting Harley and Ivy to his presence. He was forced to stay hidden and watch as it all played out in front of his eyes.

At least Harley and Ivy didn’t seem too keen on hurting anyone. The security guards were beat up, but still breathing. Maybe the women would be content to take their spoils and go. 

Sirens sounded in the distance. 

“That’s our cue.” Harley snagged the bag full of valuables from an elderly woman, hoisting it over her shoulder and giving a jaunty salute. “Tell the piggies we said hi! And that I’m a way better criminal than Mista J!”

Well, that answered the question of if she was his ex-girlfriend. 

“But before we go… let’s take a little insurance with us.” Ivy said with a sickly sweet smile. One of her vines lashed out, grabbing a teenaged girl — around Jason’s age — and hauling her out of the screaming crowd. 

“No!” A man shouted, presumably her father based off of their similar looks. “Take me instead! Please!” 

“Sorry, girls only.” Harley winked then delivered a kick to the man’s jaw, sending him crashing into one of the food tables.

“DAD!” The girl screamed, her mask slipping off her face as she thrashed in the vine’s grip. “You crazy bitch! When I get my hands on you mph—“ She was silenced by a vine wrapping around her mouth. 

“Feisty. I like it.” Ivy purred. “But don’t worry, you’ll be released safe and sound, as long as the boys in blue cooperate. Now sleep.” 

One of the buds on the vine opened, revealing a vibrant flower that spat out orange spores. The girl’s eyes rolled back into her head as she went limp, falling unconscious in seconds. 

“Let’s blow this pop stand!” Harley cackled and ran towards the exit. Right towards Tim.

He eeped and ducked behind a potted fern as the woman and their hostage ran past. A tangle of vines threaded over the doorway, preventing them from being followed — and unknowingly trapping Tim in the hallway with them. 

Tim sighed. So much for hoping they would leave without hurting anyone. They said they’d release the girl unharmed once they got away, but Tim couldn’t just take their word for it. Harley was an impulsive wild card and Ivy didn’t care about most human life. He had to follow them. 

He crept out from behind the plant, only to have Jason run right through him. Tim’s steps stuttered and goosebumps spread over his skin at the unpleasantly cool sensation. He might not be able to touch ghosts, but he felt their presence much more strongly than other people. What felt like a chill to them, was like being dunked in ice water to him. 

“Ack!” Tim jumped back, rubbing his arms as he shivered. “Don’t do that!”

“S-sorry.” Jason stuttered, his gaze flicking around the room nervously. “I was just worried, I thought they might’ve…”

“Might’ve found me?” Tim guessed and Jason nodded slowly, his arms wrapped around himself. It seemed seeing Harley had taken its toll. 

Tim craned his neck, double checking that the women were gone. It was just him and Jason in the hallway, even Harley’s whoops of triumph had faded out.  

“They didn’t. But they grabbed a girl from the crowd. Do you…” Tim hesitated, wondering if this would be asking too much. “Do you think you could help find them?” At the way Jason flinched he hurriedly tacked on. “It’s okay if you can’t. I get that seeing Harley would uh… bring back unpleasant memories.” 

Jason looked down at his hands, curling them into fists. “It’s not like… it’s not like she could even hurt me, but I just… I just froze. Like a fucking coward!” He spat the word out, vicious and hateful. 

“Jason… it’s understandable that seeing Harley would upset you. She used to be the Joker’s girlfr—“

“Don’t say that NAME!” Jason screamed and the lights above them flickered. 

Tim sucked in a breath. Okay. Note to self: don’t mention the Joker in front of Jason.

He held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry. My bad. Do you know where Batman is? Maybe he can help.” 

The lights stopped flickering. Jason took a shuddering inhale, then exhaled, his body slumping in defeat. 

“He’s that way.” He didn’t look at Tim’s as he pointed down a hallway; the opposite one that the women took. “Probably trying to cut them off at the exit.” 

Jason drifted off, silently leading the way and Tim followed. He watched the ghost with careful eyes, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Jason was usually such a vibrant presence, it was disturbing to see him so sullen. Like the sun on an overcast day. 

As he rounded the corner, Tim heard hair-raising giggles. “Ooh, looks like ole’ Batsy has finally come out to play.” Harley simpered.

Tim hid behind a conveniently placed vending machine, fingers digging into the plastic and his heart pounding in his chest. It was just like when he’d infiltrated Scarecrow’s base. He could feel the whispers of the Robin suit on his skin; the phantom of a cape draped over his shoulders and a utility belt strapped around his waist. 

As horrible as it was, he wished he had the comfort of the Robin suit. It had made him feel brave. Untouchable. Like he was larger than life. But he didn’t feel very brave now. Just scared. Not for himself — okay, maybe a little for himself — but mainly for Jason and Batman. 

“Put down the girl.” Batman growled, a batarang in hand. 

“Hmm...” Poison Ivy tapped her chin, pretending to consider it. “I don’t think I will.” 

She thrust her hand forward, vines lashing out, and the fight was on. Harley swung her giant mallet and Ivy’s plants snapped at Batman like vipers. Batman dodged around them, throwing batarangs in response. 

Tim watched them dance around each other with bated breath. It was two-on-one and the women had Batman on the defensive. Not to mention the hostage. The odds didn’t look good. 

However, Ivy had dropped the unconscious girl in order to focus on the fight. If Tim could get her out of the way… 

He snuck forwards, ignoring Jason’s hissed: “what are you doing?” He crouched next to the girl, snaking his arms around her, and started hauling her away. 

He kept one eye on the brawl as he dragged her towards the hallway. He winced as her heels clanked against the floor, but valiantly kept up his pace. He was so close—

“Eat this, Batsy!” Harley yelled, then tossed an object into the air and swung her mallet like a baseball bat.

Ivy’s eyes widened. “No! Harley don’t—“

But it was too late, the mallet connected with the object and sent it flying. 

Tim realized what that object was when it exploded midair. His feet felt stuck to the floor as he watched the ceiling crack and crumble in horror. 

“Tim! MOVE!” Jason yelled.

That prompted Tim to body check the girl, flinging them both out of the way as a light fixture crashed to the ground, right in front of their feet. 

Tim stared at the light fixture, at the shattered glass scattered around it. Holy shit, that was close.

But it wasn’t over. The light fixture gave way to the rest of the ceiling, showering the room in debris. The costumed fighters stopped brawling to dodge around the danger. 

Ivy swung out an arm, one of her vines cracking a piece of debris in half so that it fell in pieces around Harley. But she was too distracted to notice what was heading her way. A chunk of the ceiling brained Ivy and she collapsed in a heap.

“RED!” Harley cried.

But before she could run to her fallen friend, Batman tackled her to the ground. 

“Get off of me you, freak!” Harley thrashed in his grip, kicking and screaming. “Ivy! IVY!”

Batman was unmoving. Even as tears streamed down Harley’s face, streaking her pink and blue makeup across her cheeks. “She got what was coming to her. And so will you.” 

“You’re going to regret that.” Harley hissed, in a tone so serious she sounded like a completely different person. 

It sent chills down Tim’s spine, hearing the normally peppy rogue talk like that. It wasn’t fear of the Bat gleaming in Harley’s eyes, but hatred. Pure hatred. 

That seriousness was broken when she yelled: “Eat shit, fuckface!” And headbutted Batman. Right in the face. 

His nose crunched against her forehead and he reeled back with a grunt. Harley took that opportunity to slip out of his hold and get back on her own feet. 

It devolved into a brawl from there. No weapons, just fists flying. Blood sprayed as they accumulated injuries. Broken nose. Busted lip. Snapped wrist. But neither of them stopped. They kept going even when they were haggard and swaying, struggling to stay upright. 

“They’re gonna kill each other.” Jason breathed, horrified. “They’re actually gonna kill each other.”

Jason zipped forwards into the fray, trying to get between them. But there was nothing he could do. Their fists passed right through him. 

“Stop it! Please!” Jason begged and Tim shivered as a chilling cold permeated the air. The brawlers didn’t seem to notice. They just kept wailing on each other. “ STOP IT!”

But there wasn’t anything Jason could influence. Fucking with the electricity wouldn’t help. The light fixture was already shattered. The rest of the room was destroyed along with it. The temperature dropping a few degrees wouldn’t stop them. Any small feats he could pull off as a ghost wouldn’t do a thing. 

It was Scarecrow all over again. There was no one who could save Batman. No one but Tim. 

Also where was Nightwing that fucking liar. 

Tim got to his feet and picked up Harley’s discarded mallet. He lifted it over his head, his arms shaking. 

“HEADS UP!” He yelled, then hurled it towards them.

At the sight of a giant mallet hurtling towards them, Harley and Batman leapt back. The weapon hit the wall with a resounding thud.

Tim stepped forward, his chest heaving. “What the hell is wrong with you two!? Are you too busy wailing on each other to realize Poison Ivy and the hostage need medical attention? Get your damn priorities straight. Harley, you take Ivy. Batman, you get the girl.”

They stared at him.

“NOW!” Tim flung out an arm and they both scurried to do as they were told. 

Batman crouched down next to the hostage, his fingers seeking out her pulse. Harley had Ivy’s head pillowed in her lap as she checked her wound. 

Tim huffed out a breath, swiping back his bangs. “Honestly. What’s wrong with people these days?”

Jason chuckled. He was floating on his stomach, his chin propped up on his hands. “It was funny watching a half-pint like you boss them around.” 

Tim cracked a half smile. Now that all that was taken care of… He needed to find his parents. He spun around on his heel, marching for the hall.

Batman was blocking his path. 

“Excuse me, Mister.” Tim tried to slip past him but Batman grabbed his arm.

“I know that’s you, Crow.” 

Shit. There went his hope he wouldn’t be recognized. “And I know that’s you,” he leaned in close and whispered: “ Mr. Wayne. So, I suggest you let me go.”

Batman’s grip only tightened. “You’re coming back to the Cave with me.”

“Where’s Nightwing?” Tim asked, trying to stall for time. 

If Batman connected him to the Drakes… it would be game over. Or even worse, if Tim’s parents found him like this… his life would be over. 

Batman didn’t even flinch. “That’s none of your concern.”

“He went back to the Titans, didn’t he?” Tim scanned Batman’s face. It might as well have been made of marble. But luckily, he had Jason to confirm. Tim shook his head sadly. “Even after I asked him to help you.” 

“I don’t need any help.” He said the word like it was a dirty swear. 

“I think you do. What would you have done if I didn’t stop you, just now? What would’ve happened with Scarecrow?” Tim challenged, staring down Batman’s looming figure. He refused to shrink from it like most would. “You’ve stopped caring. About yourself and about Gotham.”

After Jason’s death, he’d abandoned Crime Alley. The rogues he usually had such empathy for, were now just enemies to strike down. Batman was fear, and he was vengeance, and he was justice. But he was also hope.  

Batman had lost sight of his hope. He’d lost his light in the dark. He’d lost his Robin. 

And Tim couldn’t bring Robin back. Jason was dead and Dick was steadfast in his refusal. He’d failed his hero. His hero had failed him. It was a dark cloud with no silver lining. Their hope was gone. 

“Keep talking, Tim.” Jason coaxed, his eyes pinned on his father’s face. “You might get through to him.”

Tim wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t a motivational speaker. He wasn’t a therapist. Hell, the woman Batman had been fighting was a therapist. It was like some sick joke.

But Tim wouldn’t give up. Not like Batman had. “Don’t you dare give up. On Gotham or yourself.” 

Tim ripped his arm out of Batman’s grip. He blinked down at his free hand, surprised he’d actually managed to get it loose. 

Tim rubbed at the spot Batman had grabbed, not looking at him. “You have a lot to live for. You just need to open your eyes and see it.” 

He turned to leave. 

“Hold on—“ Batman tried to grab his arm again and Tim bolted towards the other exit, the one Harley and Ivy had been headed for.

“Leave me alone!” 

Just as Batman’s fingers brushed over his elbow, there was a loud THUD as Harley’s mallet hit the tile floor. The touch vanished as Batman focused on the new threat.

“Let him go, Batsy.” Harley ordered. Her mallet was in one hand, the other holding Ivy to her side. “Da kid shouldn’t get in trouble for stoppin’ us.” 

“It’s out of concern for his safety, Quinn. Stay out of it.”

“Like hell.” Harley placed Ivy on the floor gently. “You go kid, I’ll hold off the big bad Bat.” She winked at him, her sparkly eyeshadow glimmering on her lashes. “I promise I won’t let it get outta hand like last time.”

Tim believed her. Also, he really didn’t want to get caught. Beggars can’t be choosers.

“Thanks.” He breathed, then took off for the exit. 

“NO!” Batman lunged for him, but Harley swung her mallet into his path. 

He made it outside, the sound of Batman’s roaring and Harley’s cackles cutting off as the door slammed shut behind him. 

He’d made it. He was free. 

-👻-👻-👻-

An entire state away, Dick’s phone buzzed on his nightstand, the screen lighting up the dark bedroom.

Dick huffed in frustration. He wiggled his arm free from Kory’s iron hold to paw for his phone. His hand found purchase and he brought the device to his face.

All traces of sleep vanished when he saw the contact name. It was from Bruce. 

It was a short text. One sentence. Two words.

I’m sorry. 

Chapter Text

Jason followed Tim out of the museum. Silent in his awe. The balls on this kid. Holy shit. Tim had chewed out Batman and Harley Quinn without an ounce of fear. Not to mention what happened with Scarecrow. The kid was fearless. 

It was ironic that Tim had an anxiety disorder. Maybe he was just so used to fear it didn’t affect him anymore, like building an immunity through tolerance. 

“Mom! Dad!” Tim shouted, breaking through a line of police tape and running towards a pair of adults. 

They turned towards him. The woman had Tim’s petite frame and the man had his shiny black hair, even if his own was graying at the temples. 

“Timothy!” The woman exclaimed, her shoulder’s slumping with relief as Tim threw his arms around her. She draped her own arms over his back, squeezing tight. “There you are! We were so worried!”

The man chuckled. “It’s a good thing you found us, sport. I think your mother was about to strangle one of those cops.” 

Huh. Maybe Tim’s parents weren’t as bad as Jason feared. Bruce did always nag at him for jumping to conclusions. 

“They were just standing outside!” She seethed, turning towards the line of police officers, but stopped short when Tim’s arms restricted her movement. “Timothy, that’s enough. You’ll wrinkle my dress.”

Tim’s arms dropped from her waist as he took a step back, wrapping around his own body instead. His mother wouldn’t hug him, so he was hugging himself. 

“You’re probably getting too old for hugs anyway.” The man clapped him on the back, as if to demonstrate that was how men should show affection. 

Tim’s face fell, but he masked it quickly. The disappointment being wiped away, as if it was never there. 

Scratch that last thought. Tim’s parents definitely sucked. Their kid was just in a hostage situation and they’re complaining that he’s hugging them for too long? What the fuck?

If only Jason could hug Tim. He’d wrap around him like a Dick Grayson style octopus. But all his presence did to Tim was make him shiver. Ice cold instead of the warmth he craved. 

“Where did you wander off to anyways? The hostages ran out ten minutes ago.” The woman asked, her sharp eyes scanning over the people being interviewed by police. At least Jason knew where Tim got his calculating gaze from. 

Jason scanned them over as well. He may not be Robin anymore, but that didn’t mean he stopped caring about people. No one seemed hurt, just shaken. Their ears, necks, and wrists were bare of ornamentation. Unlike Tim’s parents. The woman still had diamonds glittering on her ears and the man had a shiny rolex strapped around his wrist. 

“I was hiding in another exhibit.” Tim lied. “Where were you? With the hostages?”

It was pretty damn clear they hadn’t been with the other hostages, not when they still had their goods. Tim was too smart to miss that. So why was he asking if they were? 

“We went outside for a smoke break. But then those criminals blew a hole in the wall and we were stuck out here.” The man huffed irritably. “We called you, we texted you, but you didn’t answer your phone. Why did we even give you a phone if you’re not going to use it?”

Tim’s cheeks flushed with shame. “Sorry, with all the chaos I didn’t think—“

“Well, think smarter next time. We don’t pay for your top notch education for you to space out in an emergency. You’re a goddamned Drake, Timothy. Start acting like it.”

Tim shrank back from his father’s ire, his eyes flicking between his father’s face and the floor. 

“That’s enough.” The woman laid a hand on her husband’s chest. “It’s been a stressful night for all of us. Let’s just go home.”

The tension diffused after that, the Drake family trudging off to find their car. A car Jason wouldn’t be able to follow. 

His first encounter with Tim’s parents had left a sour taste in Jason’s mouth. He didn’t like the way they’d treated Tim. How visciously they’d scolded him, instead of comforting him or asking if he was alright.

But their annoyance could’ve just been regular parent worry stuff. God knows, Bruce had yelled at Jason when he was worried about his safety. It was probably just the stress of the hostage situation getting to them. Right?

Even that line of reasoning couldn’t dash Jason’s worries. He had a bad feeling about the Drakes. 

But he had a last name now. Tim Drake. It was way more than Batman had, that’s for sure. 

Drake. That name sounded familiar. But Jason couldn’t put his finger on why that was. Hmm, what would Batman do if he was stuck? 

Get an extra set of eyes? That wasn’t exactly feasible in Jason’s predicament. Review the facts he did have? He could do that. 

Okay, he knew Tim’s name and what he looked like. He knew he could see ghosts. He knew he was smart and sneaky and surprisingly scrappy for his small size. He had a feeling there was something off about his parents.  

Tim’s parents had been wearing expensive accessories. They’d been attending a fancy gala with their kid. That meant they were probably wealthy Gothamites. They might even live in Bristol like Bruce. 

Bristol… the Drakes… 

Jason gasped as it hit him. Drake Manor. Tim was his fucking next door neighbor . 

A part of Jason wanted to burst out laughing. The other part was far too bewildered. The kid the Bats were combing the city for lived half a mile down the road. What were the chances? 

Tim lived next door. He’d been there the day the Graysons fell. And now he was helping Jason. It almost felt like fate. Like Tim was destined to meet them. To be a part of them. To be a Bat. To be… 

Robin. 

-👻-👻-👻-

As soon as Bruce returned to Wayne Manor, Jason made a beeline for the property next door. Since Bristol was a neighborhood for rich people, next door was a quarter mile away, but it was still close enough for him to reach.

Jason arrived at the manor to see all the lights out, except for a lone table lamp glowing in a window. It had to be Tim’s room. What self respecting teenager didn’t stay up later than their parents?

He floated through the window, keeping close to the ceiling. Tim was curled up atop his bed, his face bathed in the glow of his phone screen, highlighting the dark bags under his eyes. 

Tim didn’t seem to notice him. And Jason wondered if he should leave it that way. The kid looked exhausted. His wet hair was plastered to his head and he kept blinking blearily at his phone. They did need to talk… but was now the right time? When they were both tired and high strung from the hostage situation? 

Maybe it would be best to wait until the morning, vigilante internal clocks be damned. 

Tim yawned widely, his jaw cracking and his back arching, looking for all the world like a little black cat. Jason didn’t aww . Because he was a rough and tough guy. But it did make his heart melt, just a teensy bit. With everything going on he hadn’t really stopped to think about how young Tim looked. How young he was . Just thirteen. 

He was only thirteen years old and he was taking so much responsibility on his shoulders. Ghosts, Gotham, Batman. A thirteen year old shouldn’t have to bear that weight. 

But the world rarely cared what a kid should or should not have to endure. It didn’t care that Jason hadn’t even gotten his driver’s license yet when he was murdered. Didn’t care that the Joker was beating a child to death. 

Life isn’t fair. That was what Catherine had told him. When he was younger Jason had been outraged by that statement, but now he saw just how true it was. 

Was Jason even still living? He was dead, right? But that didn’t explain how he existed in this moment. How he could watch Tim scroll through Tumblr. Or the ache in his chest as he witnessed his family fall apart. 

Damn Tim for giving him an existential crisis. Little brat.

After the third time Tim had rubbed at his eyes, he finally put his phone down and let his eyes slip shut. Out like a light. 

Ironically, he’d left his lamp on. Jason snorted and reached out towards it, but before he could even touch it (or fail to), the light shorted out. 

Jason started down at his hands. He’d heard about ghosts causing cold spots or causing lights to flicker. Was this some kind of ghostly power manifesting? 

He reached out again, but the lamp didn’t turn back on. It must’ve been a fluke. He was a ghost. He couldn’t affect the physical world. No matter how much he wished he could.

With a sigh, he turned to leave, and as he floated back towards Wayne Manor, a thought struck him.

Tim had mentioned ghosts “moving on” and an “other side.” So if Jason wasn’t ready to move on… if he wasn’t on the “other side”… did that mean he wasn’t dead and gone? Was he still here?

He wondered if maybe… just maybe… it was like that Emily Dickenson poem. 

Because I could not stop for Death — He kindly stopped for me.

Did Death allow souls with unfinished business to stay and watch what happened in their absence? Was that a kindness? Or a means of torture? 

Maybe it was both. 

👻-👻-👻

Tim woke up the next morning to discover Jason sitting cross legged at the foot of his bed.

Jason waved. “Hey neighbor.”

Tim blinked blearily at the image in front of him. It was too early for this. He rolled over and shut his eyes, hoping sleep would find him quickly. 

“Hey! I’m talking to you!”

Tim steadfastly ignored him, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. Maybe if he pretended Jason wasn’t there, he’d go away.

“Don’t make me sing that song that gets on everyone's nerves. I’ll do it and it’ll be stuck in your head for the rest of the day.”

When that evoked no response from Tim, Jason took a deep breath and started singing.

“SomeBODY ONCE TOLD ME—“

“Oh my god, stop it!” Tim threw a pillow at Jason, which passed right through the dead boy. 

Jason just grinned at him, opening his mouth again, one hand over his stomach and the other extended in the air like an opera singer.

“Don’t! I’m getting up! I’m getting up!” Tim stumbled out of bed, grumbling curse words under his breath.

Jason snickered. “Works every time.” 

Tim irritatedly flicked his bangs out his eyes so he could properly glare at Jason, who only preened under his ire. He was clearly proud of himself. 

He did have a reason to be though, Tim supposed. He’d figured out Tim was his next door neighbor. 

“I'm not dealing with this on an empty stomach.” Tim said decisively. He jammed his feet in his slippers and padded into the hall. 

Jason floated after him, clearly amused by his bunny slippers. Tim didn’t let it deter him. He knew better than to go barefoot, the floors were always freezing in his empty house. There simply weren’t enough people here to keep it warm. 

“So, how’d you figure it out?” Tim asked as he made his way down the stairs. He didn’t think he’d said anything to give himself away, but maybe Jason had recognized his parents. 

“Your parents mentioned that your last name was Drake. It wasn’t hard to connect you to Drake Manor after that.” Jason looked around. “Where are your parents anyways? Aren’t you worried they’re gonna see you talking to thin air.”

Tim snorted. “They’re not here.” 

Finally arriving in the kitchen, he grabbed the frying pan and turned on the stove. As tired as he was, Tim knew he couldn't have cereal for breakfast everyday. Not if he wanted to keep fit. Besides, fried eggs were easy. He’d only burnt his hand on the stove a few times before he’d gotten the hang of it. Not bad for a 9 year old. 

Jason’s brow creased. “Where are they, then?”

Tim cracked an egg and threw it into the pan. “Bolivia.” 

Silence descended over the room. The only sound coming from the egg sizzling in the pan. It was rather jarring to hear the normally exuberant Jason so silent. Maybe seeing Harley Quinn had affected him more than Tim had thought. 

Tim turned to face Jason, only to find him staring at him. Like, staring staring. The kind of staring people said would burn holes through things. 

Suddenly self conscious, Tim folded into himself, crossing his arms over his chest. “What?”

“Your parents are in Bolivia?”

“Yeah?” Tim didn’t understand why that was throwing Jason for a loop. “Well, maybe they haven’t arrived there yet, but their flight left pretty early this morning.” 

It must’ve been early, because they hadn’t even bothered with a goodbye. Just sent a text to let him know their flight was leaving. 

“They left?” Jason asked, sounding downright scandalized.

Tim scowled. “Dude, what’s your problem?”

“What’s my problem? You were just in a hostage situation! And your parents left you here! Alone!” Jason yelled, throwing his hands in the air. “Who does that?” 

Tim bristled. “They didn’t plan that. Their flight was already scheduled. How were they supposed to know the gala would get attacked? Besides, I’m fine.”

“That’s—“ Jason cut himself off, pinching his nose. “Okay, whatever. So who's looking after you while they’re gone?”

I am. Tim nearly responded, but caught himself. He knew how people tended to react to kids with a lack of adult supervision. But Tim wasn't like other kids. He wasn’t going to cause a mess or get himself killed because there wasn’t an adult around to tell him how to act right. He was responsible. He could mind himself perfectly fine. 

He doubted Jason would believe that though, especially after he’d witnessed Tim go head to head with two different Gotham rogues. Tim was usually smarter than that. He stuck to the behind the scenes action. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Tim can’t get his act together if he’s too busy ensuring Batman does as well. 

“Mrs. Mac does. It’s early and my parents just left, so she’s not here yet.” It was technically true. Mrs. Mac did pop in every few days to make sure he hadn’t burned the house down. 

Shit! Speaking of burning… Tim scooped his fried egg out the pan and onto a plate. It was only a little crispy around the edges. 

Tim sat down at the kitchen bartop and stabbed at his eggs with a fork. “Why do you even care what my parents do? I won’t let them get in the way of my job.” 

After all, they’d have to be here to get in the way. His parents being at archeological digs with spotty cell service was a boon. Anyone who had complaints about Tim was likely to give up. Thus, he was never bothered by anyone. And Tim liked it that way.

“Because… well because…” Jason looked down, shuffling his feet. “I care about you, Tim. You— you're my friend.”

Pieces of egg fell out of his mouth. “We’re friends?” 

“Yeah?” Jason’s voice wavered. “Or at least, I thought we were starting to be. I could be wrong but—“

“Yes! Yes, I wanna be your friend!” Tim beamed, barley reigning in a squeal. 

Robin wanted to be his friend . Not just allies. Friends . Tim didn’t really have many friends. Or none, according to his parents, since online friends didn’t count as real friends and ‘ they’re probably creepy old men living in basements, Timothy. Don’t be naive.’

Tim’s parents probably wouldn’t count Jason as a real friend either, seeing as he was a ghost. 

Jason sagged with relief. “Good. I uh… I’m glad you think so. After that fight I wasn’t so sure…” 

“Yeah…” Tim agreed forlornly. Fighting with Jason had felt horrible, especially in the aftermath. He wasn’t eager for a repeat. 

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have blown my top like that. You were just a scared kid.” 

Part of Tim bristled at being called a kid. But he let it go. Jason was apologizing, he didn’t need to be nitpicked. 

“Still… I shouldn’t have been so callous.” Tim winced as he thought back on his previous words. “You died recently and I was being rude and inconsiderate. I didn’t mean to imply you mattered less because of that.” 

“And now I know not to be pushy with things you don’t want to talk about.” Jason rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I mean you have an anxiety disorder. That was kinda of a dick move on my part.” 

Tim turned to him, his brow creased. “What? I don’t have an anxiety disorder.”

Jason frowned. “But you told Dick that…”

“Yeah, I made that up.” Tim shrugged, unbothered as he went back to his breakfast. “It wasn’t like I could tell him I’d seen scarier shit since I was a kindergartener.” 

He remembered how terrified he’d been, how he never had any source of comfort because his parents hadn’t believed him, how he’d learned to pretend he wasn’t affected by the brutalized bodies that only he could see.

Jason stared at him for a moment. “Did I ever tell you that your life is really fucked up?”

Tim made a show of looking Jason up and down. “Pot. Kettle.”

“Touché.” 

They sat for a bit in companionable silence. It was a bit weird that Jason was just watching Tim eat, but it’s not like he could offer him anything, ghosts didn’t eat or drink. Their “bodies” remained as they were when they died, as if they were permanently in stasis.

It was only once Tim was finished eating, that Jason spoke up again. 

“So, apology accepted?” Jason ventured, a lopsided smile on his face.

Tim nodded. “Apology accepted.”

If Jason hadn’t been intangible, Tim had a feeling they would’ve shook on it. That’s how serious they were about it.

Despite the fact that Tim’s parents had left today, he was filled with nothing but euphoria. Not only had Jason and him made up, but he wanted to be Tim’s friend . Today couldn’t get any better! 

“Yknow, I uh… actually realized something earlier.” Jason said with a heavy sigh. “I don’t think our plan is going to work. There’s too many holes in it. First of all, it hinges on Nightwing and Batman making up, and with the way things are going, that seems to be a long shot.” 

