Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In hindsight, Tim’s day had gone a little too well. He should’ve expected something to go wrong. Something normal like Redbird getting a flat tire, nearly choking when he tries to drink water and it goes down the wrong way, or falling on his face when trying to execute that cool flip Dick showed him last week. Normal stuff, right? 

Ha, WRONG! Tim is Robin; nothing ever is normal with him. 

That morning, he’d beaten Bart and Kon at Mario Kart Deluxe. (It’s like normal Mario Kart but you’re allowed to physically attack your opponents.) Cassie even got it on video! Well, she was filming it for her stupid people doing stupid things album on her phone, but you get the idea. Now Tim’s victory is memorialized in 1080p  and if zooms in, he can get screenshots of the look on Kon’s face when Tim kicked him in the face! 

The day only got better from there because Dick showed up at Titans Tower and had them pair up for individual sparring sessions. Tim got paired with Starfire and he’s pretty sure it’s because of what Bruce said after Thursday’s patrol about Tim needing to work on dodging long range projectiles. (The projectile in question from that patrol was a slurpee cup full of vomit thrown unexpectedly by a drunk man. Bruce insisted on hosing Tim off in a self-serve car wash before allowing him into the Batmobile.) Tim came out of the spar with several newly formed bruises but no vomit, so that’s good. 

Dick greets Tim after their respective post-training showers with a grin and an affectionate hand in his hair. “Good job, Timbo! I can tell those agility exercises Bruce has been putting you through have been paying off.”

“If I have to look at an agility ladder today, I’m gonna hurl,” Tim informs him. 

Dick snickers. “Rite of passage, baby bird!” The hand in his hair starts giving him a noogie and Tim squawks. He makes sure to firmly elbow Dick in the ribs as he ducks away because it’s what he deserves. “No agility ladders tonight, I promise. I made Bruce swear them off for today as long as we sneak him some real pizza.” 

Tim bounces on his toes. “Does that mean we’re doing pizza night?” 

“Yep, as long as that book signing thing distracts Alfred for long enough.” 

“ Sweet !” 

Tim adjusts the strap of his duffel bag full of gear as they step through the elevator door and into the Tower’s basement parking garage. His motorcycle shines red and black next to Dick’s Nightwing cycle. He’s been wanting to upgrade the exhaust pipes for a while… maybe he can fit it in after his math test this week. 

He straps his duffel bag onto his bike and throws a leg on. Dick follows suit and winks at him from behind his domino lenses as the engine rumbles. It’s already dark outside when they peel out of the garage, Tim following a hair behind Dick. Dick takes the first corner extra hard, bike leaning at an angle that would be scary if he wasn’t a trained professional. Grinning, Tim increases his speed and follows him a heartbeat later. 

Man, moments like this are when Tim feels so cool . He’s riding his tricked out motorcycle next to Nightwing! Then they get to take a zeta tube, aka a literal teleportation device that’s like something out of a sci-fi novel but is actually technology borrowed from aliens. 

So crash. 

What’s not crash, however, is the way the road shakes beneath their tires. Dick skids to a stop, hopping off his motorcycle. 

“D’you think it’s an earthquake?” Tim asks, one leg braced on the ground. “San Francisco has five thousand earthquakes per year but there’s been maybe one thousand so far and it’s only March. Theoretically, we should have four thousand earthquakes left but not all of those will be big enough for humans to feel…”

He pauses as Dick holds up a hand. 

“Do you see that?” He murmurs, jerking his chin in front of them. 

Tim frowns, squinting. “See what?”

“It was just a blur, but--” 

The ground beneath their feet disappears. Time slows down as the adrenaline kicks in and Tim’s hand lands on his grappling gun. Next to him, Dick does the same, but it’s too late. Tim reaches for the edge only for asphalt to give way to something black and swirling and cold. Not a motherboard. Magic? Fuck, it’s too late.

They’re falling. 

And falling.

And falling.

And--

Suddenly, they’re on flat ground again. Their surroundings are unfamiliar. Tim inhales, exhales, and lets the planes and angles of Robin surround the softness of Tim Drake. Focus, assess the situation. 

Dick is still next to him and looks the same as he did moments ago-- no injuries. Their motorcycles look unscathed. The fall appears to have shifted their bags slightly but within reason. 

They appear to be surrounded by warehouses with corrugated metal siding and tiny dark windows. None of the windows look broken. Every so often, a little fluorescent lightbulb attached to the side of the warehouse flickers. Most of the area is shrouded in shadows and the night sky is dark with few stars shining through the clouds. (Warehouses with enough money to generally maintain their exterior paint but not enough to replace faulty lights. Is it intentional or accidental negligence?) 

There’s a window near them that’s maybe five feet off the ground. It’s halfway open and a quiet but steady stream of words pours out. The cadence sounds like some kind of news program but the words themselves….

“-- hero… of the week! …the Rabbit Hero: Mirko, who… bank robbery… thirteen civilian hostages--”

Suddenly, Tim is very thankful that Bruce made them learn certain languages. Granted, Tim’s Japanese isn’t flawless, but he gets the gist. It’s a good thing that Bruce made sure to teach him all of the important words like hostage and civilian . 

Next to him, Dick frowns as he listens. Maybe he understands more than Tim does? 

“ Now it’s time for… All Might Takedown Breakdown… amazing work against the villain Chainsaw Arms… as expected for Japan’s number one pro hero--”

Tim turns to Dick and mouths Chainsaw Arms?  

Dick doesn’t return the bewildered look. Instead, he crouches down and picks up a discarded newspaper from the assorted detritus at their feet. He stares at it for a long moment before turning it so Tim can read the date at the top. 

March 5th, 2148. 

It’s worse than Dick thought. 

Getting sucked into a portal to Japan is one thing. Under normal circumstances, they could take a zeta back to Gotham or even hitch a ride with Superman or one of the Green Lanterns. This, though.… The newspaper looks relatively fresh. No faded or sloppy inking that would indicate a fake. On the front page is a picture of a woman in a rabbit costume kicking someone in the face outside of a bank. The headline mentions Mirko, so the picture must be of her. The article matches with what the news announcer was talking about so the paper must be recent, maybe even from this week.

This week. The week of March 5th, 2148. Over a hundred years into the future. 

Bruce is going to lose his shit when he finds out about this.

Okay, focus. He has one teenager, two motorcycles, and some assorted junk shoved into duffel bags. They aren’t separated and there’s nothing trying to kill them (so far). First things first, they’ll want some kind of shelter. Evidently this world has “professional” heroes and, honestly, Dick isn’t sure how much he trusts government-sanctioned heroes. If Gotham’s police department before Commissioner Gordon could teach any lesson, it’s that people in positions of power will abuse them. Who knows what these so-called pro heroes would react to Nightwing and Robin in full gear. Hence, finding shelter. 

They’re obviously in a warehouse district. If this place is anything like Gotham, there will likely be abandoned warehouses somewhere around here. Who knows if the heroes here care about property damage-- a damaged warehouse means people won’t be working in it and they can potentially rest there. 

Dick gestures for Tim to follow him and wheels his motorcycle away from the warehouse as quietly as possible. Tim follows in his footsteps, wisely keeping quiet. Now is not the time for Robin quips, after all. 

They stick to the shadows, sneaking along the sides of warehouse after warehouse, until Dick finds what he’s looking for. A warehouse, standing tall but with significant damage on the ground in front of the main doors and on part of the wall. Not the load bearing part, Dick thinks, so they should be safe. It looks like the damage came from some kind of acid but there are some burn marks too from a fight of some kind, most likely. 

Are people here able to throw acid? God, Dick hopes not. 

Dick tiptoes inside, leaving Tim to stand guard outside with their motorcycles, and pokes around. The thin layer of dust on the crates inside indicates this place has been abandoned for maybe a week. Damage seems concentrated to the front side and exterior of the building while the interior remains structurally sound. There’s a small foreman’s office in the back and Dick picks the lock in under ten seconds. Bingo-- there are filing cabinets full of records, a desk, a mini fridge, and a pull out couch. There’s even a bathroom with a tiny, cramped shower off to the side. 

Pleased with his find, Dick goes back outside to grab Tim and their bikes. Neither of them risk saying anything until they’re inside the office, bikes just outside the door. 

Bugs? Tim mouths soundlessly. 

Dick purses his lips and they start sweeping the office. Nothing in the light fixture, nothing inside the outlets. Tim fiddles with the light switch and discovers that the dingy overhead light can turn on. Nothing in the desk, either. Dick pokes around in the bathroom while Tim checks the filing cabinets. No bugs in here but there is running water! Only cold water but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

“All clear,” he says when he emerges from the bathroom. 

Tim makes a face and flops dramatically onto the couch. Oh, teenagers. “Guess we’re not having pizza tonight.” 

Considering how they’re currently in futuristic Japan-- and possibly not even their own dimension-- Dick has to fight to not laugh. He’d rather avoid freaking out his younger brother. Dick is the one with more experience, more maturity. He’s the eldest brother and it’s his job to be the glue holding them together while Bruce isn’t here. 

“Sorry, bud,” he says, smiling in commiseration. “No pizza tonight.” 

(Bruce will find them soon. Right?)

Chapter Text

That evening, Dick learns a lot. 

As it turns out, wifi in the future is evidently the same as wifi from the present (past?) because Dick and Tim’s laptops have no issues connecting to the wifi of a nearby warehouse. Thank god because man, do they have a lot of research to do.

Dick starts off with history. It’ll be their best tool for determining whether this is a future timeline or an entirely different dimension. Fortunately or unfortunately, he gets his answer rather quickly: there was never a Lex Luthor in this world. There was never a Bruce Wayne, either. (If Dick wasn’t compartmentalizing, that one would have hurt. He’ll deal with it later when he’s not in immediate crisis mode.) 

The Justice League doesn’t exist here. There is no Superman. Perhaps Krypton never existed in this universe or, more sadly, maybe baby Kal-El’s ship never reached Earth. From what he can tell, the Green Lanterns either don’t exist or never made their presence known on Earth. 

Heroism as he knows it doesn’t exist. Everything in this world seems to revolve around meta powers or, as they call them here, quirks. 

Context and situational knowledge is important, so Dick dives deeper and memorizes as many facts as he can. The first quirk was a glowing baby born in 2014. 20% of the modern population is something known as quirkless but most of that is concentrated among the older generations. For someone Dick’s age to lack a quirk is very rare indeed. 

Dick starts digging into the heroics system here-- and it’s a real, government-run system, ugh-- and frowns at his computer. He doesn’t stop until Tim nudges his thigh with a socked foot and gives him a concerned look. Right, an impressionable youth is present. Dick gives Tim a reassuring smile before going back to his deep dive. 

And boy, what a deep dive it is.

Heroes are ranked here.

Someone looks at what heroes do, who they fight, how many people they save, and ranks them. It’s like the trolley problem if someone assigned point values to human lives. It’s the worst idea Dick has ever heard. 

Would watching Bruce, Clark, and Hal Jordan arguing over rankings be funny? Sure, but god . Thinking about Dick’s entire vigilante career and how the Japanese ranking system prioritizes limelight heroes makes him want to scream. The government can’t quantify the change that a single hero can have on one person’s life. Are people genuinely okay with reducing heroism to a glorified points system? 

Eventually, Tim pokes Dick’s hip with his foot again. He’s produced a bag of chips from somewhere and only halfheartedly swats at Dick when he steals a handful. 

“Hey, I’m pretty sure the city we’re in right now doesn’t exist,” Tim says as he shoves another chip into his mouth. 

He turns his laptop so Dick can see the screen. It’s pulled up to a wikipedia page for Musutafu, Shizuoka prefecture, Japan. Estimated population of 800,000. There are a little over a thousand pro heroes who operate out of Musutafu. The pro hero population may be slightly inflated due to the presence of UA High School, the top hero academy in Japan.

“They have high schools dedicated to teaching kids how to be heroes?” Dick frowns. 

Tim shrugs and clicks on the UA High School link. “Guess so. Can you read this?” 

It’s all in Japanese. Dick glances at Tim out of the corner of his eye and casually asks, “How much Japanese did Bruce teach you?”

“Some. I can talk in it, sort of. And read a little bit.” Tim hunches over a little and starts messing with the clasp of one of his utility belt pouches without meeting Dick’s eyes.

“I can teach you more,” Dick offers. Tim perks up a little but there’s still a little hesitance there. Hmm. He’ll have to keep an eye on it. “But yeah, I can read it. There’s a list of alums here… oh, this is the All Might guy they were talking about on the news.” 

They click the link and pull up a page of some big buff blonde guy. Damn, he looks even taller than Clark. No real name listed, though that isn’t surprising-- Dick can’t imagine that guy would want extra publicity. “He worked in America for a few years before coming back to Japan,” Dick translates. “And it sounds like his power-- or quirk, I guess-- is being super strong.”

Tim nods slowly, considering the new information. “Like Clark or Kon, but less cool,” he decides.

“Sounds like people here only have one, maybe two powers at a time. Not super strength, invulnerability, laser vision, frost breath….”

“Or a portal quirk,” Tim adds softly. 

Dick tilts his head and shifts to face Tim more fully. “Yeah? You suspect a portal quirk brought us here?”

Tim shrugs with one shoulder and rolls the hem of his Robin tunic between his fingers, considering. “There are only two options, something pulled us here from this side or pushed us here from our side. B will look into whatever happened on his side and that leaves us to cover all the bases here.”

For a long moment, Dick watches Tim as he rolls his words around in his head. Behind the domino, Tim still has a little baby fat on his cheeks. He accomplishes so much and yet Dick is always aware of how young he is. He’s the same age as Jason was when he died. Maybe they’ll get a second chance with Jason, now that he’s back from the dead, but Dick doesn’t want to need a second chance with Tim. He’d rather do this right the first time around. 

“I know you’re probably worried about B but he can handle his end of things. He has Clark and Diana to help, remember?”

Tim doesn’t look up. “I just… you saw what he was like after Jason.” 

Dick swallows, and forces the grief back down his throat. “I saw. I know it was bad, but… this is different. We didn’t run away and we’re not dead. B is the World’s Greatest Detective, right? He’ll figure that out. But Tim, I don’t want you to worry about what B is doing or feeling. Just focus on you, okay?” 

He reaches out and squeezes Tim’s shoulder. Tim tenses, like he always does, before melting into it. Dick lets Tim fall forward into the hug and earns himself an armful of baby brother. He wraps one arm around Tim’s shoulders and pets up and down his arm with the other. 

“Shhh, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out. There’s nothing actively trying to kill us so we just need to chase down leads and keep ourselves alive. We can handle that. You aren’t doing this by yourself.”

When Tim finally sits back up, he’s sniffling a little and he digs around in his bag for the bottle of mask solvent. His eyes are teary when he finally peels his mask off and passes the solvent to Dick. Dick takes his own mask off and doesn’t comment on Tim’s tears. Getting teenagers to trust you is like luring a stray cat. Sometimes you have to act casual, offer them food, and avoid pressuring them too much lest they do the exact opposite of what you want. 

Their masks get tucked into their bags and as Tim settles back onto the couch, he comments, “By the way, I hacked into the bank accounts for some of the Walmart and Disney heirs and got us some cash.”

Dick lets out a surprised laugh and wipes at his eyes. “Well, I guess we don’t have to worry about money in the short term. Good job, baby bird.”

Tim gives him a wry smile. “You know what they say: crime pays.”

Their nighttime routine is relatively quiet. They have enough supplies from their weekend from the Titans that they can change into pajamas and brush their teeth, at least. Tim pokes around the office until he discovers a single mildewy pillow, discolored sheets, and an old comforter.

“Hey, at least we won’t freeze to death,” says Tim, who can and will fall asleep anywhere. 

