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“Assistance required in the Cave as soon as possible. Robin is compromised.”
As far as terrible ways to wake up, a text like that from Batman is probably in Dick's top ten. He spends about five seconds staring at his phone – what does that even mean, Bruce? – before shooting back “there in 90” and flipping out of bed. He's showered and dressed in record time – civvies, since it's daylight, he can change at the Cave if he needs to – and out the door in ten minutes.
The sun is creeping over the horizon as he pulls onto the freeway towards Gotham. Dick turns the message over in his head: compromised, not injured or kidnapped. Something like Ivy's pollen or fear toxin would explain the wording, but not why Bruce needs Dick's help to handle things. Or is it Robin's identity that's at risk? But again, Bruce has contingencies for that, and he didn't deem the situation urgent enough to call and wake Dick instead of texting.
(Tim will be okay until Dick gets there. If it was an every-second-counts situation, Bruce would have called in Superman or the Flash to come get him. Dick trusts Bruce to know what counts as urgent, and that means Dick can stop imagining Tim right that this moment, beaten or bleeding out or caught in an explosion or –)
He's about twenty minutes out when the mindless pop on the radio flips suddenly into a breaking news alert.
“We go live to the press conference, at which Commissioner Gordon is expected to speak upon the most recent escape of mass murderer “The Joker” from Arkham Asylum…”
Dick's stomach twists. He knew there was an Arkham breakout yesterday – he'd spoken to Tim around midnight, stuck on lockdown in the Cave, sounding twitchy with boredom as he waited for Batman to make it back to Gotham.
Dick hadn't asked which Rogue it was. (Why hadn't he asked? What the fuck has the Joker done to his baby brother now?)
Only – Tim is so level-headed, especially when it comes to the Joker. He wouldn't have left the Cave without permission, would he? Did the Joker break in…? Or lure Tim out somehow…?
What happened?
“I am now able to report,” says Gordon's voice on the radio, “that we have retrieved a body from the fire which occurred on Leighton Avenue in the early hours of this morning. I can further report that we have positively identified the deceased as Jack Napier, more commonly known as the Joker. The Joker died at approximately 2am this morning.” There's a roar of sound as the reporters erupt with questions. “I will not be taking questions at this time.”
There's a moment of silence, the radio DJ's apparently as stunned as Dick is right now.
Dead.
The Joker is dead.
Can it be true?
A part of Dick is horribly, viciously glad. The monster is dead, like he deserves, like he has always deserved. Maybe now Dick can stop hating himself for being weak enough to let the bastard who killed his brother live.
But the greater part of him is so, so scared. Because if someone killed the Joker – if Batman finally let the Joker die –
… what happened to Tim last night?
Dick feels nauseous. If they have lost another Robin to the Joker, he doesn't care what else happened – Dick will never forgive Bruce, not for as long as he lives.
He floors the accelerator, gripping the wheel until his knuckles turn white.
#
Of all the scenarios Dick imagined on the drive, this was not among them. Tim is sat on the cot in one of the containment cells, his arms folded as he glares up at the camera surveilling him. He's wearing civvies, a hoodie and torn jeans, and he looks every bit the petulant fifteen year old. Dick's annoying, know-it-all, smartass baby brother.
He doesn't look like a killer. But then, most killers don't, unless they're making some kind of point.
“Assess the situation,” Bruce orders. He's still in his suit – sans cowl – and his voice is somehow even more gravelly than normal. Dick doesn't think he's even thought about sleeping yet. “I need a fresh pair of eyes on this, someone else who knows him…”
Fortunately, that lines up with what Dick wants to do anyway. He knocks on the door before cracking it open and sticking his head inside.
“Mind if I come in?”
“Do I have a choice?” Tim raises an eyebrow.
Dick shrugs apologetically as he steps inside, closing the door behind him.
“I'm not gonna claim that B isn't freaking out right now, but I'm not here to interrogate you. I'm here because I wanted to check how you're doing.” He gives Tim a half-smile. “Big night, huh?”
“I killed the Joker.” Tim's voice is steady, but it's the kind of steady that comes from forcing himself to be calm.
“Yeah,” Dick says, because there's plenty of evidence for that. The Robin suit tested positive for gunshot residue, and in the cowl footage Bruce keeps replaying, Tim was the only one holding a weapon when Batman entered the room. The results of the expedited autopsy won't be back for several hours, but Dick is expecting to hear that whatever bullets they can pull out of the body are a match the gun Batman recovered from Robin's hand. “How are you feeling about that?”