Tim huffed. He couldn’t believe Nightwing had already ditched. So much for promises…

“Secondly, you need to get the Bats’ attention without getting caught, and you don’t have any formal training.” At the way Tim bristled, Jason raised his hands in surrender and hurriedly tacked on. “I mean don’t get me wrong, you’re doing really well for someone who’s self taught, but I don’t know if it’s gonna be enough. And we’ve been really lucky so far. But if you want to beat a Bat, you need to be a Bat.”

Tim stared at Jason with wide eyes. “Are you saying…”

Jason met his gaze head on. “I want to train you. I want you to take over for me. I want you to be the next Robin.”

Tim’s breath caught in his throat. Robin. Jason wanted him to be the next Robin. It was like something out of his 9 year old self’s dreams. But there was a reason it had always been a dream. It simply wasn’t feasible. No matter what Jason said. 

“I’m flattered, Jason. I really am.” Tim was 90% sure he was blushing. Which was embarrassing. But the giant self esteem boost he’d gotten from Jason’s offer made up for it. “But I don’t think that plan will work either.”

Jason scowled. “Why not?”

“Uhh…” Because really, where did Tim even start with that? “Because Batman would need to agree to it. And in case you don’t remember, the last time I wore the robin suit he ripped the mask off my face. I don’t want him to hate me more than he already does.”

“He doesn’t hate you.” Jason said, and at Tim’s raised eyebrow, he elaborated further. “He’s just emotionally constipated and they haven’t invented laxatives for that yet.”

Tim snorted. He really hated that Jason was making him laugh right now. He was trying to be serious. 

“Okay, even if he agrees, and that’s a big if, the last thing I need is Batman hovering over my shoulder. I can’t help ghosts if I’m too worried about Batman becoming suspicious of me.” 

“But think of the benefits.” Jason countered. “You’d have access to Batman’s resources and you could do a lot more good. For the living and the dead.”

Jason did have a point. Tim had seen the Batcomputer up close. What he wouldn’t give to get his hands on that baby. Just the thought of the sheer processing power had him drooling. 

“That is true…” Tim reluctantly agreed.

He’d hit a wall when helping ghosts before, whether it was his abilities that were lacking or the mountain of corruption in the Gotham justice system. It always felt awful when he had to tell ghosts there was nothing he could do. But with Batman’s resources… The sky’s the limit. 

“Also, now that the Bats know you exist, they’re not gonna leave you alone.” Jason added. 

Tim sighed. Why did Jason have to make such convincing arguments? Had he been on the debate team in high school? It seemed like something he’d be good at.

“Okay, I’ll do it.” Tim relented.

Jason cheered, floating up into the air and making loop-de-loops. Tim couldn’t help but laugh at his joy. Jason was good at that. Making others cheerful. He’d even made Batman – Mr.Brooding himself – burst out full belly laughs.

However, once Jason touched back down. A whisper of doubt entered Tim’s mind.

“But are you sure you’re okay with me being Robin?” Tim asked softly. “It was yours. I know how much you loved being Robin. It was yours and you.. and you died for it.”

Jason had been an amazing robin. Tim was just a weird kid who could see ghosts. He didn’t have the skills of an acrobat or a kid who grew up on the streets. He wasn’t built for fighting. He remembered how the bigger kids had laughed when Tim had shown up at the Martial Arts Dojo. They called him names like runt, pipsqueak, weakling . Even Nightwing had called him Pee-Wee. What if Tim wasn’t cut out for this?

“It’s the best option we have.” Jason pointed out, which was fair. Tim was the only living person Jason could interact with after all. “You dealt with Scarecrow and Harley Quinn without flinching. Plus, you’re trying to save my dad. Anyone who does that is good enough to be Robin in my book.” 

Tim ducked his head shyly. “Thanks, Jason.”

He would find a way to live up to the title Jason had entrusted him with. Jason believed in him. Robin believed in him. So, Tim would just have to trust his judgment.

“No problemo. Now that we’re gonna make you the next Robin, we can use our old plan with some adjustments.” Jason said. “You’re right that the Bats are gonna be resistant to another Robin. But, if you’re out there doing vigilante stuff and refuse to stop, they might make you Robin as a way to supervise you and make sure you don’t get yourself killed.” 

Tim frowned. “So I’m supposed to be running around like: look at me I’m in danger! Save me from myself, Batman!” He pitched his voice comically high at the end, finishing it off with an eye roll.

“Well, um… yeah, basically.” Jason agreed and Tim scowled.

“If I look I needed help wouldn't that disqualify me from being Robin? I have to show I’m capable.”

Jason tsked. “That’s where you’re wrong. Black haired, blue eyed boys in need are like catnip to Bruce. It reminds him of himself as a child. Just you wait, Tim. Bruce will be presenting adoption papers by Christmas.”

Tim gave him a dubious look. “Bruce isn't going to adopt me. I have parents.” 

Besides, his own son had just died . With the way Bruce was mourning, he wasn’t going to accept any form of replacement. It would be disrespectful to Jason’s memory. He might let Tim be Robin as a way to keep an eye on him, but he would never treat him like a son. Tim knew their secrets, he was nothing but a threat. He wouldn't be surprised if Batman subscribed to: “keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.” 

Jason just hummed. 

Tim’s phone buzzed on the counter. It was a police alert. Thanks to the program he had created, those alerts got sent to his phone. He wouldn’t be surprised if the Bats had a similar one. Tim unlocked his phone and his stomach swooped as he read the message. A murder case had opened and the victim was one of the Penguin’s goons. 

Tim turned to Jason with a smile, his phone screen glowing in his hand. “I think I know how we can get their attention.”

Tim was going to solve this case before Batman.

Chapter Text

Tim was so fucked. 

Bullets whizzed past as he ran through the twisting back alleys of Gotham, his pursuers hot on his heels. 

Good News: Tim knew who the murderer was. Mr. Daniels had been very distraught over the fact that his own sister had shot him. Apparently, she’d thought Mr. Daniels was trying to recruit their baby brother, and not wanting another one of her brothers to become a career criminal, she’d killed the entry point.

Bad news: Penguin’s goons had caught him lurking around the victim’s apartment and were now trying to mow him down for it.

Adrenaline pumped through Tim’s system, giving him a boost of speed even as the stitch in his side screamed at him to stop.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.” He muttered. He was so close . Just a few more blocks. 

He ran out into the street, straight into traffic, and tires screeched as drivers slammed on their breaks. Tim leaped, rolling over the roof of a car and praying his pursuers would be unlucky enough to get hit. 

“Hey! Watch it, kid!” A driver yelled, but Tim didn’t have the time, or the breath, to apologize. 

Tim kept running, his feet pounding against the sidewalk along with his heartbeat in his ears. 

He gasped when he saw the wrought iron gates of the church yard. Safety was only a few more feet ahead. He wrenched the gate open, then yelped as a bullet pinged off of one of the bars. Looked like they hadn’t gotten run over like he’d hoped. 

Tim dove for cover behind a tombstone, his hands brushing against the weathered inscription. “In loving memory” it read. 

Tim swallowed thickly. He doubted anyone would remember him if he died, much less lovingly. He wondered how long it would take for his parents to realize if he died. A few months? More? At least Tim would have plenty of dead friends to talk to. 

“Awfully considerate of him to hide in a graveyard.” One of the goons jeered. “We won’t even have to move his body.”

The other goon laughed. “Can’t believe he ran to a church. Stupid kid thinks God is gonna save him.” 

Tim heard the cock of a gun and squeezed his eyes shut. He curled in on himself, wrapping his arms over his head, trying to protect himself as best he could.  

But it wasn’t God he was hoping would save him. He wasn’t planning on dying tonight. The goons hadn’t noticed the low growl that was building, but Tim had.

“Hector!” Tim screamed. “Help!” 

A bullet answered his call, taking off the top left corner of the tombstone. Tim grinned. Now, they’d done it. 

A deafening bark shook the ground. Hector’s claws dug up chunks of dirt and rock as he leapt into the air. His maw was wide open, his sharp teeth glistening and spit flying as he clamped down on the arm of the man who’d fired on Tim. There was a horrible tearing sound and the man screamed as his arm was ripped clean off. 

The remaining goon let out a string of curses, backing up in fear as Hector turned his burning eyes on him, the blood of his comrade dripping from his jaw. A dark stain started to spread across the crotch of the man’s pants. 

“I'm not paid enough for this!” He yelled, then dropped his gun and ran. 

Seemed some goons did have half a brain after all. One would think otherwise, when most refused to surrender when Batman came on the scene. But Batman was a known horror. Hector was something else entirely. 

Tim hadn’t even realized he was shaking until Hector nuzzled his palm, smearing blood across it. A low whine sounded and Tim wasn’t sure if it was coming from him or the dog. It didn’t matter though, he was safe now. 

He wrapped his arms around Hector, running his fingers through his thick black fur. The dog was a warm weight on his lap. 

“I’m okay.” Tim’s voice wavered. “I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.” 

He sat there for a little while, petting Hector until his heart rate eventually settled back down. 

Tim stood up on shaky legs. Being chased through Gotham and almost getting shot had done a number on him. He hadn’t felt this scared since the first time he’d seen a ghost in his bedroom.  

A low groan sounded and Tim whipped his head towards the sound. It was from the goon. He was still alive. 

Tim could leave him there. That man had tried to kill him, after all. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave a man to die. He didn’t want to play a hand in creating a distraught ghost. 

Tim crouched down next to him. The man’s breaths came out as a wet rasp. He probably didn’t have much time left. Tim would have to hurry.

He took out his phone and dialed 911, cramming it between his ear and shoulder. The dial tone ringing in his ear almost sounded mocking. 

Palming his pocket knife, he got to work cutting off the man’s shirt. The puddle of blood beneath him was soaking into his jeans. 

“Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?”

“Bring an ambulance to the old church in the East End.” Tim instructed. He pitched his voice as low as he could, hoping the woman on the other side of the line couldn’t tell he was a child. “A man’s arm got torn off.” 

Tim wrapped the shirt around the stump where the man’s arm had been, tying it tight, staunching the blood flow as best he could. 

“It’s on its way. Can you tell me what happened? Are you safe—“

He hung up. 

He got to his feet, staring at the man’s pale face. Tim had done all he could for the man. He’d given him a chance at surviving. It was more than those goons had been willing to give him. 

Sirens sounded in the distance and Tim knew it was time for him to leave. 

He walked up to Hector, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over a velvety ear. “Thanks for the help, buddy.”

By the time the ambulance arrived, Tim was long gone. 

-👻-👻-👻-

Jason and Batman arrived at the scene as a person was being loaded into an ambulance. 

Batman had heard reports that armed goons had chased a kid into traffic. It was only thanks to the Batmobile’s breakneck speed that they had arrived so quickly. Jason knew Tim was investigating one of the Penguin’s goons. He knew that Tim was likely the kid they’d been chasing. But if there was an ambulance, that meant he had to have escaped alive, right? 

Heart in his throat, Jason dashed over to see. His thoughts swirled in his head like a storm cloud. Is it Tim? Is he okay? Oh god, what if one of those goons shot him?

It wasn’t Tim. Jason exhaled in relief, but that relief was quickly replaced by a newfound dread when he saw the state of the person in the stretcher. He was covered in blood and was missing an arm. An entire arm . Holy shit, what did Tim do?

Jason made a mental note not to ever cross Tim.

“What happened here?” Batman growled at the man who was, remarkably, still conscious. 

“It— it came outta nowhere.” The goon stammered, his face pale. “I’d never seen anything like it.” 

“Like what?”

His eyes were wide and crazed with fear. “It was like… like this big black dog. But I didn’t think dogs could get that big.”

That was when Jason noticed where they were. Hector’s churchyard. Oh fuck. Tim had sicked his demon dog on the goon. RIP that guy. Jason would’ve felt bad for him if he hadn’t tried to shoot his friend. 

“I’d have thought it was a wolf if I didn’t know we don’t get those around these parts. One moment we were shooting at the kid, then I— I—“ He squeezed his eyes shut, a gasp of pain escaping him. 

“That’s enough.” An EMT got between them and shut the doors to the ambulance. “We need to get the victim to the hospital STAT. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

Batman stepped back and the ambulance drove off in a crescendo of sirens and flashing lights. 

Unseen to Batman’s eyes, the culprit had trotted up to them. Hector looked up at Jason with big puppy eyes and a wagging tail. He looked, bizarrely, like he was asking for a reward. Jason supposed the dog had done a good job protecting Tim. He’d dealt with that gun toting goon with extreme prejudice. The weapon was still laying abandoned in the blood splattered grass.

Jason reached out and gave Hector a very cautious pat on the head. “Good boy.”

Hector yipped happily, spinning around in a circle before taking off into the depths of the churchyard. Jason watched him go, shaking his head. What had his life come to? Or well… his afterlife. 

Whoever said death brought peace had clearly missed the mark. Jason’s (after)life was crazier in death then it had been when he was alive — and when he was alive he’d been beating up criminals in a leotard and pixie boots. Or maybe it was just Tim. That kid was a magnet for all things weird. 

Speaking of Tim… just because he hadn’t been the one loaded into the ambulance didn’t mean he was safe and sound. He could still be in danger. With how recently that goon’s arm had been torn off, Jason doubted Tim had made it home yet. He could be making his way there, or Tim could be continuing to investigate the case because he didn’t know when to quit. Honestly, Jason’s money was on the latter. 

He’d just have to wait for Tim to return. Jason hated waiting. Fuck his afterlife. 

-👻-👻-👻-

Dick had received his fair share of bizarre texts. Raven had once asked the group chat how to close a dimensional portal to hell, left them on read for 3 hours, then finally texted back “nvm lol”. Wally had texted him incomprehensible nonsense after he’d had the brilliant idea to brew his coffee with Red Bull instead of water. And while trying to lose his V card, Roy had discovered he had an allergic reaction to latex and had texted Dick PICTURES to ask if he had to go to the hospital or not. They haunted him to this day. 

But Dick thought today may have taken the cake for weirdest texts ever. 

The first was from an unknown number with only a single word message.

Unknown Number 

bitch. 

The second was from Batman saying he suspected Crow might be a werewolf. 

Dick honestly wasn’t sure where to start with that. He chose to respond to Batman first, knowing the man often took 3-5 business days to reply to a single text. 

Count Bitchula

It's possible Crow could be a werewolf.

Me

why would you think crow is a werewolf??

After the “I’m sorry” text that had come with zero context or elaboration, they’d gone back to interacting on professional terms. As for familial terms… well, that remained to be seen.

Next, Dick switched to the unknown number.

Me

who is this?

Unlike Batman, this person actually responded quickly. 

Unknown Number

Beyoncé 

Me

x doubt

Unknown Number

tell Batman that the murder victim from the Penguin case wasn’t killed by Cobblepot or any of his associates. 

it was the victim’s sister.

Dick frowned. At first, he’d thought one of his vigilante friends had gotten a new number and was messing with him. But now… How did this person have the number for his Nightwing phone? Why were they telling him all this? 

Me

how did you get this number? 

who are you? 

what do you want?

Unknown Number

[crowholdingknife.img]

Dick gasped aloud.

Me

PEE WEE??

Unknown Number

🔫

call me that again and next time I’ll leave you with Scarecrow 

Yep. It was definitely Crow. Wait…

Me

how do u know about ur codename?

Crow

Batman called me it 

I had to stop him from doing smth stupid again

because SOMEONE didn’t talk to him about his recklessness like I asked

Oh fuck. Dick had been so pissed at Bruce he’d completely forgotten about that. And to be honest… even before he’d stormed out, he hadn’t brought it up because he hadn’t wanted to talk about it. What was he supposed to do? Hang up a banner that said: “passive suicide intervention”?? 

Me

im sorry 🥺🥺

its a really hard conversation to have and I’d been avoiding it

then me and B got in a huge fight and i forgot abt it 

Crow

excuses excuses

Dick bristled at the comment. This kid had no idea what kind of position he was in. He was sticking his nose in things that weren’t his business and stirring the pot. But Dick couldn’t blow up at him. After Batman had yelled at him, the kid had run away. Dick didn’t want the kid to stop talking to him.

Me

dont think i didnt notice u dodging my other questions

how did u get this number? what's your name?

Crow

I like Crow

you can keep calling me that

thanks for the dope codename btw

Dick stared at the texts. Oh no. What had he done? He’d practically given the kid his own vigilante name. Why couldn’t he have just called him camera kid or something? Now the kid was going to have a complex. 

Me

are you allergic to answering questions about yourself?

Crow

no I’m allergic to police stations

which is where you’d send me if you knew who I was 

The kid wasn’t wrong. There was obviously something wrong with his home life if he was able to be doing this. 

Me

so as long as it’s not identifying information you’ll answer my questions?

Crow

the likelihood will increase

Dick’s jaw flexed in anticipation. This was his chance to get some actual information about the kid. He might not give him his name, but with enough clues, Dick could narrow down the search pool. Remembering the theory Batman had passed on, he asked: 

Me

do u eat raw meat?

Crow

bruh

out of everything you could’ve asked you go with that??

Me

ur avoiding the question again

Crow

I’m not avoiding it

your question was just weird af

and no I don’t eat raw meat

I like my food cooked  so I don’t  get diseases like salmonella

is this abt sushi or smth?

Well, it looked like Batman’s werewolf theory was off the mark. Either that or the kid was a phenomenal actor. His confusion seemed genuine. However, it was over text, so it was harder to parse sincerity. 

Me

nvm stupid question 

Crow

yeah it was

Me

back to my earlier question

how did you get my number? nightwing’s cell isn’t exactly in the yellow pages

Crow

oh no you’re breaking up

Me

were not on a phone call

Crow

I’m in a tunnel

byeee

Me

dont u dare ghost me

Crow

but I’m so good at it 👻

btw don’t bother trying to track this number, it’s a burner and I’ll be ditching it after this

pass on the message I gave to Batman

ttyl

No! NO! Dick was not losing the kid again. Not when he’d just gotten a line of connection.

Me

crow cmon 

pls dont

i promise i will pass on the message if u text me back

crow?

No response. Nothing. He hadn’t even gotten a read receipt. The kid had really dumped the phone. Fuck . Batman was gonna kill him for fumbling that. 

Dick dropped his head into his hands with a groan. He hadn’t made any progress, besides learning there were even more things the kid knew that he shouldn’t. Well, that and realizing that Batman’s werewolf theory was a crock of shit.

Ugh. This was all so frustrating. And Kory was on a mission so he couldn’t even cuddle with her to feel better. It was the absolute worst .

But before he spiraled into a full out sulk. He remembered another Gotham player that could help. One that had recently gotten back into the game. No longer Batgirl, but a potentially even more dangerous player. He needed to talk to Oracle. 

Dick dialed her number.

“Hey Babs. I know you’re still getting settled, but I could use a favor.” Dick walked up to his window, gazing out at the buzzing city. “There’s someone I’m trying to find.”

-👻-👻-👻-

Tim thought Jason was overreacting. So what if he’d almost gotten shot? Key word: almost . Which meant he hadn’t gotten shot. No harm done. 

Somehow, that argument didn’t seem to convince him. 

“Robin boot camp starts tomorrow.” Jason growled, his arms crossed over his chest as he floated menacingly above Tim. “I don’t wanna see you out in Gotham again until you’ve got some Bat training under your belt, understand?”

“Okay, mom .” Tim rolled his eyes. 

Technically, those conditions meant he could go out as soon as tomorrow night, since Jason was going to be training him that day. Tim did love his loopholes. 

“Hey.” Tim turned towards Jason, spinning around on the barstool. “Do you know why Nightwing asked me if I liked raw meat? Is he into some weird dieting thing?”

Tim was genuinely curious about that, but it was also a good way to relieve tension and prevent Jason’s from going on another rant. 

“What?” Jason’s eyebrows furrowed together for a moment, then his eyes widened and a grin split across his face. “Oh! Oh my god. That’s so fucking funny.” 

“What? What is it?” Tim asked with a frown, not liking be kept out of the loop.

“B thinks— B thinks—“ Jason gasped for air theatrically, despite the fact that ghosts didn’t need to breathe . “B thinks that you're a werewolf.” 

Tim nearly dropped his phone. “He thinks I’m a what?”

“A werewolf! You know how you sicced Hector on that goon that was chasing you?” Jason asked through his snickers and Tim nodded slowly. “Well, his wounds are reminiscent with that of a dog or a wolf attack. So, now Batman is theorizing that you might be a werewolf.” 

Tim’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god.” 

He couldn’t believe Batman could be that fucking stupid. A werewolf? Really? He knew Batman was emo, but he hadn’t thought he was Twilight level emo. Did he think Tim sparkled in the sun too?

“I know right? It’s gold! Comedy gold!” Jason cackled.

Tim’s mind was reeling. He could barely believe it. “A werewolf? Really? He didn’t think that maybe the goon pissed off a street dog?”

“I bet he’s gonna try and test you with silver.” Jason grinned. “And ask you if it’s that time of the month.” 

“It’s not even a full moon!” Tim protested. Not that people could even see the moon in Gotham half the time. Pollution was a real bitch. 

“I can’t wait for them to realize how stupid they are. Imagine their faces.” Jason wheezed, clutching his stomach as he kicked his feet around in the air.

“Maybe I should start howling at the moon. Just to mess with them.” Tim joked. His initial shock had worn off and now he was seeing just how humorous the situation was. It was kinda funny how far off the mark they were. 

Jason’s eyes widened with delight. “Do it! Do it, do it, do it.”

Tim probably wouldn't. He didn’t want there to be a big misunderstanding. But he had to admit the idea was funny.   

“Jason, don’t you remember?” Tim goaded, tilting his head to the side. “I can’t go out at night until I’ve gotten some Robin training.” 

“Oh, hell yeah!” Jason rubbed his hands together. “You better get your beauty sleep tonight, because tomorrow I’m gonna be putting your pampered ass to work.”

Tim narrowed his eyes. If Jason thought he’d be whining during training, he was in for a rude awakening.

Tim lifted his chin, starring Jason down with a smirk. “I look forward to it.”

Chapter Text

All it took was one quick lie about how Tim’s nonexistent nanny believed he was at computer camp, and Tim could invite Jason over without arising any suspicions. So for the next week, Jason came over to Tim’s house every day and they trained for hours. Jason built on Tim’s previous martial arts and gymnastics training, his computer knowledge, and his self-taught stealth. He taught Tim new skills like parkour, escapology, and more. 

There were a few skills Jason couldn’t teach him due to the lack of equipment. Tim wasn’t able to practice throwing batarangs or flying with grapple guns. But he had ordered mats for gymnastics and a training dummy for martial arts practice. And he already had a lock pick set! He’d offered to buy ropes and handcuffs too, but Jason had refused to let Tim tie himself up if there wasn’t someone there to cut him loose in case the practice went sideways. Tim supposed that was fair. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally strangle himself. That would be such an embarrassing way to die. 

Also, Tim wasn’t the only one learning. He’d started teaching Jason some basic sign language, so they could communicate without fear of being overheard. Jason was also experimenting with his ability to mess with electricity. With enough effort, he could turn off all the lights in the house now. One time, he’d even made the toaster explode! The fact that it happened when Tim was talking about his parents was irrelevant. But it seemed like Jason’s abilities increased alongside his emotions.

Today, they were once again training together. Tim basked in the feeling of having such a qualified teacher, and training him seemed to help Jason feel less useless. 

However, ever since Jason came over that morning, he’d seemed kinda down. It was like a cloud had blocked his sunny disposition. He wasn’t mean or anything, but he wasn’t his usual enthusiastic self. 

After the fifth time Jason had looked forlornly out the window, Tim dropped his stance. Enough was enough. 

“Okay, what’s wrong?” He asked.

Jason jumped, his eyes wide as he turned to face Tim. “W-what?”

“What’s wrong?” Tim repeated, his hands on his hips. “You’ve been all gloomy since you got here. Did something happen with Bruce?”

“No, it— it’s not that.” Jason wrung his hands anxiously. “It’s just…” he sighed heavily, closing his eyes. “Today is my birthday.”

“ Oh .”

Tim felt like kicking himself. He’d done enough research on the Waynes to have found their birth dates. Dick had been born on the first day of spring. Jason had been born in the middle of August, right around when school would be starting back up. Both of the Robins’ birth dates were so fitting. How could Tim have let it slip his mind?

Jason hung his head miserably. “Yeah. It’s the first one since I… since I died. I know Bruce and them are gonna be taking it hard.”

No wonder Jason had gotten here so early, Tim hadn’t even been awake yet when Jason had barged in. “What about you? How do you feel about it?”

“I don’t know. I… I would’ve been sixteen today. B was gonna let me drive the Batmobile.” Jason sighed again and it made Tim’s heart ache with how wistful he sounded, how disappointed.

Well, at least they had that in common when it came to birthdays. 

“My birthday was last month. It was better than last year’s.” Tim didn’t know why he was telling Jason any of this, but he felt compelled to share. “My parents actually remembered to mail a gift this time.” 

The telescope they’d sent was collecting dust in the garage. His parents had forgotten the fact that Gotham was so polluted, he would barely be able to see anything with it. They’d also forgotten how old he was turning. The card had read: Happy 12th Birthday!

Just another gift that showed they hadn’t known Tim at all. Like the baseball glove that had never gotten used because there was no one home to play catch with. Or the vintage watch that would get stolen the second Tim left Bristol. Or the football gear that was too big for him. Or the junior archeology kit. Honestly, his gifts just seemed like excuses for his parents to push their interests on him. The only gift he’d actually liked had been his camera.

Great, now he was joining Jason in the pity party. Some birthday he was making this out to be.

“This time?” Jason repeated indignantly. “You mean they’ve forgotten before? Wait… do they not even come home for your birthday?”

“They’re busy people.” Tim muttered, his eyes downcast. 

Yeah, it hurt sometimes but… he understood. Flying around the world to unearth ancient secrets sounded so exciting! And running a company was hard. Tim couldn’t really blame them for getting caught up in it all. 

He wasn’t one of those kids who was going to moan and groan about their parents’ imperfections. He could see the bigger picture. And his parents didn’t always forget about him, they would try to stay in touch, but the internet connection could be spotty at their digs. Some of their packages could get lost in the mail too. The distance between them simply seemed too hard to cross at times. 

“This blows.” Jason huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and Tim murmured in agreement. “This kinda stuff shouldn’t happen! It’s not fair!”

If things were fair, Jason would be alive and the Joker would be dead. If things were fair, Tim would have parents who showed up for him. “The world rarely cares about what is or isn’t fair.”

“No! Fuck that! If things aren’t fair, then we should fight to change it!” Jason slammed his first against the counter, or well… he tried to. It just went right through the granite and into the cabinets below, causing Jason to stumble and spit curses. “We’re gonna celebrate our birthdays today! Together! And we’re gonna have a damn good time!”

Jason did have a point. If things weren’t fair, people should fight to fix it. Just like Batman fought to fix Gotham. After all, if things were fair, the Waynes and the Graysons would be alive. If things were fair, Batman and Robin wouldn’t exist. If things were fair, superheroes wouldn’t be needed anymore. 

“I do like the irony of celebrating life with the dead. Sounds just like the kinda weird shit I’d get myself roped into.” Tim said dryly. 

Jason pointed at Tim and grinned toothily. “That’s the spirit!” Tim groaned at the pun, but Jason’s grin only widened. “If you could do anything for your birthday, what would you wanna do?”

Honestly, hanging out with Robin was one of the best birthday gifts Tim could’ve asked for. But he couldn’t say that to Jason. He did have some sense of dignity to uphold, after all. 

“Uhh…” Tim tried to think of a different answer, one that didn’t make him sound like such a sap. “What you said sounded pretty fun. It would be so cool if I could drive the Batmobile.” Tim snorted, a tad self depreciating. “But that’s not exactly feasible in this situation.”

Jason’s eyes lit up. “Yes, it is! You know where the Batcave is and I know where B keeps his keys.” 

“ Jason.” Tim said, exasperated. “We’re not stealing the Batmobile.”

“It’s not stealing, it’s borrowing. And I already jacked its tires once. C’mon Tim!” Jason whined, circling around Tim like a dog begging for treats. “This could be the greatest encore of all time!”

“I’m not doing that. Imagine what would happen if Batman caught me stealing his car on his dead son’s birthday.” Tim scoffed and swiped at his bangs. “I do have some sense of self preservation, y’know?”

“Really? That’s news to me.”