“Something is better than nothing,” replies Dick, who mostly lives off a gymnast instructor’s income. (Granted, it’s supplemented with whatever Justice League stipend Barbara forces him to accept by thwarting any attempts to wire transfer the money back to the League, but Dick avoids spending that money whenever possible. He’d rather live off his own income, thank you very much.) 

On the bright side, the pullout couch doesn’t have any signs of bedbugs when they inspect it before putting the sheets on. 

Dick, however, swipes the pillow before Tim can grab it. “Senior Robin privileges,” he explains. Tim grabs at the pillow but Dick just holds it above his head. 

“Fuck you.” 

“No thank you.” 

Tim makes a disgusted face and flips Dick off before burrowing under the blanket. With just his face and black hair poking out, he really looks his age. Dick takes a moment to acknowledge his panic at being the sole caretaker of a teenager while they’re trapped in a completely different dimension before he promptly shoves his panic into a little box in the back of his head. Nope, not dealing with that today. 

He gets himself situated under the blankets with his hard-earned pillow before whispering, “Good night, Timmy.” 

There’s no reply-- Tim is already asleep. 

Tim sleeps like the dead so Dick wakes up first the next morning. He’s awake by 9 AM. All things considered, that’s pretty good by bat standards. He brushes his teeth and showers using the excruciatingly cold water and the bottles of what look like cheap shampoo and conditioner. Drying himself off with an old towel is kind of gross but, well, beggars can’t be choosers. He’ll live.

Now fully dressed, Dick sits on top of the desk and watches the sliver of yellow light from the barely open bathroom door illuminate Tim’s sleeping form. He’s… so young. Come to think of it, Bruce was around Dick’s age when he first took Dick under his wing. Is this how Bruce felt? Caring for a fifteen year old is easier than a nine year old but with age comes baggage. Tim is currently cut off from all of his friends and family. Surely that can’t be healthy. Teenagers need social interaction and a support network. 

With a sigh, Dick runs a hand through his damp hair in an attempt to tame it. There’s nothing he can do right now besides making sure Tim has food, a roof over his head, and some kind of adult supervision. 

The first item in that list is particularly important since they skipped dinner last night in favor of researching this new world. While Tim didn’t complain, Dick should grab food for them. He leaves a note on the desk explaining what he’s up to before he leaves. 

The warehouses around them seem to be similarly quiet during this time of day so at least he doesn’t need to worry too much about being spotted. It doesn’t take long to find a convenience store and slip inside. 

Dick emerges from the store with bags of food and some basic first aid supplies. He isn’t sure how he feels about “future” stores letting him pay with just his phone but hey, it’s very convenient for stranded vigilantes who only have a newly made bank account and no credit card.  The medical supplies aren’t anything nearly as nice as his first aid kit in his apartment back home but it should be enough to treat run of the mill cuts, slashes, and light stab wounds. 

He’ll need to scout out local clinics before doing any kind of patrol this evening just in case one of them gets severely injured or they find an injured civilian. Gotham has Leslie’s clinic but Dick has a sneaking feeling that, given the amount of government funding being funneled to heroes instead of to social programs, there won’t be many free or low cost clinics around. Ugh. If Dick gets injured, it’ll be fine. But if Tim gets some kind of severe injury, Dick would rather not risk his baby brother having a poorly handled medical emergency. 

By the time Dick gets back to their no-longer-abandoned warehouse, Tim is awake and scrolling through his phone in bed. Sensing an opportunity to indulge in his annoying older brother privileges, Dick bounces into the room with more energy than is strictly appropriate for 10 o’clock in the morning. 

“Gooooood morning, sunshine! The earth says hello!” He chirps, setting the bags down on the desk. 

Tim raises his head enough to give Dick the most soul-curdling glare he can possibly manage. Dick just smiles innocently in response. After a moment, Tim grunts and starts rummaging through his bag next to the bed. 

When Tim gets up and pads into the bathroom with a bundle of fresh clothes under his arm, Dick doesn’t say anything. He waits until the shower turns on and then, loud enough to hear through the door, Tim yells, “ Fuck , that’s fucking COLD!”

Dick smirks to himself. Sounds like someone forgot this place doesn’t have hot water.

Later, after Tim has demolished two protein bars and a sandwich, he’s finally awake enough to drag outside. The wild Tim-beast blinks in the sunlight, disgruntled at being forced out of his den, before peering down at his phone. “Twitter says that Shisido is fighting someone in… this direction. Or we could go this way,” he points in the opposite direction, “And watch Gunhead.” 

“Gunhead? Like, he has a gun instead of a head?” 

Tim squints at his phone. “I think his arms are guns. Looks like he does a lot of martial arts.”

“His whole arms? Does he have hands? It would be hard to grapple with no hands.”

“I dunno, guess we’ll see. Hey, if someone can have guns for arms, I bet a person exists in this universe with chainsaws for arms!” 

As it turns out, Gunhead has guns ON his arms instead of guns AS his arms. He’s fighting against someone who looks almost like a life size praying mantis. It is, Tim has to admit, pretty damn cool. 

The praying mantis person’s quirk looks pretty multifaceted. They have some kind of natural chitinous exoskeleton, legs with distinctly inhuman joints that let them bounce around like Dick does, and cool slashy forearms. (Are they able to wear long sleeved shirts? Doesn’t it get cold in Japanese winters?) 

The fight itself is interesting to watch. Gunhead evidently has experience with multiple forms of martial arts. He uses Muay Thai’s eight points of contact but there’s a lot of hapkido influence in the way he directs the flow of battle. He’s definitely being careful about his footwork because Gunhead keeps turning and luring the mantis person away every time they face the crowd.

Oh yeah, the crowd. That’s a whole different can of worms. 

Here’s the thing: Tim isn’t a novice. He may be fifteen years old but he’s ROBIN, okay. During his tenure as Robin, he’s helped out with his fair share of alien invasions and city-wide disasters. Civilians in most places know to clear out and get to a safe distance as soon as they see a hero fight brewing. Gothamites practically have a sixth sense for it and even the most jaded bystanders will give active fights a wide berth. If they do get close, at least Gothamites aren’t stupid and will get a baseball bat out or something. Tim has seen a college student smack one of the Riddler’s goons in the head with a textbook. 

But these civilians?

Apparently nobody has ever taught these people about things like “stray bullets” or “it’s harder to fight when you’re constantly trying to defend nearby civilians”. Almost everyone has their phones out. A few people are standing on a parked car to get a better angle. Gunhead gets knocked into the car and holy shit, those people don’t even move . 

Tim is going to get stress hives from watching this. There are a few sidekicks hanging around but they’re all just watching the fight. Tim is going to tear out his hair. They’re not even doing anything. Damn, at least do some crowd control! 

These people wouldn’t last a minute in Gotham. Or even a minute in Metropolis. Based on Dick’s clenched jaw, he feels similarly. 

The fight doesn’t last all that long. Gunhead manages to hit weak spot in Mantis’s exoskeleton on their side and follows it up with a swift kick to the soft spot behind their knee. Mantis goes down and the crowd cheers. 

Everything gets wrapped up rather quickly after that. A sidekick helps slap on what must be some kind of quirk suppressing or extra strong handcuffs and bystanders go back to whatever they were doing. Some people try to flag down Gunhead for autographs. There’s even a cluster of reporters who emerge seemingly from nowhere-- their cameras must have blended into the crowd’s-- and they try calling out to sidekicks for interviews. Wow, is this what it’s like every time a hero fights someone here? Weird. 

“Want to move on?” Dick asks, still keeping half an eye on the people clustered around Gunhead. 

They spend the remainder of their morning and early afternoon wandering around shops and acquiring supplies. A few changes of clothes, an extra pillow and blanket for the bed, towels for the bathroom. Nothing too bulky but enough to make their stay in this world more comfortable.

They don’t need more than that. Bruce is definitely losing his mind right now and tearing apart the world to look for them. It won’t be too long until they’re back home where they belong. 

For their late lunch, they grab takeout from a noodle place. Tim can’t read the menu so he lets Dick order for him in exchange for getting to pick where they eat. He pokes around his phone’s map, eyeing small green spaces, until something catches his eye. 

“Hey, there’s a beach near here. I bet we could eat there and watch the ocean or something.” 

Dick peers at Tim’s phone over his shoulder as they walk out of the restaurant. “Sure, that sounds nice.” 

“It’ll be fun to do some exploring before we get yanked back home,” Tim explains. “Hey, it’ll be like a vacation! Maybe Alfred will get off your back about taking time off, huh?” 

“Ha, I doubt that would do it. Last time I went on vacation, Alfred said it didn’t count .” 

“What vacation?” Tim frowns, racking his brain. “Do you mean when you and Roy went to Brazil and ended up breaking up some weird Superman cult?” 

“Exactly! Brazil was such a fun trip.”

“Dick, I don’t think breaking up a cult counts as a vacation.” 

“Sure it does! We had a hotel room and everything.” 

“I read through your report. Wasn’t the hotel run by the cult?”

“Yeah but that just added some extra flair. Some spice, if you will. What good is a vacation if it doesn’t keep you on your toes?” 

Squinting at Dick’s sunny smile, Tim tries to figure out where Bruce went wrong with him. Probably when he let the miniature gymnast wear a uniform without leggings in Gotham’s winter, he thinks. 

Dagobah beach isn’t too far of a walk from the restaurant. The smell of the salt on the air mixed with something unidentifiable reminds Dick of home. As soon as the beach comes into sight, it becomes clear why that is: it’s partially covered in garbage. Refrigerators, couches, tables, garbage bags, and who knows what else line about a third of the beach. The middle is clear of trash but the piles on the ends are piled pretty high.

A fridge near them starts to wobble and Dick watches it carefully as it rises several inches into the air before plopping back down onto the sand. Moments later, a head of green hair pops up behind it before promptly flopping down with their face on top of the fridge. 

“Uh, are you okay?” Tim asks in clumsy Japanese. 

The boy jolts up, eyes wide. “Oh! I’m fine. Sorry, I didn’t realize there was anyone else here. Are you lost? This place is kind of a, hah, kind of a dump.” He gestures at the piles of trash behind him. 

Dick smiles at the stranger before quickly translating for Tim, who looked rather bewildered at the boy’s rapid-fire speech. “It’s okay, don’t worry. My brother and I are new in town so we didn’t know. Do you need help? That fridge looks awfully heavy.”

“You two are Americans, right? My english isn’t bad.” He switches over to English easily. “Don’t worry about the fridge! I’ve been cleaning up the beach for training. My mentor suggested it so I could get strong enough for UA’s entrance exam.”

Dick claps his hands. “Aww, good luck! I’m sure you’ll do great.” 

“UA is a really good school. You must have a strong quirk,” Tim observes. 

The boy blink before rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, not really! My quirk is… coming in late. My mentor thinks it’s because my body needs to be strong enough for it first. What about you, are you applying anywhere?” 

Tim shrugs with practiced nonchalance. “Nah, I’m homeschooled. Heroics programs wouldn’t be a good fit for me anyways since I don’t have a quirk.” 

“Ohhh.” Eyes widening in understanding, the boy looks over Tim for a moment before smiling. “Good luck with your studies! Homeschooling is good for avoiding bullies. You shouldn’t have too many problems being quirkless here if you aren’t in school. Just, um, keep being careful and I think you should be okay.” 

Ah. Since the boy hasn’t manifested his quirk yet, he’s been functionally quirkless. No wonder he looks worried about Tim. He must have assumed that Tim was bullied out of his old school. Armed with this information, Dick leans over to ruffle Tim’s hair. “Don’t worry, I like keeping an eye on Tim to make sure he doesn’t cause trouble. He’s a trouble magnet, you know?” 

The boy straightens. “I just remembered I didn’t tell you my name! I’m Midoriya Izuku. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“I’m Grayson Richard,” says Dick. “And this is my little brother, Drake Tim.” 

Midoriya blinks at their different last names and Dick adds, “We were both adopted but we wanted to keep our old last names.” 

“Oh, I see,” Midoriya nods. “That makes sense.”

“You know, we haven’t met many people since we moved to Japan. Tim, why don’t you exchange phone numbers with Midoriya?” 

While Tim is too well trained to let his surprise show on his face, the look he gives Dick lingers for just long enough to convey his unspoken question. Evidently, Tim hasn’t realized that they may be stuck in Japan for a while. After all, they were either sent here by magic (not their forte and spells that go wrong are extremely difficult to parse) or a quirk misfire (also not their forte and they know next to nothing about them). Either way, they’ll likely be here for a while. He might as well try to find some friends for Tim while they’re here. 

“Good idea, Grayson!” Midoriya pulls out his phone and holds it out to Tim. After a moment of hesitation, Tim hands his own phone over so they can exchange numbers. 

Once all phones have returned to their rightful owners, Dick smiles and claps his hands. “Well, we’ll leave you to your training. It was nice to meet you, Midoriya! I hope you’re able to pass your entrance exam.” 

Midoriya beams. “Thank you, I hope so too! And Drake, please feel welcome to text me whenever!”

With that, Tim gives Midoriya a little wave before they head off. He’s chewing on his lip like he has something on his mind but he waits until they leave the beach before speaking. 

“Any reason why you want me to make friends with random people?” Tim asks, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye as they navigate the streets. 

“More friends will be good for you. After all, you don't have your Young Justice friends here.” 

Now Tim turns his head fully so he can shoot Dick a skeptical look. “That won’t matter if we get home soon.” 

“Exactly. If we get home soon,” Dick points out. “There’s no guarantee that we’ll find a way back anytime soon.” 

Tim makes a noncommittal sound and glances away. Hm. Well, denial isn’t the worst coping mechanism. Dick will have to keep an eye on that just in case the stress starts getting to him.

Chapter Text

“I said no,” Dick says calmly. 

Tim scowls at him and continues pacing around the desk. “I’ve been Robin for two years. Batman trusts me to patrol by myself and I wouldn’t even be alone if I stay near you! Besides, with the number of heroes running around, there won’t be any crazy superpowered villains. It won’t be that dangerous; this isn’t Gotham.” 

“Exactly, this isn’t Gotham . We have no idea what we might encounter out there and--”

“Then I should come with you so you have safety in numbers!”

“No, you should stay behind so if I get caught up in a mess, we have someone to bail me out and call an ambulance. We don’t have Leslie’s clinic or the Batcave here. If we get injured, we’ll have to deal with it on our own. I’d rather have one of us stay behind than risk both of us getting severely injured.” 

Tim grits his teeth and Dick can almost hear his molars grinding together. Patience. He focuses on breathing patterns so he doesn’t lose his cool at Tim. Only one of them is an adult and Bruce isn’t around to help out, so Dick is going to have to handle this by himself. 

Footsteps echo around the office as Tim paces back and forth. His hands are clenched into fists and he avoids looking at Dick. Several minutes pass until Tim stops. 

“If you’re going on patrol by yourself, you’re going to keep your comms on at all times. And no rushing into bad situations. Okay?”

Dick nods, relieved. “Of course. I mainly want to do recon, see what the nightlife is like, check out what the local police are doing. That sort of thing.”  

Tim exhales through his nose. “I guess.” 

The atmosphere in the room stays tense as Dick prepares for patrol. He double checks his grappling guns before heading out but Tim barely glances up from his laptop as he pulls his headphones on. 

Dick takes his motorcycle out and rides out into the night. The smells of cool evening air and asphalt are familiar even if the city itself isn’t. Everything is quiet as he hits the main road and rides out to the part of the city that seemed to be less wealthy and with a lower hero presence. 

His comm crackles in his ear before Tim’s voice pipes up. “All right, I have access to the city’s security cameras. I’ll take a look around and let you know if I spot anything interesting.”

“Ten-four. Thanks, Robin.” 