Tim pauses for a moment, considering his answer.
“Better than I thought I would?” he admits. “I didn't like it or anything, but I don't feel like I've lost my identity either. I'm still the same person I was yesterday.” He pauses, and when he speaks again his voice sounds a little firmer: “I made a hard choice, but I don't regret it. In the same circumstances, I would do it again.”
“Good, I'm glad you're holding up okay.” Tim looks a little surprised at that. “There isn't a wrong or a right way for you to be feeling right now. Just let me know if you want to talk, okay?”
Tim eyes him warily.
“Are you actually okay with this?” he asks. “Or is this because you think I was mind controlled?”
The suspicion is a little hurtful, but given how B has been acting, perhaps not a surprise.
“Were you mind controlled?” Dick asks lightly.
“No,” Tim snaps. “And yes, I know that's what a mind controlled person would say, but it happens to be true! Red Hood was just fucking with Batman, but now he won't listen to me when I try to explain –”
“So explain,” Dick suggests. “I'm here to listen, Tim. I promise I'll hear you out.”
Tim breaks off his rant.
“Okay,” he agrees. “Where do you want me to start?”
“When I spoke to you last night, you were in the Cave. What happened after that?”
“I put on the Robin suit and left. I took the bike to the city –”
Dick holds up a hand, stopping him.
“Why leave?” he asks.
Tim hesitates.
“I was worried about a friend. They were meant to let me know when they got home safe, but they never did. I was going to go look for them.”
“After disabling your suit's trackers?”
“I knew I wasn't meant to be leaving.” Tim shrugs, looking away.
Evasive. It's obvious Tim doesn't want to talk about who this “friend” is. But that's not conclusive – Tim's a private person, and he's allowed to keep secrets sometimes, no matter what Batman might think to the contrary.
“So, you go into the city…” Dick prompts.
“I heard some weird noises, so I decided to go into the building, and Red Hood and the Joker was there. Joker was tied to the chair and Hood had been torturing him. I'm guessing Hood was planning on killing him eventually, because he was in pretty bad shape, but I knew that if I was there, Batman wouldn't be far behind, and once he arrived – he would have saved the Joker, put him back together again, and eventually he would have found a way to hurt more people, just like he always does. I didn't want that to happen. So I shot him.”
Tim takes a breath, his eyes flickering to the camera behind Dick.
“To be honest, I'd thought about it before – that if I ever had the chance, I should kill him. He's hurt so many people – everything he's done to us, to Babs, to Jason. And I knew he wasn't ever going to stop, not unless someone stopped him. I didn't ever go looking for him, but last night the chance finally came up. So I did it.”
Dick nods. He understands the reasoning perfectly. If anything, Tim sounds more like he's thought this through than Dick did.
But Dick's not sure that will be enough for Batman.
“And the gun – it was Hood's?” Dick asks. “Did he give it to you?”
“I took it,” Tim says flatly. “He was distracted when I arrived. I don't think he knew what was happening until after I fired.”
“And then what was his reaction?”
Tim falters for a moment. He shrugs.
“I was freaking out a little. I would have got myself under control in a few more seconds, but he didn't threaten me. We know – I've looked into his crimes, he's known to be protective of kids in his territory, he makes a habit of rescuing trafficking victims. I guess he saw I was upset and tried to comfort me, even though I was Robin. He put an arm around me, and then Batman arrived.”
“You didn't try to get away?”
Tim shrugs.
“I guess I was still processing. It didn't seem like he was a threat. He was only there for a minute or so before he set off the smoke bomb – and then I realised the building was rigged to blow and we had to get out of there.”
Dick frowns. He doesn't like how Tim is talking about Red Hood, not one bit. Tim is not exactly a naturally trusting person, and Hood seems to have cut straight past his defences somehow.
But he doesn't seem brainwashed either. He has clear memories of what happened, and he can explain the reasoning for his actions. And as for seeming himself… Dick knows, without a moment of doubt, that Timmy is good to the core; that in any situation, he will always do the right thing.
And that's exactly what he did tonight.
“I know that what happens now is complicated,” Tim says in the moment of silence that follows. “Robin can't exactly stand trial for shooting someone –”
“You don't have to worry about that right now,” Dick says quickly, trying to hide how shaken he is by that statement. Is that really how Tim is thinking about this? “You were in a hostage situation with two known mass murderers. I'm sure no-one is even thinking about punishing you.” They ought to be throwing him a freaking parade.