It was moments like these that Tim wished Jason was corporeal, just so he could elbow him in the ribs. He settled for glaring instead. 

Jason rolled his eyes. “Ugh, fine . We can just steal a car in Crime Alley instead.”

“ Borrow.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jason waved his hand dismissively, then approached Tim with a sly smile. “And I can teach you a new Bat skill. This one is utterly essential to catching the bad guys.”

Jason was trying to talk it up, but Tim simply raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. The last time Jason had said something was essential, Tim had gotten British tea lessons. 

“It’s time for you to learn how to hotwire a car!”

-👻-👻-👻-

Jason was proud of himself. He was having fun on his birthday and ensuring Tim had a good make up one. Not to mention, Tim had broken into and hot wired a car in under five minutes thanks to Jason’s instructions. He was such a good teacher. Dickface and his gymnastics training could suck it. 

They were currently in some abandoned spot, doing donuts in the empty parking lot and obnoxiously singing along to Taylor Swift on the radio. 

“I knew you were trouble when you walked in.” The beat up radio belted out. “ So shame on me now, flew me to places I’ve never been. Now I’m lying on the cold hard ground.”

“OOOHH!!” Jason and Tim both screamed like the goat in that remix video, then broke down into hysterical laughter. 

“Oh! Trouble, trouble, trouble…”

“OOOHH!” Jason screamed along again and Tim slammed on the brakes. He slumped onto the wheel, wheezing for breath with tears in his eyes as Jason cackled like a maniac. 

“Trouble trouble trouble…”

“I still can’t—“ Tim reached out to turn down the volume. “I still can’t believe you hit Batman with a tire iron. Are you insane?”

Jason had told him the whole story on the way here. Tim’s reaction had been priceless. “Not as insane as the man who decided that made me adoption material.”

Tim took a swig of his Zesti soda. “Guess we’re all mad here.”

“Ayy! Alice In Wonderland!” Jason held up his hand for a high five, then awkwardly dropped it when he remembered his intangibility. 

Tim smiled thinly at him. He was always trying to be so reassuring. How had a kid with such a fucked up life turned out to be so kind?

“How about we ditch the parking lot and actually go back on the streets.” Jason suggested, wanting to forget about death and mortality for once. “We should go in the Bat Burger drive through, just to see the looks on their faces.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Jason, I’m trying not to get arrested.”

“It’s Crime Alley, Tim. No one’s gonna care.”

Tim sighed and started up the car again. “You think the cops would believe me if I told them a ghost made me do it?”

Jason rubbed his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “Nah, you should say Two Face threatened your family. So now you’re doing his dirty work.”

“Better, except for the fact that my family is out of the country. I doubt Two Face could reach them there.”

“Never underestimate the insane, Timbo.”

“They should put that on a plaque in Gotham’s police stations.” Tim grumbled as he pulled out of the parking lot, flicking on his turn signal. For someone whose only driving experience was Mario Kart, he was a quick learner. 

Tim stuck to the back roads, because he was cautious like that, but they were still having fun on their little joyride. The windows were down and music was playing. They were hopped up on teenaged dreams (and Tim on soda). It wasn’t half bad as far as birthdays went. 

After that thought, of course, was when everything had to go wrong. 

Tim, while he could reach the pedals, was still short and had a limited line of sight. He didn’t see the stray cat run into the street.

“Tim! Look out!” Jason warned. 

Tim yanked the wheel to the side on instinct. They swerved into the opposite lane. But it wasn’t empty. There was a garbage truck approaching and their car was going the wrong way.

“GET OUT THE WAY!” Jason yelled, but it was useless, Tim was full on panicking now, frozen like a deer in headlights. “TIM!”

Jason lunged for the wheel and jerked them out of the way, praying they didn’t run over that cat. But between running over a cat, or getting hit by a garbage truck, Jason knew which option he’d pick.

The garbage truck puttered past and he slumped back in the driver’s seat. That had been way too close for comfort. 

Wait. Jason was in the driver's seat. He was touching the steering wheel, he had moved the steering wheel. He looked up at the rear view mirror, only to see Tim’s face staring back at him. 

He gasped and suddenly Jason was being flung to the side. He immediately looked down at himself, but it was his “body” again. The tattered Robin uniform and the faint glow that denoted his ghostly-ness. 

The car jerked as Tim slammed on the breaks. The boys turned to stare at each other, eyes wide and jaws slack. 

Jason was the first to break the silence. “What the fuck just happened?”

“I think… I think you possessed me.” Tim breathed, a hand clutching at the t-shirt fabric covering his heart. 

“Ghosts can do that?”

Tim nodded numbly. “Yeah, I’ve heard some of the more powerful ones can.”

“How come this never happened before?” Jason questioned. “I wasn’t able to affect anything before. And believe me, I tried.” 

Jason had tried everything to get the Bats’ attention back when he’d first died, but nothing had worked. All the little things he could do, like make the temperature drop a few degrees, or make a lamp flicker, had just made Alfred grumble about the problems with old houses. 

“It could be a number of things. It could be how long you’ve been a ghost. Or it could be an emotion spike powering you up. Or something else entirely.” Tim counted off the possibilities on his fingers. “And most of that is just me theorizing. There’s not exactly a science to this stuff.”

“This is awesome!” Jason exclaimed, his eyes shining. “I could possess someone and talk to Bruce!”

“Woah! Didn’t I already tell you why that would be a horrible idea?” Tim reminded him. 

That awful fight sprung up in Jason’s mind. Tim had brought up everything Jason hadn’t wanted to acknowledge and flung it in his face. Tim had been right… but that didn’t mean what he’d said hadn’t hurt.

Jason huffed and crossed his arms. “Yeah, yeah. If they know I’m hanging around as a ghost they’ll never get closure or whatever.”

“And what about the person you'd be possessing?” Tim challenged. “Would they be reduced to a translator at your every whim? It’s not like you can ask for their consent.”

Again, Tim was right. But that didn’t mean Jason had to like what he was saying. He made a good point about consent. Taking control of someone else’s body definitely warranted a discussion. But the only person he could actually ask for permission was Tim, and Jason knew he wouldn’t agree to it. Not when he was so worried about how it would affect the Bats— and how it would endanger his own little secret. 

Jason sighed heavily. He knew when to admit defeat. “Okay…”

Tim shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m sorry, Jason. But it’s for the best.”

Wow. He was starting to sound like the social workers Jason had run across throughout his life. They’d always told him things were ‘for the best’ too. 

But before that painful conversation could go on any longer, a deafening boom burst through the air. Both of their heads jerked in the direction of the noise. Jason could see smoke rising in the distance, along with the glow of flames. 

It looked eerily similar to the warehouse where Jason had met his end. He remembered staring down at the smoldering remains, not understanding why his view was suddenly so much higher. The precious few moments before it clicked that he was dead. 

Tim, because he had no self preservation and was an insufferable busybody, turned the car in the direction of the explosion. 

“Y’know, most people go the opposite way.” Jason suggested, but he knew it was unlikely to be followed. 

Tim grinned at him. “I think we’ve already established that I'm not most people.”

Then he put the pedal to the metal and the car screeched off in the direction of the flames. Towards where there was very likely to be a clash between Batman and whatever rogue had gotten their hands on C4. 

-👻-👻-👻-

Bane . Batman was facing off against Bane and he wasn’t winning. The man’s muscles were bulging from the chemicals he’d pumped himself full of. He almost didn’t look real, like he was an action figure with wildly inaccurate proportions. With how top heavy Bane was Tim was surprised he hadn’t fallen over. 

Bane’s eyes glowed red in his mask, illustrating the man’s bloodlust. The same red that was smeared across Batman’s teeth and dripping down his chin.

How many times was Tim going to catch Batman in a reckless fight? What the hell was that man doing going toe to toe with Bane? He should be keeping his distance and using his gadgets. Relying on pure physical strength was foolish when Bane was clearly superior in that department. 

“Shit.” Jason hissed from the passenger seat. Watching as Bane grabbed Batman’s incoming kick, and tossed him into the marina railing. “He’s not gonna win this.”

“No, he isn't.” Tim agreed hollowly, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.

Bane stalked over to Batman who was struggling to rise. He was taking his sweet time, savoring the moment. 

“Get up.” Jason breathed, half begging. “Get up, B.”

And rise he did. But he was wobbling. All it would take was one punch and he’d go toppling into the dark waters. 

Tim inhaled sharply. He knew what he had to do. He turned the radio back on, letting the sound permeate the air and direct Bane’s attention away from Batman. 

“Hang on.” Was the only warning Tim gave before he slammed his foot on the gas.

The car lurched forwards, the tires screeching on asphalt. The sound filled his ears, drowning out Jason’s alarm. Tim gritted his teeth. It was just him, the wheel, and his target. 

“We’re gonna die! We’re gonna die!” Jason moaned.

“You’re already dead, dumbass!” Tim snapped back, yanking the wheel and skidding in a perfect arc towards Bane’s hulking figure. 

“Bum. Bum. Bum. ” Belted out the radio, alongside Tim’s thumping heart. 

Bane turned towards the noise just in time to see the blinding headlights. Tim’s arms locked up, bracing for the impact as Jason cursed at the top of his lungs. 

The car slammed into Bane, the front bumper crunching under the strain of the impact, and sending Bane flying into the Gotham harbor. 

“Another one bites the dust.”

Tim sat there, listening to the music play, barely daring to breathe. He half expected Bane to come back, hissing about vengeance, but he remained a distant dot in the inky waters. 

“Tim?” Jason called. 

He let out a shaky breath. “Yeah?”

“You're one crazy son of a bitch.” 

Tim’s shoulders shook, he couldn’t tell whether it was from residual fear or rising amusement. He’d just hit Bane with a car. It almost didn’t feel real. But that was true about so many things in his life. What was one more on top of the teetering tower of crazy?

There was a rap of knuckles against the window. Batman was standing next to the driver’s side, arms crossed over his chest and looking distinctly unamused. 

Tim rolled down the window. “How can I help you, officer?”

Jason barked out a laugh. Batman just sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Would you believe me if I said I forgot my license at home?” Tim asked, flashing him a winning smile he usually reserved for galas, the kind that made grandma’s pinch his cheeks. 

“You—“ Batman started, then cut himself off with another sigh. He took a deep breath, gathering himself before he continued. “You do not have a license. Don’t even try to tell me you’re older than you look. You’re way too young to drive.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “That’s rich coming from the guy that let Dick drive the Batmobile before he even cleared five feet.”

Tim really loved having Jason around. It was like having a Bat-bullshit detector. 

“Nightwing was driving the Batmobile when he was still prancing around in scaly green panties.” Tim sneered. “You don’t get to tell me I’m too young to drive, you hypocrite!” 

“Says the guy who nearly got in a wreck earlier.” Jason muttered. It was a good thing Batman couldn’t hear him.

Batman threw his arm out towards the harbor waters. “You hit someone!” 

“Hey, I did that on purpose.” Tim pointed out. It did not seem to mollify Batman. “You’re welcome by the way. How many times have I saved your ass now? Scarecrow, Harley, Bane.” Tim listed them out, waving his counting fingers in Batman’s face. “That’s three rogues I’ve helped you take down.”

“Just—“ He did that dad thing where he pinched his nose again. “Get out of the car.”

“No.” 

“Get out of the car, Crow.” Batman growled, his dark figure looming over him menacingly. 

He was probably trying to act scary, but Tim had seen more terrifying shit since he was in kindergarden. Batman wasn’t going to be able to intimidate him into compliance.

“You wanna join Bane in the harbor?” Tim challenged, revving the engine in warning. 

“Do your parents know you’re out here?” Batman shot back, likely thinking it was a decent threat. And maybe to a normal kid it would be, but it was well established Tim wasn’t normal. “I doubt they’ll be happy about the damage to their car.”

Tim scoffed. “Do you really think I’d be stupid enough to use a car with a license plate that you could track back to me?” 

Batman stared at him. “Are you saying you stole this car?”

Tim winced. Oops . He probably should’ve avoided the fact that he’d hotwired this car not even an hour ago.

“I refuse to answer that without a lawyer present.” Tim said and Jason snorted. 

Why was sarcasm always his default response to panic? At least it was a half decent way of masking it. 

Batman opened his mouth to protest further, but was cut off by the static of the walkie-talkie on his belt. 

“Firefly sighted at Grant Park. Arson in progress. Police backup and firefighters requested. Civilians are still inside. I repeat, civilians are still inside.”

“You should probably get that.” Tim said seriously, then before Batman could respond, he whirled the car around and took off into the city. 

Jason whistled. “Whoo! Look at you go!”

Tim wasn’t as thrilled. His stomach was a tangle of nerves and his fingers were white knuckling the steering wheel.

“Is he following us?” Tim asked, despite the fact that he’s already checked multiple times in the rear view mirror. 

“Nah, you’re good.” Jason reassured him. “The potential arson victims would take priority over a teenager taking a car for a joyride.” 

Tim wasn’t so sure. If it was some random teenager, yeah. But Tim had been a persistent thorn in Batman’s side. 

“Either way, I should probably ditch this car.” Tim reasoned.

He wanted to put the car back where he found it, but going back to Crime Alley this late probably wasn’t the best idea. Especially if the person whose car he’d hotwired was lurking around. He knew Batman had likely taken note of the license plate. He’d make sure it was returned to its owner. 

“So much for our birthday plans.” Jason sighed, staring out the window disinterestedly. 

Right . Tonight was supposed to be fun. It was supposed to be about them, being friends, not as allies in saving Batman. 

“About that…” Tim bit his lip. “So you know how you can fuck with electricity?” 

“Yeah?” Jason raised an eyebrow, adding a silent ‘and?’ 

“Add that with your newfound possession ability… and I bet you could possess a game controller.” 

Jason sat up straight. “Could I really?”

Tim grinned crookedly. “There’s only one way to find out.” 

The two boys stayed up until dawn, swearing about rainbow road and laughing maniacally when the other got blue shelled. All and all, it wasn’t a half bad birthday. In fact… it was probably the best birthday Tim ever had.

-👻-👻-👻-

The following morning, Alfred Pennyworth found a neatly wrapped package on the Manor doorstep. It was addressed to Bruce, but had no specified sender. 

Alfred knew Bruce would be in no mood to open mail. Not after yesterday. So he unwrapped the package for him, taking care not to rip the paper. Inside was a framed photograph. An extremely incriminating photograph of Batman and Robin, of Bruce and Jason, eating burgers on a roof and laughing together. 

Oh . Alfred knew who the sender was. 

That Crow child… he could be so thoughtful, yet he could also wrench one’s heart out. It was a dangerously kind skill to have. 

Alfred went down to the Batcave, where Bruce was slumped over the keyboard, and left the picture for him to find when he woke up. 

After all, Bruce needed to be reminded of the good times too, not just the bitter end. Jason deserved to be remembered with fondness. 

And he always would be, inside Alfred’s heart.

Chapter Text

Fuck Jason’s puppy dog eyes. Tim never should’ve caved. He never should’ve let Jason possess him. He’d known it would only spell disaster.

Tim wasn’t an idiot. He’d set terms and conditions. The most glaring being “stay the hell away from the Bats.” Tim had stayed aware, even as he let Jason take the reins, and his body’s uses had been innocent enough. Jason had been content to roam around the city, petting stray cats and eating his weight in chili dogs. But Jason’s tolerance for chili dogs and Tim’s tolerance were two different things. The following morning, Tim’s stomach had protested. Loudly . 

Now he was stuck home with diarrhea on the first day of school. And Jason would not stop laughing at him. Especially when Tim had taken his laptop into the bathroom. Sue him, he’d needed some entertainment if he was going to be stuck in there all day.

“Oh my god.” Jason wheezed. “You're worse than Dickface. And he eats dairy products even though he’s lactose intolerant.”

Tim, who had his pants down and was sitting on the toilet, was not pleased by Jason’s presence. Even if there was a privacy screen in between them. 

“Fuck you.” Tim hissed. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault you have a sensitive tum-tum.” Jason teased and Tim reached out around the screen to flip him the bird.

“I’m never letting you possess me again. Your possession privileges are officially revoked.” Tim stated with as much gravitas as he could muster, even though he felt like one of those reviews on Haribo sugar free gummy bears.

Jason cackled like the evil witch he was. “Worth it!”

“Unfriended. Blocked. Reported.”

After Jason had finally got his fill of heckling and left Tim to his ‘ shitty fate ,’ Tim typed ‘Firefly’ into the search bar. He hadn’t forgotten what had called Batman away during their previous encounter. 

“Firefly sighted at Grant Park. Arson in progress. Police backup and firefighters requested. Civilians are still inside. I repeat, civilians are still inside.” 

Tim had always been a curious one. He didn’t like leaving questions unanswered. He clicked on the news tab, selected the most recent one, and quickly scanned through the article. It praised the police, the firefighters, and Batman for their assistance. Firefly was sent back to Arkham. And under casualties…

Emmet Campbell, seventy-two, deceased on the scene. Survived by his now widow, Adelaide Campbell. 

Dying in a fire wasn’t a pleasant way to meet one’s end. There rarely were pleasant ways, but burning was particularly gruesome. And the more gruesome the death, the more likely that there’d be an angry ghost.

Once Tim’s bowels settled, there’d be work to do.

-👻-👻-👻-

John Constantine did not like Gotham. Not only because of the Bat, but because the city was one of the most bloody miserable places he’d ever been. He wouldn’t be surprised if the city was cursed, but he didn’t care enough to stick his nose in that — He knew when to mind his business. But he was also the curious sort. 

He’d just finished dealing with a nasty demon cult in Bludhaven, and when he’d heard of sabotaged construction workers after a deadly park fire in Gotham, he’d figured there was a vengeful spirit lurking around. He might as well deal with it. Only because he was already in the area. It saved him a potential phone call from the Bat, or Zatanna on his behalf, later. He didn't want to have to deal with that horseshit.

John was pretty sure he was at the wrong park. He’d expected to find somewhere that was blown to bits, or at the very least a construction zone primed for ruin. Not a park that looked like it had never been set on fire in the first place. 

He double checked the article again, but it still said the same bleedin’ thing. The park that had been burned down was Grant Park. Usually, this would be the point where John would have cut his losses, cursing his luck. But there were many unanswered questions. All of which pissed him off. Why had he wasted his time coming here? What the hell had even happened? 

Fuck it. John muttered an incantation, opening his third eye, and walked into the park. He scanned the area, making his way through at a leisurely place.  

“Oh, ‘ello ‘ello.” 

At one of the chess tables was an elderly man covered in burns and streaked with ash. If that wasn’t enough to denote he was a ghost, the ethereal glow would’ve tipped him off. Even more peculiar was the black haired boy sitting across from him. To any passerby, it would look like the boy was playing a game by himself, but John could see he was moving the white pieces on command of the ghost. An alive human boy was playing chess with a ghost. 

Ah, what the hell.

“Oi, laddie.” John called and the kid looked up from his chess board.

The boy’s eyes narrowed and his hand reached down to rest on his bag, ready to grab it and go. John didn’t think he looked that shady. However, he couldn't blame a Gothamite for being cautious. They earned their paranoia living in a city like this.

“Easy, I come in peace.” John held his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just wondering how this park people said burned down is, well, not burned down.”

“Poison Ivy restored it. She didn’t want one of the few places of nature in Gotham to be replaced with a shopping mall.” The kid explained, then turned back to his chess game. A silent dismissal. 

John would be offended, but he’d done way ruder shit. Also, he knew better than to expect politeness from middle schoolers. The boy’s explanation filled in some holes, but not about the construction sabotage. Poison Ivy wasn’t one for subtlety. If she’d attacked the construction workers it would’ve been all over the front page. Nor did it explain why the only ghost he’d seen around had been perfectly peaceful as far as he could tell. It was too much of a coincidence for the ghost to be a victim of a different fire. 

The kid also had this strange aura to him, supernatural in nature, but he couldn’t tell what. To be honest, if John hadn’t been looking so closely, he probably wouldn’t have noticed the aura at all. 

“Bishop to G5.” The ghost instructed and the kid reached across the board to move the piece, his lips thinning as one of his pawns was claimed. 

So, John hadn’t been reading into things. The kid really was playing chess with a ghost and he was well aware of it. Was he clairvoyant? Was it a spell like John’s? Or something more sinister?

“Do you need something else?” The kid asked when John still hadn't left. The cheeky bugger.

As soon as their eyes locked, John felt a chill go down his spine. The eerie aura around the kid increased, condensing around his piercing eyes. I see you . It whispered. I see you. And John did not like that one bit. He considered himself a closed book through and through. The thought of someone being able to read him, to really see him… to say it made him feel uneasy was an understatement. 

“Yes, actually.” John pointed at the ghost. “How in the bloody hell can you see him?”

The ghost startled, but the kid only frowned. “See who?” He asked, his brows scrunching together.

Ah, so he was playing that game now, was he? But John wouldn’t be so easy to fool.

John clicked his tongue. “Don’t play daft. I saw you movin’ the pieces when Crispy here asked ya too.”

“Hey.” Crispy said in protest of his new calling card. Remarkably, the reminder of his death hadn’t gotten the ghost all riled up. Just the normal amount of offense one would expect in response to an insult.

The boy turned to him with chilling eyes too clear for a kid his age, yet childlike curiosity still glimmered in them. “How can you see him?” 

“Ah, ah, ah.” John tisked. “I asked first.”

“And I asked second.” 

“I’m serious.” John crossed his arms over his chest. “How can you see ghosts?”

The kid rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy.” 

He moved another chess piece and Crispy grumbled as his last rook was taken. It spoke to the kid’s intellect, either that or the ghost was shit at chess. 

Deciding to appeal to the kid’s strategic mind, John offered a deal. “How 'bout we make a deal, eh? You answer my question and I’ll answer yours.”

“Truthfully.” The kid added with a shrewd look. “You must answer truthfully.” 

“ Ah , I see you have some experience with this sort of thing. Smart, lad. Alright, I’ll answer your question truthfully and you do the same for me,” John extended his hand, “deal?” 

“Deal.” The kid shook it. His skin was oddly cool for someone who’d been out in the August heat. Even if it was Gotham’s version of summer. 

John slid his hands back into the pockets of his trench coat, rocking back on his heels. “I cast a spell to allow me to see through the veil. Your turn.” 

The kid grinned. “I don’t know how I can see ghosts.”

That little — John opened his mouth to protest that extremely unhelpful answer, but the kid cut him off before he could.

“It’s true! The first time I can remember seeing a ghost I was three years old. I have no idea how I was able to do that.”

“You remember things from when you were three years old?” John asked dubiously. Hell, he didn’t even remember what he ate for breakfast, much less experiences from when he was a tot.

“It was a rather…” The kid paused, a muscle in his jaw flickering, “traumatic memory. It stuck in my mind.” 

“Yeah, I’d bet.” John hadn’t learned about the existence of the supernatural until he was a teenager, this kid knew it existed since he was in pre-school. Poor sod. 

Maybe if he knew the source of the kid’s ability, he could find a way to suppress them. As calm as the lad seemed, he knew that wasn’t a baseline reaction to the supernatural. He’d been desensitized. Or he could compartmentalize like hell. The fear of what lurked unseen didn’t just go away. John knew that all too well.

“So, you’re a magician, right?” The kid asked, eagerly jumping to a new topic. “Like Zatanna?”

“Believe me, you wouldn’t like my magic tricks, lad.” He didn’t do the flashy party tricks like Zatanna. His demonstrations didn’t “wow” people, it chilled them to the bone. “I’m less magic spells, and more occult rituals.”

The kid’s eyes glimmered with interest and he leaned forwards in his seat. “Really?” 

“No, no. Don’t give me that look.” He waggled his finger at the kid. Best to cut that off before it got started. His way of life was no place for children. “Believe me, you wanna stay the hell away from all that stuff. You’ll be much better off for it.”

“Stay away?” The kid repeated incredulously. “How the hell can I stay away when ghosts are everywhere? Do you know the death rate in Gotham? Do you know how fucked this city is? Stay away.” He scoffed, crossing his arms. “I couldn’t avoid this shit even if I wanted to. Might as well find a way to make it work.” 

The kid made some good points. Still, there was a lot more than just ghosts out there. Monsters, demons, evils too terrible to name.  

“Is it just ghosts? Or can you see more than that?” John questioned. 

He snorted. “Like what? Werewolves? Vampires?”

“Hey, those are real. The media just twisted things. Twilight lied to you.” Sparkle in the sun. Fucking ridiculous. Those steamy romance novels had turned teenaged girls into easy prey. 

“Just ghosts.” The kid said, then paused. “Wait, what exactly counts as a ghost? Because there’s some stuff I’m not exactly sure how to classify…”

Jesus fucking christ. John took out a cigarette and his lighter. He needed a smoke to be able to deal with this kid. He put the cig to his lips and flicked his lighter, but no flame came out. He scowled and tried again. Still, nothing. Son of a— 

Before John could pitch his lighter into the undergrowth, Crispy sheepishly raised his hand. “Sorry, no smoking in the park.” He said, not sounding at all sorry. In fact, he sounded smug. 

John grumbled and put them away. 

“What’s your name, lad?” He asked, for a lack of anything else to do. 

“Names are a social construct.” The kid replied primly. 

“That they may be.” John said agreeably. Even though he knew names could be much more potent. “But I still need something to call ya.”

“Recently, people have taken to calling me Crow.” He moved his black knight, knocking over the white queen piece, the sound echoing as it rolled. “Gotham does love its’ death motifs. Honestly, I’m kind of honored.”

Yeah, no . John was not gonna refer to a middle schooler with a death motif. “I’m not calling you that. You’re not the fuckin’ Grim Reaper. You…” John pointed a finger at him as he tried to come up with something. “You’re Scamp now.” 

A part of John was internally screaming. Don’t name him! Names mean attachment and John didn’t do attachments. It only led to pain. After all, a person can’t miss what they never had. So, the nickname was a bad idea. It's why people say never name a stray or it will end up coming home with you. But he’d already named the kid, it was too late to take it back now. For fuck’s sake. Chaz would laugh his ass off if he heard about this. 

“Do you have a name? Or do I get to pick it?” Scamp — motherfucker — asked dryly. “Be warned, if I pick it, it’s probably gonna be something like ‘hobo.’” 

John knew it’d been a while since he took a shower. But hobo? Surely that was exaggerated. Middle schoolers were mean as shit. Why was it that they were meaner than most of the demons he’d met? 

“It's Constantine. John Constantine.” He said, before ‘hobo’ could stick like Scamp already did. 

“Bond. James Bond.” Scamp mocked back at him. His nickname was very fitting. 

“And I’m Emmet.” The ghost added. Like John cared . 

However, he could do with some light shed on the situation. The kid was more tight lipped than a deep sea clam. Maybe ole’ Crispy would be more forthright. 

John turned to face the ghost. “Tell me, Emmet, how did you end up here?” He didn’t wait for the ghost to reply, continuing on to try and cut through any incoming bullshit. “Personally, I think it’s too much of a coincidence for you to be in this recently burned park, covered in burn marks, and not have perished in the recent fire. Am I right in that assumption?” 

“Oh my god, John, you can’t just ask someone how they died.” Scamp hissed. “It’s rude.”

And a sure fire way to piss them off. But pissed ghosts were talkative ghosts. 

Emmet held up a hand. “It’s alright, sonny. I— I’m at peace with it now.” 

“Really?” John raised a skeptical eyebrow. “In my experience it takes quite a while for the dead to cool down.” 

It’d been less than a week since that fire. He’d come here expecting a poltergeist in the making, not a ghost that seemed like he’d give out toffies to his grandchildren. 

“I was angry.” He admitted. “Really angry. I love this park. I’d— I’d go here all the time with my Adelaide and we’d feed the birds. But then the park burned, and… and so did I.” Emmet flexed his burned hands on the table. “When I found out instead of restoring the park they were gonna bulldoze it for a dang mall . That Adelaide would never come here again. I just… lost it.” 

That explained the sabotaged construction workers. Ghosts could mess with electricity, their construction equipment would be easy enough for Emmet to break. Especially with how painful his death likely was. But it didn’t explain how remarkably calm he was now. 

“All I thought about was my anger, my hurt . Until this little troublemaker came along.” He gestured at Scamp with a sly smile.

“I am not a troublemaker!” Scamp huffed. John had just met him, but even he knew that wasn’t true. “I am the opposite of a troublemaker. I’m a trouble solver!”

John’s skepticism must’ve shown on his face, because Emmet added. “He’s not wrong about the trouble solver bit. He’s the reason all this got fixed in the first place.”

John raised an eyebrow. “I thought that was Poison Ivy.”