While he misses having his patrol routes overlooked by gargoyles, Nightwing makes do. He helps one person pick up spilled groceries and just smiles when they express surprise at seeing a hero around. A college age woman being catcalled by a gaggle of drunk men shoots him a thankful look when he parks his motorcycle between her and the men. 

“Hi boys, how are you doing tonight? Good?” Several of them shout drunkenly at him all at once. Nightwing doesn’t bother parsing what they’re trying to say and instead continues, “Hey, do you kiss your mothers with those mouths? Come on, simmer down. That person is just trying to get home. Let’s not do anything stupid, yeah? Do any of you need water?” 

Several bottles of water from a vending machine later, Nightwing continues on his way. The shops in this area are all small with signs that have seen better days. Most of the apartment buildings don’t look much better: they’re run down with pitted concrete and front doors that hang crooked in their frames. No wonder heroes don’t patrol here at night-- this place isn’t exactly a photographer’s dream. It reminds him of part of the East End back in Gotham. 

“Hey N, I may have something for you. Robbery in progress about five blocks north of you.” 

“On it,” Nightwing says as he executes a smooth u-turn. “Let me know if it looks like things are about to take a turn for the worse.” 

Robin hums into the comm and falls silent. The only sounds are the wind whooshing past Nightwing’s helmet, the crackle of an open comm line, and the far off symphony of a city at night. 

Two minutes later, Robin speaks again. “Cops showed up and the robbery was stopped. Police are still on the scene.” 

“Oh?”

Hearing his unasked question, Robin adds, “Looks like they’re behaving themselves. No excessive force, they talked the guy down. I didn’t see any bribes changing hands either.” 

Dick parks his motorcycle a block away before expertly scaling a fire escape. From there, it’s a simple matter of running over a few roofs until he reaches the alleyway where several cop cars are clustered, lights flashing. He lays down flat on the edge of the roof to stay out of sight as he watches the scene below. 

A dark haired man in a tan trench coat is crouched on the ground a respectful distance away from a tearful young man. Somehow, he reminds Nightwing of a younger Commissioner Gordon but without a mustache. He can’t hear what’s being said but he can tell the policeman-- perhaps a detective going by his lack of uniform-- is deliberately making himself look relaxed and nonthreatening. 

Hm. If there’s a detective on the scene and not just regular beat cops, this must be connected to an ongoing case. And that means--

“N, a black van just stopped a block away from the alley and started speeding away as soon as it saw the police cars. It’s going maybe fifty miles per hour.” 

Well, none of the police seem to have noticed, so he’ll have to throw them a bone. “Hey!” Nightwing calls down to the officers below. “Black van speeding north over that way, started running away as soon as it saw you guys. The license plate is--” Robin takes the cue and reads out the license plate numbers which Nightwing dutifully repeats. 

Several cops take off, hopping into their cars and pulling away with squealing wheels. The detective crouched in front of the victim stands up and turns around to look up at where Nightwing is on the roof. 

“Thanks for the tip. Who are you? I haven’t seen your face around here before,” says the detective, hands loose at his sides.

Pulling himself up into a crouch, Nightwing waves jauntily down at him. “Call me Nightwing. I’m new to town. And who are you, officer?”

“True,” says the detective. It’s almost compulsive, the way he says it… must be related to his quirk. “Detective Tsukauchi Naomasa. Do you have a hero license?” 

“Nope,” says Nightwing, popping the p. “But you only need a hero license if you’re planning on using your quirk. I’m not planning on using a quirk so I’m pretty sure I don’t need one. Sorry to burst your bubble, officer.” 

Tsukauchi frowns and takes a step closer. “Why are you telling me this?” No declaration of true this time, so maybe he doesn’t need to say it every time.

Nightwing shrugs. “I’m pretty sure we’ll be seeing more of each other and I wanted to introduce myself. Good first impressions are important, don’t you think?” 

“Why don’t you come down here so we can have a proper introduction?” 

That one earns a laugh from Nightwing. “Sorry, detective, but this isn’t my first day on the job. You’re going to have to try harder than that if you want to grab me.” He stands up and stretches his arms above his head before giving Tsukauchi a little wave. “Nice meeting you, though! I promise I’ll do my best to minimize any property damage or collateral.” 

With that, he springs away from the edge of the roof and follows the path back to his bike. He can hear shouting as he slides down onto the seat-- maybe the detective was really insistent on that introduction, ha-- before he kicks his motorcycle into gear and speeds away. 

“Gordon is fun to mess with but I might like this guy more,” Robin says in his ear after a minute. “He hasn’t seen all our tricks yet. Fresh reactions are more fun, you know?”

With wind in his hair, Nightwing laughs and urges his bike faster. “Think we could convince him to grow a mustache?”

Watching Dick run around on patrol without being allowed to join in was its own type of torture. It makes Tim antsy like he’s waiting for a call to rush into action that, given Dick’s argument the other day, likely won’t be coming anytime soon. Ugh. 

He sets up a program to run through the Japanese government’s quirk database and compile the profiles of anyone with a portal or teleportation-based quirk. It sounds like that type of quirk is pretty rare but hopefully they’ll end up with viable suspects rather than sending themselves on a wild goose chase. 

While he waits for his code to run, Tim paces around the small foreman’s office enough that Dick finally gets fed up and kicks him out for the day. Apparently “teenagers need sunshine” or whatever.

Dick isn’t letting him patrol but he never said anything about where Tim should or shouldn’t go. If Tim’s restless feet take him to a park in the less nice part of town, Dick can’t say shit about it. At least he isn’t wearing a hole into the office floor.

There’s a tiny, run down playground, a big grassy area, and-- to Tim’s utter delight-- a small skate park! He doesn’t have his skateboard or skate gear in this dimension but maybe if they end up staying here for a while…. No, Tim, stop it! Bruce will find some kind of solution so they aren’t stuck here forever. 

Tim drifts closer to the skate park. There are a few teenagers kicking around the skating area  and their gear is heaped on one of the two picnic tables next to it. A purple haired boy has already claimed the other table by spreading out his papers all over it. 

As Tim watches, the teenagers giggle and one of them makes a blowing motion towards the table full of papers. Almost instantly, a strong breeze sweeps several papers off the table and onto the ground. 

On instinct, Tim reaches out and snatches two papers out of the air. He steps closer and holds them out to the purple haired boy as the boy kneels to pick up his remaining papers. For a moment, Tim isn’t sure if he’ll take them back. He’s sized up with a discerning eye before the boy’s frown eases slightly and he accepts the papers. 

“Thanks.” His voice is scratchy with disuse and he mumbles just enough that Tim has to fight to distinguish the word in Japanese. 

Tim offers a hand to help him up and the boy takes it. “You’re welcome.” A glance at the gathered papers reveals it’s the official study guide for the UA entrance exam. “You’re studying for the UA exam too?” 

“The exam, yes. I’m applying for the hero course.” This time, his pronunciation is more slow and careful. Probably picked up on Tim’s glaringly American accent, ha. He shoots Tim a measuring look. “Are you applying too?”

“No, but I know someone who is.” Tim takes a seat at the table. “He is doing a lot of… work? Train?” 

“Training,” the boy supplies. “Hm. You don’t want to be a hero?”

Tim can’t stop himself from barking out a laugh. “I’m quirkless, so.” 

Understanding dawns in his eyes and he sits down on the opposite side of the picnic table. “Ah. My quirk is--” he says a word Tim doesn’t know and, at the look of confusion on Tim’s face, he repeats it and adds, “Bad, evil, not a hero’s quirk.” 

Well, never let it be said that Tim doesn’t love a good mystery. He leans forward curiously, elbows propped up on the table. “What is your quirk?” 

Instead of answering verbally, the boy pulls out his phone. After a moment, he flips it around to show Tim the screen. There’s a translation app open with some kanji Tim doesn’t recognize with the english translation listed as brainwashing . The way he’s holding his mouth so stiffly makes it look like he’s expecting Tim to lash out at him. Do people really care this much about types of quirks?

“Brainwashing? That’s so cool ,” Tim exclaims in English before switching back to Japanese. “Very very cool!”

The boy blinks in surprise. “But it’s villainous .” 

Tim waves a hand dismissively. “Any quirk can be villainous if a villain has it. You can do many things with that quirk. Lots of… use. Uses?” 

Ducking his head, the boy fiddles with his mechanical pencil. “You really think so?”

Tim nods empathetically. “Yes.” He lacks the vocabulary he’s searching for and in lieu of more words, he does two thumbs up. 

“...My name is Shinsou Hitoshi,” The boy-- Shinsou-- says at last. “Lots of people tell me my quirk is bad. But not you. You’re… weird.” 

“Thank you,” Tim grins. “I’m Tim Drake-- uh, sorry, Drake Tim. I know someone who is studying for UA too. I can give you my phone number and maybe you can study with him later?” 

Ten minutes later, Tim leaves the park with one more phone number in his phone. Even if he’s not staying in this dimension for long, he might as well connect Shinsou and Midoriya. Maybe they can help each other study since Midoriya seems like a nice person. 

When Tim gets home, Dick has several apartment listings pulled up on his laptop. “Hey Timmy, do you have a preference for either of these?” 

Tim frowns at the screen. “Apartments? I mean, they both look fine. It’s not like it’ll really matter, right?”

“We might be here for a while,” Dick says gently. Ha ha, as if. “How about you pick out the one you like best out of the two?” 

He glances over the two listings. They’re both apartments. Both of them would be fine to live in for a week or two. It looks like Dick actually wants him to choose so Tim randomly points at the second one. “This one.” 

“Great! I liked that one too. Buying the unit’s old furniture is such a good deal, you know?” 

“Yeah,” Tim agrees blandly. Who knows, maybe it is a good deal. Dick is the one who’s rented an apartment, not him. 

“I’ll go ahead and get back to the landlord. They’re looking for someone to move in ASAP so hopefully we’ll have a real roof over our heads in the next few days.” 

Tim points at the decidedly intact ceiling. “This is a real roof.” 

Dick lightly smacks Tim with a pillow. “You know what I mean.” 

The landlord responds to Dick’s email within an hour. The apartment is theirs and their lease starts tomorrow. Tim doesn’t get why they’re wasting time looking for an apartment but Dick seems happy about it. 

Tim’s program sifts through Japan’s national quirk registry for portaling and teleportation quirks but none of the results sound like a viable way to pull people from other worlds into this one. Instead of going to the thrift store to find silverware, Tim chooses to hack into other countries’ quirk registries instead. He might as well do something useful, after all. It’s what he’s here for. 

Aizawa’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, glances at the caller ID, and sighs before answering it. “Tsukauchi. What is it?”

“I wanted to give you a heads up about a new vigilante in town.” Tsukauchi’s voice sounds tinny through the phone’s speaker. Thankfully, he understands Aizawa well enough to know that he prefers getting right to the point. 

“A vigilante? Did you already arrest them?”

“Not yet, didn’t have anything to hold him on. We didn’t catch him in the act and he was telling the truth when he said he didn’t plan on using his quirk, so we didn’t have anything to hold him on even if we could catch him.” A sigh. “Eraserhead, he came up to me and introduced himself.”

Aizawa hums thoughtfully, settling into a crouch at the edge of the rooftop. “I thought you didn’t work with vigilantes.”

“I don’t. He said hi, tipped us off about the van from the Nakamura kidnapper case, and left.” Tsukuachi sounds tired. “I know you underground types tend to run into them more than I do so I figured you’d want to know about him.”

“Did you get his name?”

“Nightwing. Dresses in blue and black. His gear looks pretty professional too.” 

“Nightwing, huh,” Aizawa murmurs as he watches a black and blue clad figure talk to a would-be purse snatcher in the street below. They’ve been at it for the past ten minutes, ever since Nightwing returned the purse in question and tucked away the net he had tossed on the thief. From the sound of it, they’re discussing babysitting costs for the man’s nephew. “I’ll look into it. Thanks, Tsukauchi.” 

“No problem. Stay safe, Eraserhead.” 

Aizawa grunts and ends the call. Nightwing hasn’t looked back at him for the whole time Aizawa has been watching him but he still gets the uncanny sense that Nightwing has been aware of his presence the whole time. 

Chapter Text

IZUKU MIDORIYA

(Tuesday, 5:11pm)

> Hi Drake! This is Midoriya Izuku from the beach. Please let me know if you would ever like to hang out. I know it can be tough when you don’t have any friends in the area. 

< Thank you! It was nice to meet you. I’ll have to take you up on that offer sometime

(Yesterday, 8:01am)

> [video Izuku back squatting with an old, heavy refrigerator on his shoulders] 

> I took this video but then the fridge door opened and a bunch of rats fell onto me :( 

< One time, I was lying down on some concrete and a rat ran across my face.

< Their little paws are made for evil. 

< My condolences, my man. 

> Your FACE?? D: 

< Yeah. Idk it probably thought I was dead

< [meme saying “it’s free real estate” but the realtor’s head is replaced with a rat’s]

> [zoomed in selfie where Izuku’s face is scrunched up to show his disgust]

(Today, 12:13pm)

< How’s training going? Do you think you’ll get your quirk soon?

> It’s going well! My mentor is happy with my progress so far.

> He still thinks it won’t manifest until closer to the entrance exam

< If you train harder, do you think your quirk will manifest sooner? 

< Your plan is for it to hopefully show up right before the entrance exam, right?

> Right, that’s the plan!

> And I don’t know, maybe?

< Hm.

< Have you thought about trying different things to see if it could manifest sooner? The biggest issue I’m seeing is you could end up taking the exam with either 1) no quirk if it shows up too late or 2) little to no experience with your quirk

< I’m not super familiar with quirk manifestation but maybe it hasn’t shown up because you have a vitamin deficiency or something. Has your doctor looked into that? 

> But what if my body isn’t ready for the quirk before then? We think it’s probably a really strong strength enhancer. I’m worried I’ll break my bones or something :( 

< If your body isn’t ready, then it isn’t ready. But a lack of control can hurt you just as easily as being too physically weak. 

< I’ve noticed a lot of people with strength enhancements tend to be all power over precision. They forget that you can’t win every fight by simply out-punching the other person. There will always be someone who has more sheer power than you. That’s where technique comes in

< Technique, control, precision. You have to learn the ins and outs of your power before using it. 

> That’s an interesting perspective! 

> I didn’t know you were into heroes :) Who’s your favorite???

< I’m not super into heroes haha. I just like analyzing stuff

< Uhhhhhhhh good question. Probably Spiderman? 

> Oh, like from those super old comics? 

< Yeah, exactly. Those ones. 

< Anyways, before I forget-- I’ve got to run but you should talk to your mentor about trying to move up your timetable. I think you’ll need extra time to practice with your quirk before the exam

> I’ll talk to him about it. Thank you for your advice, Drake! I really appreciate it :) 

HITOSHI SHINSOU

(Today, 5:44pm)

< Hey, do you have a strategy for UA’s entrance exam yet?

“The badass Oracle feeling is really diminished when you’re sitting at a kitchen table like a loser. If you’re really that dead set on buying more furniture, you should get me a real Oracle setup.” 

Nightwing chuckles as he settles into a crouch at the edge of a rooftop. “Is this your way of asking me for a gamer chair, Robin?”

“It would be more useful than a bed frame.” 

“Hey, bed frames help air circulate under your mattress! They’ll help prevent mildew.”

“We’re not gonna be here long enough for mildew to build up, N.”

Nightwing takes a deep breath in and lets it out through his nose. “We don’t know that, bud.” He bites his tongue to keep himself from discussing more. It’s unwise to talk about things like interdimensional travel methods when he’s out in the open. Anyone could be listening in. Actually….

Without turning his head, Nightwing calls out, “Are you going to come out here to say hello or are you going to admire me from afar?”