“For what it's worth,” Tim says, appearing not to have heard him, “I am sorry that I turned Robin into a killer. I shouldn't have done that to your legacy.” He swallows. “I'm sure the next Robin will do better.”
Dick's heart cracks a little. He wants, more than anything, to reassure Tim that he's still Robin, that Robin is his until he doesn't want it any more – but he can't make that promise, not when Bruce is in such a strange mood about all this.
“You have nothing to apologise for,” he says instead.
Tim looks at him for a second, then hesitantly reaches out his arms. Dick doesn't wait a moment before wrapping his brother in a bone-crushing hug.
“You're a hero,” he murmurs, with every ounce of belief he can muster. “You'll always be a hero, baby bird.”
#
Jason is a hero.
The people of Crime Alley aren't fools, and the Red Hood – known for killing other, worse, criminals – was seen confronting the Joker only a few hours before his death. By the next day, people were thanking Hood in the street, and the members of his gang have offered to buy him enough drinks to lay him out flat for a week.
Taking credit for the Joker's death has been a huge boost to his reputation. Combined with the devastation that he and Joker wreaked upon Black Mask's gang, Red Hood's operation has never been in a better position.
And Jason can't enjoy a moment of it, because Little Red is nowhere to be found.
Three days ago, Tim Drake was called out of school, allegedly having come down with mono. He hasn't shown his face in public since, as Tim or as Robin, and his room at Drake Manor hasn't been slept in. His tracker hasn't budged from Wayne Manor once in all that time.
Jason isn't exactly surprised Robin has been benched, after everything that happened. He wouldn't even be surprised that Tim hadn't contacted him – kid has plenty of reasons to be pissed off right now. But pulling Tim out of school? That's setting off alarm bells, and those bells are labelled things like 'house arrest' and 'imprisoned without trial' and 'Justice League secret prison.'
So when his computer system pings him that Tim's tracker has finally – finally – moved, Jason is suited up and out the door in minutes.
The tracker is moving quickly as it leaves Bristol, clearly in some kind of vehicle. It comes to a stop in Gotham Village, only a few streets north of Hood's territory. When Jason reaches the address, it's a little family-run takeaway selling Korean barbecue. Jason takes up position on a roof opposite, trying to figure out why Tim would come here of all places. Why not come directly to one of Jason's safehouses? Has Bruce been starving him or something?
Then Dick Grayson walks out of the building, take-out bag in hand, and everything clicks into place.
Tim slipped his tracker onto Dick somehow. He must have known Jason would notice. Jason can hear his voice: the Joker's dead, no more excuses. Talk to your brother.
And yeah. Imaginary Timmy is right – Jason can't think of a single damn reason not to. It scares him half to death, but seeing Dick he feels like a kid again. It's been so long. He wants his big brother back.
Dick has scaled the fire escape a couple of buildings over, and settled himself onto the rooftop to brood. Jason is as careful as he's ever been, keeping his approach stealthy. He ditches the helmet, chest plate, and more visible guns, hiding them one building over.
Then he jumps onto the roof, and Dick turns and sees him, and he freezes.
“Hey, Dickiebird,” Jason says with a half-smile. “Sore must be the storm that could abash the little bird.”
It's an old codephrase, one that only the two of them know, chosen by a Jason as the first step in the fourteen-part plan to establish trust in case of doppelgangers, impersonation or cloning.
Only Dick seems to have forgotten all that, because he slams into Jason with force, nearly sending them both flying with the force of his hug.
“Jay.” Dick gasps, and sobs start shaking through him. “Jaybird, Little Wing, you're here, you're alive –”
“I'm alive,” Jason says, and he doesn't even try to fight his own tears. “I missed you so much Dickie.”
“Missed you too – I'm sorry,” Dick says into his shoulder. “I'm so sorry, I should have saved you –”
“There was nothing you could do,” Jason tells him. “It wasn't your fault. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
Dick clings to Jason like a drowning man, and Jason isn't inclined to let go. Dick is hugging him, all solid warmth and familiar smell. Dick tried to kill the Joker for him. Dick missed him.
A knot in Jason's chest which he wasn't even aware of is beginning to loosen.
Eventually, after a couple of minutes, Dick takes half a step back and looks up at him, smiling even though his eyes shine with tears.
“You got so big,” he says in a tone of wonder. “What happened to you?”