“Yeah, but he’s the one who made it happen.” Emmet said, jabbing a finger at the kid. 

Scamp waved off the praise. “I just dropped a tip to Dr. Isley. It was no big deal.” 

Dr. Isley?

“You cared, son. That’s a big deal to a lot of people.” Emmet said softly, looking at the kid with warm eyes.

Scamp flushed and ducked his head. 

Emmet chuckled at the kid’s bashfulness. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I can hear our truck’s old engine sputtering. My Adelaide is waiting for me.” 

With a final wave goodbye, he drifted off to the parking lot where there was indeed a little old lady hopping out of a beat-up truck. Yeah, that ghost wasn’t gonna cause any trouble. He was just waiting for his wife. 

What about the kid though? Did he have anyone waiting on him? 

“Kid, where are your parents?” John asked. He was no good with kids. They needed responsible adults to look after them and John was not that. “You do got them, don’t ya?”

Maybe his parents were dead. If they were, the kid could at least talk to their ghosts — if they’d stuck around. He didn’t know if Scamp would be better or worse off for it.

Scamp snorted. “They’re not here.”

No shit. He doubted the kid’s parents approved of him mingling with the dead. If his parents were anywhere nearby, they would’ve toted Scamp off the moment John approached.

“Where are they, then?” It was the weekend. Didn’t most people get weekends off? 

“Bolivia.”

“Bolivia..?” John repeated slowly, unsure if he heard that right.

Scamp rolled his eyes. “Yes, they’re in Bolivia. I don’t know why that always throws people for a loop. Planes exist.” 

“I don’t think the travel means is the issue, Scamp. It’s more ‘bout why you aren’t with them.” John pointed out. 

“Apparently,” Scamp’s voice took on a haughty air, “digs are no place for children.” 

The bitterness that undercut his words made it clear Scamp thought that was a pile of crap. But John’s attention had been grabbed by one of his words, his skin prickling at the implication. 

“Digs?”

“They’re very passionate about archaeology.”

Mental sirens went off in John’s head. The same that warned him when something supernatural lurked nearby. Danger, danger, danger! They screeched like a hellish chorus.

A kid who can see ghosts… with archeologist parents... There was no way that was a coincidence. John was a betting man, and he’d put good money on there being a cursed artifact in Scamp’s house. Maybe more. Shit .

“You said you don’t know how you can see ghosts, right?” 

Scamp nodded.

“Well, did you ever consider that the fact your parents are archaeologists might have somethin’ to do with it?” John asked, staring at the kid. For all his smarts, had Scamp really never thought of that? It was pretty damn obvious.

Scamp went rigid. He opened his mouth, paused, then closed it. After another moment’s pause he finally said… “My parents have brought artifacts home before. I’m not sure how… legally either.” He shook his head. “But I know better than to touch them. They’d kill me if I broke anything.”

“You know better now . The first time you saw a ghost you were three.” John sighed and massaged his temples. “Toddlers will get their grabby hands on anything.”

“... Fuck. ” He swore with feeling and dropped his head into his hands.

“Very fucked.” John agreed. “But if you still have the artifact, maybe we can reverse the effect.”

Scamp’s head snapped up. “What? No. I don’t wanna get rid of it.”

John’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t?” 

“No! I mean… it was scary at first.” Scamp admitted, wringing his hands in his lap. “But I’ve adapted to it now. It’s actually really useful.”

“Useful?” John deadpanned.

“Yeah? I made friends with a lot of the ghosts in Gotham and they give me heads up about things.” He explained. “That’s invaluable in a place like this.”  

So, he was using his sixth sense to survive the hellhole that was Gotham city. John couldn’t blame the kid for using all the tools he had at his disposal. He certainly would if it gave him a leg up in this wicked world. 

“Still, I should remove the cursed artifact. They’re unpredictable and dangerous.” John reasoned. “You live ‘round here?”

Scamp looked at him like he was nuts, which John was used to, but he didn’t know what he’d done to provoke it in the kid. “Are you crazy? I’m not telling a stranger where I live.”

“Usually, that’s the right call. But right now you have a cursed artifact in your house and I'm the one equipped to deal with it.” John explained as patiently as he could, but he was itching to get down to business. Malicious artifacts could kill people. The kid was lucky he was cursed to see the dead, instead of joining them. “Think of me as like… the exterminator or somethin’.”  

“It’s been ten years.” Scamp argued. “If the artifact hasn’t hurt me in all that time it probably won’t in the future either.”

“I wouldn’t say you got out unaffected.” Being able to see the dead from the tender age of three would fuck up anyone. The kid could use a therapist, but they’d all probably think he was crazy. RIP to the poor dude’s mental health. “Also it’s not just about you. Anyone who comes to your house could get cursed.” 

“I don’t do social calls.” The kid sniffed, just as haughty as the parent he’d previously been imitating. “And we don’t know if the cursed artifact is even in my house. My parents rotate them out to museums or sell them all the time.”

“Couldn’t hurt to check.” John was half pleading now. It rankled his pride, but if it meant getting a dangerous artifact out of Scamp’s house, he’d do it. 

“ No .” Scamp firmly refused, a hint of anger in his voice. “The last thing I need is someone poking in my business. I answered enough of your questions. Goodbye, Mister Constantine.” 

The kid stood up, shouldering his bag and turning to leave. But John grabbed his arm before he could.

“Wait—“

“Let go of me or I’ll start screaming about you being a pedo.” Scamp threatened. He was ruthless. Against his better judgment, John had taken a real liking to the kid.

“I won’t keep you here.” John fumbled around in his coat pocket with his free hand. He withdrew a business card and held it out for the kid. “Just take this. Please.” 

Scamp took it and John let go as promised. Unlike John had assumed, the kid didn’t immediately bolt, he actually took the time to read the card.

“Master of the dark arts?” Scamp asked with a raised eyebrow.

He really needed to edit his business cards. “More like a dabbler. I embellished a bit, so what?” John shrugged. “The number on there is the important part. Any of those artifacts gives you trouble, and you call me, alright?”

“Alright…” Scamp’s gaze flicked between John and the card, but it was considering rather than dismissive. Which was better than John could hope for with most of his potential clients. 

With his job done, John gave the kid a salute, then opened a portal back home, the kid gaping at him as he stepped through. John smirked to himself. Hopefully his little magical showcase had helped convince the kid that he knew his stuff.  

Hopefully, he’d get a call sometime soon. 

-👻-👻-👻-

Tim was fine. He was totally fine . He was not freaking out about his newfound knowledge of his ghost seeing abilities. 

Tim loved puzzles and one of the biggest puzzles of his life was how he could see the dead. Now he had an answer! Or at least, a pretty good theory. 

But it was also scary. When Constantine said he could reverse the effect… Tim had felt a spike of panic at the thought. He didn’t want to lose his ability to see ghosts. Back in elementary school, Tim would’ve taken that deal in a heartbeat. But now? Hell no . Tim couldn’t ever see himself giving it up. For one thing it’d seriously hamper his ability to help Batman. However, the real reason the panic had hit so hard, was because of Jason. If he couldn’t see ghosts, he’d lose Jason. He’d lose Jason, and Emmet, and all the other ghosts he’d befriended. It was sort of pathetic that his only friends were ghosts, but it was also true. 

Tim looked down at the business card. Exorcist, Demonologist, and Master of the Dark Arts. Plus the string of digits beneath it. Suddenly Drake Manor didn’t feel so safe. Tim turned around and started heading for his parent’s penthouse instead. It was smack in the middle of the thrumming heart of Gotham. It had been a perfect place to stay when he wanted to go out and take pictures that night. Also it was potentially cursed artifact free. 

Tim was familiar with not feeling safe in his own home. His parents were always gone and that scared most kids. He thought he’d grown out of it, but apparently cursed artifacts brought that fear rising back to the surface. However, the perks of having rich parents was that he had two houses right here in the city. When one house didn’t feel safe, he could jump ship and go to the other one. 

Also he was still kinda pissed at Jason for the diarrhea and wouldn’t mind not seeing him in his house for a weekend. The penthouse was nowhere near any of Jason’s anchors so he’d be free from his teasing there. 

It took two buses and one elevator ride to get there, but finally he was shutting the door to the penthouse behind him. He slumped against it with a sigh. Today had been much longer, and stressful, then he’d thought it would be. 

Constantine’s business card was still clutched in his hand, slightly crinkled with how tightly Tim had been holding it — and because it was the cheap kind of flimsy card stock. The phone number pulled at him, taunted him. With a scowl Tim dug out the burner he kept in his backpack and added the number to his contacts. There . Now he could move on with his life.

At first, he was content to leave it at that. He did his homework, played some video games, edited his photos, but he could only keep himself busy for so long. His meeting with Constantine nagged at him. Constantine was knowledgeable in the occult while Tim was just flying by the seat of his pants. It was an opportunity and a threat all wrapped in one smoke stained package. The man had wanted to come to his house for fuck’s sake. He should leave it be. The number was a safety net. For just in case scenarios. But when had Tim ever left something well enough alone in his life? It wasn’t who he was. 

Besides, if he didn’t do something about it his thoughts would never shut the hell up. 

He pulled up the contact and typed out a quick message.

Me

how much do u know about ghosts?

To his surprise, he didn’t have to wait more than a few minutes for a response. And the response had his heart racing. 

Constantine

what do you wanna know?

Me

is there a way to keep ghosts out of certain places?

because a ghost was in my bathroom when I was trying to poop and I’d like to avoid that in the future 

Constantine

HA

Me

🖕

Constantine

so you wanna exorcize the ghost in your bathroom?

i could come over and do it for you

Me

I’m not telling u where I live  

also I don’t wanna exorcize him

he’s a good guy but he will mock me when I have digestive issues 

so is there any way I can just keep him away from my bathroom? 

Constantine

theres wards you can put on the door to keep ghosts out

i can send you pics of how to paint them 

Me

that would be perfect!

Constantine

on one condition

you gotta let me take a look at those artifacts

Tim scowled down at the message. Constantine was really pushing to see the artifacts at his house. Jason might say Tim had the survival instincts of a wet paper bag, but he’d paid attention in the stranger danger class. Also he’d watched Law and Order SVU. Kids being alone in the house could get the cops called. Tim didn’t have the time, or the energy, to have to hire another fake nanny to get CPS off his back. 

But being able to keep out ghosts when he needed to… that was invaluable. Especially with the more powerful ones. Jason could possess people, make electronics explode, and who knew what else. But he wasn’t the only ghost capable of those feats. And not all ghosts were as nice as Robin. He’d like a way to defend himself. 

Plus he was not trusting the cult stuff he saw on the Internet. That was just asking for trouble. 

Me

how about I send pics of them instead?

Constantine

thats a start

but i can only tell so much from a picture

and if i can tell one of them is dangerous ill need to come get it 

Me

would wearing gloves make it safe for me to transport it to you?

Constantine

too risky

but for pictures of all the artifacts in ur house ill send you pictures of the wards plus an instruction manual

we can figure the other shit out later

Me

deal

Chapter Text

Well shit. It turned out there was a cursed artifact in Drake Manor. Constantine had recognized one of them and insisted he needed to come pick it up. 

Tim was currently ignoring Constantine’s texts. 

Jason raised a critical eyebrow as Tim’s phone kept buzzing. “Why is your phone blowing up?” 

Tim considered lying, but Jason would likely find out eventually, so it would be better in the long run to tell him the truth now. Plus, Tim was dying to talk to someone about it.

“There uh… might be a cursedartifactinmyhouse.” 

Jason frowned in confusion. “There might be a what?”  

“A cursed artifact in my house!” Tim shouted, panicked. “Yesterday I met a magician and he thinks that the reason I can see ghosts is because my parents are archeologists and as a toddler I touched one of the artifacts they brought back and got cursed.” He was definitely rambling now, but he couldn’t seem to stop. “I wouldn’t let him come to my house to check because stranger danger and sent photos instead, but he said one of the artifacts is cursed and that he needs to come get it and now he’s blowing up my phone because I left him on read.” 

Jason stared at him, processing that information dump. Tim stared back at him, anxiously wringing his hands as he awaited a reply. 

“You… wow.” He ran a hand through his curls with a sigh. “That’s— that’s a lot.” 

Tim nodded miserably. 

“Well, at least we have a probable explanation for why you can see ghosts now.” Jason offered. 

Unlike Tim, Jason always tried to look at the bright side. He was cynical at times, but he didn’t let it get the best of him. He didn’t let it drown him. Not like Tim did.

“Yeah…” 

Tim wasn’t exactly thrilled. It was nice to know the reason, but it also sucked because… because it was sort of his parents’ fault. He knew they’d never hurt him intentionally. After all, they hadn’t known the artifact was cursed. It wasn’t their fault toddler Tim had been too curious for his own good. But on the other hand… why hadn’t they kept the artifact in a place a toddler couldn’t reach? Why had they even brought it back to their house at all? It belonged in a museum, not in a room in the house that Tim wasn’t supposed to go into without permission. 

They hadn’t intended to put him in harm’s way, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been harmed. His parents had barely provided him any support beyond the monetary kind. Any cry for affection or attention was ignored. Until he eventually stopped crying out. He hid his damaged self away, where no one could see, and did his best to cover the cracks. 

It was ironic how things could change so quickly. When he was little he used to cry all the time because of the terrifying shit he saw. His parents had eventually gotten sick of trying to work out what was wrong, and had moved their stuff to another wing so the sound wouldn’t bother them. Tim had cried and cried and cried until he just stopped. Why cry for help when no one would come?

The first time he’d screamed because there was a scary man in the house, his dad had believed him. He’d burst into the room with his shotgun, but when he saw that no one was there, no one except Tim… to say he was pissed was an understatement. Tim became the little boy who cried ghost. Even as a four year old he’d realized pretty quickly his parents couldn’t see what he saw, that they didn’t believe him. So he’d stopped crying for help. He’d kept silent in fear as ghosts drifted by in blood stained clothes and lacerated skin. His parents soon forgot about his night terrors. Forgot about their son waiting for them to come home. 

They didn’t hate him or wish any kind of harm upon him. He knew they cared about him, in their own way. But it wasn’t enough. Tim wasn’t enough for them. After all, if he was good enough then they’d be home . Why? Why wasn’t he enough of a reason for them to stay? Why wasn’t he worth showing up for?

“Tim? Tim, are you okay?” Jason asked worriedly.

Tim blinked. “Yeah? Why?”

“You’re crying.”

Tim lifted a hand to his face, his fingers coming away wet and shiny. He hadn’t even noticed there had been tears sliding down his cheeks until Jason pointed it out. 

“I’m fine.” Tim wiped away the evidence with his sleeve, flushing at the shameful display of weakness. “I’m just… a little shaken up. That’s all.”

“Yeah, I’d be scared too if there was a cursed artifact in my house.” Jason sympathized. “That’s some horror movie shit.” 

“At least it’s not a cursed doll.” The last thing Tim needed was to become a character in a real life Chucky movie. “As long as I don’t touch it, I should be fine.”

“Still… I’d probably want to stay out of the house as much as possible.” 

“My parents have a penthouse in the city. I stayed there last night. But…” If he was there he couldn’t talk to Jason. If he was there he’d be all alone again.

“But?” Jason prompted.

Tim sighed. “I just… I don’t wanna be alone right now.”

“Ah.”

They sat there in silence, that single wish hanging over their heads. Usually, Tim liked being alone. When he was alone he didn’t have to worry about other people’s expectations. He could let his mask drop. He could relax. However, no one wanted to be alone when they were scared. 

It was pathetic how badly Tim wanted his parents to be home. It’s not like they could do anything about the cursed artifact. In fact, them being here would put them in danger because, unlike Tim, they didn’t know it was cursed. He doubted they’d believe him even if he told them. They might even touch it to prove magic was a bunch of hooey. 

It just added up to Tim being selfish. 

“What about Dick? Maybe you could reach out to him?” Jason suggested.

That was an even worse idea than inviting over a magician he’d just met. “I'm not telling any of the Bats where I live, Jason.” 

“That’s not what I meant. Besides, if they’re too dumb to notice you're their next door neighbor, then that’s their own damn fault.” Jason scoffed. 

Tim had been nervous about the Bats noticing him with their close proximity, but they never had. It was why hiding in plain sight worked so well. Either that or they really were slipping.

“What did you mean, then?” Tim asked, his curiosity niggling at him.

“That you should go to Dick’s place in Bludhaven.” Jason clarified. “You stalked him, so you know where that is, right?” 

Tim wrinkled his nose at the use of the word stalking . It was detective work. Stalking made it sound creepy.

But Jason’s suggestion wasn’t half bad. Being around a hero like Nightwing would make him feel safer. However, that also came with the possibility of police and contacting parents, which Tim could not let happen. Nightwing had promised he wouldn’t detain Tim before. But he’d also proven to be pretty shitty at upholding his promises. Tim hadn’t forgotten the folder of photos. He didn’t even know if Batman had looked at them. Much less had someone explain their concerns to him. 

“I know where his apartment is.” Because his detective work was very thorough. “But I don’t know if it’s a good idea to meet him in person. He might just turn me over to the police.” 

“That’s why I said you should go to his apartment, not Titans tower. He would be in civvies then and turning you in could cast suspicion on Dick Grayson.” Jason reasoned. “Also, I don’t think his first instinct would be to call the cops. He’d try to figure out what your whole deal is first.” 

Tim could point out a dozen other little flaws in Jason’s argument. But at the end of the day, Tim didn’t want to be alone. Visiting Nightwing was sounding more and more appealing. 

“Alright. I’ll do it.” Tim agreed with a sigh and Jason cheered. 

Bludhaven here he comes.

-👻-👻-👻-

There was an intruder in his apartment. The door wasn’t kicked in, the windows weren’t broken, but Dick could still see the signs. He’d been raised to notice the little things, after all. 

He entered his apartment through the window on the fire escape, just to be extra cautious. His feet fell silently onto the wooden floor as he crept inside, one hand gripping the switchblade he kept inside his jacket. Was it a run of the mill thief? Or was this person after Nightwing?

There was a distinct crunch sound and Dick whirled towards the source. A boy was sitting on his couch with his hand in a bag of chips. A boy he recognized.

“You’re out of Cheetos.” Crow said as he tossed one into his mouth. 

The adrenaline rush dissipated so fast Dick almost fell flat on his face. He straightened up, his hands on his hips, and glared at the kid. “Most people knock, you know?”

What the hell was Crow doing here? Was everything okay? Why had he stolen a car? The questions buzzed around in Dick’s heads like annoying wasps, but he couldn’t risk blurting them out and causing the kid to vanish again. Crow had come to him. This was an opportunity and he wasn’t going to waste it.

“Sounds boring.” Crow said, continuing to chew obnoxiously on Cheetos. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Dick asked and took a seat next to Crow on the couch. 

For a moment Crow tensed at the close proximity, before relaxing. “Like I said: I was bored.”

Yeah, Dick didn’t believe that for a second. But he was willing to roll with it for now. He didn’t want to chase the kid off.

“Is that why you stole that car?” Dick questioned, trying to sound casual instead of accusatory. When he’d heard about that incident from Batman, he hadn’t known whether to be amused or concerned. He’d eventually decided on both. 

“First of all, I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it.” Crow said, holding up a single orange finger. “But I’m glad to see you and Batman are talking.” Dick couldn’t help but frown a bit at that. “Secondly, it was a matter of extenuating circumstances. Bane’s huge. How else was I supposed to neutralize him?”

Wow. The kid was really whipping out those four dollar words. It was kinda cute that he was trying to sound smart, like a little baby nerd. Dick’s heart sank suddenly at that thought. Jason had been another little baby nerd. Was that why he was so invested in Crow? Because he reminded him of Jason? Dick liked to think he’d be this concerned about any child vigilante, but he knew better than to think of himself as above grief.

But at least he knew he wasn't as bad as Bruce. So that was something.

“Third,” Crow continued. “Why do you care? Do you want to arrest me?”

Dick sighed. “I’m not gonna arrest you, kid. I just wanna talk.”

“Is that why you and Batman tried to follow me home?” Crow asked with a scowl. 

Dick still remembered how eerie it had been when the kid had pointed at their exact diner stakeout spot. Like chills running down his spine. 

“You just broke into my apartment.” Dick pointed out. “So, I don’t think you have much of a leg to stand on there.”

The kid huffed, but didn’t argue the point.

“Why are you really here, kid? Is something wrong?” Dick asked. The kid wasn’t dumb. He wouldn’t risk coming here without a reason. 

Crow snorted. “You mean besides the obvious?”

Well, that wasn’t exactly comforting. “Crow. C’mon. I’m trying here.” Dick half begged.

However, Crow didn’t seem to be in a charitable mood.“How many times am I gonna have to repeat myself? I’m not telling you shit.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowed in cold anger. “You’re just gonna use it to try and figure out who I am, then drop me with the cops so you won’t have to deal with me anymore.”

So you won’t have to deal with me anymore. That raised red flags. It spoke to how the kid was made to feel like a burden by someone, most likely his parents. Dick could easily recognize it. After all, he’d had those same feelings about Bruce.

“That’s not true.” Dick protested, his heart sinking as the kid visibly shut down even more. “I just said I wouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah, because you’ve been sooo good at keeping your word so far.” When Dick opened his mouth to protest, Crow held up a dusty orange finger in threat. “Don’t test me. I will smear Cheeto dust on your couch. You liar. ”

Dick bristled at the accusation, at that attack on his character. But then he remembered what his therapist had said. He forced himself to pause and take a deep breath. He didn’t want to say something out of anger that he’d regret later.

He waited until he had mentally counted to ten to speak again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t demand that information when I haven’t given you a reason to trust me yet. You aren’t wrong about that. But could you give me a chance to prove myself?”

The kid’s expression shifted from defensive to considering, and Dick nearly let out a sigh of relief, but he restrained himself. He didn’t want his feelings to be so obviously displayed. Especially when Crow was watching him so closely.  

“I think we got off on the wrong foot.” Dick continued. “Could we start over? Or maybe talk it out over some ice cream?” All kids liked ice cream, right? He remembered that trick working on Jason. 

Crow’s brows furrowed as he frowned. “We can’t go get ice cream. You’re lactose intolerant.” 

Dick’s jaw dropped. “How — how do you know that?” 

Crow grinned. “I know a lot of things.” He propped his chin up on his hands, eyes dancing with mischief. “I figured out your secret identity. Are you really surprised I know your dietary restrictions as well?”

The way he phrased it did make it seem kind of obvious. In hindsight, he should’ve known that if the kid knew their secret identities, he would’ve done a lot of research on them. But for the life of him Dick couldn’t figure out where he would’ve found his dietary restrictions. It was never mentioned in the news or gossip columns as far as he knew. Then again, they suspected the kid might be a skilled hacker, so maybe he’d hacked into Dick’s old school records, or even more disturbing — his medical ones. It kinda creeped him out, but it was also, admittedly, pretty impressive. The kid had done what even the FBI couldn't. 

“Y’know, it’s kinda unfair that you know all this shit about us when we don’t even know your name.” Dick complained, even doing a theatrical pout to try and see if he could get the kid to laugh.

Crow rolled his eyes. “How would you know I wouldn’t give you a fake one? I could say my name is, like, Alvin or something.”

“Like the chipmunk?”

Crow glared at him.

Dick raised his hands in mock surrender, trying not to laugh. “Hey, it’s not my fault you chose a shitty fake name.”

“Can’t be worse than Dick.” The kid pointed out.

“Hey, my name is great!” Dick protested. He’d actually chosen it for himself back when he’d realized he wasn’t a girl. Eight year-old him had thought naming himself Dick was hilarious. To be fair, as a twenty year-old he still thought that. “It's a ten out of ten name. Five stars. Top of the billboard charts.” Especially for a trans guy. 

Dick paused. With how much the kid had dug into their lives… did he know Dick was trans? Bruce had taken extreme measures to help him bury it, especially after a previous foster home had misgendered him. The last thing they had wanted was for the tabloids to get wind of it. He’d been a grieving child, he hadn’t wanted to be questioned about his gender on top of that. To this day, Dick was still stealth. Only Bruce, Alfred, and some of the Titans knew. 

Kory, of course, was always amazing about it since she was also trans. She had always been so self assured about it. Transphobia wasn’t really a thing on her planet and she’d helped Dick become more confident in himself too. God, he loved her so much. 

In fact, she was supposed to be coming over in a bit. Maybe she could help him get Crow to open up. She’d always been great with kids. She was such a bright shining star, one couldn't help but look at her in awe. Starfire really was the perfect hero name for her.

“Hey, kid?” Dick prompted, trying to ignore the nerves fluttering in his stomach. “How much exactly do you know about my medical history?”

Crow flushed and ducked his head. He was twisting his hands in his lap, no doubt a sign of his anxiety disorder. Batman and Oracle were still combing through the records of children with anxiety disorders in Gotham, but they hadn’t found anything yet. Gotham was a city that pretty much created anxiety and depression, so it wasn’t surprising that they were struggling to narrow it down.

“I uh… I read it all…” Crow quietly admitted. “I won’t tell anyone. I meant what I said before about your secrets. Vigilante or otherwise.”

Dick smiled. “Thanks, kiddo. I appreciate it.” 

Part of him wanted to hug the kid, but he knew better than to push those boundaries. He had gotten Crow to relax a bit, but he was still very guarded. If Dick pushed too hard, he’d clam up again. 

“Seriously though…” Crow started out, hesitantly looking up at Dick. “Out of all the names you could’ve picked for yourself... you chose Dick?”

That had been Wally’s reaction too. “I thought it was funny.” Dick explained, for what felt like the millionth time.

Roy had laughed and high fived his eight year-old self’s brilliance. Donna had rolled her eyes, before hugging him and thanking him for trusting her. She also told him that some of her sisters in Themyscira were trans, which was cool. Wally had made him a bat plushie in the trans flag colors which now sat next to Zitka on his dresser. 

Kory had been especially ecstatic. She’d encouraged him to show off his new chest, which was the main reason why he’d had that deep V on his first Nightwing suit. Bruce had just sighed when he saw the costume, but hadn’t commented otherwise. After the great leotard argument from when Dick was ten, the man knew when to pick his battles.

“It is kinda funny.” The kid agreed and he was smiling, actually smiling . “In a corny kind of way. Like your mullet.”

Dick gasped in feigned outrage. “How dare you?? My mullet is fabulous!” He even flicked his hair for emphasis, really hamming it up. He knew he could get that kid to laugh.

Crow wasn’t laughing yet, but it was clear he was getting there. “You dress like a muppet.” 

“That's what happens when you’re queer, kiddo. At least I don’t look like a Tony Hawk wannabe.” 

Yeah, he’d noticed the skateboard propped up against his couch. He hoped the kid hadn’t skateboarded the entire way here. That couldn’t be safe on the Gotham bridges. His jeans were ripped, but that looked more like a fashion thing than because he’d eaten pavement. 

“I’d rather look like a skater boy than Gonzo.” The kid quipped with a smirk. It seemed being a little shit was what brought him the most joy. And honestly? That tracked. 

Dick grinned back at him. “Whatever, you say, Pee Wee.”

Crow flipped him off and Dick snickered.

“Seriously, though. Why are you such a munchkin?” Dick asked teasingly, but there was real concern underneath it. The kid wasn’t malnourished, but he was much smaller than average. “Are you drinking your milk? And eating your greens?”

The kid rolled his eyes. “My diet is fine. I’m probably shorter because of genetics, or the gymnastics I used to do. I’ve heard that it can affect your growth.”

“Gymnastics?” Dick brightened. “I didn’t know you did that!”

“Well, I uh…” Crow flushed and ducked his head. “I was actually inspired by you. After I saw you at the circus, I wouldn’t stop blabbing about it and my parents signed me up for lessons.”

Aww . Dick barely kept himself from cooing. It was adorable how shy the kid was getting, and it melted his heart a bit to know that he’d inspired Crow. It was actually a little amazing that gymnastics hadn’t been forever ruined for Crow after the tragedy he’d witnessed. One would think that after seeing people die doing acrobatics, it would’ve put him off that whole scene forever. 

“But my dad made me quit last year.” Crow continued. “He thought it was too girly and signed me up for baseball instead.” 

Dick gasped in outrage. “That’s bullshit!” 

Gymnastics was not solely for women. Honestly, it was ridiculous how gendered some sports were. He could understand the argument that some body types were more suited for certain sports than others, but that didn’t apply across the board. For example: why was volleyball more femininely associated? And why was soccer more masculinely associated? One just primarily used their arms and the other used their legs. It made zero sense. 