The person across the rooftop moves nearly but not totally silently. Nightwing tracks the feeling of eyes on him and once he’s certain that the person has stepped out from wherever they were hiding, he stands up and turns around. 

The stranger is dressed in all dark colors and his clothes are loose enough to be easy to move in but not enough to snag when running. There’s a gray scarf draped over his shoulders. He watches Nightwing’s movements carefully, shifting his weight as Nightwing stands up. Something about the looseness of his stance screams of training. 

He smiles beatifically at him. “Did you need something, or are you here to say hi?”

The look he gives him is unimpressed. “Nightwing. You’ve been making quite a splash around here.”

Nightwing shrugs fluidly. “Oh, you know, I do what I can. Some people need a friendly face to walk them home from the train station at night. Some people need jobs on the down-low but don’t know where to find them. I’m just connecting people in need.” 

“Hm.” With an obviously telegraphed movement, the person reaches into his pocket and produces a small card. He holds it out for Nightwing to see. Oh, a pro hero license! 

“Hello to you too, Eraserhead. Do you usually skulk around in the shadows or am I just special?”

Ignoring the question, Eraserhead tucks the license back into his pocket. “What are your intentions with dressing up like that and running around playing hero? Do you have any experience or did you decide to throw yourself out here and risk your life for fun?” 

Nightwing tilts his head as his smile takes on a sharp edge. “That’s an awful lot of questions when you haven’t answered any of mine yet.” 

Eraserhead blinks slowly. “You’re a vigilante, I don’t have to answer to you.” 

“And yet here you are, asking questions,” he points out. “How about we make a deal: if you can catch me, I’ll answer your questions.” 

Eraserhead narrows his eyes, weight shifting onto the balls of his feet as he considers his options. “...Deal,” he says at last. 

“Wonderfu-- hey!” Before Nightwing finishes speaking, the man’s scarf lashes out as if it were alive. Shit, is it alive? He dances out of the way, flips over the other end of the scarf reaching for his ankles, and launches himself off the rooftop. 

He rolls with the impact onto the next roof, eyes scanning the horizon. While he isn’t as familiar with Musutafu’s architecture as he is with Gotham’s, he’s made a point of spending time on the roofs during patrol when he can. If he follows this route east, he can make his way towards the office district. Lots of tall buildings and things to latch his grapple onto over there. 

Nightwing uses his momentum to hurdle himself up a facilities closet on the next roof, grabs a pipe to hoist himself up, and swings onto the slightly taller roof of the neighboring building. 

The comm in his ear crackles and Robin says, “He’s maybe twenty feet behind you.” The keyboard clacks as he types. “Keep going in that direction, I don’t see any obstacles ahead of you.”

Responding verbally would be too much of a giveaway that he has a co-conspirator. Instead, Nightwing huffs and flings himself onto the next roof like Robin suggested. If he felt like slowing this guy down, he could have thrown some ball bearings on the ground. Alas, Nightwing hasn’t gotten a chance to play rooftop tag since they arrived in this dimension a week ago and it seems like Eraserhead has the skills to play along. 

Risking a glance behind himself, he finds Eraserhead hauling himself onto the roof using his scarf. So cool. Why haven’t they come up with something similar back home? Tim would probably enjoy building a tool like that. Dick mentally adds it to his list of things to have Tim do to keep him from going stir crazy while holed up in this dimension. 

This area must be part of Eraserhead’s patrol route-- he certainly seems to know the rooftops well. He nearly catches up to Nightwing and goes in for the grapple, but Nightwing rolls out of the way just in time. Nightwing stops in his tracks and turns, letting Eraserhead’s momentum carry him. A normal opponent would have skid out of the way and maybe stumbled. Eraserhead, however, turns rather neatly and continues chasing him. Fascinating. 

Well, this guy is definitely a professional. If Nightwing had any doubts about that before they’ve certainly been, heh, erased by now. (He’ll have to remember that joke so he can torment Robin with it later.)

Running and dodging are familiar, rhythmic. Nightwing could easily get lost in the pattern of it if he wasn’t careful. Unfortunately, he does have things to do tonight-- the run down corner store needs a new security guard and Nightwing was going to spread the word to a few people looking for quiet cash-- and that means he can’t spend all night running around. 

Behind him, Eraserhead is out of breath but not quite flagging yet. Nightwing leads them towards a nice, open roof where they can chat. He slows down once he hops onto the roof and turns around, hands on his hips. 

“Wow, that was better than I expected! You’re pretty good at this, Eraser. You didn’t catch me but honestly, you impressed me enough that I’ll talk. So, what did you want to ask?” He plops himself down on a concrete block, legs crossed. 

Eraserhead straightens up, pushing sweaty hair out of his face. He watches Nightwing warily but doesn’t come any closer. “What’s your real name.”

Nightwing throws his head back and laughs. “Good one. Next question.”

Eraserhead levels him with a considering look before moving on. “What are your intentions? You haven’t made any appearances during the day and you’ve avoided news cameras but not civilians with their phones.” 

“Oh, now there’s a question I can answer. The short answer is there are people here who need help, and I can help them.” 

“What’s the long answer?” His stance is loose but it doesn’t look like he’s readying himself to spring at Nightwing. 

“The heroes in this city are disproportionately represented in wealthier districts. More cameras, more attention, more fame. Sure, there are some villains out there who legitimately want to destroy the city, but beating up purse snatchers isn’t helping anyone. There are reasons why people steal, why they turn to less savory means of making money. It’s because they don’t have any other options.” Leaning forward, Nightwing meets Eraserhead’s steady gaze. “If someone wants to hurt others, I’ll stop them. But helping people means helping everyone , not just those we think are deserving of it.”

His words linger in the quiet night air as Eraserhead watches him. Finally, he glances away from Nightwing and puts his hands in his pockets before looking back at him. 

“You have experience. Who taught you?”

“The Batman.”

“Hm.” Nightwing, who practically has a doctorate in decoding grunts, determines this to be an intrigued grunt. “Was that over in America?” 

Nightwing smiles. “You’re fishing,” he chides, “but yes.” 

“Is the Batman planning on coming over here too?” 

His smile grows brittle. “Maybe. We’ll have to see.”

Eraserhead grunts again and reaches into his pocket, withdrawing a piece of paper. “Here.” He holds it out to Nightwing. “My work number. Obviously you aren’t going to stop running around out here like a moron, so you might as well have someone’s contact information for when you inevitably get in over your head.” 

Nightwing leans forward to pluck the paper from his hand. “Aww, I’m honored. Does this mean you want to play rooftop tag again with me?”

Completely ignoring the question, Eraserhead continues, “...Anyways, tell me if you’re planning on doing any raids. I can let you know if there are any pros already working on it so you don’t crash any plans by accident.” 

“Sounds reasonable.” Nightwing nods before smiling and tucking the paper into a hidden pocket of his costume. “Well, Eraserhead, I’m looking forward to working with you.” 

Eraserhead lets out a long sigh. “Don’t get yourself killed.” 

“Don’t worry, I’m harder to kill than you might think.” Standing up, Nightwing dusts himself off before sauntering over to the edge of the roof. “I’ll see you around, Eraser!” 

With that, Nightwing hops off the roof and grapples away. If there’s one thing a bat loves, it’s a dramatic exit.

Tim’s phone dings while he’s helping Dick carry a couch up the stairs. He pauses and Dick’s head pops up from where he’s shouldering the bottom half of the couch. 

“If you stop to answer that text, I’m gonna kill you,” he warns.

“Aren’t you supposed to be really strong?” Tim asks absently, pulling his phone out.

“Tim.”

“Well, it’s not like a couch would actually kill you. To cause irreversible organ damage, the amount of force required--”

HITOSHI SHINSOU

(Wednesday, 5:44pm)

< Hey, do you have a strategy for UA’s entrance exam yet?

(Today, 11:10am)

> No, not yet. Why, did you have an idea?

“Every day, you remind me more of a football,” Dick grunts, voice strained. “You’re so puntable. I’m going to punt you--”

Tim slides his phone back into his pocket and picks up his end of the couch again. “You play sports? I thought you were a mathlete in high school.” 

Dick sticks his tongue out like the mature twenty four year old he is. They manage to wrestle the couch up the stairwell of their seventh story walk up without killing each other, which is about as good of an outcome as one could hope for. When they finally shove the couch through the door and get it positioned in the living room, Dick sighs and acts like he’s going to flop down on it… only to grab Tim, put him in a headlock, and give him a noogie.

“Hey!” Tim exclaims, kicking out at Dick’s leg. Unfortunately, Dick is a trained vigilante too so he merely sidesteps it. 

“Aww, is the little football boy sad? Widdle football boy is so sad?” Dick mocks, lightly jerking Tim’s body from side to side with the headlock. “I’m gonna punt the widdle sad football boy down the stairs , you fucker.” He emphasizes his words by tossing Tim onto the couch. 

Tim flips Dick off as he bounces on the couch. “Fuck you. See if I let you eat any of the pizza I ordered, asswipe.” 

Dick immediately perks up. “Oh? You ordered pizza?” 

“Yeah, it’ll get here in like 20 minutes. We can eat it on the couch we own now. While watching the television we also own.” 

“See, isn’t having an apartment fun? We can do stuff like microwave our food and sleep in a real bed while we wait for B to figure out interdimensional travel.” 

Then, because Dick is an asshole, he lays down on the couch. Directly on top of Tim. “You should text your friend back,” he reminds Tim helpfully while simultaneously squishing him with his stupid body. 

Tim whacks Dick with his arm until he shifts enough for Tim to extract his phone again. Thankfully, Dick moves so he’s sitting like a semi-normal person so Tim can actually text Shinsou back.

< Yes. I did some digging into past entrance exams 

< There’s always some sort of physical test, right? Either rescue, a race, or fighting robots

< There must be a “hidden points” system. UA takes lots of people with big flashy quirks but heroics isn’t all about punching things. I’m willing to bet you get points for teamwork and helping others too. They wouldn’t want to take someone who only cares about crushing their competitors. 

There’s a delay of a few minutes before Shinsou’s next text comes in.

> I forgot how hard english is to read. Ugh. I had to check what you said in a translation app. 

> Do you think they’ll subtract points if I use my quirk?

< The goal of the exam is to show off your quirk. 

< Actually, that was my idea. You should brainwash other people who are taking the exam. You’ll definitely still get points for it. 

< What are the activation conditions?

> I ask a question and the other person answers. 

> Are you sure I can use it?? 

> You aren’t trying to sabotage me, are you?

< Dude, I’m not even applying to UA lol

< I literally know one other person who’s applying and that’s it

> Okay.

> Thank you.

< You’re welcome

< Actually, do you want me to send you the phone number of my friend who’s applying? You could study together or something

> Sure. But tell him that I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to become a hero. 

< Heroes can have friends too, you know

Shinsou doesn’t reply after that but luckily, Tim is distracted by the siren song of pizza. He may not be physically in the field right now (thanks, Dick ) but at least Dick is still letting him do his usual bodyweight exercises and physical conditioning. Now that they have a three bedroom apartment, they can use the spare bedroom for sparring and monitoring patrols. Tim has to admit it’s better than trying to spar quietly enough in the abandoned warehouse to avoid attracting attention.

“You know, Timbo,” Dick says after swallowing a mouthful of pizza, “You can invite your friends over if you want. It’s your apartment too, you know.” 

Tim glances over at the sparsely decorated living room. “I guess.” Why does Dick call them his friends? He barely knows them. They aren’t Kon or Cassie or Bart or Anita or Cissie or Greta. None of his real friends are in this dimension. 

“Hey, why don’t you go for a run with Midoriya? He’s doing a lot of physical conditioning. It might be fun for you to have a running buddy.”

“Sure, I’ll text him,” Tim says around a mouthful of pizza. 

Dick shoots him a look for talking with his mouth full so Tim makes sure to open his mouth to show Dick his partially masticated pizza. That’s what you get for being an annoying older brother, Dick .

IZUKU MIDORIYA

(Yesterday, 7:20pm)

< You go for daily runs, right? Do you want to go for a run sometime this week?

> aaaaaa actually I can’t run for the next few days. I broke my arm and my leg :( 

< ??????? 

< What did you do???

> It’s kind of a long story haha

> But we used a healing quirk on it and everything so we’re just waiting a few days for the bone to strengthen before I’m allowed to resume doing any physical activities 

< …Did you drop a fridge on yourself?

> No!!

> It’ll be easier to tell you in person, actually. Do you want to come over to my house? We can hang out. :) 

< Sure. When did you have in mind?

Tim only has to wait a few seconds after knocking on the apartment door before it opens. 

“Drake! Hi!” Midoriya cheerfully greets him in english and opens the door wider. “Come on in, it’s good to see you.” 

As Tim kneels to take off his shoes, he watches Midoriya out of the corner of his eye. There’s no cast in sight and he’s wearing basketball shorts. His right arm has shiny pink scars that rope around his forearm. 

Midoriya chatters along as Tim slides on a pair of guest slippers. “Mom and Y-- my mentor aren’t letting me go out and train while I’m recovering so I’ve been really bored. I’ve gotten so used to training that it’s weird to suddenly stop, you know?”

“I know the feeling,” Tim replies, straightening up. “They have a point about training when you’re healing from broken bones. When the breaks in your bones are mending, they’re more susceptible to damage.” He’s certainly been on the receiving end of that lecture from Alfred and Bruce enough times after the debacle with Jason in Titan’s Tower. 

Midoriya nods and beckons for Tim to follow him through the living room and down the hallway. He holds open the door to his bedroom and waits for Tim to come inside before closing it behind them. 

His bedroom is… covered in All Might merch. All Might’s smiling face covers the posters on every wall. The bookshelf has multiple figurines still in their boxes-- limited edition, if Tim had to guess. Even his comforter has All Might on it. 

“You really like All Might,” Tim observes.

Midoriya’s face immediately flushes. “No! I mean-- yes! Um, he’s the greatest hero ever so of course I love him, I just--” 

“It’s chill, everyone needs a hobby,” Tim tells him, plopping himself down on the fluffy All Might rug in the middle of the room. “I’m not judging you.” 

“If you say so.” Midoriya rubs the back of his neck and sits down on the rug across from Tim. “Um, anyways, I wanted to tell you about how I broke my arm and leg. You see, I kind of… finally developed my quirk?”

“You did?” Tim immediately leans forward, hands flat on the rug. “What is it? What can you do with it? Did you have trouble controlling it?”

In lieu of a verbal response, Midoriya’s whole body lights up with pink lightning. Tim’s eyes widen. 

“Whoah. Dude, that’s sick !” 

The lightning fades and Midoriya smiles shyly. “Thanks. It’s, uh, a strength enhancement quirk called Superpower. The pink sparky stuff happens whenever I activate it.” 

Tim rubs his chin. “And it was so strong that it broke your bones when you tried to use it?”

Midoriya goes red again and he looks away. “Haha, yup. Pretty lame, huh.” 

“Well, how did you use your quirk?” At the confused look Midoriya gives him, Tim elaborates, “What did it feel like when you used your quirk? Did you try using all of it at once? Or only a piece?”

“Oh. I… didn’t think about that. I used all of it, I think. It was crazy powerful! Trying to use only part of it would be like trying to hold back a waterfall with just my hands.” 

“That powerful, huh.… Maybe you should try meditating with your quirk activated. Then maybe try moving through some katas with your quirk activated. It’ll help you increase the duration you can keep it active too.” 

“Katas?” Midoriya frowns and grabs his laptop from off his bed. He types for a moment before turning his computer around with katas pulled up on a search engine. “Like this?” 

“Yeah, exactly. Do you want me to show you a few basic ones?”

“Oh, I forgot you did martial arts! Yes, please, that would be great.” 