“Puberty,” Jason jokes. Then, before he can think better of it: “And a Lazarus Pit.”
“It was Ra's?” Dick asks, alarmed.
“Talia,” Jason corrects. “I don't know what brought me back, but I was catatonic at first. Talia found me and took me in. Eventually she decided I wasn't going to get better on my own, and she put me in the Pit. I came back to Gotham pretty soon after that.”
“She just let you go?”
“She was distracted.” Jason grins. “Timbo says the timing lines up with her dropping a snot-nosed kid on the Manor's doorstep?”
To his surprise, Dick's smile fades a little. He lets go of Jason's arms and steps back, turning away.
“How long has Bruce known you're back?”
“He knows?” Jason asks, alarmed.
Dick frowns. “You – Tim?”
“Oh, that.” Jason relaxes, understanding the mistake. “Nah, B had nothing to do with that. The kid showed up on my doorstep all on his own, casually chatting about my secret identity.”
Dick snorts with laughter.
“Yeah, that's baby bird for you,” he says, fondly.
“It freaked me the fuck out. Little stalker.” Jason shakes his head, aware that he sounds just as fond as Dick. “But he agreed to keep my secrets until I was ready to talk to you guys.”
“You're Tim's friend,” Dick says, in a tone of realisation. Then he looks Jason up and down, eyeing the leather jacket, the outline of the knife beneath his jeans –
Jason can see the moment of realisation on Dick's face, and every part of him tenses, waiting for anger, horror, betrayal –
“You're the Red Hood?” Dick sounds more confused than anything else. “No, I… that doesn't make sense. You hate drugs.”
Of all the things to say. Jason scuffs his boot against the ground.
“The boss makes the rules,” he explains. “If I'm the guy in charge, I can say – no cutting the merchandise, no selling to kids, no pressuring customers for sex. Harm reduction stuff. It's not perfect, but…”
“But it's saving lives,” Dick says, and he's looking at Jason so intense and vulnerable that Jason can't meet his eye. “You always said you'd come back and save the Alley one day, Jay.”
Jason scratches at the back of his head. His face is hot, and he's breathing a little fast, and he has no idea what he's supposed to say.
“And… you went after the Joker.”
“Tim was never supposed to be there,” Jason says quickly. “I was going to end him myself, but… I didn't realise how I'd react, seeing him again. And then Tim showed up, and he just picked up the gun…”
“And did what neither of us could,” Dick finishes.
Jason swallows.
“Is he doing okay?” he asks, trying to hide how desperate he truly feels. “I haven't been able to see him –”
“Bruce has him on house arrest, no contact with the outside world,” Dick confirms. “He's trying to deprogram Tim from his 'brainwashing' –”
“He isn't brainwashed,” Jason says. “That's – it should be obvious, if you talked to him –”
“I know that,” Dick says. “Alfred knows that. But – well, Bruce is so good at admitting to painful truths…” He rolls his eyes. “He's convinced himself that this is for the best, and he won't listen to anyone who says otherwise. I've been at the Manor, trying to keep Tim company and make sure Damian behaves and try and talk some sense into Bruce –” He breaks off with a shake of his head. “Tonight, I just had to get out of there, get some air.”
“It's not your job to pull his head out his ass,” Jason snaps, tendrils of green starting to creep in.
“Believe me, I know.” Dick sighs. “He'll come around soon. If he actually believed, deep down, that Tim wasn't in control of his actions, then he would have called in Martian Manhunter. But he clearly has no intention of telling the League about this, so he can't keep Robin benched for long.”
“And in the meantime the kid's just stuck being held prisoner?” Jason demands. “He didn't do anything wrong and you know it.”
There's a moment of silence. For a moment Jason thinks he's gotten too close to the elephant in the room, the one that begins you kill people now? and ends with blood on their knuckles and a bitter taste in his mouth.
Then Dick swallows, and nods.
“You know what?” he says slowly. “You're right.”
Jason blinks. “Say that again?”
Dick smiles, and this time it isn't watery or proud or amused. This smile is cold and sharp and vicious, the destroying-our-enemies smile, the someone-fucked-up-bigtime smile, the Robin smile.
And just like no time has passed at all, Jason can't help but feel the same smile start to tug at his own mouth. Dick clasps his arm, and Jason knows my big brother has my back in a way he feared he'd never know again.
“Tim deserves better than this. So… what are we going to do about it?”