“I know. But he’s the one who was paying for it so… yeah.” Crow shrugged, but it couldn’t completely disguise the bitterness in his tone. “That’s why I skateboard. Skateparks are free and I used my allowance to buy myself a board and safety gear. No parent permission required.” He preened at that last bit, clearly proud of himself.

“They could take away your skateboard.” Dick pointed out. Or prevent Crow from going out entirely. But Dick had a feeling Crow’s parents weren’t the most attentive.

However, now he knew that Crow’s parents were definitely alive and at least somewhat involved in his life. How’s that for detective work, Batman?

“That’s why I have a secret spare. My dad breaks stuff sometimes when he gets mad, so I always come prepared.” Crow bragged. 

Red flag! Red flag! Dick’s mind wailed like a fire alarm. Parents breaking things when angry was a clear sign of emotional abuse. It wasn’t just things that were easily in reach either, if Crow anticipated his father breaking his skateboard, that meant his father likely went after items that were important to Crow when he was mad.  

Okay, Dick had to deal with this delicately. Crow was relaxed right now, but if Dick brought up abuse he knew the kid would shut down — and maybe even run. By the way Crow talked about it, he probably didn’t even realize it was a form of abuse. Most people didn't take emotional abuse seriously, since it wasn’t the typical outright physical abuse shown in Hollywood. But abuse was a lot more nuanced than most people thought, and certain types were much harder to detect. Emotional abuse was so hard to prove that getting the courts to do something about it was almost impossible. The best one could hope for in most cases was some court ordered anger management classes. 

“Has he broken your skateboard before?” Dick asked, trying to keep his voice light and casual.

“No, but I’ve accidentally destroyed a board attempting more difficult tricks before. It just snapped in two, and believe me when I say trying to duct tape it does not work out well.”

Okay, he was still joking. Still relaxed. That was good. Dick probably shouldn’t pounce the ‘ hey I think you’re being abused’ thing on him right now. Like Crow pointed out earlier, Dick had given him no reason to trust him. He should focus on building trust between them, then once he had that trust he could broach the topic. 

“Y’know, you could come to my gym here if you wanted.” Dick offered. “I’d be happy to teach you if you’re still interested in gymnastics. Free of charge.”

It’d be the perfect opportunity to get closer to Crow. Regular meetups would make figuring out his whole deal a piece of cake. Plus, if the meetups were in Bludhaven Dick wouldn’t have to worry about Bruce butting in and messing up his progress. 

The kid’s eyes immediately lit up. Jack pot! Crow opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated. In mere moments he went from gleeful, to suspicious. His bright eyes narrowing into thin slits and his smile turning into a frown.   

“How would Batman feel about that?” 

Ah . Dick winced. So, he’d caught onto that part. “Batman wouldn’t need to know. Gymnastic lessons aren’t a crime.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I’m one of your cases .” Crow spat out the word like it was a dirty curse, his hackles raised. “That’s the only reason you’re offering this. I can’t believe I was so stupid—”

“Hey.” Dick interrupted. “I’m not trying to trick you. I offered that because I cared. Yeah, one of the reasons I care is because I’m worried about you, kid. And so is Batman. We both just want to make sure you’re safe . Our kindness isn’t some fabrication. We genuinely care about you, Crow.”

Crow snorted derisively. “Maybe you do. Batman made it pretty clear I’m nothing but an annoyance to him.” 

Dick was going to strangle Bruce the next time he saw him. Why did that man have to be so emotionally incompetent? Hell, Batman needed court ordered therapy.    

“He may get… frustrated by your situation sometimes.” Dick said, carefully choosing his words. “But that’s only because he wants to help you and you’re pretty determined to roadblock us.”

Crow still didn’t look convinced. His eyes were narrowed, his jaw was clenched, his arms were crossed. All of his posture screamed defensiveness.

“Y’know he actually has a whole file about anxiety disorders now? After he found out you had one, he spent hours researching them so he could properly accommodate for it.” He’d done the same thing when he found out that Dick was transgender, and later when he was diagnosed with ADHD. Dick knew similar files existed for Jason’s challenges too. “I know that stalking and research may be a weird way of caring, but that’s the Bat love language. And I, for one, know another certain someone who shows they care via stalking.” He gently elbowed Crow, who pouted and looked away, trying to hide the blush crawling up his cheeks.

“Whatever.” He eventually grumbled out, which Dick took as a win.  

Silence descended after that, and Dick wasn’t the type of person who could just sit in silence. He had to be doing something! Whether it was talking or moving, he needed some kind of outlet. 

“Do you want anything to eat?” Dick asked as he stood up and made his way to the kitchen. “Because I’m starved.” 

Food made a good peace offering, plus it had always worked with Jason. Maybe it would work with Crow too. Then again, food had clearly been Jason’s love language, and Dick wasn’t sure that applied to Crow. And… he was comparing Crow and Jason again. 

Dick thunked his head against the pantry door, internally cursing himself. It was an insult to both Crow and Jason to do so. He had to separate them in his mind. Even if the similarities kept drawing them back together. 

“I’m not really hungry.” Crow said.

Dick opened the pantry door and saw the reason for that. It looked like half his snacks had been pilfered, not just his Cheetos.

“I can see why.” Dick replied dryly. 

Dick really didn’t want to have to cook something, so he’d have to settle for cereal. It was the middle of the day, but he was an adult and could make his own decisions. If he wanted to eat cereal for dinner then that was his choice!

Dick was rifling through his cabinets in search of clean cutlery when he heard the front door open.

“Honey! I’m home!” Kory called out.

It did something melty to Dick’s insides to hear her call his crappy apartment home. Kory had her own, much nicer, place in New York, but she spent a good amount of time here too. When Dick had asked about it, Kory had told him that home wasn’t always a place, that it could be people too. That had really resonated with him. Especially since so many of his physical homes had been destroyed. 

“In here!” Dick called back. “And we have a little guest!” 

He just knew the “little” jab would make Crow scowl. His pouting was honestly pretty cute. Like a grumpy kitten. 

He heard Crow gasp as Kory swept into the room. He could understand why. She truly was a vision with her solid green eyes, golden brown skin, and voluminous red curls. 

“Hello, little one.” Kory greeted, always delighted to be in the presence of children. “What’s your name?”

Crow stopped gaping long enough to say, “Penis Silverson.”

That little — 

“He goes by Crow.” Dick clarified, glaring at the kid for the clear rag on his name. “He won’t tell me his real name.”

Kory tilted her head to the side. “Why not?”

“ACAB.” Crow stated.

Dick sighed exasperated. “I was only a cop for undercover purposes. Why will no one let that go?” 

Jason had been particularly vehement in his disdain for it. He’d said Dick had better be stripping if he was dressed like that. Because strippers obviously deserved more respect than cops. 

“Because you looked good in uniform?” Kory suggested, her eyes sparkling. 

Yeah , they’d put those issued handcuffs to good use. It had been the one benefit from that whole ordeal. But Kory had a way of always bringing out the positives in life. 

“Gross.” Crow complained. 

“Shortstack over here is that kid I told you about. The one who broke into your apartment to find me.” Dick explained as he poured his Fruit Loops. “Apparently B&E is a habit of his.” 

“If you didn't want people to break in you should’ve installed better security.” Crow said, unrepentant. “Because, seriously, this was just pathetic.” 

“Don’t blame the victim.” Dick huffed, his arms crossed over his chest.

Kory frowned at Crow. “That's very dangerous, little one. What would’ve happened if the places you broke into contained people who might attack you?”

Crow bristled. “I can handle myself in a fight.” 

He did not like being patronized, that was for sure. Anything that called his capabilities into question was met with defensiveness. 

“Hey, Kory? Can you come here for a sec.” Dick called. “I need help reaching something on the top shelf.” 

He could actually reach it himself, but it was a convenient excuse. Also, Kory was super tall, so most people wouldn’t question it. Hopefully the kid wouldn’t either.

Kory floated over — flying above the counter instead of simply walking around it, likely putting on a show for the kid. 

She kissed his cheek in greeting. “What did you need?” 

“I wanted to talk to you about the kid.” Dick lowered his voice. “His situation worries me. He’s a child vigilante in the making and I’m worried about his parents mistreating him. So, if you could work your charm..?”   

“Of course!” Kory opened a cabinet and pretended to rummage around in it. 

“Don’t treat him like a kid, though, or he’ll think you're patronizing him. Talk to him seriously.” Dick advised and Kory nodded sagely. 

Kory turned back to the living room, her shoulders set and her chin lifted in determination.  

“Oh, it’s almost sunset!” Kory exclaimed, clapping her hands together. Subtly was not her strong suit. “Little one, would you like to watch with me?” She asked as she slid open the glass door.

“Uh… sure?” 

“Perfect!” She scooped him up into her arms, ignoring his strangled yelp, and carried him outside. Poor kid did not know what he’d just signed up for.

As soon as she slid the door shut behind her, Dick burst out laughing. 

Chapter Text

Tim wasn’t sure what to think about the current situation he was stuck in. On one hand, he got to meet Starfire. Even in regular clothes she looked stunning. Every bit the firey powerhouse the superhero forums made her out to be. But on the other hand, escaping from her would be much harder than ditching Dick. Tim didn’t like his chances at being able to ditch someone who could fly. 

They were sitting on plastic chairs on the balcony, which felt exceedingly cheap. Starfire could just barely squeeze her hips inside her chair. Could Dick seriously not afford better furniture? But on the plus side, the sunset was beautiful.

Starfire’s veritable lion’s mane of hair almost perfectly matched the colors of the sky. Her hair was so huge that Tim could probably fit his entire body inside it. Was it creepy that he kind of wanted to try? 

“Part of me misses my home, but things like this remind me just how beautiful Earth is.” Starfire sighed wistfully as she gazed at the horizon. 

That’s right, she was an alien from outer space. That was so cool. 

“What’s outer space like?” Tim asked, trying not to sound too eager. 

“It’s beautiful, and so vast that it makes you feel small. But not in a bad way. It’s almost comforting.” She laid a hand over her heart. “It humbles you, knowing just how much there is out there. It helps put things in perspective. Your own problems can feel so overwhelming at times, that it’s nice to know it’s just as drop in the bucket.”

It ironically made Tim think of Dory from Finding Nemo. Just keep swimming. It encouraged people to keep on going. It reassured them that the bad things would pass. After all, nothing lasts forever. It was both a comforting and scary thought. 

Starfire turned to him, the entirety of her eyes were a vivid green. There was no iris, no pupil, no sclera. Just a solid, near glowing color. It was unnerving to look at them straight on, but also hard to look away. “I wanted to thank you.”

Tim reeled back in surprise. “Thank me? For what?”

“For saving my love. Dick told me what you did to save him and his father. It was very brave.”

“Oh…” Tim had never been thanked for that. Just yelled at and lectured. Even Jason had been too caught up in his relief and guilt to say thank you. 

“It is admirable that you want to help, but it worries me. You are so small and young.” Starfire cocked her head to the side, the movement eerily cat-like. “Can you not trust the adults to handle the situation?”

Tim snorted. “No. Batman clearly has impaired decision making. And Dick refused to come back and help him.” He looked down, clenching his fists in his lap. “I’m the only one trying. Everyone else already gave up. But I won’t.” 

“It is a difficult situation.” Starfire acknowledged, pursing her lips. “Batman does need help. Him and the rest of his family were so broken by what happened to Jason. However, I do not want Dick to give away pieces of himself to make Batman whole. He’s grieving too, and he’s barely coping as it is. Reverting back to who he was before won’t help anything. It would just be a step backwards.”

“Then what should I do?” Tim asked hotly, nearly huffing and puffing from frustration. “I tried to do the responsible thing and get an adult, but Dick isn’t able to help. Alfred, Superman, and Commissioner Gordon all tried and failed. So, what am I supposed to do?”

“What makes you think you will be able to help Batman? When, as you said, so many adults have tried and failed.” Starfire pointed out reasonably. 

“I have a plan.” 

Him and Jason had spent days pouring over ideas and strategies. It boiled down to Bruce needing a Robin. Bruce needed someone to look after so he’d look after himself. At his core, Batman was who he was because of how deeply he cared. He wouldn’t help himself, but he would do it for other people.

Starfire was looking at him curiously, clearly waiting for him to explain, but Tim wasn’t going to elaborate. The plan wouldn’t work if the other Bats knew about it.

“It’ll work. I just have to deal with a few personal things first.” Like the cursed artifact in his house. Tim could not get that out safely if Batman was snooping around. Last thing he needed was to clue Batman and Nightwing in on the supernatural side of all of this. 

“Family troubles?” Starfire inquired, a little too casually. 

Great, now he had another person suspicious of his home life. He was fine. His parents provided the money and he could take care of everything else. Youtube was an excellent tutor.

“More like renovations.” Tim said cryptically. “Thanks for watching the sunset with me, Miss Starfire, but I think I should get going.” 

He hopped off the chair and hurried inside before she could protest. He made a beeline for his backpack, stooping down to grab it. The zippers were in the same place as before, so he was relatively sure that Dick hadn’t gone through his stuff. Maybe that talk about trust hadn’t just been a bunch of flowery words. Maybe Dick had actually meant it. 

Tim wanted to believe it, but he knew better than to get his hopes up. His parents had always said they’d “try” to be home for his birthday, for the holidays, for his photography competitions. But they’d never once actually made it. “Try” started to sound like an empty platitude. Words started to sound hollow. If Tim wanted accurate predictions, he’d have to observe previous patterns of behavior. That was the only reliable method. Promises didn’t mean shit if people didn’t back them up with actions. 

Dick had broken promises. But he’d also kept some. He hadn’t talked to Batman about Tim’s concerns, but he hadn’t called the cops on Tim either. Tim would have to observe Dick some more before he could come to an accurate conclusion. 

Bag slung over his shoulder, Tim made to grab his skateboard and go — only for his path to be blocked by Dick.  

“Woah, slow down, buddy. Why are you in such a rush?” He asked. 

“I need to be going.” Tim replied, his chin raised defiantly. He wasn’t going to let Dick stop him. 

“But it’s dark outside. Why don’t you crash here for the night?” Dick offered, his hands held up placatingly. “You can make your commute home tomorrow morning when it’s safer.” 

Tim snorted derisively. “Says the nocturnal vigilante. I have plenty of experience with Gotham city’s nightlife.” Was that what he was calling ghosts now? “I’ll be fine.” 

“I’d rather not chance it.” Dick replied, his smile thinning. “We could even watch a movie together! And pop popcorn. That is… if you didn’t eat all that too.” 

Wow. He was really trying to sell this. But Tim wasn’t stupid. Sleeping here would give Dick the chance to call in the cavalry. He wasn’t going to put himself in that vulnerable of a position. No way. 

“That's nice of you to offer…” Tim said instead of calling out his obvious tactics. “But I’ll have to pass.” 

He tried to dart for the door, but Dick intercepted him halfway. He scooped him up with an arm around his middle and tossed Tim over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

“I insist! My couch is a pullout and you can sleep there tonight. I have a blanket Flash knitted in my closet if you want it.” Dick rambled, as if as long as he kept talking, Tim wouldn’t be able to leave. 

Tim didn’t bother with flailing. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get out of the hold himself. Dick was trained in how to restrain opponents. He’d have to wait for an opportunity. 

“Your bribes are very transparent.” Tim hissed back. “Put. Me. Down.” 

What was it with these people and picking him up? He wasn’t a fucking stuffed animal!

Starfire giggled from the doorway and was frankly zero help. So much for their earlier respectful conversation. 

Dick clicked his tongue. “Ah, come on. Don’t be like that.”

Then Tim saw the opportunity he was waiting for. It was just like Jason had said. Dick wasn’t wearing his protective Nightwing suit. He was wearing civilian clothes. And that put him at a disadvantage. 

“I’m going to count to three. And if you don’t put me down I’m going to make you regret it.” Tim threatened.

Dick only laughed in response. Well, he’d had his chance for this to end peacefully. 

“One…” Tim reached down. “Two…” His fingers graced the waistband. “Three!” 

Then he yanked as hard as he could. Giving Dick a karmic wedgie. Dick made a strangled noise that could only be described as a mix between a squeak and a yowl. His arm let go of Tim’s torso to grab at his pants and Tim fell forward towards the floorboards. 

Luckily, Tim was able to get his arms out in front of him in time, so he didn’t get dropped on his head. He grabbed his skateboard and bolted for the door as Dick was — presumably — swearing in a different language. 

That’d teach him. You don’t listen to Tim. You get a skin splitting wedgie. 

Man, he couldn't wait to tell Jason about this. He’d laugh so hard. 

“Not so fast, little one.”

A warm hand landed on his arm and he was yanked back into an embrace. Starfire hugged him to her front, and no matter how much Tim struggled, he wasn’t able to free himself from her iron grip. Dammit. He should’ve bolted the moment Dick mentioned Starfire was coming. He was so stupid to get caught like this. At least he’d given Nightwing a fight on his way down. He hoped that wedgie hurt like a bitch. 

“That wasn’t very nice of you.” Starfire scolded him.

“Neither is being held here against my will.” Tim shot back. “And it’s not exactly an even playing field. I have to seize opportunities when I see them.” 

He was actually kind of proud of himself for that one. It was funny as hell. 

Dick clearly didn’t share his opinion if the way he glared at Tim while he rubbed his undercarriage was any indication. 

Tim’s arms were pinned to his side so he couldn’t flip him off. He settled for sticking his tongue out at him. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dick snarled. Clearly butthurt. 

A lot of things probably. Seeing ghosts since he was a toddler didn’t exactly do wonders for his mental health. Tim wasn’t going to say that though.

“I’m not the one who keeps making false declarations about trust and then immediately backing out on them. You said you wouldn’t contain me, yet here you are.” Tim spat. “Guess you’re just like all the others. Just another adult with a mouth full of empty platitudes. I’d hoped for better from one of my heroes. But once again I’m faced with bitter disappointment.”

Okay, so maybe Tim wasn’t only talking about Nightwing. But it had been a stressful few days. He’d hit a wall and now all of his frustrations were pouring out of him. 

Dick opened his mouth, then closed it. His jaw flexed as he clearly mulled over what to say — over which platitude to give this time. Then he sighed and slumped down on the couch, his head in his hands. Which wasn’t what Tim had been anticipating. 

Maybe he’d realized no excuse he could give would placate Tim. He’d be right, if that was the case. 

“I just… I just wanted to keep you safe. It’s dark outside and I didn’t want you out there all alone. It’s not safe.” Dick repeated. “I was going to let you leave in the morning. I swear.” 

Uh huh, likely story. 

“Maybe we could come up with a compromise.” Starfire suggested, her hold loosening on Tim as she set him back down on his feet. “I could fly him back home.” 

Yeah, no. Tim wasn’t going to give her his damn address. But his back was to the wall here. Literally. As soon as Starfire’s grip had loosened on him he’d put distance between them all. 

“I’ll let you fly me back to a central location in Gotham.” Tim allowed. Dick opened his mouth to protest, but Tim silenced him with a fierce glare. “That's the best offer you’re getting. If you meant what you said about trust, you’ll take it.” 

Dick winced. Tim might be taking the guilt tripping a little too far. But he was too pissed to care. 

“Alright, fine. Starfire will fly you to the closest landmark to your house.” Dick handed Tim his bag — the one that had fallen on the floor in his struggle to get away — and his skateboard. “Just… be careful. Okay?”

Tim nodded, accepting his stuff, then turned to Starfire. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Hang on tight.” Starfire said, then scooped him up in a princess carry, and flew out the balcony doorway. 

They rose high into the sky. If Tim wasn’t used to heights from his frequent roof climbing, his heart would probably be in his throat right now. Everything below was so far away, getting smaller and smaller as Starfire gained altitude. The city of Bludhaven soon looked like its own night sky. The lights of windows and billboards and shop signs soon turning into their very own galaxy. 

They were flying. They were really flying! If Tim hadn’t been so upset earlier, he’d probably be euphoric right now. 

The wind brushed against his bare skin and threaded through his hair. He shivered against the chilly night air, but that soon came to a stop as Starfire’s arms heated in response.

“Thanks.” He mumbled, his cheeks flushing. 

Now that he’d calmed down, he was starting to feel embarrassed by his earlier behavior. God, he’d been so hostile. And over what? Dick insisting he didn’t go out after dark? And this was after Tim had broken into his apartment and eaten his snacks. Even after all of that Dick still wanted to take care of him. He’d invited him to a movie night. The kind of things that happened at those sleepovers Tim never got invited to because the other kids thought he was a weird loner. 

Tim wanted companionship so badly, but when it had been offered to him… he’d pretty much spat in Dick’s face. Yeah, he was probably right to be cautious. But he hadn’t needed to be so aggressive about it. 

He cleared his throat, raising his voice a bit so he could be heard over the wind. “Uh… Miss Starfire?” 

“Yes?” She replied. Her voice and her face were soft and kind. Despite Tim’s earlier behavior. 

It was hard to comprehend. He’d have thought she’d be mad at him. That she would’ve at least shouted at him. But she gave no indication of wanting to punish him. 

“Can you tell Dick I’m sorry for being so hostile. I… I’ve been kind of stressed lately and I flipped out at the first warning sign I saw. I should’ve behaved better. I apologize.” 

Starfire smiled. “I’ll tell him. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.” 

Tim had thought that would be the end of it, but she continued on. 

“Dick knows you’re likely stuck in a difficult situation. He just wants to help. But sometimes he can be a bit too forceful about it. He’s done it before with his own teammates too.” Starfire laughed softly and shook her head. “He won’t blame you for lashing out. Especially since you are just a youngling.” 

Tim’s lips pursed. He didn’t like getting the baby treatment. He wasn’t some irresponsible kid who didn’t know better. But he didn’t want to get into another fight right now, so he kept his mouth shut. 

They flew in silence for a few more minutes, until one of Gotham’s bridges came into view.

“Where do you want me to drop you off?” Starfire asked.

“Gotham City Cemetery.” 

Starfire raised an eyebrow, but Tim only grinned back at her.

“What? It’s a good central landmark. And it’s so creepy no one will be around. It’s perfect.” Plus, it was on brand for him — not that she knew that.  

Starfire only sighed in exasperation, then turned towards the direction of the cemetery, not needing any instruction. Had she been there with Dick before? Is that where Jason had been laid to rest? Tim had never asked Jason where his grave was. Maybe he should’ve. Would Jason want him to lay some flowers? Or maybe one of those street tacos he loved so much? 

Tim actually liked graveyards. They had become a place of comfort for him. The smaller one at Hector’s church yard and the main one in the center of the city. Graveyards were always nice and quiet. People never bugged him there. And no one would look at him funny for seemingly talking to thin air in front of a headstone. It was perfect. 

Plus, he was friends with the groundskeeper, Harold. Harold had kyphosis — aka hunchback — and was mute. Tim didn’t know if it was a result of his disability, or some type of trauma, but he never spoke. In fact, he’d taught Tim sign language. 

Harold was fun to hang out with, and was clearly intelligent and creative. Why he was working as a groundskeeper when he had so much to offer was a mystery, but Tim guessed it had something to do with employers being unable to see past his disability. He’d heard plenty from ghosts about ableist workplaces. How many it had led to poverty and homelessness… and even death. It spoke to how sad of a state the world was in. 

But at least Tim and Harold had gained a friendship with each other. They geeked out about Star Trek, Pokemon, and invention ideas. His mother would freak if she knew Tim was friends with some random middle aged man, but that’s exactly why he didn’t tell her. He kept the things he enjoyed close to his chest, fiercely protective of them. And he gave his parents the acceptable substitutes he knew they wanted. So, they could both walk away from the interaction happily. 

Maybe it was wrong to lie. But Tim knew his parents would react badly. He’d probably get shunted off to some military school in Switzerland. So why risk it? He could interact with his parents over the same topics like classical music and debate class. It was better for everyone that way. 

Starfire touched down in front of the wrought iron cemetery gates and Tim eagerly slid out of her grip. As fun as that flight was, he knew the sooner he got away from her the better. Hopefully, Harold hadn’t noticed him being flown in by Starfire. That wouldn’t be easy to explain.

“Thanks for the lift.” Tim told her, because his mother had drilled some manners into him. He was just selective about when he used them, that’s all. “I appreciate it.”

“You're welcome, Crow.” She smiled warmly at him. “I hope you will learn to have faith in Nightwing. Maybe we’ll meet again someday.” She waved goodbye, then launched herself into the sky, sparks trailing behind her like a shooting star. 

Huh. That had been surprisingly easy. Tim had thought she might follow him home.

Tim’s eyes narrowed. Wait. It was too easy. He surveyed the surrounding area for any cameras or Bats in the shadows, but found none. His bag hadn’t been tampered with as far as he could tell, but maybe… 

AH HAH! Tim plucked the tracker off his skateboard with a triumphant smirk. That’s why they hadn’t put up too much of a fuss. Dick must’ve planted the tracker when Tim had been restrained by Starfire. 

Well, jokes on him. Tim was too clever for that. He pulled out a sheet of paper, scribbled a note onto it, then attached the tracker to it. He strolled to a nearby dumpster and dropped the tracker inside with a satisfied smirk. He hoped the Bats would have fun dumpster diving. 

-👻-👻-👻-

Dick pulled the tracker out of the dumpster with a scowl. Dammit . When Barbara had given him an address to a street with apartment buildings, he’d been so hopeful. Only to once again find himself outsmarted by a pre-teen. 

A folded piece of paper was attached to the tracker and Dick unfolded it eagerly, crossing his fingers for possible clues. 

A two worded message had been scribbled on it in black inked capital letters. 

FUCK 

OFF 

Dick was starting to understand that John Mulaney bit about middle schoolers. They truly were the meanest people in the world. No wonder the rogues had hated him so much. 

Was this karma?

-👻-👻-👻-

Jason huffed as he floated away from Drake Manor. Tim was inviting that sketchy magician over to come get the cursed artifact and wouldn’t even let Jason be there as back up. Something about how the magician might think Jason was a malevolent spirit and try to exorcize him blah blah blah. It sounded like a bunch of excuses to Jason. But whatever. 

He could just watch Bruce fail to function as a human being, again. It was like the most depressing television drama ever. If he had to watch Bruce soullessly eat shredded cheese out of a bag one more time, he was gonna lose it. 

To his surprise, when Jason made his way down to the cave, it wasn’t to the sight of Bruce being a sulky hermit. No, he was actually talking to Dick. A video call in fact. What the fuck? Was there an alien invasion? Was Alfred sick? Only some kind of emergency would’ve made Dickface willing to talk to Bruce’s face instead of passive aggressive text messages. 

“What do you mean you let him go? ”

Ah, there was the familiar bat hostility. Just from Bruce’s end this time.

“I’m trying to build trust with Crow.” Dick huffed defensively. Jason could only see him from the collarbone up on the screen, but he had a feeling Dick was crossing his arms. “He came to me and hopefully he will continue to do so. It’s extremely difficult to help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.” A pointed jab if Jason had ever heard one. “Building trust and encouraging his self worth might take longer, but it will get better results. Forcing the matter would just make things worse.”

Bruce grunted, which was the equivalent of an agreement even if he wouldn’t admit it. 

“What did you learn about the lad?” Alfred asked, once again doing the talking for Bruce.

“His parents are alive. He referred to them in the present tense, and mentioned his dad making him quit gymnastics and signing him up for baseball instead because he believed gymnastics was too girly.”

Wow. So, Tim’s dad was a sexist asshole. Jason probably should’ve guessed that from the way he behaved at the gala. 

“Are there any other concerns with his father, besides the adherence to harmful gender stereotypes?” Alfred asked. 

Dick clenched his jaw. Uh oh. That wasn’t a good sign. It rarely was when Dick went quiet and still like that. 

“It's clear both his parents are inattentive. Crow was able to cross state lines and stay out at night with seemingly no trouble. I’m certain he’s being neglected, but the degree of which I couldn’t say right now.”

Tim had the stereotypical absentee rich parents, but the whole situation was exacerbated by the fact that they went on frequent work trips on the other side of the world. They’d hired a nanny, but according to Tim she was old and easy to trick, so he was mostly able to do whatever. 

It was all above board. But Jason still didn’t like it. It seemed pretty shitty of Tim’s parents to barely spend any time with him. Even though Catherine hadn’t been able to take proper care of Jason, she’d still been there. She’d tried. She’d been dealt a bad hand… while the Drakes had enough money to buy a house next to Bruce’s. They were rich. There was no excuse for them to neglect their kid. If they wanted to spend time with Tim, they had all the resources to make it happen, but they didn’t. Tim may still be in denial, but it was clear his parents cared more about their work than they did about their own child. It was fucked up.