“I’ll run through a basic one with you, have you copy it without your quirk, and then you can turn your quirk on. Okay?” 

Midoriya nods and bounces to his feet. “Sounds good!” 

Tim stands up and falls into the stance for one of the first katas that Bruce taught him. “Okay, now copy me.”

It takes a good twenty minutes for Tim to be satisfied with the way Midoriya moves through the forms. He makes lots of little adjustments, tucking in Midoriya’s elbow or poking him between the shoulders to remind him to stand up straight, but it’s not too bad. At least he has some baseline level of bodily awareness. 

Tim steps back and nods, hands on his hips. “I think you’re ready to try it with your quirk now. Remember, you’re just moving. You’re not trying to punch anything. Don’t pulverize your bones.”

“Easier said than done.” Midoriya concentrates for a second before his quirk flares to life, filling the room with the smell of ozone. He settles into the first stance, moving slowly and deliberately.

“You’re tense,” Tim observes. “You’ve gotta relax. Deep breath in, deep breath out.” 

“Okay,” Midoriya whispers. As he moves through the first few motions of the kata, the lines of concentration on his face fade a little. But when he shifts his weight, the lightning flickers and dies down for a moment. “Shit-- I mean shoot-- sorry, sorry.”

“It’s fine, take your time. It’s a new quirk.” 

The lightning sparks to life again and Midoriya takes a deep breath before continuing. This process repeats several times-- it must be hold to continuously keep his quirk active-- but Midoriya does a good job. He’s certainly listening to what Tim suggested. By the time he’s finished the kata, he’s sweating but beaming. 

“I did it! And I didn’t even break any bones this time!” He bounces up and down like a large green bunny. 

Tim holds out one hand and Midoriya enthusiastically high fives it. (Even without his quirk, it kind of hurts.) “See, I told you it’s possible!”

Midoriya springs into a power stance, leg wide, and punches a fist into the air. “I’m gonna be a hero!” 

“Your hero name should be Breaking Bones Man.” 

Midoriya shoots Tim a deeply betrayed look. “ No .” 

“Maybe you can tell people that you’ll steal their bones to make up for how you break yours.” 

In lieu of a spoken response, Midoriya picks up a pillow from his bed and wallops Tim in the shoulder with it. Tim throws his head back and cackles. 

“Breaking Bones Man: The Bone Stealing Hero!” He steps out of the way to dodge the second swing. Midoriya just picks up a second pillow and starts chasing after Tim, one pillow clutched in each hand. 

Giggling, Tim ducks and weaves around Midoriya’s fluffy twin weapons as he runs through the room. He has to be careful to make sure they stay away from Midoriya’s All Might collectibles, but he manages it. 

Midoriya smacks him in the back of the head with one pillow and is winding up to wallop him with the other when there’s a polite knock on his bedroom door. Without waiting for an answer, the door opens and a middle aged woman with long green hair smiles at them. Her face is soft and there are laugh lines around her eyes. 

“Izuku, I hope you’re being nice to your guest,” she chides gently in Japanese. “Hi, Drake! It’s very nice to meet you. I hope Izuku isn’t being too--” she says a word that Tim doesn’t recognize but he assumes it means something like rowdy . 

Izuku tosses his pillows back onto the bed as Tim hides a smile. “Yes, mom,” he mumbles. 

Tim smiles and holds out a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for hosting me, Mrs. Midoriya.” He says, matching her Japanese. (Might as well practice it.)

Mrs. Midoriya’s face lights up as she shakes his hand enthusiastically. “Oh, such a polite young man! It’s my pleasure. I’m glad Izuku has a friend he gets along with so well.” 

“Mom, please,” Midoriya says, face red. Oh, right. If Midoriya only recently manifested his quirk, he would have been living as functionally quirkless beforehand. 

“Anyways, I wanted to let you know that I made tea. Please come get some when you’re ready,” Mrs. Midoriya gestures behind her to where several mugs are already sitting on the dining table. 

Several minutes later, Tim finds himself sitting at the table and nursing a cup of hot green tea. Izuku sits across from him with his own mug while Mrs. Midoriya bustles around the kitchen. 

“So, Tim,” she says, drying a freshly washed water glass with a towel, “Izuku said you live with your older brother?” 

“Yes, Grayson Richard. We’re both adopted,” Tim explains. “Our father was in America for business but he… fell out of contact.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie,” Mrs. Midoriya says gently, setting down the water glass. “The same thing happened with my husband when Izuku was little.” 

Tim stares down at his cup of tea. “He’ll be back soon,” he mumbles. “It’s not because I don’t have a quirk or anything like that. It’s… complicated. He can’t reach us right now but he’ll be back as soon as he can.”

When he glances up from his tea, he sees Midoriya shooting him an empathetic look with his mouth all twisted. Ugh, he doesn’t need pity! It’s just-- it’s a weird situation and it’s not fun for anyone, that’s all. 

“Well, in the meantime, how about I have Izuku give you my number so you can share it with your brother? If either of you need a hand, you can call me.” 

Tim forces himself to give her a sunny smile that doesn’t quite reach his heart. “That sounds good, Mrs. Midoriya.”

Chapter Text

“Midoriya, I’ve been meaning to ask: can I send you the phone number of another student who’s applying to UA?” 

“Sure. What’s their name?” Midoriya’s voice grows quiet on the speakerphone-- he must have wandered away from his phone again. 

“Shinsou Hitoshi. Do you know him?” Tim leans forward and squints at one of the profiles flagged by his quirk database searching software. This quirk can only teleport the user to the nearest grassy area. Intriguing but not what he’s looking for. 

“Nope, never met him before. Is he one of your friends? What’s his quirk?” 

Tim pauses, thinking. “It’s called, um…” he flounders, wracking his brain for the Japanese word for brainwashing. After a moment, he gives up and says the English word for it before continuing, “He can control them if he asks a question and they reply to it.”

“That’s SO COOL!” Midoriya exclaims. “Does he have to ask a question out loud? Do they have to understand the language he’s talking in? Can they reply in a different language? What’s the--” He babbles on for a minute before Tim finally cuts in. 

“Could you speak more slowly, please? My Japanese skills are still very very bad.” 

“Sorry! I got carried away. I said, um, I wanted to know about things like whether both people speak the same language, if they have to understand each other, and that sort of thing. Mind-based quirks are always really interesting to analyze.” 

Tim feels a smile tug at his mouth. “Isn’t it cool? I think Shinsou is a little, uh… not happy? Not confident? About his quirk. He called it ‘villainous’, just so you’re aware before talking to him. I think it’s…” Ugh, how do you say ‘sore spot’ in Japanese? “...something he doesn’t like about himself.” 

There’s a pause before Midoriya murmurs, “I really wish people would be less mean to others about their quirks. It’s about what you can do with your own quirk, not what a villain might do with it. If you’re a good person, then your quirk is good automatically.” 

“Yeah.” Briefly, Tim’s mind flits back to how worried Midoriya had looked when he first learned that Tim was quirkless back on Dagobah beach. “People here care a lot about quirks. It’s… weird.” 

“Ugh, I know right?” On Midoriya’s end of the call, there’s a heavy thud. Tim pauses, hand hovering above his computer mouse.

“Midoriya? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine! Sorry, I dropped my math textbook. Oh, that reminds me-- you’re good at math, right? I wanted to ask you about this math thing on my practice test--”

With barely a week until the entrance exam, Shinsou reluctantly agrees to meet Midoriya and Tim on Dagobah beach so they can practice for the physical part of the exam and use their quirks somewhere people won’t notice (and report them for public quirk usage). 

By the time Tim hops off his skateboard, Midoriya is already waiting for him. Tim sheds his gear-- Dick refuses to let him skateboard without it because even your Robin uniform has protective gear, Timmy -- and leaves it all at the edge of the sand. Nobody ever comes out here so it’s not like anyone is going to steal it. 

“Hi, Midoriya!” Tim calls in Japanese, jogging over to him. “Is Shinsou here yet?” 

Midoriya finishes stretching his left calf and switches to his right. “Not yet-- oh, never mind, I see him.” He drops the stretch to wave enthusiastically. “Shinsou! Over here!”

Shinsou looks awake, but only begrudgingly so. He’s wearing a black long sleeved shirt and joggers that look reasonably easy to move in. Good, training in jeans would’ve been a pain. He trudges over and shoots a wary glance at Midoriya’s beaming face. “Hi.”

“Glad you could make it. Midoriya, this is Shinsou. Shinsou, this is Midoriya. He has a strength enhancement quirk but it only manifested last week so his control is awful.  I know your quirks are very different from each other but I think this will help both of you.” Tim shucks off his backpack and digs around until he finds what he’s looking for. With a grin, he stands up and cradles a binder full of papers in one arm. 

“What is that,” Shinsou asks warily, eyeing the binder. 

Tim smiles. “Plans. Some combat strategies for you, Shinsou, since you’ll want to brainwash other people and use them for multi-person operations. Midoriya, I have some more meditation and body awareness routines for you.” He hands each of them their respective stack of papers. 

Midoriya stares at his papers for a long moment before speaking up. “Drake, why did you title this ‘Bone Breaking Man’?” 

“You and I both know why, Midoriya.” 

Shinsou frowns, glancing between the two of them. “Does your quirk… break your bones ?” 

Midoriya laughs nervously. “Um, kind of?”

“Strong physical quirks have strong drawbacks,” Tim points out. “Heroes here love having big, cool looking quirks. But flashy quirks mean big drawbacks. Lots of collateral damage, too. But Shinsou, that’s why your quirk is perfectly suited to hero work.” 

At the mention of quirk applications, Midoriya instantly brightens. “Right! Your quirk would be so useful in so many situations, Shinsou! You’d barely have to worry about property damage since you could end fights before they begin. I bet you could really minimize civilian injuries from crossfire too. Oh, and imagine how useful it would be for hostage negotiations! Or stealth! If you had to sneak past a guard, you could just brainwash them and not have to worry about them sounding an alarm.” 

Shinsou’s gaze flicks between the two of them. His shoulders are hunched like he’s ready to curl up on himself. “Why are you trying to help me? We’re competing for the same spots at UA. What if I took your spot?”

Midoriya’s smile is practically made of sunshine. “If you got in and I didn’t, I’d be glad, Shinsou. Your quirk is really cool and you’ll help a lot of people as a hero.” 

After a moment, Shinsou looks away. “If you say so.” His shoulders relax a little, so Tim takes it as a good sign. 

“Hey, Shinsou, can you show us how your quirk works so we can start strategizing?” Tim asks. 

“Okay. Which one of you wants to be brainwashed?”

Midoriya’s hand shoots up. “Me! Try me firs--” Abruptly, he stops talking and his arm falls back down to his side. His eyes are unfocused, almost glazed over. Weird. 

Shinsou shoves his hands in his pockets. “Do five jumping jacks.” 

Robotically, Midoriya follows the command. His muscles are fairly relaxed and it makes his movements sloppier than they would normally. 

“Ask him to follow the kata I taught him,” Tim suggests.

After a moment of consideration, Shinsou nods and repeats the command. Midoriya settles into the beginning stance and starts slowly moving through the form. This time, his movements are much more precise. 

“Muscle memory,” Tim observes aloud in English before switching back to Japanese. “He’s practiced this a lot so his body remembers it. Not bad.” 

It’s easy to tell when Shinsou drops the mind control. Midoriya’s face loses that eerie slackness and he straightens up. “Wow, that was weird! It kind of felt like taking a nap. I don’t remember anything, though.” 

“You did some jumping jacks and this weird form thing that Drake suggested,” says Shinsou. He watches Midoriya for another moment as if waiting for some sort of backlash before nodding to himself. 

“You didn’t have the same level of control of your body as you do normally,” Tim notes, “But your kata looked pretty good. Your body remembered the movements.” 

“Nice! I’ve been practicing it so that’s good to hear. Oh, Shinsou, that reminds me-- do you know what the range on your quirk is? Or how long you can hold it?”

Shinsou shifts his weight. “...Uh. Not really. I haven’t had… many chances to practice.” 

Oh, quirk discrimination. Ouch. Thank god for Midoriya, who chirps, “That’s okay! It’s why we’re here now, aren’t we? Plus you’ll get to practice more at UA.” 

“If I get in,” Shinsou points out. 

“With such a cool quirk, they’d be idiots if they rejected you from the hero course,” says Tim. 

Shinsou rubs the back of his neck. “I guess,” he mumbles, but Tim can tell that he’s fighting off a smile. 

As it turns out, Shinsou’s range is limited more by the time it takes him to walk away rather than by the distance. Tim is pretty sure that Brainwashing has some kind of distance limit but it’s hard to tell when they’re running on sand to get away from each other as fast as possible. Oh well, at least it’s a decent workout. 

Brainwashing won’t work with the recording of Shinsou’s voice that Tim takes with his phone. Apparently it won’t work if Shinsou’s voice is transmitted through speakers… hm. He can’t simultaneously add Tim and Midoriya to his brainwashing and he has to add them one at a time. He can’t make them talk either but at least they can nod or shake their heads to answer yes or no questions. 

“I bet you could get people to talk with more practice, Shinsou,” Midoriya says brightly. 

Shinsou ducks his head. “We’ll see.” 

Tim flips through his binder to re-familiarize himself with his training plan for Midoriya before he shuts it. “Speaking of practice, we should work on your quirk, Midoriya. If you break your bones during the entrance exam, I’m going to tease you forever.”

Midoriya sighs and falls into the kata stance again. “If I break more bones, my mom is going to kill me,” he mumbles. Green lightning sparks to life again and his eyes glow radioactive green. 

Next to Tim, Shinsou is staring wide-eyed at the power sparking and crackling over Midoriya’s skin. 

“Well, don’t break any bones this time or I’ll kill you,” Tim says, crossing his arms. 

Midoriya doesn’t respond and instead focuses on moving through the stances. Once he’s settled in a little more, he remarks, “It feels less overwhelming than it did at first. More like it’s a part of me.”

Tim observes how Midoriya shifts his weight, the way he deliberately moves each part of his body. He has pretty good gross and fine motor control for this stage of his new quirk…. “Midoriya, I think we can try out a new attack today.”

Midoriya is so surprised that he drops his quirk. “Really? You think so?”

“Yeah. All right, I’m going to use english for this to make sure I don’t make any mistakes. Your power may feel like a waterfall and all you need to do is hold your hand near it, so to speak. You can feel the little droplets and spray from the water but you aren’t submerging yourself in it. Does that make sense?”

At Midoriya’s nod, Tim continues, “Great. So, here’s how I want you to do this. Hold your feet like this-- yeah, exactly. You want to start with a strong base. This is a fighting stance and it’ll help you keep your balance. I want you to swat the air like you’re batting away a paper airplane. You don’t want to focus on hitting hard-- with your quirk, that’s how you break your bones again. Focus on your form and that level of muscle control. Remember, you only need the tiniest, smallest piece of power for this but you aren’t trying to stop your power, just use a little piece on the edge. Make sense?”

“Yeah.” Midoriya stares down at his hands, palms up, before he clenches his fists. “I can do it,” he says confidently. “I trust you, Drake.” 

Abruptly, Tim is reminded of Conner Kent’s faith in him too back when they were first experimenting with his Kryptonian powers. Tim swallows down the sudden grief and nods at Midoriya. “Go on, then.” He switches back to Japanese.

Midoriya faces away from them and settles into the stance Tim demonstrated. His quirk flares to life and a moment passes, then two, and--

He smacks the air, which would look silly if he wasn’t wreathed in electricity. There’s a loud BOOM as he strikes the air and sand goes flying every which way in front of them. Midoriya’s stance remains strong but Shinsou takes a step back. Tim stays put, arms crossed. 

Airborn sand falls to the ground and Midoriya turns around, eyes wide. “I did it,” he breathes.