“I also suspect emotional abuse.” Dick continued. “The way Crow speaks about himself and adults makes me think he has low self esteem, plus the clear trust issues he has displayed don’t come out of nowhere.” 

“And the anxiety disorder.” Batman added. 

Ha. They still believed that was real. Jason was impressed Tim was able to lie so successfully to Batman. But then again, an anxiety disorder was way more believable than convincing someone he was able to see ghosts. 

“Right.” Dick nodded his agreement. “But that behavior could be blamed on bullies at school, or the anxiety disorder, however…” he paused, sucking in a deep breath. “Crow mentioned his dad breaking things when he was mad. Which is a giant red flag.” 

“His dad WHAT!” Jason yelled aloud despite no one being able to hear him.  

Like Dick said, the previous things could be blamed on his peers. But that was a damning arrow straight at his father. Jason had gotten a bad vibe from Jack Drake, but displayed aggression like that… he hadn’t anticipated it. Tim had never shown any signs. Jason had just thought his parents were the typical shitty absentee ones. This was worse. And even more upsetting because Jason hadn’t even had an inkling it was going on. He was so focused on his own problems that he’d let this slip right past him. 

And he’d called him and Tim friends. What kind of friend only focused on their own problems? What kind of hero didn’t recognize the signs of abuse? Yes, he’d clocked the neglect, but he’d completely missed the aggression. And that type of aggression tended to escalate. After all, Willis had started out punching walls, then those walls turned into his wife and son’s bodies. 

Ironically, Jason was now glad Tim’s father was barely around. He didn’t know how involved his mother was in all this, but he hoped she wasn’t a participant as well. Tim deserved better. 

He turned back to the others’ conversation and realized he’d missed a lot of it, too caught up in his anger.

“Even if we find out Crow’s identity, convincing the courts to do something about emotional abuse would be difficult.” Dick said, his expression troubled. “I hate to say it… but we might have to wait and see if it escalates into physical abuse to be able to intervene.” 

“It might be able to be remedied with anger management classes.” Alfred pointed out. “And alerting his parents to his night time activities could be a wake up call for them.” 

It could happen, but Jason had a feeling Alfred was projecting his own desires for Bruce onto Tim’s parents. After all, Bruce could use anger management, Bruce could use a wake up call. His grief had transformed him from a doting father to a man Jason barely recognized. 

Dick shook his head. “Or it might make them angry with Crow and endanger him. Exposing him to his parents isn’t a viable option anymore due to the concerns of abuse.” 

Bruce was noticeably silent as Alfred and Dick went back and forth on the best way to address the problem. He was just staring at Dick through the screen, a frown on his face. It wasn’t an angry expression — no, it was more of a somber one. Maybe Bruce was drawing similarities from the two situations as well. 

He’d always been a great dad to Jason, but Jason was well aware of the friction between him and Dick. It had become even worse after Jason’s death. When they’d fought before, it was clear Bruce cared. But after Jason’s death, it was like he didn’t care about anything at all. All Batman and none of Bruce Wayne. A fighting machine instead of an orphan, a father, a bleeding heart. It’s like his compassion had bled out of him alongside Jason’s life. 

“You’re right, Dick.” Bruce eventually stated, which caused Dick to stiffen in shock. “Building trust with Crow is the way to go. You gained good intel. Keep up the good work.” 

Dick was still gaping at Bruce like a fish, but Alfred’s professional facade had cracked to allow a rare genuine smile.  

Alfred laid a hand on the back of Bruce’s chair, pride radiating from him. “Well said Master Bruce.”

Huh. Maybe wake up calls weren’t such an impossibility after all.

Either way, Jason needed to talk to Tim. He needed to let his friend know he was there for him. Let him know that his problems were important too. He wouldn’t be another person who neglected Tim for their own gain. 

Tim was clever, funny, and cared so much. He deserved more. He deserved better. 

No more Robins left behind. 

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe I’m doing this…” Tim muttered to himself, then dialed Constantine’s number.

He anxiously tapped his fingers against his side as the dial tone rang. He knew inviting a man he’d only met once to his house was a bad idea, but he had no other option. There was a cursed artifact in his house and he couldn’t just leave it there and hope for the best. 

Click . 

“Finally stopped ignoring me, eh Scamp?” Constantine greeted, his voice sounded even rougher over the phone than it did in person. It wasn’t deep and gravelly like Batman’s, but raspy from all the smoke the man inhaled.

“Look. We both agree that artifact needs to get out of my house. But before I let you in, we need to establish some ground rules.” 

“Alright.” Constantine easily agreed, remarkably casual for a man who’d sent him over twenty desperate texts about the cursed artifact. 

“First, no cops.” Tim stated firmly. 

Constantine scoffed. “Relax, I’m not gonna turn your parents in for any of the illegal artifacts. And, technically speaking, I am going to be stealing from them so the piggies aren’t gonna be on my side either.”

That… was a good point. Tim could pretend like it was a break in if Constantine tried anything. But he did not need the attention a swarm of cops would bring. Not from Wayne Manor next door, not from his parents, and not from the legal system who might question why he’s home by himself. 

“Okay, my second concern is how to get you into my house without drawing attention. I live in a nice neighborhood and if people see a shady looking guy coming into my house…”

“Then cops.” Constantine easily finished his train of thought. “Right… hmm…” silence stretched for a few moments as the man pondered the situation. “I might have an idea about how we can get around that, and your little issue with me knowing where you live.” 

“It’s not little.” Tim argued. “You could be a psycho for all I know.” 

“You're cautious. I respect that. But you said you wanted to learn some magic, right?”

Tim felt himself perk up at the prospect. And who wouldn’t? It was magic . 

Also as far as Tim knew, magic was the only thing that could affect ghosts. Knowing magic could give him a real edge in the supernatural world. 

“That is correct, yes.” He replied, trying to keep his voice as flat as possible to not betray his keen interest. 

“Do you have a full length mirror in your house?” Constantine asked. “One that would be big enough for a person to fit through?” 

“Yes.” His house had plenty of mirrors — perks of having vain parents. 

“There’s a spell that would allow me to walk from a mirror in my house, to one in yours.” Constantine explained. “We just need to draw the same symbols on the glass, and I can travel through the mirror dimension to your house.” 

There’s a mirror dimension?? Tim tried to keep himself up to date, but so much insane shit happened in the world that it was hard to tell what stuff was real and what stuff was people making shit up. But traveling through mirrors sounded so cool! It could eliminate travel time, provide escape routes, etc. The sheer possibilities were mind boggling.  

“That could work.” Tim agreed calmly, not letting any of his inner fanboy show. “And I can draw all the curtains and blinds so you can’t see outside my house. It… it’s perfect.” 

Plus, Tim could easily loop the security cameras in the artifact room, and his parents would be none the wiser. They were the only cameras his parents had indoors, the rest were all on the outside of the house and Tim knew how to navigate the blind spots.  

This whole thing was turning out to be a lot easier than he’d thought. He’d spent all this time psyching himself out for nothing. All he had to do was loop some cameras and buy a new mirror to replace the one he’d be defacing. 

“You’ll have to draw the runes with blood, though.” Constantine said, because of course there was a catch. “Doesn’t matter if it’s yours or an animal’s or whatever, but it has to be real blood.” 

“Would my own blood be enough?” Tim asked. 

“I’m not sure.” Constantine admitted. “You’re a bit on the shrimpy side, yeah? Probably be best for you to nip down to the butcher’s and get some pigs blood or something.” 

“Yeah, because that won’t cause any alarm.” Tim said dryly.

“You're in Gotham. I doubt people would bat an eyelash at an emo teenager buying pigs blood.” 

Tim scowled. “I do not look emo.” 

“Your black hair, pale skin, and Green Day shirt said otherwise, mate.” 

“Shut up.” 

Constantine just laughed, the asshole. 

“Whatever you say, Scamp. I have to consult some books for the right runes real quick, then I’ll send you the pictures and I can pop right over. Sound good?” Constantine asked. 

“Sounds good.” Tim confirmed with a nod, despite the man not being able to see it. 

“Well, I’ll be off then. See ya in a bit.” Constantine said, then hung up.

Tim stared at his phone, hardly believing the conversation he’d just had. Cursed artifacts, magic blood runes, the mirror dimension. His life just got stranger and stranger these days. 

-👻-👻-👻-

The blinds and curtains were drawn shut, any items that signified the identities of the house’s owners had been hidden, and his own blood had thankfully been enough to draw the runes he’d needed. He’d have to avoid questions about the bandage on his arm, but his school uniform had long sleeves, so he should be fine. 

He’d texted Constantine that he was ready, and now all he had to do was wait.  

He didn’t have to wait long, it wasn’t even five minutes before the mirror started to glow and Constantine was stepping through it in all his scruffy trenchcoat glory. 

Constantine let out a low whistle as he looked around. “Nice place. Didn’t realize you were a rich brat.”

Tim scowled. “Don’t get any ideas. You’re here to do a job, and I’m paying you to do it.” 

He lobbed a wad of cash at Constantine, who caught it and quickly started thumbing through it, his eyebrows climbing higher up his forehead as he realized how much money it was.

“The extra is for you to keep your mouth shut.”

“Hush money. I like your style, Scamp.” He said and tucked the money inside his coat. “Now, where do your parents keep their toys?” 

“Through there.” Tim nodded at the nearby door. 

There was a reason he’d dragged the mirror all the way over here. He’d wanted to make sure the man saw as little of his house as possible, but didn’t want to risk setting off any of the artifacts by having him enter in the same room. So, the hallway it was. 

The door had a nine digit keypad, but that didn’t deter Tim one bit. His father used the same password for everything, so it wasn’t exactly rocket science to figure out. 1987 . The year his parents had officially started Drake Industries. 

“That a birthday, or something?” Constantine asked. 

“Or something.” Tim agreed. His parents treated their company like their baby, so Constantine’s guess wasn’t that far off. 

He opened the door and was greeted by a sterile white room with two rows of pedestals that gleamed in the outside light spilling in. There were statues, jewelry, pottery, weapons, and tools. The ancient dusty artifacts felt out of place when everything else was as crisp and clean as could be. 

Constantine reached for the light switch, but Tim slapped his hand away. 

“That will trigger an alert, dumbass.” He hissed, then lifted his smartphone and turned on the flashlight app, illuminating the room further. 

Constantine raised his hands in surrender. “My mistake.” 

Together, they walked up to the nearest pedestal. An African mask was on display, with a chunk missing at the top left corner. It was from his parents' dig in Nigeria. They’d missed his gymnastics meet for it. They’d been so excited when they came home with it that they hadn’t even noticed Tim’s silver medal. 

“This one cursed?” Tim asked, a part of him bitterly hoping it would be so he could be justified in his petty hatred of the thing. 

Constantine muttered a quick incantation, spreading his golden glowing hands over the top of the case, then sighed and shook his head. “No, this ones clear.” 

The same pattern repeated itself down the aisle, Constantine checked the artifacts for malicious energy while Tim remembered all the events and milestones in his life his parents had missed in order to acquire them. There was a reason he never came in this damn room. All it did was remind him of the fact that his parents chose these dusty cracking objects over him. 

But could he really blame them? These artifacts were probably worth thousands of dollars. It was way better than sitting on some uncomfortable school bleachers. Tim also would’ve chosen an archeological adventure over a kids gymnastics meet or a middle school orchestra concert any day. 

His mother loved classical music, so he’d thought she’d love it if her son learned to play the violin, that she’d show up… but that had just been wistful thinking. His mother had listened to him play the violin when she was home. She’d praised him even though parts were missing because the other instruments weren’t there. So, why was he complaining? His parents made time when they could. They were busy people. Their hard work allowed him to live in luxury and attend the best schools Gotham had to offer. A tight schedule was a small price to pay. 

“So…” Constantine started as he examined another artifact, a vase this time. “Should I be worried about a nanny catching us?”

“She’s not here.” Tim replied automatically, then winced. He probably shouldn’t have told Constantine they were alone. He could’ve said she was asleep upstairs as a deterrent from any malicious intent. 

“She out on a grocery run or something?” 

“Why do you care?” Tim challenged. “You wanna know if you have time to steal a flat screen TV? Or to kill me and hide my body?”

Constantine cringed. “Shit, kid. I have standards.”

“You smell like an ashtray and you have a blood stain on your tie.” Tim pointed out.

Constantine looked down at his chest and swore, unfortunately the red of the tie didn’t disguise the blood well enough, the stain bloomed across the fabric like a dark rose. “For fucks sake, I liked this tie. But you’re getting me off topic. The point is… I don’t kill kids — well, I don’t if I can avoid it.” 

“That just fills me with confidence.” Tim replied dryly. 

But despite his sarcasm, he could tell Constantine was sincere about not wanting to kill kids, so at least he was safe from being a dead body in his basement. But that didn’t mean Constantine wouldn’t betray him in other ways. 

“You said it yourself kid, I’m a mess. I’ve had to make a lot of hard choices that don’t sit right with me. The kind that damned my soul. I’m not a hero. Hell, I’m not even a decent person. I’m just living with the lot I’ve drawn.” 

Tim fell silent. Constantine had bluntly stated that the occult was a nasty business. That Tim should stay out of it as much as he could. But Tim knew he couldn’t ignore it, not when it was right in front of his eyes. Was he doomed to eventually become the same type of person Constantine was? He’d already noted they were similar with their shared cynicism. For hell’s sake, he’d just performed blood magic to get Constantine here. He doubted that kind of thing was accepted among shining heroes like the Justice League.  

“Well, I think you're alright.” Tim said, and when Constantine shot him a disbelieving look, he quickly elaborated. “I’m not saying you're a saint. But you knew I was in danger from these artifacts and made sure you could safely remove them. You refused to give up on me, even when I stone walled you.” 

Constantine shook his head. “Good deeds don’t erase the bad, Scamp.” 

“It’s better than never doing anything good, isn’t it?” Tim retorted, rather reasonably in his opinion. 

“Even the worst of people can do good things. Pedophiles donate money to churches, abusers give their victims gifts, and such. Bad people aren’t bad all the time, but that doesn’t mean they’re not shit people.” 

He had a point. Tim remembered what ghosts who’d died from domestic violence had told him: how their boyfriend or husband had given them flowers and chocolate, how they’d coached little league, how they could be real sweet when they wanted to be. Maybe some of those good deeds had malicious intentions behind them — that they were just for the sake of a cover story or to lure their victims — but, some of them were likely done for unselfish reasons. It’s like Constantine said: Bad people aren’t bad all the time. But just because it’s not constant doesn’t mean they aren’t bad. 

Then how do people decide what makes a person’s badness set in stone? Tim’s known plenty of ghosts who did really scary things, who were lashing out because of their trauma… but he’d never thought of them as bad . Just as upset and in pain. But one of those distraught ghosts had nearly killed him once. It wasn’t their fault… yet, Tim could’ve died. And that would’ve been real bad. 

“I think a person's intentions matter.” Tim eventually settled on. Because people hurt each other accidentally all the time. “Also, I think that truly bad people, evil people, wouldn’t feel bad about the shitty things they did. That guilt… it shows an inherent desire to be good. It means you want to be better. And that’s the first step to being good, isn’t it?” 

Constantine huffed. “You sound like a shrink.” 

“Most ghosts that stick around tend to have some sort of trauma.” They wouldn’t be lingering if they were at peace, after all. “You pick up on a thing or two.”  

He’d had to. Figuring out how ghosts feel, how to talk to them — was vital in making sure he didn’t get caught in an explosion. Dealing with traumatized unstable ghosts was like holding a match in a room doused in kerosine. One wrong move and BOOM!

“Why do you even bother with them?” Constantine asked as he moved to the next artifact. “I get using your sixth sense for your own survival, but surely you don’t need to be helping ghosts with their issues. You’re just a kid, for fucks sake.” 

Tim scowled. “I’m not a kid.”

“You’re, like, eleven.” 

“I’m thirteen.” Tim corrected, once again cursing his stupid baby face that made everyone assume he was younger than he actually was. “But even at eleven I bet I was more responsible at that age than you are now, Mister Constantine.”

He’d had to be. Tim’s circumstances had forced him to grow up very quickly. His responsibilities would’ve crushed a kid, so he couldn’t be one. He was just an… an early adult. Yeah , he’d need to workshop that one. 

“That’s fair, I guess.” Constantine shrugged and went back to his business, which Tim appreciated.

Even though Constantine had called him things like Scamp, Brat, and Kid, he hadn’t treated Tim like he was a baby. Batman and Nightwing treated him like he was a little kid in over his head. But Constantine had accepted his explanations relatively easily. Oddly enough, Tim felt understood by this strange man that he’d just met. Constantine understood that shit was complicated and that even though, technically speaking, Tim was a kid, his situation meant he couldn’t be treated like an ordinary one. Ordinary kids didn’t see ghosts. Ordinary kids didn’t place their own online grocery order. Ordinary kids didn’t have to lie to almost everyone they knew. 

Jason and Constantine were the only people who knew the truth, and even they didn’t know the whole story. But even though they didn’t like the situation Tim was in, they respected him as his own person — and not like some little kid who needed to be taken care of.  

Tim had always been independent, he liked the freedom that came with it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t get lonely sometimes. He felt it when he was sitting alone in the school cafeteria. He felt it over the holidays when everyone was with their families and he was watching movies by himself. He felt it when he’d watched Batman and Robin eat burgers together on the hood of the batmobile, while he was hidden away on a rooftop, shivering from the lack of warmth. 

But he’d found Jason. Ever since they’d started working together, those lonely aches had faded. It was nice, having a friend. Of course, he had a few Internet friends (like SuperFreddy and AmazonianThighsSaveLives), but it was different to actually have someone there in the flesh — even if Jason wasn’t present in the traditional sense. 

Tim was snapped out of his thoughts by Constantine’s low whistle. 

“Found ya.” The man singsonged, his glowing hands hovering over a golden necklace. 

“It’s cursed?” Tim asked, peering around Constantine hunched form for a better look.

Nothing seemed to set the necklace apart from the rest of the artifacts. There was no sinister energy he could sense. It was just a simple necklace, with a gold chain attached to a coin shaped gold pendant. An archaic drawing of what looked to be a bird was stamped into the circular surface. 

“Yep.” Constantine confirmed. “But as far as I can tell, it’s not the one that cursed you. See, this kind of cursed object curses the person who wears it. I doubt your chubby toddler fingers would’ve been able to unclasp this chain.” 

Tim nodded. “That makes sense.” 

A part of him was relieved Constantine hadn’t found the one that had cursed him. That would’ve meant the curse could’ve been reversed, and Tim didn’t like the possibility of that. As scary as it was, Tim didn’t want to get rid of it. He already knew ghosts were out there, and not being able to see them would be way more anxiety inducing than knowing when ghosts were present. Plus, that would leave him and Jason all alone again. He didn’t want that. 

Constantine muttered some words under his breath, in a language Tim was pretty sure was Latin, and the necklace vanished into thin air.

Tim gaped at the now empty glass case. “Where’d it go?”

“It’s in a pocket dimension. Basically free storage space.” Constantine explained. “I’ll leave it there until I can safely dispose of it.” 

“Wow. That’s convenient.” 

Tim could only imagine how much easier it’d make things if he could do that. No more carrying around an expensive camera that made him a mugging target. No more backpacks full of textbooks that felt more like bricks. 

“Yeah, but there’s no air in there. So, sticking anything living in there is a no go.” Constantine huffed and shook his head. “Shame because it’d make a real good hiding place.” 

“Could you teach me how to do that?” Tim asked, wide eyed with wonder.

“Ehh… that’s a bit too complicated for a newbie. That sort of thing can destabilize pretty easily.” 

Tim looked down at his feet. “Oh…” 

So much for his dreams of convenience. Of course magic wouldn’t be easy. It was magic . If everyone could do it there would be magicians everywhere. 

Constantine sighed and turned to him. “Listen, Scamp. Magic may seem cool, but everything comes with a price. Anyone with a steady hand can draw runes. But actual magic, creating something out of nothing, altering reality with your bare hands — that’s a skill that’s either in your bloodline, or comes at a steep cost.” 

Tim swallowed thickly. “So you mean I can’t do it?” 

“Learning magic takes a lot of intensive studying. You have to literally alter the way your brain views the world. I didn’t bother with that, I took a lot of shortcuts, and I paid the price for it.” He stated, a haunted look in his eyes. “Believe me when I say it’s not worth it.”

“But… how else am I supposed to protect myself? Some ghosts…” Tim’s throat closed up and he coughed, trying to clear it. “They’re so trapped in their own pain that they blindly lash out at everything around them, and others can get caught in the crossfire. So, what am I supposed to do if I can’t talk them down? What do I do when my words aren’t enough?” 

Constantine sighed heavily. “I’m so gonna regret this…” He muttered to himself, then started chanting in Latin. 

His eyes and hands glowed with golden light. The glow intensified, getting brighter and brighter until Tim had to squeeze his eyes shut against the scorching light. The chanting stopped, and when he opened his eyes. There was an antique hand mirror cupped in Constantine’s palms. 

Constantine’s shoes thudded against the floor as he walked towards Tim. “If a ghost gives you trouble or if your parents bring back another cursed artifact…” he offered the mirror to Tim, who took it numbly. “You use this to call me. And I’ll take care of it. I have to ditch phones a lot, but I’ll always keep this mirror with me. Got it?” 

Tim stared down at the mirror. “I— um… what?”

“That mirror is part of a set. I have the other. If you need to talk to me, just say my full name — John Constantine — and your mirror will reflect what mine sees.” He explained. 

“Like Harry Potter?” Tim asked incredulously.

“ Ugh .” Constantine groaned. “Do not bring up that book series in my presence. That woman is a fucking cunt. And so is her twitter account.” 

“Yeah, she’s super transphobic.” Tim agreed. “But, hey. At least you're a more decent person than her, so that’s something.” 

Constantine grunted. “The bar is in hell with that one. It’s just manners to use a person's correct name and pronouns. Yet some people are expecting fucking participation trophies for it. Insane.” 

“Totally.” 

An awkward silence ensued for a moment, until Constantine broke it with a cough.

“Well, all the other artifacts seem safe, so, I’ll uh… I’ll be off then.”

“Okay, bye.” Tim waved lamely. “And uh… thanks for everything, Mister Constantine.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Constantine said as he strode back into the hall, heading towards the rune painted mirror. “Seriously, don’t . It’ll ruin my rep.” 

“What rep?” Tim asked incredulously. 

Constantine huffed out a self deprecating chuckle. “Trust me. You don’t wanna know.” 

“But I don’t trust you.” Tim pointed out. It’s why all the curtains were closed and any personal items were hidden. 

“Knew you were a smart one, Scamp. Good on ya.” Constantine saluted him, then disappeared into the mirror. 

Tim looked down at his own mirror. As much as Constantine talked big about paranoia, he’d trusted Tim enough to give him this. Constantine was a conman trying to make people believe he didn’t care. Just like Tim tried to make people believe he was a normal kid. They were both shams, the two of them, running cons their entire life. Maybe that was why they got along so well. 

-👻-👻-👻-

Jason had to approach this carefully. It’s like what Dick told Bruce, if he pressed too hard he’d end up pushing Tim away. 

So, he decided to have a chill sleepover and watch movies with Tim. Apparently, it was a crime that he hadn’t seen any Studio Ghibli movies and Tim had insisted on a movie marathon. Jason thought the bigger crime was that Tim hadn’t read Good Omens— and he didn’t care that he’d seen the TV show, that did not count! The book’s vibe was very different. As good as the show was, it wasn’t the same type of experience. 

The credits to Porco Rosso were rolling across the screen, a beautiful song was playing over the speakers, and it was nice and peaceful. 

They’d needed this kind of lowkey night. Fighting rogues, dodging bullets, and dealing with cursed artifacts was a lot . Beautifully animated movies like Princess Mononoke and Porco Rosso were just what the doctor ordered. 

“Which movie do you want to watch next?” Tim asked, then started listing them off on his fingers. “There’s Kiki’s Delivery Service, Howl’s Moving Castle, Spirited Away…” 

“Isn’t Howl’s Moving Castle a book?” Jason asked, vaguely remembering someone from his high school book club recommending it. 

“Yeah, but I heard the book is pretty different.” Tim said.

“Not that one then. I always wanna read the book before watching the movie.” Jason insisted. 

It was a personal rule of his. Especially after seeing the disaster that was the Percy Jackson movies. At least Tim had read those books.

“Alright, alright, not that one.” Tim held his hands up in surrender and his sleeves fell down, revealing a swath of white before Tim stuffed his arms back under his blanket. “You wanna watch the trailers for the other two before you decide? I personally like Kiki better, but they’re both good.” 

But Jason didn’t care about the movies anymore. That stuff on his arm… “are those bandages on your arm?” 

Tim flinched. “Um…”

A soft roar filled Jason’s ears, snatches of the conversation he’d overhead rushing to the surface. Mentioned his dad breaking things when he got mad… see if it escalates into physical abuse… might endanger him. 

“Did your dad do that?” Jason blurted, then immediately wanted to smack himself. So much for the delicate approach he’d been planning. 

“What? No!” Tim exclaimed. “My parents are in Bolivia, remember?” 

“Oh… right.” He can’t believe he’d let that slip his mind. He was so stupid ! 

“…Jason, why did you think my dad would have done that?” Tim asked slowly, his stare burning into him.

“I— uh…” Jason stuttered. 

Tim’s frown only depended, his eyes narrowing. “Why was that the first conclusion you jumped to?” 

Shit . “Why didn’t you tell me you got hurt?” Jason shot back. “This is the thing with Penguin’s goons all over again!” 

“You’re deflecting.” 

“Pot, kettle.” 

They stared each other down, arms crossed and defensive. 

Jason broke first with a sigh. “Listen, I’ll tell you if you tell me, alright?” 

“Fine.” Tim growled. “I needed blood for a spell Constantine showed me. So I used my own. Your turn.”  

Jason sighed in relief. So, Tim hadn’t been in danger. He’d freaked out over nothing. But now he was in a bad spot. The Bats had all agreed they’d needed to take a delicate approach when it came to broaching the subject of Tim’s parents. 

“ Jason .” Tim snapped. 

“Dick and Bruce are worried about your parents being abusive.” Jason admitted. “And… and so am I.”

“My parents are not abusive!” Tim insisted, his fists balled at his sides.

“They’re never around, Tim. And neglect is a form of abuse.” Jason argued. 

“I’m not being neglected.” Tim denied. “My parents provide me with everything I need.” 

“Yeah, anything money can provide.” Jason pointed out. “But have they ever been there for you, emotionally? The way they acted after that hostage situation…” 

“They were just stressed out. And busy with work.”

“What about that nanny you say exists, but I’ve never seen? Huh?” Jason demanded. 

Tim clenched his jaw. “They put in me in boarding school over the school year and during the summer Ms. Mac checks on me twice a week. I’m responsible enough to be left on my own and my parents know that.” 

Jason arched an eyebrow. “Oh, and your night time activities are perfectly safe?”

“I didn’t see you protesting before. You were fine with it when I was helping you!” Tim yelled, throwing his hands out. “But now you don’t like it? You’re such a hypocrite!”

“Maybe I am!” Jason yelled back. “But that doesn’t change the fact that your parents are shitty ones.”

“They’re not shitty!” 

“Your dad breaks your stuff when he’s mad. That’s textbook emotional abuse. The kind that escalates! Excuse me if I don’t want my friend to get hurt!”

“My dad has never laid a hand on me! My parents love me!” Tim choked on the word, tears spilling over his cheeks, and Jason realized he’d pushed too hard too fast.

“I’m sorry. I believe you, Tim, okay? Please stop crying.” Jason couldn’t even hand him a damn box of tissues. He was so useless! All he was doing was screwing up all of Dick’s hard work. 

Tim sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He turned away, refusing to look at Jason. 

“I know your parents love you. I saw their worry and relief when you reunited outside the museum. But… the people who love you can still hurt you.” Jason explained gently. “The fact that they love you doesn’t magically make everything they do okay.”  

“Whatever…” Tim muttered. 

Ugh . Jason wasn’t getting through to him. Tim was too deep in denial. He needed a different approach. Something that would get through to Tim. Something big…

“Did— did I ever tell you how I died?” Jason asked.

Tim whirled around, his eyes wide. “No, but w-what does that have to do with anything?”

“My… my biological mother sold me out to the Joker. She was embezzling money and after I told her I was Robin, she was afraid I’d blow the whistle on her, so she sold me out.” Jason swallowed thickly, his throat tight. “But the Joker ended up killing us both, anyways.”

“Oh my god.” Tim whispered brokenly. “Jason, I— I’m so sorry.”

“You know what’s the most messed up part about it? Part of me still cares about her. I died trying to save her.” Jason hissed, fisting his hands in his hair. “I was willing to overlook so many shitty things she did just because she was my bio mom. She didn’t even raise me! Catherine did! But I still…” his hands fell limply to his side. “I just— I just wanted her to love me. Pathetic, right? I was willing to die for the women who sold me out just because I wanted her to… to…” He trailed off, uncertain. 

What had he expected her to do? He’d gone chasing after a family when he already had one right here in Gotham. Sheila was a terrible person and he’d given up everything for her. He’d been such an idiot. 

“You’re not pathetic.” Tim said softly. 

“Whatever. The point is… I understand why you want to see the best in your parents because, well, they’re your parents . But you shouldn’t let that desire blind you to their flaws.” 

Tim sighed heavily and sat down on the couch. “I’m not dumb, okay? I know my parents should probably be home more often. I want them home more often. I know they could do better. But they’re good people. They’d never hurt me.”

“Maybe not intentionally.” Jason sat down next to Tim. “But Tim, can you honestly say them being away so much doesn’t hurt you? That your dad breaking stuff doesn’t scare you?” 

Tim didn’t say anything, which was basically an agreement. 

“What your parents are doing isn't okay. It may not be a physical wound, but they are hurting you.” 

“Then what do you want me to do about it Jason?” Tim asked tiredly. “Adult supervision means I can’t help ghosts. That I can’t help Batman.”

Of course Tim’s first concerns were about others’ well-being and not his own. He was so self sacrificial. A true Robin through and through. 

Jason could crack a joke about being adopted by Bruce, but he knew that wouldn’t fix everything. Even if that was an option, while Tim wanted his parents to be better, he wouldn’t abandon them. Either his parents would wise up and get better, or they’d get worse and Tim would hopefully wise up and go to the Bats for help. Both options compromised the little operation Tim and Jason had going on.

“I— I don’t know.” Jason admitted. “But no matter what happens… I’ll always be your friend, I’ll always be there for you, okay?”

“Okay…” Tim agreed, a small smile spreading across his face. “Thanks Jason.”

“Anytime, Tim.” 

Chapter Text

“…and that groundskeeper knows something. I can feel it.” Dick’s voice filtered in through Barbara’s headphones. She was only half listening to him complain as she scanned in library books. “But my ASL is rusty and he clearly didn’t want to talk to me in the first place.”

“Then practice your ASL and go back. Or get a translator.” 

Barbara would offer to go with him and translate, but Batgirl had been permanently grounded since her injury. But she wasn’t going to let that stop her from helping people. Her base at clocktower was nearly finished and soon Oracle would make her official debut. 

“That’ll take time, though.” Dick whined.

“You’re really impatient when it comes to this case, y’know?” Barbara had gotten daily texts from him asking about status updates on finding that Crow kid. “If you want to get the kid to trust you, it’s gonna take time. Trust doesn’t get built overnight.”

“I know… it’s just— hard .” He gritted out. “That kid is out there and he’s in danger and the longer it takes…” 

“The higher the chance he gets hurt.” She finished easily, knowing exactly where Dick’s mind was going. 

After all, a ticking clock had already killed one of them. If Batman had been faster… if Dick’s Titans mission had finished sooner… that time bomb could’ve been stopped. 

“Or worse.” Dick muttered darkly. 

A gravestone floated through Barbara’s mind, but she quickly shoved the thought away. 

“He’s not Jason, Dick.” Barbara gently reminded him. 

“I know that!” He snapped, then seemed to hear himself because he sighed defeatedly. “Is it really that obvious?” 

“Only to the people who know you.” 

It was obvious this case was hitting a little too close to home for him. With Jason’s death still fresh in their minds, a new kid vigilante popping up was bound to hit a sore spot with them all. Bruce wasn’t as annoying about it as Dick, but it was clear he was invested in this case too. 

It was hard to tell whether Crow appearing was good or bad for them. On one hand: it had gotten Batman to stop using his fists to try to solve everything, and it had gotten Bruce and Dick talking again. But on the other hand: the kid reminded them all too much of Jason. He was ripping open a wound that hadn’t been given much time to close in the first place. 

Dick’s sigh was audible even over the phone. “It’s just— we still don’t have any leads about who he is. We keep hitting brick walls. And after that stuff he said about his dad…” 

Babara had combed through Gotham’s records of anxiety prescriptions, through their middle schools’ rosters, and police reports of domestic abuse and had come up empty. Who was this kid that there seemed to be no records of him anywhere? Was the kid just a talented hacker? Or was something more sinister going on? 

“It is worrying.” She admitted. “But I’m sure he’ll pop up again soon. And he came to you last time. That’s promising, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah…” 

“How about we go over what we know so far?” Barbara suggested. After all, a review couldn’t hurt. 

“Alright.” Dick agreed, then started listing things. “He’s around twelve. He has short black hair, pale skin, and blue eyes.” 

Ironically, just as Dick said that, a black haired preteen boy walked into the library. 

“He’s skinny and about five feet tall.” 

The boy was skinny and fit that height estimate. 

“He likes photography, gymnastics,  skateboarding, and rock bands.” 

The boy was holding a skateboard and wearing a Nirvana shirt. 

“He knows martial arts, is stealthy, intelligent, and—“

“Any identifying marks?” Barbara interrupted, her gaze fixated on the boy as he browsed through this year’s best sellers, which were displayed next to the check-out desk. 

“Um… no visible scars, no tattoos…”

Obviously. What kid would have tattoos at that age? 

She took a sip of her coffee as she waited for Dick to come up with anything useful, trying to act normal so the kid wouldn’t notice her staring at him. 

“…OH! Wait! He had a beauty mark next to his right eye!” Dick exclaimed, triumphant. “His bangs usually cover it, but I noticed it when his hair got all messed up from trying to escape.” 

She frowned. “I thought you let him leave?” 

“Yeah, after he gave me a wedgie when I tried picking him up again this will.” 

Babara choked on her coffee. 

The kid looked up from his browsing, concern knitting his brow. 

“Babs?” Dick worriedly called out over the line. 

At the same time the kid was approaching her desk. 

“Miss, are you alright?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. His bangs slid across his forehead with the movement, revealing a beauty mark next to one of his icy blue eyes. 

It was him! It was Crow! The kid Batman and Nightwing had been combing the city for had just walked into her library. What were the chances?

“Fine… I’m fine.” Barbara managed, pounding at her chest. “I’m gonna have to call you back.” She said quickly into her mic, then hung up. She pulled off her headphones, letting them dangle around her neck, and turned her full attention on Crow. 

The boy didn’t seem to recognize her as the former Batgirl. That was good. She wasn’t connected by family ties like Bruce Dick and Jason were, so hopefully the kid hadn’t figured out her identity as well. Besides, with her wheelchair, who would guess she was a crime fighter? 

“Hi, sorry about that. Is there anything I can help you with?” She asked with her warmest smile — the kind that got kids to open up to her about bad parents, shitty teachers, and life on the streets. 

“Um… no, it’s okay.” the kid anxiously wrung his hands in front of him. Another checkbox for him being Crow. “I can probably find it on my own.”

“Nonsense. It’s my job to help you.” Barbara said. The kid opened his mouth to protest and she quickly elaborated. “Even if you can find it yourself, with my help you can do it faster.”

The kid relented with a sigh. “I want to check out The Book Thief , but my school's copy isn't available.”

“Ooh, that’s a good one.” Barbara ignored the dull pang that went through her at the reminder. That book had been one of Jason’s favorites. Alongside Pride & Prejudice , Frankenstein , and Fahrenheit 451. 

“A friend recommended it to me.” He replied. “I usually don’t like the classics, but this one isn’t in old English and it being narrated by Death sounds interesting, so I’m giving it a try.” 

“It should be in the historical fiction section. It's in the young adult wing to the left.” Barbara pointed it out for him. She didn’t tell him he should stick to the kids section. Even if she didn’t know he was Crow, plenty of kids read above their level and trying to dissuade them never went anywhere. Besides, from what Dick told her about Crow, he hated being babied. “Do you have a library card? You’ll need one to check out a book.” 

“Oh, I don’t have one of those.” He sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. “How much is it?” 

“They’re free! All I need is some form of ID and I can set you up. A school one would work.” Barbara explained, trying to keep her voice even and not betray her anticipation. An ID meant a name . She could discover his identity like this! 

The kid winced. It was a small movement, almost immediately controlled and smoothed out — if Barbara hadn’t had years of experience with emotionally constipated Bats under her belt, she probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all. 

“I don’t have my school ID with me. Sorry.” He backed away from her desk. “I’ll come back another time.” He threw a parting wave over his shoulder as he scurried off towards the computers. 

Dammit . She’d been so close! But if he was using one of the computers… that was right up her alley. 

Barbara cracked her knuckles then got to work, her fingers flying over the keys as she hacked into the library’s computers. Soon, the kid’s screen was mirrored in a window on her own computer. He was sending an email. 

***

Dear Officer Miller,

As a member of Gotham’s finest, you should really try and uphold the title. I understand being intimidated by Gotham’s rogues, but taking bribes from Black Mask seems to be a good way to end up dead.

However, if that route isn’t appealing to you, I could always arrange for it to happen another way. I don’t think your wife would be pleased to know that you’ve been cheating on her with a yoga instructor. It’s such a cliche. 

If you don’t want either of these to happen, I suggest you resign from the force. 

Sincerely,

A concerned citizen 

***

Attached to the email were several photos of a man in uniform and a blonde woman in a tank top and leggings — most likely the yoga instructor. 

Barbara’s jaw dropped. He was blackmailing a corrupt police officer! And rather effectively . Was this how Crow did his business? He used anonymous library computers? It was definitely smarter than using his own. Plus the library was so underfunded that most of their security cameras were purely for show. He’d chosen his base of operations well. Except for one little flaw. He was in Oracle’s library. 

Barbara unlatched her chair’s brake and wheeled over to the computers. The kid had chosen one that had his back closest to the wall, but there was still enough room for her to wheel behind him. 

She leaned forwards. “Blackmail is illegal, y’know.” 

Crow — because she was 100% certain he was Crow now — didn’t even flinch. He just kept on typing, not even bothering to turn around. Had he noticed she was there before? Or was he just playing it cool?

“So is taking bribes.” Crow replied unrepentant. He unlatched his camera from a cable connecting it to the computer and returned it to his backpack. “And adultery isn’t viewed too fondly either.” 

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re blackmailing him.” Barbara stated. 

“If Officer Miller didn’t want to be blackmailed then he shouldn’t have cheated on his wife with a yoga instructor. Or taken bribes.” The kid finally turned around to face her, and Barbara understood what Dick meant when he said Crow had piercing eyes. She felt like a blueprint under his calculating gaze. “Besides, I’m not extorting him for money or favors or anything. I’m just giving him some… gentle encouragement to do the right thing.” 

Barbara snorted. Gentle encouragement. That was one way to phrase it. 

“My father is the police commissioner.” She stated and the kid gaped at her in surprise. She was used to that reaction. Most people complained to her as a way to vent, not knowing she had influence over the cops and could help them. “I could tell him about the bribes and get Officer Miller fired.” 

“Would he be fired?” Crow questioned hotly. “The cops tend to cover each other’s asses instead of holding each other accountable. It doesn’t matter to them that one of their own leaked a witness list and got innocent people killed .” 

Barbara’s eyes widened. Shit . This was a lot more serious than she’d thought. 

“Is it just Miller involved? Or are there more?” She asked. 

“With this specific case Miller is the only one whose involvement I’m aware of. But if you’re asking if they’re are other cops taking bribes then…” Crow trailed off, likely not wanting to say just how many GCPD cops were dirty to the Commissioner's daughter. 

“I’ll let my father know.” Barbara promised him, trying not to cringe at the harsh realities of Gotham’s legal systems. “And if that legal route doesn’t work, there’s always the Bat Signal.” 

The kid’s eyes sparkled at the word Bat Signal and Barbara couldn’t help but smile. It was nice to know that Batman’s hopeful message was still out there. If someone as pessimistic as Crow still believed in Batman, then there was still a chance to heal.  

“Thanks.” Crow hit the send button and the email whooshed away. “But I’m gonna try it my way too. Just in case.” 

“Alright… just make sure that email can’t be tracked back to you, okay? Using a different email doesn’t work if they’re attached to the same Google drive as your personal one. Or if they’re connected via your home wifi. Do you have a VPN?” Barbara didn’t know why she was spouting out all of this. Her empty searches made it obvious Crow was good at covering his tracks.

“Don’t worry. I know my way around computers.” He reassured her. “No one will be tracking that back to me.” 

Barbara relaxed. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about some corrupt cop or Black Mask gunning for Crow. She’d heard from Bruce that Penguin’s goons had been after him. The last thing that kid needed was to make more rogues into enemies. He’d already humiliated Scarecrow and didn’t need to be on another mad man’s shit list.  

Crow stood up and slung his backpack over his shoulder. He gave her a crooked grin.

“But I appreciate the thought, Batgirl.” 

He knew she was—! 

Before she could even think to call out, the kid was gone. Vanishing that quickly was a skill only a Bat should know, but Crow seemed to have mastered it all on his own. That kid really was too clever for his own good.

Babara took off her glasses to rub at her nose and brow. “That damn kid...” 

And now she had to tell Dick and Bruce she’d let Crow get away. Fuck .

-👻-👻-👻-

Tim’s camera was a comforting weight in his hand as he trained it on Officer Miller’s apartment window. He’d needed the comfort after his near miss at the library. He hadn’t realized who the librarian was until she’d mentioned her father was the Police Commissioner. Barbara Gordon, Batgirl, recently retired due to the Joker paralyzing her from the waist down.  

Thank god he’d left his school stuff at home. If he’d given her his school ID for a library account, she would’ve known his name. If he’d been wearing his uniform, she would’ve known what school he went to — would’ve known that he was in high school, not middle school, like people assumed. Skipping two grades had been an unexpected boon when it came to evading the Bats, who were searching for records of him in the wrong place. 

On the bright side, Batgirl seemed to be doing well. Tim had been worried after hearing what had happened to her, so being able to see her with his own eyes soothed that particular knot of anxiety. 

She hadn’t even really objected to Tim blackmailing Officer Miller. She’d seemed more amused than anything, but had gotten deadly serious when Tim told her about the leaked witness list. Because of Officer Miller’s greed, Black Mask was still at large and innocent people had been killed. 

Officer Miller hadn’t responded to Tim’s email, but from the amount of alcohol the man was guzzling he could assume his threats were having some effect. He’d just polished off an entire bottle of whiskey and was now digging in his cabinets for another. 

Tim snapped a photo. The alcohol indulgence could point to evidence of a guilty conscience, or be a point against his character — jury’s were less likely to favor alcoholic cops. 

He was hoping that Black Mask or one of his goons would show up, but no such luck so far. If he didn’t get evidence of them interacting, everything else he had would be merely circumstantial. After all, ghosts couldn’t be witnesses in court. It’s why Black Mask had killed them. Dead men tell no tales. 

But that particular tidbit didn’t apply to Tim. He’d ensure those people got justice. He’d ensure they got the closure they needed to move on. 

“Heads up!” Jason’s voice shouted in warning. 

Tim spun around and snapped a picture of Batman jumping through the air, his cape splayed behind him like great jagged wings. That would be a fantastic action shot. It was rare Tim got a picture of the Bats from so close up. Perks of being chased by them, he supposed. 

The fire escape shook slightly as Batman landed and Tim lowered his camera to smile crookedly at him. 

“You want a copy of that one?” He asked, trying to seem unbothered, when in reality, his mind was racing as he tried to come up with ways to escape.  

Jason snickered at Tim’s sass, but thankfully stayed quiet so Tim could focus on the conversation with Batman. 

“I’m here about Officer Miller.” Batman’s voice was like gravel as he loomed over Tim. It would’ve been intimidating if Tim didn’t have years of experience with gorey ghosts. 

Tim blinked in surprise. “You… you want to team up with me?” He asked, not even bothering to keep the disbelief out of his tone. 

“I am… willing ,” he gritted out the word like it was painful, “to hear your thoughts on the case.” 

Tim narrowed his eyes. “Uh huh…” he glanced at Jason, who fingerspelled a B and a G . Ah, so it was Batgirl’s doing. “And this has nothing to do with Batgirl? Or the other secret identities I’ve figured out?”

Batman didn’t say a word. Just stared. The whites of his cowl were unnerving at such a close range. 

“If it makes her feel better, tell Batgirl it took me a whole ‘nother year to figure out her identity after I cracked yours and Nightwing’s.” That one he’d figured out with help from ghosts. But he wasn’t going to tell Batman that.  

Batman grunted. Tim couldn’t tell if it was an acknowledgement or an expression of displeasure. 

Jason groaned and smacked his forehead. “He wants to put Officer Miller away, but he’s too dumb to ask for your help, the emotionally constipated ass.”

Tim had to bite down on a giggle. He made sure to school his face into seriousness before he turned to Batman and gave his report. “Officer Miller had been taking bribes from Black Mask. Sofia and Miguel Alvarez witnessed one of his operations and reported it to the police. The next day they were both killed in a ‘supposed’ robbery gone wrong. Office Miller was coincidentally the first officer on the scene of the ‘robbery’. It isn’t much of a stretch to conclude he was the one who ratted them out to Black Mask.” Tim nodded to the window, where Officer Miller’s living room was visible. “Especially with that new flat screen TV he has. And the Rolex on his wrist.” 

It was infuriating that he got people killed for a bigger TV and a fancy watch. Even more so, since as a police officer, he was supposed to protect them, not sacrifice them for his own gain. It was a betrayal in the highest form. 

Miguel had been saving up for college and taking care of his abuela Sofia. He’d wanted to be an engineer. Now he’d never get the chance. Sofia had been knitting clothes for the homeless. Now who was supposed to help them keep warm? Two people, who gave more to the world than they took, were now dead while the bad guys were living large. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. And Tim was going to correct it.  

“How do you know Officer Miller was taking bribes from Black Mask? He could’ve gotten his extra money from a number of other dirty dealings. And how are you certain it wasn’t a robbery?” Batman questioned. 

Because the victims told Tim it had been Black Mask and his goons — that it was an execution, not a robbery. They also told him who the officer was that took their report. But he couldn’t say that to Batman. 

“Their wounds don’t line up with the robbery.” Tim explained. “Yes, the lock was broken and things were taken, but what robber uses a machine gun? A simple handgun would be much more sensible. I think Black Mask, his goons, or Officer Miller took jewelry as a red herring. Especially since they left the electronics.”  

Thankfully, Batman didn’t ask how he knew all those details. He likely assumed Tim had hacked the police database again, which was a fair assumption. “And the connection between Black Mask and Officer Miller?”

“I’m working on it.” Tim replied. “You see, Miller’s wife got a similar email from me. When she gets home there’s bound to be some kind of confrontation.” His lips curled up in a devious smile, anticipation making him slightly giddy. Because that was bound to be a shit show . “All we have to do is wait.” 

“That is… a sound strategy.” Batman admitted hesitantly. 

Jason floated over to Tim to whisper in his ear. “That means good job.” 

“Thank you.” Tim replied primly, then went back to observing Officer Miller through his camera’s zoom lens. 

Silence fell over them like a thick fog for the next few minutes. Surprisingly, Batman was the first to break it.  

“How long have you been doing this?” He asked. 

Tim knew what Batman was alluding to with his vagueness. He wanted to know how long had Tim been a vigilante, but couldn’t seem to actually say the word. 

Tim didn’t know if vigilante was the correct way to describe his other life. Yes, recently he’d been tangling with big operations, but before he met Jason he’d just been helping ghosts in any way he could. He took care of their unfinished business so they could get peace and closure. So they could move on. 

Ghosts who died of old age or cancer tended not to linger. They’d known what was coming and had gotten to wrap things up and say their goodbyes. Ghosts who died suddenly had a lot of concerns about what they’d left behind. So, Tim helped. He got their baby out of the car. He gave anonymous tips to the police. He let himself be a shoulder to cry on. They were little things, but when he was the only one who could do something, it seemed a lot bigger. 

“Stalking Officer Miller? About three days.” Tim replied, deliberately obtuse. 

“I meant the photos.” The bat stalking more like. 

Tim hummed in thought. He’d been seeing ghosts since pre-school. But he hadn’t really adventured out to help ghosts until he’d started going to boarding school at seven. Then it increased when his parents were unaware their usual summer nanny had gotten married and moved during the school year, so Tim had been on his own for weeks before they’d realized. They’d been frazzled and apologetic over it, but relieved— and a little impressed — when they saw Tim had been fine on his own. After that, they’d decided check ins with Mrs Mac would suffice. They started off as daily ones, but faded in frequency over time. He’d proven how capable he was to his parents and now had his hard won independence and freedom to show for it. That, and all the ghosts he’d helped, were his biggest sources of pride. But his skill with his camera were a close third.  

“I needed a camera for a school project and it blossomed from there.” Tim settled on, which was technically true, but left a lot unsaid.

When one’s parents were away as often as Tim’s were… pictures were all he had. The one from the circus. The baseball game. Mother’s Day dinner. Events that were few and far between, forever immortalized on film for Tim to relive. 

Then, one lonely night, he'd been sitting out on his penthouse’s balcony and Robin had swung by. His yellow cape had been a beacon of light as he’d arched through the dark sky, and Tim had lifted his camera without a thought. Snap . There it was. A picture of the Robin who’d promised to wow Tim with his performance, was now doing it all over again. Tim had been so desperate for some kind of connection that he’d started going out at night, not just to help ghosts, but to hope he’d catch another glimpse of Robin. 

His photos of Dick were few and often blurry, but when Jason had come along Tim’s skills were much more honed. Jason’s pictures were the ones he was really proud of. 

“Speaking of… did you like the photo?” Tim asked with slight trepidation. 

That photo was one of his best, crisp and clear, perfectly capturing the dynamic duo’s joy. But Batman might not have appreciated the reminder of what he’d lost. Maybe the picture frame he’d picked out was shattered, the photo torn and trashed. Grief made for a harsh critic. 

Batman stood silent, his cape rustling in the cool night breeze. His arms were hidden inside his cape, but if Tim had to guess, he’d say his fists were clenched. 

Jason hovered over Batman’s tense shoulders, his bruised face set in a frown that exaggerated his split lip. This was what Jason looked like when he died. It was the last thing his father remembered about him. His son bloody and broken, instead of full of youthful passion and exuberance. 

“It’s… good.” Batman managed haltingly. “He— he looked happy.” 

Batman couldn’t even say his name. That’s how thick his grief was. 

Jason’s face softened, but he didn’t say a word, just watched sadly as his father struggled to talk about him. 

“Because he was happy. You both were.” Maybe you can be happy like that again, one day. Tim thought, but didn’t say. 

Batman didn’t reply. Only stared off into the inky night sky, as if he’d find Jason up in the stars when really his son was right there with them.

“If Jason were here right now… what would you say to him?” Tim asked softly. 

Jason’s head whipped around to stare at Tim, mouth open but no sound coming out. 

Tim hoped he wasn’t crossing a line, but Jason — and Batman — needed this closure. They needed the goodbye they never got to have. 

“That I’m sorry. And that it should’ve been me.” 

Then Batman leapt into the air, his grappling hook glinting in the moonlight as he hauled himself further up the fire escape, so he could continue the surveillance alone — and leaving Tim behind. 

“He really does believe that.” Jason whispered, shaking his head sadly. “He wishes he were the dead one. It’s why he’s been so reckless.” 

Tim sighed. “He’s stuck in guilt. Trapped.” Trapped like all the ghosts who couldn’t move on. “But don’t worry, I won’t give up on him.”

Jason cracked a half grin. “If anyone can out stubborn Batman, it would be you, Timberly.”  

Tim was about to tell Jason not to call him that, when a car pulled into the driveway. A woman got out the driver’s seat and marched up to the house. She flung the door open, and screamed:

“YOU TWO TIMING PIG!!!”

The rest of what she had to say was cut off by the door slamming behind her, but Tim could clearly see they were both screaming at each other through the window. 

Snap, snap, snap, went his camera as Tim captured the ugly fight in high definition. The spit flying, the pointed fingers, the sheer rage.

Miller’s wife bitch slapped him and Jason hooted like he was watching a sporting match. A bag got shoved at Miller and soon he was out on his sorry ass in the driveway, swearing up a storm about what a bitch his wife was. 

“Dude. You cheated on her. What the hell do you expect?” Jason clicked his tongue reprovingly. 

Miller dusted himself off and stumbled into his police cruiser, which he’d likely be living out of now. 

Boots thudded against the metallic floor of the fire escape as Batman landed next to Tim.

“How much you wanna bet he goes straight to Black Mask?” Tim asked instead of greeting the looming shadow behind him. 

“I’ll follow him. You go home.” Batman ordered.

Tim bristled. “I’m not just gonna—“

“It’s a school night.” Batman cut in, his tone hard. “You did a good job gathering evidence, but I’ll take it from here.” 

It sounded a lot like being sent to the kiddy corner while the adults handled things. Tim wasn’t appeased, but the longer he argued with Batman, the higher the chance Miller would get away. His car was already backing out the driveway. 

“Fine.” Tim snapped and shoved his camera into his bag. “But he better be arrested by the end of this. Or you’ll be hearing from me.”

“You have Nightwing’s number. If you ever need anything, contact him.” Batman said, then in a whirl of his cape he was airborne — in hot pursuit of the, most likely drunk, driver. 

“Bye, Tim! Remember to read that book for your English class.” Jason saluted him, then floated off after his partner. 

Oh shit. He’d completely forgotten about that. Well, at least he had SparkNotes to rely on. 

Jason would probably be rolling in his grave at that statement — if he was actually in his. 

Tim snorted at his own dark humor, then started the trek down the ladder. 

-👻-👻-👻-

“Then he drops the bomb he knew I was Batgirl the whole time and vanished!” Babara exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. 

Dick snickered into the chips he’d pilfered from her cabinets. “Now you know how me and B feel. That kid is too smart for his own good.” 

“You’re telling me.” Barbara grumbled. “I still haven’t found what school he goes to. And he does go to school, he mentioned his school’s library when he was talking to me.”  

Well, there went their homeschooling theory. It would’ve explained why the kid had the time to be out so late. But it was just another dead end. 

“Since your library is likely the one closest to his house that narrows down the search radius, right?” Dick said, grasping at a silver lining.  

“Maybe. But it’s not concrete enough to count out other areas.” She sighed and pushed up her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know why this kid is so hard to find. I must make a shitty hacker if I’m getting outdone by a twelve year old.”

“Hey, don’t say that. You’ll be great as Oracle. I know it.” Dick reassured her. Part of him wanted to reach out, to squeeze her hand or pat her shoulder. But Barbara had been very withdrawn and defensive since her injury, averse to any kind of helping hand. It sort of reminded him of Crow, trying to prove they could do it all on their own. “Crow is just really clever and is very knowledgeable about us, while we’re basing our searches off of scraps. We’ll find him. It might just take a little more time.”

“Should we be searching, though?” Barabra asked. “If our plan is now about building trust, wouldn’t finding him and ambushing him have the opposite effect?”  

“We don’t have to tell him we know when” — because it was a when , not an if — “we find him. We can use it to learn about him and better approach him. But… maybe we shouldn’t tell Bruce if we find him.” Bruce would definitely go the ambushing route. That man had no emotional tact. 

“If Bruce doesn’t track him down first.” Barabra pointed out. “He found Crow staking out Officer Miller’s house, but had to leave to pursue Miller.” 

Officer Miller had gone straight to Black Mask. Now both of them were in jail. Well, they would be if they hadn’t had to reroute to the hospital. Batman was still using excessive force, even if it wasn’t quite as harsh as it was a month ago. 

“I’ll get Alfred to run interference if that happens.” Dick really needed to visit Alfred. He’d been so caught up in his fights with Bruce that he’d neglected his gratler (grandpa-butler). “I can probably get to Crow before Bruce if Alfred gives me a heads up.” 

Barbara nodded in agreement. “Alright. You notify Alfred and I’ll re-read the school records I pulled. Maybe there was something I missed.”  

Dick pulled out his phone and sucked in a harsh breath at the notification on the screen.

Unknown Number

Mad Hatter attacked Gotham Prep

Please help

A location was sent alongside the message. It was the school’s science lab. Which was a bad omen if Dick ever saw one. 