“Anything broken?” Tim demands, some of his Robin voice slipping through. 

Midoriya wiggles his fingers, red with irritation but without any obvious breaks, and shakes his head. “No, it’s just-- sore, but not too much.” A blinding grin creeps onto his face. “Nothing is broken! I did it! I did it, I did it, I did it--” He bounds forward and scoops up Tim. With an ease that would be unsettling if Tim wasn’t used to hanging around Kryptonians and Amazons, Midoriya spins Tim around and around. 

When he finally drops Tim, he turns to Shinsou who looks a little startled. Instead of picking Shinsou up, which would likely be akin to trying to pick up a hungry alley cat, Midoriya simply bounces up and down. “We did it! With Drake helping us, there’s no way we won’t get into UA!” 

“Good job,” Shinsou tells him quietly. 

Midoriya’s answering smile rivals the sun. He sniffles and wipes at the tears in his eyes. “Sorry, sorry, I’m an easy crier,” he explains. “Anyways-- Drake, can we try that again but with a punch this time? I have some ideas…”

They carry on for another hour. After one of Midoriya’s air punches accidentally covers Tim and Shinsou in sand, they switch back to working on Shinsou’s quirk. It’s a productive hour. Even Shinsou’s eyes look a little lighter and less stressed by the impending exam at the end.

“Don’t forget your strategy papers,” Tim reminds Midoriya as they gather themselves to leave. “You too, Shinsou.” Shinsou nods and cradles his stack of papers to his chest with one hand. 

Midoriya pulls his phone out of his basketball shorts and his eyes widen when he unlocks it. “Oh no, I told my mom I’d pick up some noodles from the grocery store and it closes in twenty minutes… I’ve got to go but it was really nice training with both of you!” He bows slightly to Shinsou and then to Tim. “Thank you so much. Bye!” 

Midoriya scampers away, leaving Tim and Shinsou on the edge of where sand meets grass. Shinsou is quiet, gazing down at the papers in his hands. 

“...You really believe that we can both get in, don’t you,” he asks softly. 

“Of course. Your quirk has a lot of really amazing uses, Shinsou. It’ll be incredibly useful at keeping people safe.” 

Shinsou hums in response, eyes still fixed on the papers. He holds them like they’re something precious. “We’ll see.” 

When Tim gets home, Dick is working on his laptop at the kitchen table but he closes it as soon as Tim walks through the door. “Hey, bud! How did studying go?”

Tim dumps his shoes and backpack in a messy pile in the genkan before padding into the house. “Good. Midoriya didn’t break any bones. Also, Shinsou has no idea what the limits of his quirk are and I suspect he’s been discouraged from using it. I’ll keep an eye on it.” 

“Okay, let me know. I can always jump in if you need me to,” Dick reminds him. When Tim gets close enough, he reaches out to ruffle Tim’s hair and completely mess it up. Tim squawks and pretends to bite his hand. Unfazed, Dick adds, “That’s great news about Midoriya! I’m glad you could help him.”

“Yup, me too.” Tim rifles through the cabinets until he finds a protein bar. Snack in hand, he sits down on a kitchen chain and pulls both his legs up. “What are you working on?” 

Dick shrugs and reopens his laptop. “I’m running background checks on some people offering warehouse jobs so I can pass on their details during patrol to anyone who needs work.”

Tim bites into the protein bar. “Nice. Need any help?”

“No, it should be good for now. Thank you, though.”

Tim shrugs and gnaws on his protein bar for a few minutes. The only sounds in the kitchen are Dick’s typing and Tim’s chewing. Eventually, Tim stands up, tosses the wrapper away, and walks towards the third bedroom. “I’m gonna lift some weights. If you hear me scream, come bail me out so I don’t get crushed,” he announces before disappearing into the room.

ERASERHEAD

(Today, 8:33pm)

< [link] 

< [link]

< I found some local warehouses who are looking for employees. I checked them out and they’re legitimate. Feel free to pass it on to anyone who needs it. 

> Thanks. 

< Do you know of any plans to open a food pantry somewhere in the vicinity of blocks 12-15? It’s looking like there’s a pretty significant need for it.

> None that I know of but I can pass on the word to people with more influence. 

> Are you planning on getting a pro license anytime soon?

< Haha, you’re very funny :) 

< Did Tsukauchi tell you to ask that?

> I’m just passing on the message. For what it’s worth, you wouldn’t have any difficulties passing the exam. 

< I know. 

< Why would I get an official license and talk to Tsukauchi myself when I could use you as an intermediary? 

< By the way, there are two attempted rapists tied up outside the corner store on 9th. I have no idea how they got there but you’d better let Tsukauchi know so he can arrest them. :) 

(Read, 10:05pm)

It’s an unusually chilly night thanks to the gentle rain showers that afternoon. The evening sky is a murky sort of purple when Nightwing leaves for patrol. Thankfully, patrol keeps him moving enough that he stays reasonably warm. Nightwing moves from rooftop to rooftop, always keeping one eye on the street below. 

A teenager is struggling with several heavy-looking bags of groceries maybe a block away from a small grocery store. Even from the roof, Nightwing can see how the material of the bags strains against its contents. 

Silently, he hops onto the fire escape on the side of the building so he’s more visible to the kid. Arms propped on the fire escape railing, Nightwing calls out, “Need a hand with that?”

Here is one difference between citizens of Gotham and those Musutafu: people from Gotham have long since stopped being surprised by things. If their lives and livelihoods aren’t in danger, most people are willing to keep moving while hardly batting an eye. Gotham is the home of a supervillain who likes dressing up as a clown. After that, most things aren’t surprising anymore.

Here’s another difference: Gothamites learned long ago to always look up. 

The teen below startles and drops one of his bags. It plops onto the sidewalk and two cans roll out of it. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you!” Nightwing drops himself off the edge of the fire escape, rolls, and springs to his feet. “Is anything broken? I can replace it.” 

“Fuck off,” The kid snarls at him. Holy shit, there’s a vein bulging in his forehead. “Do I look weak to you? I don’t need your fucking help!” 

Under his mask, Nightwing’s eyebrows go up even as he raises his hands to show he means no harm. “Hey man, sorry about that. Startling you like that was my bad, I generally try to avoid it. Those bags look pretty heavy and you never know if someone needs help so I wanted to check just in case.” 

“I said I don’t need your shitty help.” The blond kid takes a step forward, finger raised as if to jab it at Nightwing’s chest. “Fuck off and DIE!” His chest is heaving with the force of his breaths. Kid’s face is flushed too. Huh. 

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping,” Nightwing says slowly, “But are you okay?” 

“Do I fuckin’ LOOK okay to you, asswipe?” 

“...No, I don’t think so. I’ll be honest, your reaction is making me worried. Does this sort of thing happen often?”

“What, being accosted by stupid extras who think they’re better than me?” The kid sneers. 

Only Nightwing’s years of training keeps him from reacting to the small twin explosions that pop off from his palms. One of them burns the paper handle of the other bag he was carrying and that bag falls to the ground too. The teen lets out a wordless frustrated yell, several more explosions from his palms popping into the air. It’s not aimed at anything and it seems mostly involuntary. 

Careful to telegraph his actions, Nightwing kneels to scoop up the fallen bag, tucking the previously spilled cans inside, and holds it up to the teen. “Hey,” he says quietly, “I’m sorry for startling you and I don’t want to be condescending, but I’m worried there’s something wrong. It’s okay if you’re not my biggest fan but is there someone you could talk to? Do you have a trusted adult at home? Maybe your doctor or a teacher? You don’t seem very happy being so angry and I’m concerned there’s something deeper going on.” 

“How many times do I have to say that I don’t need your fucking help?” The teen snatches the bag back and glares at him. “I’m going to be the number one hero without any help from shitty extras, just you watch. Fuck off and die already.” 

With that, the teen shoulders past Nightwing and stomps off. Nightwing is left kneeling on the ground, processing what just happened. 

“What the heck was that,” says Tim from over the comms. There’s a crunching sound-- probably a dorito. 

Nightwing slowly rises to his feet, eyes fixed on the direction where the kid disappeared. “Someone who needed help, I think.”

Chapter Text

UA’s entrance exam is in three days. 

Tim, who is not taking the exam (and is in fact not even in school), is not particularly worried. Shinsou and Midoriya have been studying hard and discussing quirk strategies with him every day for the past week. Tim doesn’t mean to brag but he’s a pretty good battle strategist, which tends to happen when one is taught by the Batman. So, he’s pretty sure that his friends will be fine. 

His friends, however, don’t necessarily share Tim’s optimism. 

“ I’m going to die ,” Midoriya wails over the phone. “I’m going to break all my limbs by accident and everyone there is going to laugh at me, including all the pros, and I’m going to die out of sheer embarrassment.” 

(On the bright side, at least Tim’s japanese has improved enough for him to follow along with Midoriya’s occasional exam stress freakouts.) 

Tim leans back into the couch, one eye on the television as he props his feet up on the coffee table. “Midoriya.”

“I’m going to fail and everything you and Y-- my mentor have done for me will be for nothing !”

“ Midoriya ,” Tim repeats more firmly. “Dude. You’re going to be fine, I promise.” 

The news starts playing some segment about… a hero killer? Hm. Tim stands up and strides over to Dick’s bedroom. The door is ajar so he nudges it open, waving to get Dick’s attention before beckoning him into the living room. 

“But everyone else will have way more experience with their quirks than me! There are so many things that could go wrong!”

Dick takes a seat on the couch, mostly ignoring Tim’s conversation with Midoriya as he paces in the kitchen.

“Sure, but the majority of those people will be the type to try to use brute force rather than any kind of strategy. And let’s face it, Midoriya: when it comes to brute force, you’d win on that alone. Just don’t be rude to fellow competitors so you don’t jeopardize any of the possible hidden collaboration-type points and you’ll be fine.”

Midoriya sighs, sending a burst of static to the phone speaker. “I guess you’re right. You’re so level-headed about these things even when I’m totally freaking out.” 

“Tim,” says Dick, eyes on the television. His voice in the type of low, urgent register that automatically sends every Robin into high alert. 

“Shit, I need to go, I think it’s an emergency,” Tim says hurriedly. “Sorry, Midoriya. Good luck studying!” 

There’s barely time for Midoriya to squeak out a goodbye before Tim hangs up. 

“Look.” Dick points at the screen. Emblazoned on the banner on the bottom of the screen is kanji that takes Tim a moment to parse. HERO KILLER STAIN CLAIMS ANOTHER VICTIM.

“A hero killer?” Tim asks, eyebrows raised. 

“A pro hero serial killer,” Dick corrects, eyes on the television. “Body count of 17 dead, 23 injured survivors.”

Those numbers are… intense. They’re all pros, too. The heroics industry is different than in Gotham but all those victims had some form of training, so this guy must be skilled. Tim sits down next to Dick on the couch and opens his laptop. 

“Get me the precincts he’s operated in and I’ll grab the police reports,” says Tim, already opening his covert backdoor access port into the local police’s database. 

CASE FILE : HERO KILLER STAIN .

The living room looks like a tornado hit it. Papers cover the coffee table and are taped up on the wall behind the TV, which flips between four different news channels. A random part of the living room floor has several different blankets heaped into a neat pile courtesy of Tim. Red string connects multiple different papers like a conspiracy board. Most of the papers have a number written on them in black marker corresponding to the chronological order of victims. 

There’s a collection of a few used coffee mugs on the side table. Tim has no idea how many cups of coffee Dick has had recently, let alone today. The concept of “night” and “day” have become rather meaningless in the face of a time sensitive investigation.

Dick squints at his laptop and sets down his most recent cup of coffee. “Hey, do you have the toxicology reports for number… eleven, Clover; twelve, Minima; nineteen, Sunstriker; twenty one, Stoneface… uh, there are a few more.” 

“And they’re all missing tox reports?” 

“I mean, yeah, unless we mislabeled them.”

“Hm.” Tim opens their shared batserver and searches through the files. Nope, the missing toxicology reports definitely aren’t here. So maybe… he checks which police precincts are responsible and opens the case file through the police database. Not here either. He repeats it for the next few victims but all of their files are missing the toxicology reports too. 

There’s no way the coroner didn’t submit a toxicology report for all these victims, right? It takes a few more minutes for Tim to gain access to the Hosu coroner’s internal database. When he searches for victim number eleven, Clover, her toxicology report pops up. He has to bounce around to each precinct’s coroner and look into each individual database but, one by one, Tim assembles the missing toxicology reports. 

“Found them, the reports exist but they weren’t included with the police files for whatever reason. I’ve uploaded them all to the server and tagged them so you can find them,” Tim reports.

“Thanks, little wing,” Dick replies absently as he opens the first missing toxicology report. 

The living room fades back into quiet save for the drone of the news program. Tim goes back to flipping through witness reports in search of any sort of pattern. 

“Tim,” Dick says, leaning over to nudge Tim with his foot. “Did you look at the missing tox reports?”

“No? Why, what did you find?” 

Dick angles his computer so Tim can crawl onto the couch and read over his shoulder. “So, some of these missing reports look normal. All well and good except for police negligence in failing to look at them, right? Well, look at this .” He clicks away to an analysis of a strange compound found in the blood of victim number twelve, Minima. 

Tim squints at the analysis, assembling the molecule in his head, until… “Is that thing a paralytic?” 

“I’m ninety five percent sure it is, yeah. This compound looks familiar but I’ll have to check my notes. And check this out.” Dick pulls up several more of the previously missing toxicology reports. “It’s in these ones too.” 

“Holy shit,” Tim breathes. Dick doesn’t even admonish him for his language. “A break in the pattern. So he used paralytic on some of these people but not others.” He meets Dick’s eyes and finds them full of the same renewed determination as Tim himself feels. 

“I’ll check the Batserver’s files on paralytics if you double check the other tox reports,” Dick suggests.

“Deal.” 

Out of seventeen people who died, six of them have paralytics noted in the toxicology reports from their autopsies. Dick digs up the paralytics notes and matches the suspicious compound with one known in their home universe as Angel’s Kiss. The notes in their computers’ copy of the Batserver are meticulous, as is everything documented by Bruce, and includes notes on what’s required to make it. 

Angel’s Kiss is administered by syringe and, hey, two of the survivors mentioned seeing syringes but the police claimed they must have actually seen knives confused it for syringes. All the toxicology reports that contained evidence of paralytic were linked to victims whose autopsy reports mentioned tiny marks that could have been from debris… or could have been from needles. 

With that information under their belts, they’re off to the races. They find all the companies in Japan that sell the components necessary to make the paralytic, hunt down the purchase history for those ingredient, and start running computer programs to flag people who bought multiple required ingredients.

The program spews out a list of suspects and then it’s time to cross reference them with anyone who may have known about the method of attack, anyone whose quirks or weapons may match the slashing and stabbing wounds inflicted on victims, cross reference with people who were there at the time of the attacks… the list goes on. 

Sometimes protein bars appear next to Tim. He gnaws on them, tosses their carcasses aside, and continues his hunt. This investigation is time sensitive and they don’t have time to stop and cook a five course meal or whatever. Food is food and protein bars will keep Tim’s mind from dulling due to hunger.

They end up with two different modus operandi, severe cuts and slashes vs more superficial ones with a paralytic administered via injection. Locations seem consistent with a killer moving from city to city but the paralytic doesn’t show up until at least one regular kill has been made in that location. Victimology is the same, all famous or rich heroes who have had at least one related scandal in their careers. 

“Dick,” Tim says at last, eyes sore from too long spent staring at his computer, “I think we have a serial killer and copycat on our hands.” 

There ends up being very little debate about whom to send the evidence to: Detective Tsukauchi is obviously the safest bet since Eraserhead has confirmed he’s not corrupt like most Gotham cops and he’ll accept information from vigilantes even if he disapproves of them. Dick writes the email since his japanese is much better but Tim insists on reading over his shoulder as he types.

TO: Detective Tsukauchi Naomasa [email protected]

CC: Eraserhead [email protected]  

FROM: Nightwing [email protected]  

Dear Detective Tsukauchi,

We’ve determined that eight of the attacks attributed to Hero Killer Stain are, in fact, the work of a copycat killer. Attached are the toxicology reports for the six deceased victims that all contain evidence of a chemical compound that induces paralysis and eventually sends the target into respiratory distress. In addition, we have included a timeline of attacks that highlights how the copycat follows Stain around and only starts attacking after Stain has already made a kill in a new location. 

We have narrowed the likely identity of the copycat down to Akage Yori. She is friends with a Hosu police officer who was present at thirteen of the Hero Killer’s crime scenes and we believe he accidentally shared information regarding the kills with her, hence why she was aware of elements such as the method of death.

If you have any questions, most of them should be answered in the documents we’ve included with our observations and notes on irregularities that can be attributed to the copycat. 

Best of luck with hunting him down. 

Yours,

Nightwing and Robin

The email is sent. When Tim glances at the time on his phone, he finds multiple missed messages from Shinsou and Midoriya. Oh, and it’s the day of the entrance exam. Oops. 

MIDORIYA IZUKU

(Wednesday, 8:02am)

> Do you think I should focus more on kicks instead of punches? I’ve been thinking and kicks might be good for sweeping attacks if I need to displace a long line of air. I don’t know if you’ve seen pro hero Mirko’s fight against Sudden Death but it’s a great example of how kicks can be used to [...]

> Actually I feel more confident with punches because my mentor has been helping with those. Plus punches are All Might’s specialty so I’ve been rewatching some of his old fights and [...]

(Wednesday, 3:12pm)

> I hope the emergency went okay! (Or is going okay? I’m guessing you’re still dealing with it if you’re not responding to texts haha)

(Wednesday, 9:57pm)

> Good night, Drake! Hope everything is going okay. :) 

(Thursday, 10:09am)

> Math is going to kill me on the exam T_T

> I can’t believe it’s tomorrow…. I feel so prepared yet underprepared

(Thursday, 5:31pm)

> Did a bunch of studying today, now I’m off for a run! Let me know if you want to go running together once you’re back :) 

(Thursday, 6:12pm) 

> Look at this cute cat I saw on my run!!! She was very soft

> [picture of a fluffy white cat with orange spots]

> That was a good destresser. Back to studying!

(Thursday, 9:22pm)

> Thank you for all of your help with my quirk and your exam strategies, Drake. I hope everything is okay and your emergency isn’t too bad. Good night!

GROUP: SHINSOU HITOSHI & MIDORIYA IZUKU

(Wednesday, 6:40pm)

> Midoriya: Hey, could one of you send me a copy of what Drake printed out for us about battle stances? I can’t find that page anymore and I think I lost it :( 

> Shinsou: [image attached]

> Midoriya: Thank you, Shinsou!!!!! 

(Thursday, 1:15am)

> Shinsou: did UA send out which internal exam sites everyone is supposed to report to yet? 

(Thursday, 7:04am)

> Midoriya: Yes! Check your email 

> Midoriya: I think they assigned us to different areas of campus for the practical :( 

> Shinsou: lol at least this means you won’t have to dodge me trying to brainwash you

> Shinsou: all i’ve gotta do is say an incorrect all might fact and you’re mine

> Midoriya: Shinsou! Using my weaknesses against me!! D: 

> Midoriya: Drake will be so proud <3

> Midoriya: Btw I think he’s dealing with a family emergency rn and that’s why he isn’t here

SHINSOU HITOSHI

(Thursday, 10:45am)

> hope your family thing is okay

(Thursday, 11:02pm)

> also thanks for the strategy stuff you sent us. 

Tim flops down on his bed and pushes his greasy hair out of his face before texting them back.

MIDORIYA IZUKU

(Now, 5:37am)

< Sorry about that, we didn’t realize the magnitude of the problem and it ended up being more severe than we expected. Hope I didn’t worry you. 

< Also, you’ll do fine on the exam. Just remember to focus on holding yourself more loosely so you don’t tense up. You’re not holding back a flood of power, you’re gently guiding a vague hint of it into your hits. 

SHINSOU HITOSHI

(Now, 5:38am)

< Everyone is as safe as we could get them, which is all we could ask for in an emergency. 

< Sorry for disappearing on you right before the exam. 

> it’s fine 

< Why are you awake before 6 on an exam day

< Oh. Couldn’t sleep?

> yeah

> stress plus one of my foster siblings was snoring

< Sorry to hear that.

> it isn’t super unusual. i’m used to running on not much sleep

< Mood. 

< Can you grab breakfast now so you don’t forget to eat? Remember, you’ll want something sugary and fatty since you have a brain-powered quirk. 

> yes mom

< I’m about to sleep so if I don’t message you again before the exam, good luck. You’re going to do great.

With that, he turns off his phone and shuffles into the living room so he can grab the bathroom for a shower. Dick is lounging on the couch, burner phone held up to his ear.

“Right, the toxicology reports were missing from the police files… yeah, I suspect negligence too. I don’t think it’s a cover up since some of the missing files were from Stain’s actual kills…. Hm.” A pause, and then, “Hi, Eraserhead’s husband! Sorry to wake you this early.” 

Dick meets Tim’s eyes and mouths Eraserhead while pointing at his phone. Tim drifts over and lets Dick absentmindedly pet his hair while he listens to something on the other end of the line. “Yeah, Robin is here with me. Say hi, Robin.”

He holds up the phone to Tim and Tim’s sleep deprived brain decides it’s a good idea to lean in and say,  “Hi, Robin.” 

There’s a burst of laughter on the other end that’s definitely not from Eraserhead. That man looked too tired to laugh. Dick rolls his eyes and reclaims his phone, nudging Tim towards the bathroom with one foot. 

“Uh huh. No, he’s not applying to UA. I would’ve told him to apply if I’d known he could end up in your class, Eraser.” The shit eating grin on Dick’s face suggests that this is exactly what Eraserhead wouldn’t want. “Sure, whatever you say. But really, I know this story is going to hit the news sooner or later, and I’d really prefer to keep Robin out of the media--” 

Their conversation fades to a dull drone as Tim shuts the bathroom door behind himself.

Chapter Text

One shower and twelve hours of sleep later, Tim Drake feels like a new man. 

He flails one hand around for his phone before pulling it into the pile of blankets on his bed. Squinting at the devastatingly bright light of the screen, Tim bypasses checking all the text messages on his lock screen and instead jumps straight to calling Midoriya. 

The phone only rings twice before it’s picked up. “I didn’t break any bones!” Midoriya practically shouts. 

Tim grunts and rubs his eyes. “Good job.” 

“Aww, did you just wake up? Is your emergency okay now? You still look really tired, were you able to sleep at all before this? Do you want me to hang up so you can sleep?”

“Urgh. No, it’s fine. Tell me about the exam.” 

“I punched one of the huge zero pointer robots and saved this girl! She was really nice, she kept me from tripping before the exam started. Also I punched a bunch of other robots and I kept them from crushing people and it was great!”  

“See, I knew you could do it,” Tim says fondly. 

He can practically hear Midoriya’s beam through the camera. “I’m pretty sure I passed! Oh, Shinsou thinks he did too. Well, he’s still anxious about it even if he won’t directly tell me, but I’m pretty sure he passed. Hang on, let me add him to the call so he can tell you himself.”

Tim, who is used to Bart’s fast paced rambling, just blinks and lets his partially asleep brain drift as Midoriya does something to his phone. A moment later, another dial tone rings for what feels like a solid minute before Shinsou finally picks up. 

“I take it Drake is alive again,” Shinsou remarks drily. “Welcome back from the dead.”

Tim yawns before replying, “Hi. How was your exam?” 

“Well,” says Shinsou. “I brainwashed four people at once.” Midoriya makes an excited sound but doesn’t interrupt. “We did a modified diamond pattern for offensives like you suggested. Destroyed a bunch of robots, saved some people from getting crushed…” 

“You’ve gotta tell him the good part!” Midoriya protests. 

“...and my range wasn’t an issue, so that’s good,” Shinsou continues as if he didn’t hear Midoriya. “Oh, but after the exam, uh. You know the pro hero Eraserhead?” 

“Not really,” Tim lies. “He’s an underground hero, right?” 

“Right,” says Shinsou. “He, um, he came up to me afterwards and told me I did a good job.” 

Midoriya squeals into the phone. Tim pulls the phone away from his ear until he’s done before remarking, “I told you that your quirk is useful. All you needed was the right strategy. Even a pro agreed you did a good job.” 

“I guess,” Shinsou murmurs shyly. “Um. Thank you for your help with that.” 

Tim smiles and rolls onto his back. “No problem. I’m glad both of you feel like you did well. That’s definitely a good sign. How was the written exam?”

“Really good, I think!” Midoriya pipes up. 

“It only made me sort of want to scream,” says Shinsou. “So, it was tolerable.” 

“That’s good. When will the acceptance results come out?” 

Shinsou sighs. “We already took the test, why can’t we just yeet the results into the void and pretend they don’t exist?” A pause. “They come out this Friday, so a week from now.”

Tim raises his eyebrows. “That’s a pretty short time for them to decide the results when they have so many people applying.” 

“Ectoplasm’s clones are helping with the grading, I think,” Midoriya chimes in. “I bet it speeds things up by a lot. Plus a lot of it was multiple choice except for the essays.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause before Shinsou says, “Hey, Midoriya, did you tell Drake that you sprained your leg jumping up to punch that robot?”

“ Shhhhhhhh ! He doesn’t need to know that!”

Tim closes his eyes. “Midoriya, I thought you said you were uninjured.” 

“Welllllll, I said I hadn’t broken any bones.”

“... Midoriya. ”

“I may have sprained my leg while jumping but it’s okay, it’s just one leg! Besides, Recovery Girl fixed me up so I’m totally fine now.” 

Tim pulls his covers up to his chin. “You know those new meditation and bodily awareness exercises I sent to you a few days ago? Double those.” 

“ Drake !” Midoriya whines before sighing. “Ugh, thank you, I think.”

“You know you both can call me Tim, right? I helped you not break your bones and I texted Shinsou at five in the morning. Pretty sure we’ve achieved that level of friendship.” 

“Then it’s only fair that you call me Izuku!” 

For a moment, the call is quiet and then Shinsou finally says, “If you nerds are sticking around, I guess you can call me Hitoshi.”

Midoriya-- Izuku-- makes a happy sound and then adds more shyly, “Guys, I’m really happy you’re my friends. I’m so glad we met.” 

Hitoshi doesn’t deny that they’re friends. Haha, well, that’s what happens when you’re a prickly feral cat who repeatedly accepts food and affection from people. You make friends . Deal with it. (They’ve come such a long way in such a short amount of time.) 

“Me too.” Tim cuts off with a yawn. 

“...Tim, how much have you slept in the past few days?” Hitoshi asks suddenly. 

“Uh. That’s not a very nice question.” 

Izuku latches on like a shark who’s smelled blood. “What? Have you been sleeping? You need to take care of yourself!”

“...I’m gonna go back to sleep,” Tim decides to dodge this conversation. “Okay, talk to you later, byeeeee.” With that, he unceremoniously hangs up. 

After all, another nap wouldn’t hurt….

When Tim wakes up again, the sun hasn’t risen yet. Thankfully, he’d been too out of it last night to close his curtains so at least he didn’t wake up to light stabbing him in the eyes. This is most well rested he’s been since he was born . 

He checks the time on his phone: it’s just past five in the morning. Nobody else will be awake at this ungodly hour so he might as well amuse himself. With bat-stealth, Tim creeps out of his bedroom and into the living room. The lights are off but the TV is on and still set to a news channel. Dick must have muted the news at some point after Tim fell asleep. 

Tim ambles over to the couch and snuggles under one of the blankets there before properly focusing on the screen. There’s a little red banner at the bottom of the screen. 

BREAKING NEWS: HERO KILLER COPYCAT ARRESTED!

Holy shit, they found the copycat! The screen flashes various pictures of the copycat mid-arrest. She’s a rather innocuous looking woman with dark hair, pale skin, and pointed ears. Huh. She struggles against the hold the two pro heroes have on her arms as they drag her onto the street. When she snarls, her teeth are sharp.

It’s funny to think that someone who he could’ve passed on the street without a second thought is capable of inflicting enough harm to kill six people. 

“ And now, more on the process of discovering the copycat. The arrest was initiated by Detective Tsukauchi Naomasa of the Musutafu precinct. Detective Tsukauchi received a tip yesterday morning from a local vigilante who discovered the existence of the copycat killer, Akage Yori, from the vast amount of chemicals she was purchasing. In fact, the vigilante, who goes by the name Nightwing, deduced that eight of the forty attacks attributed to Stain were actually performed by the copycat. Now, for a closer look at the victims claimed by the copycat killer--” 

Tim’s chest glows with warmth. It’s nice to feel useful for once.

GROUP: SHINSOU HITOSHI & MIDORIYA IZUKU

(Today, 7:45am)

> Midoriya: Did you see that they found out hero killer Stain actually had a copycat killer??

> Midoriya: [link: BREAKING NEWS: AKAGE YORI, HERO KILLER STAIN COPYCAT, IS ARRESTED]

< Drake: Wow, I didn’t see that! What’s her quirk? 

> Midoriya: Four Leaf. She grows a four leaf clover on her head and she can eat the leaves for luck

> Midoriya: They think that’s how she got lucky enough to get 6 kills with no real battle experience

(Today, 10:31am)

> Shinsou: i just woke up. what is this about serial killers

> Shinsou: nvm just backread. the police accepted a tip from a vigilante??

> Midoriya: If the police accepted a tip, it means they have no grounds to arrest the vigilante. I’ve checked everywhere and nobody has confirmed what Nightwing’s quirk is

> Midoriya: Some people on reddit suspect he hasn’t used his quirk for vigilante work and that’s why the police can’t arrest him

> Shinsou: maybe it’s a mental quirk or some really subtle transformation qurik

> Midoriya: I don’t know. I’ve been trying to find videos online but they’re all pretty poor quality :(

> Midoriya: I really wanted to do some analysis on him…. Oh well :(((((

After the copycat killer is arrested, Nightwing sticks to easier patrols in more populated areas. If a Stain fan decides to take out their frustrations on Nightwing, he’d rather have it happen in an area where there are enough people around to call for help. 

Over the next few days, Tim is a little quiet whenever he’s on the comms. It reminds Dick of the calm before the storm. Something is brewing and he isn’t sure if he likes it. 

The most likely culprit is frustration at being effectively benched. Robins have never been good at being told not to go out but especially when there’s a possible threat… yeah, Dick wouldn’t be happy either if he was in Tim’s shoes. He’ll have to wait a few more days and see if Tim brings it up, watch how things play out. Hey, he’ll find out in a few days how his friends did on the UA entrance exam, right? Maybe that will distract him.

Tim frowns at the monitors in front of him as Nightwing jumps down from a fire escape, spooking the attempted purse snatcher. Nightwing watches them flee, content to let them go, before turning to check on the would-be victim. 

“N, there’s something on the roof above you.”

Without skipping a beat, Nightwing glances up. He escorts the victim out of the alley before responding, “Rob, that’s just a few pigeons.”

“Well, it looked like the shape of someone watching you from the roof. I’m just working off of shitty security cameras here. It’s not like I’m there to check it out in person.” 

“You know why I made that decision,” Nightwing says with forced lightness as he grapples back onto the roof. “See? Nothing here.” 