“Dick? What is it?” Barabra asked, knowing him well enough to be able to read the horror in his still frame. 

The school was in Bristol and the Clocktower was all the way in Old Gotham. By the time Dick got there… he closed his eyes against the thought. No . He wouldn’t let himself think that way. He refused to fail another kid. 

“Call Batman. Tell him to get to Gotham Prep stat.” Dick strode to the window, pushing it open with shaky hands. “Crow’s in trouble.” 

Then he launched himself into the open air. 

“Just hold on, kid.” He whispered as he flew over Gotham. “I’m coming.” 

Chapter Text

Tim hated school. Okay, well, hate was a strong word, but he definitely didn’t like it. Not like Jason did. He knows he’s lucky to be getting a top notch education, that he shouldn’t complain since so many kids like Jason weren’t lucky enough to go to school. 

It was just… so boring and tedious. Tim skipped two grades to make up for the boring part — and to get school over with faster — and while he wasn’t finishing all his work early and staring out the window for the last twenty minutes of class anymore, it still felt like such a chore. 

School would have probably been more fun if Tim wasn’t the youngest person in the school, and had a prominent case of baby face to boot. 

It wasn’t like the other kids were mean to him or anything, they just… never talked to him unless it was about school work. It’s like he was the kid brother hanging around that dampened the older kids' fun because they couldn’t talk about certain topics when he was around. 

He didn’t get invited to the movies or to parties. He was always the last picked in gym class. He sat alone at lunch. People didn’t even seek him out for academic assistance because they were too prideful to ask the younger kid for help. He was never included in anything and it was really ostracizing. 

Tim was at lunch right now, sitting in his usual corner while everyone else happily chattered around him. His algebra homework was spread out before him as he munched on his sandwich. He always tried to knock out as much homework as he could during his lunch period. It left more time for him to indulge in his… hobbies. 

He’d even switched himself from a boarder to a commuter with his parents’ email. His father used the same password for everything so accessing his email had been ridiculously easy. After that, Tim didn’t have to worry about sneaking past teachers to help ghosts. He could just walk out his front door. Despite the security cameras outside the house, his parents had never said anything about it, if they’d even noticed. It was a blanket of relief and a slightly painful needle prick all in one.   

“Hi, Tim! Whatcha workin’ on?” 

But Tim wasn’t completely ignored by the entire school population. The undead one liked him plenty. 

Christina was a ghost that was clearly from the 80s with her long brunette perm and polka dot dress. She also had a small baby bump and bloody lines down her forearms. The pregnant teenager who’d been bullied to death in high school. Dumped by her boyfriend, turned on by her friends, scorned by teachers. Now, she stuck around to make life hell for bullies. As much as she could as a ghost, that is. Like making the sprinklers go off in the cheersquad’s locker room — in January. 

“Algebra.” Tim replied. He didn’t worry about being overheard. The cafeteria was super loud and no one paid much attention to him anyways.

Christina winced. “That’s rough. I was never any good at math.” 

“You help me with my English homework.” Tim reminded her. 

“I just check for any spelling or grammar mistakes.” Christina waved off the praise. “You're the one doing all the work.” 

Christina had wanted to be an English teacher before she’d died. Before she’d learned just how cruel of a place high school could be. Jason probably would’ve liked her. They were both literature nerds. But unless Batman came to the school for some reason, it was out of Jason’s range. They’d probably never get the chance to meet. 

“It still helps. I get better grades with less typos.” 

“You just go too fast. Always rushing.” She clicked her tongue in disapproval. “You should slow down every now and then.” 

Tim was saved from answering by the bell. He flashed Christina an apologetic smile and packed up his stuff. He didn’t want to be late to biology class with what a taskmaster his teacher was.

He was halfway through his biology teacher’s sleep inducing lecture when the school’s other resident ghost burst in. 

“Tim!” Hakeem exclaimed, his face panicked. 

Hakeem had brown skin, square framed glasses, and multi-colored braces. He was even wearing a robotics t-shirt. Everything about him practically screamed nerd. If one ignored the several bullet holes punched into him. He’d died in a school shooting a few years back. The one the school did its damndest to try and erase from the public’s memory. They’d blamed it on video games. Such bullshit.

Tim subtly shook his head. Trying to communicate that he couldn’t talk right now. But Hakeem wasn’t deterred.   

He flew over to Tim, blocking his view of the PowerPoint projection. “You need to go! Now! There’s a bunch of guys in bunny masks with guns inside the school!” 

Tim barely kept himself from exclaiming: ‘THERE’S WHAT?!’

His hand shot into the air. “Mrs Hickson. Can I go to the bathroom?” 

The teacher frowned. “You should’ve gone before class. You had an entire lunch break to do it.” 

“I’m sorry. I’ll be quick.”

“Fine. But don’t come crying to me about what you missed during the lecture.” She huffed. 

Tim zipped out of his seat and to the bathroom. He wished he could take his bag, but that would only bring up more questions. His teacher would probably think he was skipping class. At least he had his phone in his pocket. 

Tim turned to Hakeem. “How many are there?” 

“There’s a dozen guys in suits and bunny masks with guns. Their leader is some blond guy in a top hat and blue coat.” 

“That’s Mad Hatter.” He was one of the lesser known rogues, so Tim wasn’t surprised Hakeem didn’t know who he was. “He’s known for mind controlling people and his Alice in Wonderland theme.” 

But why would he attack the school? Tim wasn’t as aware of this rogue's motives as he was with the more prominent ones. 

Tim peered out the bathroom door and saw one of the bunny henchmen walking down the hall. Shit . 

He quickly ducked back inside and pulled out his phone. His fingers hovered over Nightwing’s contact number. He knew he needed to call for help. But if he did, they’d find out where he went to school and he could kiss his anonymity goodbye. 

Screams sounded outside. 

Fuck it. Other people’s lives were more important than his secrecy. Tim quickly typed out an SOS message and sent it. Even attaching his location. 

He didn’t know how far the goons had gotten into the school or what they were after. But he needed to alert the rest of the school so they could get to safety. 

“Hakeem, where’s the nearest fire alarm?” Tim asked. 

Hakeem immediately caught on to Tim’s plan. “There’s one at the end of the hall. To the left. I’ll tell you when the coast is clear. Just— just be careful, okay, Tim? I don’t want you to die like I did.” 

“I— I will.” 

“Okay…” Hakeem poked his head through the bathroom wall. It was always weird to see ghosts do that. “NOW!”

Tim sped out the bathroom, his sneakers squeaking against the tile floor. His gaze was fixated on the red box of the fire alarm as he got closer and closer. He grabbed the handle and yanked it down. 

The alarm immediately started to blare out, lights flashing. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! 

Tim’s hands shook slightly, his body pumped full of adrenaline. He’d done it. He’d really done it. Now all he had to do was—

“Tim! Look out!” Hakeem cried out in warning and Tim spun around.

Mad Hatter was standing in front of him, flanked by two of his masked henchmen. 

“Now what do we have here?” He smiled crookedly at Tim, his eyes sparkling. “A little dormouse has slipped through the cracks.” 

Dormouse? Tim knew he was short — being the youngest person in the building didn’t help his petite look — but he’d never been called mouse sized. 

Mad Hatter snapped his fingers. “Throw him in with the others.” 

The two henchmen moved forwards and grabbed Tim by each of his arms. Tim didn’t bother to put up a fight. He knew wouldn’t be able to get away — not without a bullet wound. 

“No!” Hakeem tried to grab him, but his fingers passed right through him. Tim shivered at the cold sensation. “Let him go!” Hakeem punched and kicked at the henchmen, but it was useless. He was a ghost. His attacks were harmless. 

Tim was taken into one of the school’s lab rooms. Several of his classmates were tied up and the teacher was slumped on the floor. Luckily, only unconscious as he didn’t see a ghost. Two henchmen guarded them all. 

One of them marched up to Mad Hatter. “Sir, we only managed to capture a few classrooms before the fire alarm was pulled. Most of the school is outside now.” 

He gestured out the window where rows and rows of people were out in the grass. Tim sagged in relief. At least they were safe. 

“Drat.” Mad Hatter muttered, shaking his head. “Well, nothing we can do about it now. Board up the exits and make sure no one else can get in, or out.” He then turned to Tim and jabbed a gloved finger at him. “And tie this one up extra good. He’s a slippery little fella.” 

Tim’s hands and feet were bound in rope and he was dumped next to a trembling blonde girl. She was in his art class. Her name was Meredith, if he remembered correctly. 

As Tim surveyed the room he realized all his tied up classmates were girls. His stomach sank. Whatever the reason for that, he doubted it was a good one. 

“Line them up.” Mad Hatter ordered. “I can’t see them clearly when they’re all huddled together like this.” 

They were all yanked to their feet and lined up against the wall. Several of his classmates were crying. 

Mad Hatter walked back and forth in front of them, prowling like a predator surveying prey. 

“Too fat. Too dark. Too slutty. Too freckly...” 

The girls were pulled away as Mad Hatter dismissed them. Tim didn’t know whether that was a good thing or not. 

When Mad Hatter was done going through them, only two girls were left. Meredith and a girl with a banged ponytail. Tim was pretty sure she was on the volleyball team, but he couldn't recall her name.  

They were both fair skinned, slender, and blonde. They both looked like…

“Now… which one of you is my Alice?” Mad Hatter asked, cocking his head to the side. 

Bile rose up Tim’s throat. He had a bad feeling about the way that Hatter said: my Alice . Breathy and possessive and reverent. Did he seriously take a high school hostage to find a teenaged girl who could fit his made up Wonderland fantasies? Gross! 

“That dirty perv.” Hakeem hissed in agreement from where he hovered protectively over Tim. He couldn’t really protect him, but Tim appreciated the sentiment. 

“I-I’m not Alice! I’m Stacy.” The other girl stammered. Ah, so Stacy was her name. 

“And I’m Meredith. I think you- you have the wrong—“

“I am not wrong!” Mad Hatter shrieked, stomping his foot on the ground and making both girls flinch back. “One of you is Alice. You're just hiding. Now quit lying and tell me which one of you is Alice!”

Stacy’s knees were knocking together, tears gathering in her eyes. “I’m n-not…”

“She's Alice!” Meredith interrupted shrilly, pointing at Stacy, who gaped at her in shock. “She has blue eyes and mine are brown. And she has bangs. Just like Alice does!” She gave a desperate smile as she gestured at Stacy, her entire body shaking. 

Damn. She was selling out Stacy to save her own skin! Tim understood that Meredith was scared, but that was just… just cold. 

Tim tried to intervene. “Sir, she’s lying, neither of them are—“

“Be quiet!” Mad Hatter snapped and back handed Tim, causing Hakeem to cry out. “Put a hat on the dormouse and a headband on her.” He pointed at Stacy who screamed and kicked out as the henchmen closed in on her.  

“Meredith, you bitch! I’ll get you for this you goddamn coward!” She swore as she thrashed against the henchmen’s hands. “No! NO! Get off of me you—”

Her yelling and crying was abruptly cut off as they got the bowed headband on her. Her face going slack and her arms falling to her sides. 

Mad Hatter grinned. He sat down in one of the plastic school chairs and patted his lap. “Come here, Alice.” 

She moved towards him robotically and sat in his lap. Her body stiff and her face as blank as a China doll’s as he petted her hair. It was revolting. 

“Incoming!” Hakeem warned. 

Tim was so caught up in the show that he almost didn’t notice the henchman closing in on him. Luckily, he’d managed to get out of the bonds around his hands thanks to Jason’s training. He kept still, feigning being frozen in fear as he slipped his hand into his pocket. His fingers closed around his keychain and the pocket sized mace attached to it. He never left home without it. 

The henchman’s bunny mask was not a fully covering one. It was a half face mask with holes for the eyes. No lenses. No protection. Perfect .

As the henchman reached out the cone shaped party hat towards Tim, he struck. He whipped out his keychain and maced him at point blank. 

The henchman reeled back, yowling in pain. Tim was already slicing through his leg bindings with his keys. He took off towards the door. If he could just get out— he could coordinate a way to save Stacy! Surely, Batman and Nightwing were almost here. It’d be any second now and they could utilize the knowledge Tim had. 

“Stop him!” Mad Hatter yelled, jumping to his feet and causing Stacy to slide off his lap and onto the floor. Which was honestly a less gross place to be. 

“Yes! Go Tim!” Hakeem cheered, then his face twisted in what Tim would call an ‘ oh shit’ expression, and he yelled. “Duck!” 

Tim ducked just as a chair flew over his head. He reached the door and yanked it open, but was stopped by a hand grabbing at his leg. Tim twisted around to see one of the henchmen splayed across the floor, their hands wrapped around his ankle. They’d likely taken a running leap to grab him. Tim kicked them in the face with his free foot and they let go with a pained grunt. 

He ran out of the classroom and towards freedom. He whipped around a corner, glancing back to see how close his pursuers were, which was his mistake. Tim slammed into a hard body and stumbled back. 

It was another one of Mad Hatter’s henchmen. Tim tried to go back and ran into the other henchmen. One with bloodshot eyes and another with a cracked mask. The two who Tim had trounced and were now aiming guns at him. He looked back to the henchman blocking the hall and only found himself staring down another gun barrel. Shit. He was trapped.

Hakeem and him locked eyes. They both knew there was no getting out of this. 

“Find Christina.” Tim told him and Hakeem hesitated, before nodding and leaving. Christina wouldn’t be able to help Tim, but she would be able to comfort Hakeem. He didn’t need to see this. 

Mad Hatter entered the circle trapping Tim. “You are a troublemaker, little dormouse. I’m impressed.” In his hands was the magenta party hat. “I definitely want you at my tea party.” 

Two henchmen grabbed Tim’s arms, forcing him to his knees. Tim stayed still and didn’t tremble or beg. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He just stared up defiantly at Mad Hatter. 

“Controlling people may get you what you want. But it won’t make you happy. Not when all of their love and loyalty is fake.” Tim said, trying desperately to remember what Jason had told him when he’d gone over all of Gotham’s rogues. He just needed to buy time for the Bats to arrive. “None of this changes the fact that you’re a pathetic lonely man, who is too trapped in fantasy to see reality. A grown man who is tormenting teenagers to make himself feel big. It’s disgusting and I hope you rot in Arkham.”

Mad Hatter’s eyes were thunderous. “I’m not going back to Arkham. I’ll make my Wonderland and everything will be better. You’ll see.” 

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Tim asked.

“Oh, do be quiet.” Mad Hatter huffed and shoved the hat against the top of his head, pulling the strap under Tim’s chin. “Quiet as a mouse.”

Then everything went dark. 

-👻-👻-👻-

Gotham Prep came into sight and Jason flew ahead of the Batmobile. 

There was a police barrier around the school. Rows of students and some teachers were clustered outside of it. Jason ignored them all and headed inside the school. He knew Tim wouldn’t be watching it play out from the safety of outside. He’d be right in the thick of it. Jason would bet good money on it. 

He floated through barren halls, from empty room to empty room. The school was huge and there were so many places to search. At least Jason knew his way around from his days here. He and Tim had been under the same roof when he’d been alive. They’d probably passed each other in the halls, never knowing just how connected they’d end up being. 

“Robin?” A girl’s voice called shakily and he whirled around to see two other ghosts.

The teenaged girl had 80s style brunette hair, a baby bump, and bloody forearms. Beside her was a slightly younger black boy with thick nerdy glasses, braces, and bullet holes in his clothes. They both looked at him with wide eyes and opened mouths. 

He knew what they were thinking. It’s the dead Robin. A hero. A failure. A dead child. But no one saw past the bloody uniform. No one saw Jason Todd. No one had until Tim.

“Do you know where Tim Drake is?” He asked, cutting straight to the point. 

The nerdy kid choked on a sob. “Mad Hatter got him. Tim tried to fight, but he was outnumbered. Mad Hatter put one of those mind control hats on him. It’s over.”

“No it’s not. Batman’s on his way.” Jason reassured the sniffling kid. “Do you know where Hatter took him?” 

“They were in the science wing.” The boy said.

Jason immediately took off in that direction.

“Hey! Wait!” The girl cried, following after him. “What do you think you’re gonna do? I know you used to be a hero, but you’re dead now. We can’t do anything.”

Jason growled at her. “So what? You’re just going to leave Tim to his fate?”

“There’s nothing we can do.” She repeated. “And excuse me if I don’t want to watch my friend die. I don’t need even more horrible memories to add to my fucked up collection.” 

“You can be there for Tim!” Jason snapped. “Maybe you can’t stop him from dying, but at least he won’t— he won’t die alone.” He choked the last part out, and if he were alive he knew there’d be tears in his eyes. 

The girl didn’t seem to have a reply for that. She’d just frozen . But Jason didn’t have time for whatever her deal was. He needed to find Tim. 

When he finally found him, his stomach dropped into his feet. Mad Hatter was brewing something in a beaker, while his bunny henchmen and his victims were gathered around a black lab table. Each person had a tea cup in front of them and there was a big plate of crumpets in the center. 

One victim was a blonde girl in a blue dress and wearing a headband. Her face was pale and blank, but her arm showed a developing bruise. Next to her sat Tim. His school blazer had been replaced with a magenta one and a bow tie had been added. His left cheek was red, indicating he’d been hit. Most foreboding however, was the cone shaped hat on his head. 

Jadon flew to Tim’s side, but there was no reaction, he just stared blankly ahead. 

“Tim?” Jason waved a hand in front of his face, which didn’t get a reaction either. “Tim, I’m here. It’s okay. Batman will be here any minute.” 

He didn’t know if Tim could hear him while under Hatter’s control, but he hoped so. Maybe it was like how studies said coma victims could hear things. 

“Tea Time!” Mad Hatter announced, holding up a tea kettle. “This is my extra special recipe. It’ll send us all to Wonderland!” 

So it was drugged. Likely some type of hallucinogen, but who knew what kind of side effects it would have. Mad Hatter brewed it himself, and while he had been a doctor once upon a time, he was also insane. Jason doubted it met FDA standards. 

Mad Hatter poured the “tea” into all their cups. It was a bright teal blue color, which definitely did not help Jason’s rising worry. What was in that? Acid? 

Also where the fuck was Bruce? He should be at the school by now! 

“Cheers!” Mad Hatter toasted with his own cup, then in unison they all lifted their tea cups to their lips.

“NO!” Jason yelled and threw himself into Tim. He was suddenly looking through Tim’s eyes, down at the swirling blue concoction. 

But taking control wasn’t as easy as last time. It was like there was some sort of interference. A signal jam. Jason desperately tried to take control, to move, to let go . Just as the cup brushed his lips, his arm spasmed and dropped the cup, the porcelain shattering as it hit the table. 

Mad Hatter pursed his lips, his own tea cup halting. “Now that was rude—“

The blonde girl choked and dropped her own cup, but unlike Tim, she hadn’t dropped it before drinking. Her whole body convulsed as she gagged, her mouth foaming. She fell off her stool and onto the floor, thrashing violently as she gurgled. Her headband had fallen off when she hit the floor, and her blue eyes were wide with panic as she suddenly became aware. It was horrifying . He had to help her!   

But her headband falling off gave Jason an idea. Jason tried to force himself to move and Tim’s body slowly started to tip over. He winced as his head hit the stone, but the force was enough to knock the hat loose. 

Tim gasped for air, his eyes flying open, and Jason was suddenly violently ejected from his body. 

“Stacy!” Tim cried and rushed to her.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Mad Hatter yelled and grabbed him, hauling him away from her. “You ruined my tea party! You spoiled brat! Look what you’ve done to my poor Alice!”

“What he’s done to her?” Jason exclaimed in outrage. “You’re the one who made her drink poisoned tea!” 

Tim, however, didn’t have a snappy comeback in mind. With his free arm, he grabbed one of the butter knives off the table and stabbed it into Mad Hatter’s shoulder. Mad Hatter shrieked in pain and dropped Tim, just as Batman came bursting into the room.

Better late than never. But seriously? What the everloving fuck had taken him so long? 

“She needs an ambulance!” Tim immediately yelled and pointed at the convulsing girl, seemingly unconcerned about the man he’d just stabbed — one who’d likely try to return the favor. “Help her!”

“You need to get away from the homicidal maniac!” Jason yelled back, but Tim ignored him. Rude . 

One of the henchmen lifted a gun, which kicked off a melee between Batman and the playboy bunnies. Batman threw batarangs and punches, taking out goon after goon, while their leader moaned on the floor. How pathetic. 

Tim slid over to the girl. Hands hovering over her helplessly.

“Turn her on her side.” Jason instructed and Tim did so. “And find something soft to support her head.”

Tim stripped off his pink blazer, bunched it up, and put it under the girls’ head with care. “It’ll be okay Stacy. We got you.” 

Stacy’s eyes were still too panicked and bloodshot for him to tell if she’d comprehended Tim’s reassurances. She then vomited onto Tim’s lap and the boy cringed, but didn’t say anything, he just kept muttering reassurances.

“Crow.” Batman crouched down beside him. All the goons were now littered all over the floor, their limbs twisted and jutting out at unnatural angles. Several had new batarang accessories. “I’ll take her now. You— you did well.”

He scooped up Stacy and swept out the room. Tim took a step to follow after him, then hesitated, his expression shuttering. 

“What’s wrong?” Jason asked. It might seem like a dumb question, but when so much shit had gone wrong so fast, he had to get specific to know what was bothering Tim the most.

“He knows who I am now, doesn’t he?” Tim said quietly, looking down at his soiled pants. “There’s no escaping this.”  

Jason winced. “Probably not.” 

Barbara had probably found him as soon as they knew his school. Batman would be alerted any minute now that the main crisis had been dealt with.   

Then a cackle rang out and they both whirled around to see Mad Hatter jetting towards the exits, clutching his shoulder wound. 

“He’s getting away!” Tim exclaimed, and for a terrifying moment, Jason thought Tim was going to try and chase after him, but then he spun around and sprinted off in the direction where Batman was.

Jason silently thanked whatever god(s) were out there that Tim wasn’t as reckless as he was. He was still bat shit insane and pulled all kinds of stunts, but at least he was slightly more sensible about the danger he threw himself in. Small mercies — and one big dose of karma for Jason.  

Tim ran outside, bursting into the parking lot that was littered with ambulances and cop cars and other first responders. He whipped his head around, trying to find Batman in the sea of blue and red lights. 

Then there was a roar of an engine as Nightwing pulled onto the scene. He didn’t even bother to park, he just vaulted off his motorcycle, not caring if it crashed, and raced for Tim. 

Tim didn’t seem to have noticed, still scanning ambulances for any sign of a cape. 

“Uhh… Tim? Incoming.” Jason warned, just as Nightwing crashed into Tim and wrapped him in a hug so enveloping that it lifted the poor boy right off his feet. 

“God, kid. You scared me.” 

Tim tried to say something, but it was muffled into Nightwing’s chest. Tim wiggled around in protest and Nightwing loosened his death grip.

“Mad— Mad Hatter is getting away.” Tim gasped out, voice ragged, and holy shit did Nightwing’s hug squeeze all the air right out of him? “He left through the East exit.”

Tim pointed towards it, but Nightwing simply guided his arm back down and squeezed Tim’s hands.  

“I don’t care about that, right now.” Nightwing said. “You being safe is what’s important.”

“It— it is important!” Tim sputtered. “The bad guy is getting away! You need to—“

“You’re more important.” Nightwing interrupted, firmly, but not meanly. 

Tim ripped his hands out of Nightwing’s grasp. “I don’t care about me! What about Stacy? And all the other kids he terrorized? He needs to be locked up where he can’t hurt them.” 

“Just them? He hurt you too. Look at you. You’re cheeks bruised, you’re covered in vomit, and—“

“Stacy’s vomit. From Mad Hatter’s drugged tea. You better go catch him right now, or I’ll never forgive you.” Tim hissed out the last part, furious and venomous.

“But—“

“I’m surrounded by other first responders.” Tim easily countered Nightwing’s arguments. He’d make one hell of a lawyer, or a politician. Especially with how good of a liar he was. “I’ll be fine. You and Batman go do your damn jobs and catch that crackpot!”  

Nightwing’s gaze lingered on Tim for a moment, before he turned around, sprinting towards his motorcycle and peeling out the parking lot. The Batmobile soon followed it. As soon as they rounded the corner, Tim collapsed onto the curb, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. 

“Tim!” Jason exclaimed, hovering over him worriedly. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

“What hasn’t gone wrong?” Tim asked drearily. His eyes were sunken in and he looked so, so tired and hopeless and… see through? 

Jason then realized there was an invisible force pulling at him, pulling him away from Tim. 

The ghost tether! Shit! The damn thing had the worst possible timing — because before Jason could say anything in response, or offer Tim any kind of comfort, the tether pulled him back towards the Batmobile where Bruce resided. God dammit! No! Now was not the—

Then Tim was gone from his sight. Jason had once again been whisked away by death’s constraints. Leaving untreated wounds in his wake.

Chapter Text

Tim refreshed the news sites, but there was nothing new. No information about Stacy’s condition. 

In the aftermath of the attack, all the students were waiting to be picked up by their parents in the cafeteria. Tim watched as his classmates tearfully reunited with their parents, the numbers slowly dwindling until he was one of the few people left. 

He knew a happy reunion wasn’t in the cards for him. Nor was it for Stacy. He refreshed the news sites again with zero luck. His phone battery only had 20% left. 

Tim had tried to leave, saying he usually took the bus home, but the teachers weren’t having it. Apparently, it was protocol that after an attack parents (or other guardians) had to come get their kids themselves. It was such bullshit. Some people’s parents couldn’t just leave their jobs. Some people’s parents weren’t even in the country. This was a school for rich Bristol kids, so why would they have such a narrow-sighted protocol??  

At least the nurse had taken pity on Tim and given him some sweatpants from Lost and Found. But he still felt gross. He sat in the corner of the cafeteria, wishing he could just disappear. He stared down at all his unanswered texts and calls. His parents were on a dig in another country and Ms. Mac was out of town for her niece’s wedding. Tim had no one to pick him up and soon the teachers would start to get worried. They might call CPS. Or even worse… the Bats might come back for Tim. 

Tim was so frustrated he wanted to cry. He just wanted to go home . He wanted a fucking shower. He wanted his parents! But he was on his own, trapped here by adults who insisted on their stupid rules. The same adults who didn’t have any answers when Tim asked about Stacy. He couldn’t tell if they simply hadn’t gotten an update, or refused to disclose that information to Tim. 

He’d been there as she was OD-ing. He’d held her hand when she was scared. His pants were stained with her goddamn vomit! He deserved to know if she was okay or not! 

Tim soon got his answer to that question. But it wasn’t from a teacher.

A ghost drifted into the cafeteria. One that wasn’t Christina or Hakeem. It was Stacy. She… she hadn’t made it. 

Tim's stomach sank as he stared at her. Stacy’s lips and fingertips were as blue as the dress Mad Hatter had forced her into. Her mascara ran down her face in black tear tracks. There was foam smeared around her mouth like she was in an over the top toothpaste commercial, but Tim knew it wasn’t from toothpaste. He’d been there…. He’d watched as she’d choked and gurgled, as her body seized and her spit frothed. Tim hadn’t been able to save her. The EMTs hadn’t been able to save her. Batman hadn’t been able to save her. They’d all failed. 

“Meredith!” Stacy screamed, her voice shrill and some of the cafeteria lights flickered. “Where are you? Come out! The least you could do is look at me after what you did! Look!” She fisted her blonde hair in her hands, yanking on it. “Look at what you did to me!” She gasped out, then broke down into sobs, her head in her hands.

Meredith wasn’t there. She’d already been picked up by her parents. She’d been crying so hard her dad had to carry her out. Tim was extremely grateful for it. He did not want to see what Stacy would do if Meredith was still here. 

“Should we try to talk to her?” Hakeem asked. He’d stuck to Tim’s side during the wait, but Christina was oddly nowhere to be found. Tim had asked Hakeem about this, but he’d evaded the question. 

“Probably. But the teachers are watching us all like hawks.” Plus, Tim’s attempts at leaving without supervision had gained him an unfortunate amount of attention. “I don’t know if I’d be able to talk to her without raising suspicion.” 

“I’ll go talk to her, then.” Hakeem decided. “I’ll invite her to the dead school kids club.” 

Hakeem floated off to talk to her. He sat next to her and Stacy lifted her head out of her hands, but whatever was being said was too soft for Tim to make out from this distance. 

After a few moments of soft conversation, Stacy suddenly grabbed Hakeem by the shoulders and started shaking him. 

“Hey! Let go!” Hakeem yelled, but Stacy wasn’t listening.