Tim grunts into the headset. “I’m going to check the national quirk database again,” he says in lieu of actually replying, “Since finding a way to get us off this stupid planet would actually be helpful.” 

Through the security cameras, Tim can see Nightwing open his mouth to respond. Before he can actually say anything, Tim viciously stabs the button to mute Nightwing’s voice. 

The annoyed look on Nightwing’s face at the little ding! the comm line makes as he’s muted is pretty funny.

On the day the UA entrance exam results are released, Tim’s phone starts ringing incessantly at exactly ten o’clock in the morning. He checks the caller ID: Izuku, of course. It looks like he’s made it a group call with Hitoshi too. 

Tim accepts the call but before he can get a word in edgewise, Izuku yells, “I GOT IN!” 

“Congratulations.” Tim throws himself onto his bed and stares up at the ceiling. “I knew you’d get in.” 

“Good job,” says Hitoshi. “And without breaking any more bones too.”

“I can’t believe it oh my god I still have to tell my mom and-- and I haven’t even told my mentor yet, oh man, he’s going to freak .” He pauses. “Hitoshi, what about you? Have you gotten your results yet?” 

“I didn’t see anything in the mail,” Hitoshi says slowly. “My foster parents might have it. I’ll, uh, go ask.” With that, he mutes his phone with a click. 

“Man, I really hope Hitoshi gets in,” Izuku says breathlessly. “My letter said I’m in class 1-A. Imagine if we were in the same class! Wouldn’t that be cool?”

Tim smiles at his ceiling. “That would be fun. Your classmates won’t know what hit them.” 

Izuku giggles. “Oh man, that’ll be so fun. We could come up with combo moves! Mental quirks have so many possibilities for combo moves. Hitoshi’s quirk is so powerful that I’d have to sit down and really think about it, but I’m sure there’s a ton we could do with it.” 

They chat for a while about possible combo moves. Interestingly, Brainwashing could be used to make villains participate in combo moves with heroes, which leads to all sorts of interesting combinations. It would require a lot of practice but maybe they could trip fellow villains and knock them off balance before Izuku punches them. Oh, or a brainwashed villain could create a distraction! There are all sorts of possibilities for distractions based on quirk type. Izuku is as excited about it as he is about all things quirk-related so Tim listens to him ramble and adds in suggestions or commentary where appropriate. 

It’s almost like he’s back home with Bart. 

The thought steals the air from his lungs. Has he really gotten so complacent with his life here? Tim is meant to be home, being Robin, helping people. Being useful . Instead, he’s grounded in his apartment and stuck doing nothing while Nightwing runs around with nobody to watch his back. Tim can be helpful but he isn’t even allowed to try , and--

“Sorry about that,” Hitoshi says breathlessly, unmuting himself. “I’m back. Got the letter.” 

Izuku cheers and then adds, “Did you open it?”

“Nope, I just got back to my room. You guys get a live UA exam results letter unboxing video.” 

Tim snorts and fists his bedsheets in one hand to reel in his temper so he doesn’t take it out on his friends. Breathe in, breathe out. Over the phone, there’s the faint sound of ripping paper and then a gasp. 

“I did it,” Hitoshi breathes. “I got in.” 

Izuku erupts into an ear-piercing squeal. “YOU’RE GOING TO UA!”

“You did it!” Tim cheers. 

“Oh my god, I’m gonna be a hero,” Hitoshi whispers. “I’m going to--” He sniffles. “I never thought… I have a villain’s quirk, so….”

“It’s your quirk,” Tim reminds him. “How good or bad it is only depends on what you do with it, not what some theoretical villain might do. Didn’t that hero serial killer have a luck-boosting quirk? Most people wouldn’t call that a villainous quirk but she used it to kill people, so.”

“For a long time, I thought I could never be a hero either,” Izuku says gently. “But here we both are.”

“Being a hero doesn’t always depend on your quirk,” Tim adds. 

Hitoshi inhales shakily. “Well, I’m not planning on killing anyone, so I guess I’m in the clear.” Ah yes, Hitoshi’s default defense: snark. 

Tim laughs. “That’s the spirit.”

“Hey, did your letter say which class you’re in?” 

“Um, let me check.” A pause and then, “Class 1-A.”

“ME TOO!” Izuku’s delighted yell is loud enough that Tim has to pull his phone away from his ear. “We’re gonna be classmates , Hitoshi!” 

Smiling, Tim remarks, “Your teacher is going to love you guys if you don’t kill them first.” Two powerful quirks, two… interesting personalities. 

Hitoshi barks out an actual laugh. “We’ll see about that.” 

The foreman’s office in the warehouse is smaller and darker than when Tim was last physically there. At the same time, it feels much bigger when it’s just Tim there. He wishes Dick was here. Dick always knows what to do. But no, Dick got out. He escaped. Tim is still stuck here with the mildewy sofa and rickety desk and filing cabinet that could fall over and crush him. 

In the distance, footsteps race down the hall. Tim isn’t sure how he knows, because he doesn’t hear them, but he knows. He knows Kon’s footsteps like the back of his hand. 

“Tim!” Kon shouts. “Tim, bro, let me in! He’s coming!” He skids to a halt in front of the office door. 

Tim tries the handle but it doesn’t budge. The doorknob doesn’t have a lock. “It’s stuck,” he replies, voice caught in his throat. “Who’s coming?”

“Jason is.” The doorknob jiggles on the other side. “I was trying to outrun him but it was like he knew what I’d do before I did it.” 

Tim swallows hard and uselessly yanks on the doorknob again. “I can’t-- it’s not opening.” He looks around the office for some tool that could open the door, melt the hinges, anything. In his heart, he already knows nothing there will help.

“He’s getting closer.” Kon is getting more frantic. “Can’t you do anything?” 

“I’m trying!” Tim backs up and slams his shoulder into the door. It accomplishes nothing but hurting his shoulder. “It’s not budging.”

Kon slams his fists against the door. “I think he’s around the corner. Tim, please--”

“There you are. Trying to hide, kid?” 

Tim hasn’t heard that voice in almost a year but there’s no way he’d forget it. After all, it’s embedded in one of his worst memories. The satisfaction in Jason’s voice when he finally hunts down his prey is… memorable. 

“Tim!” Kon throws himself against the door and pounds on it with his fists. “Help!” 

Tim yanks on the doorknob again, tears gathering in his eyes. “I can’t, I’m trying--” 

Jason’s footsteps get progressively closer as Kon panics. He’s so close and yet so far. Just a few inches beyond Tim’s fingertips. Just out of reach. 

Jason doesn’t say anything as he gets closer but that’s okay, he doesn’t need to. Kon screams; Tim never wants to hear that much fear in his voice again for as long as he lives. 

“Tim! Tim! ” Kon scrabbles at the door. It sounds like he’s crying “Please, I need--” 

Tim sits up so violently that he nearly throws himself off the bed. He’s sweating so much that his sheets stick to his skin. It was just a nightmare. Not his best night, but he’ll survive, right? 

Besides, a few bad dreams aren’t life threatening. Dick doesn’t need to know. Tim heaves himself off his bed and pads into the kitchen to fill a water glass with shaking hands. He can handle this himself. 

Before Tim knows it, the first day of class arrives. Well, class for everyone attending UA. For Tim, who isn’t technically in school aside from the “learning japanese for english speakers” videos Dick occasionally sends him, it’s just another day. 

The morning of the first day of school, Izuku texts Tim and Hitoshi a picture of him in UA’s uniform and giving the camera a thumbs up. It’s obviously not a selfie so his mom must have taken the picture. Absolutely adorable. 

Hitoshi replies with a selfie of just his eyes and hair that was definitely taken on the train. 

GROUP: SHINSOU HITOSHI & MIDORIYA IZUKU

(Today, 7:40am)

> Midoriya: Were you able to sleep at all last night?? 

< Drake: Those eyebags look designer.

> Shinsou: that’s a dangerous question, izuku

> Shinsou: and thank you, i made them myself

There’s a lull in texting that Tim uses to open his laptop and open one of the new popular TV shows that was created in the past hundred-something years. He’s partway into episode one of a series about a girl from the planet Neptune before his phone buzzes again. 

> Midoriya: Tim

> Midoriya: Tim

> Midoriya: It’s our classroom!!

> Midoriya: [picture of a high school classroom. The photo is edited so one desk in the back of the room is circled in green and the desk next to it is circled in purple.]

< Drake: Don’t tell me that your assigned seats put the two of you next to each other. 

> Shinsou: okay. our assigned seats aren’t next to each other :) 

< Drake: Why is your smiley face so menacing

> Shinsou: :) 

> Midoriya: I can’t believe we get to sit next to each other! This is going to be so much fun!!

< Drake: And in the back of the class, too

< Drake: Please let me know what happens. I’m dying to know.

The group chat falls silent for a while, presumably because class has started. Tim suspects UA teachers may be strict about cell phone usage so he puts his phone aside so he can fully focus on watching more of the Jupiter the Wonder Girl sitcom. Not as good as Wendy the Werewolf Stalker but he’ll take it. 

GROUP: SHINSOU HITOSHI & MIDORIYA IZUKU

(Today, 12:05pm)

> Shinsou: ok ok we’re free for lunch. sensei is scary so as much as i love you, i’m not risking texting in class lmao

> Shinsou: abbreviated highlights reel: 

> Shinsou: our homeroom teacher is freaking ERASERHEAD, aka the coolest hero in existence (sorry izuku)

> Shinsou: aizawa-sensei had us do a “quirk apprehension test” where we threw balls and shit. he said he was gonna expel the person with the lowest score because fuck non-physical quirks i guess except it was a LIE!!! 

> Shinsou: also he brought a sleeping bag to class and actually slept in it. i knew he was my favorite for a reason :) 

> Shinsou: okay gtg izuku is busy talking to uraraka (gravity girl who kept him from falling on his face before the entrance exam) and i need to go spectate because izuku can’t talk to girls and it’s really funny

< Drake: Well, that sounds like an eventful day. Call me after school and let me know how it goes?

< Drake: Also, how do you not know how to talk to girls?? You just… talk to them

> Shinsou: no idea but izuku is certainly not doing that

> Shinsou: okay bye for real

This is familiar. Working on his own thing while his friends go off, mess around, and eventually come back is a routine Tim has lots of experience with. It almost feels like he’s in Young Just Us again. At least Jupiter the Wonder Girl is interesting enough to hold his attention until his phone rings later that afternoon. Oh, it’s a video call from Izuku’s phone. 

“What’s up?” He greets them, sitting up in bed. 

“You would not believe what just--” Hitoshi cuts Izuku off by putting a hand over his mouth. Tim waits for retaliation for a moment before recalling that Izuku is an only child and thus hasn’t learned to employ tactics such as licking or biting the hand that muffles you. 

“Shhh, we need to tell him everything in chronological order since there was too much to tell you over text. First off, Izuku’s childhood bully is in our class.” 

Izuku shakes Hitoshi’s hand off. “Hey! Kaachan isn’t that bad. He’s a childhood friend of mine.”

“Bakuguo Katsuki almost tried to fight Izuku before class until our teacher rolled into class in a sleeping bag. Then he had us do that weird quirk apprehension test and I thought he was totally gonna expel me. BUT, he told us we could do anything with our quirks as long as we remained in this circle. So I brainwashed Izuku for most of the trials and got him to do all the ball throwing and grip strength ones for me so I wasn’t in last place.” 

Tim nods thoughtfully. “I bet he worded it that way on purpose. His quirk is Erasure, right? I suspect he never intended to expel anyone in the first place.”

“Tim, how do you barely know who All Might is but somehow know Eraserhead’s quirk?” Izuku asks.

Tim shrugs. “No clue. I’m just weird.”

“God, you really are,” Shinsou says affectionately. “ Anyways . Here’s what we didn’t notice during the quirk apprehension test. There’s this guy who sits right next to us in class called Mineta Minoru. He’s purple and his quirk is he produces these sticky balls from his head.” 

“He’s really creepy,” Izuku cuts in. 

“Shh, I’m getting to that. During the test, he was apparently bothering some of the girls. I think he was being gross to… I want to say it was Yaororozu Momo and Hagakure Tooru. He was flirting with them and absolutely not taking no for an answer or, like, trying to determine whether they wanted to be talking to him in the first place. Here’s a hint: they didn’t!” 

Izuku makes a face. “Hagakure said he kept trying to bump into her too.” 

Hitoshi nods. “Right. And that brings us to our second event: the Battle Trial during Foundational Hero Studies. It was taught by All Might and, I will add, Izuku actually managed to hold himself together when All Might walked into our class. I’m very proud of him.” He slings an arm around Izuku’s shoulders. “So we all got changed into our new hero costumes, etc etc, and we stood around waiting for the battle stuff to start.” 

“Except Mineta went over to bother the girls,” Izuku huffs. 

“Exactly. Hagakure was hanging out with Uraraka Ochako-- she’s the new friend Izuku made before the entrance exam, right? Very nice girl, floats stuff with anti-gravity, blah blah blah. Hagakure, by the way, is invisible .” 

Dread curls in Tim’s stomach. He can already see where this is headed. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes. So Mineta goes over to them and ‘pretends’ to bump into Hagakure. She brushes him off, acts like it’s no big deal. But then he keeps doing it. Repeatedly .” 

“He had his hands out,” Izuku adds. “Like this.” He holds his arms out with his hands outstretched, ready to grab…. Holy shit.

“Holy shit,” says Tim, anger already simmering. “Please tell me somebody did something about that.” 

“Izuku and I were on the other side of the group and stupid Bakuguo was blocking us--” 

“Kaachan isn’t stupid, he’s actually really smart--”

“He had no idea what was going on over there and he was trying to fight you instead of letting us go so yes, he was being stupid. All Might had stepped out to double check the structural soundness of the buildings we’d be in so he wasn’t there. But you know who was there?” Hitoshi’s face settles into a rather unsettling grin. “ Uraraka Ochako . He grabbed Hagakure’s arm, asked if it was her chest, and Uraraka punched him in the face .” 

Tim lets out a breath. “Good. He deserves worse than that.” 

“Oh, there’s more. Mineta screamed so All Might came running back, right? We all explained what happened. So then All Might called Aizawa-sensei.” 

Based on what Tim has seen of Eraserhead-- not that Dick actually lets him interact with the man-- he’s pretty sure Eraserhead being on the scene is a good thing. “What did Aizawa do then?” 

Hitoshi’s grin grows wider. “As soon as he heard the words ‘Mineta grabbed Hagakure’, he snatched Mineta up in his capture scarf, started lecturing him about sexual harassment and boundaries, and then dragged him off.” 

“Oh, and he expelled Mineta right there in front of all of us,” Izuku chirps. “Then he told All Might to teach us how to punch properly instead of doing Battle Trials. It was awesome!” 

“I’m pretty sure we’re gonna have to sit through a class on bullying and harassment tomorrow,” Hitoshi says. “But I bet Bakuguo could use that, so.” 

“Are Hagakure and Uraraka okay?” Tim asks, frowning. “That sounds pretty upsetting. Uraraka didn’t get into any trouble, did she?” 

“No, no, she’s not in any trouble! Before he left, Aizawa-sensei told her to plant her feet more and line up her shoulders and hips when she swings,” Izuku assures him. “He specifically said it was so she could hit harder next time .” 

“Mineta’s nose was bleeding,” Hitoshi adds gleefully. “I’m pretty sure she broke it.” 

Tim adds the name Mineta Minoru to his mental list of people to keep an eye on. “Good. He deserved it.” 

“Oh, he definitely did. Uraraka really nailed him. Afterwards, she got paired up with Izuku for punching practice and I’ve never seen anyone look so happy while getting beat up. Izuku was definitely going easy on her--”

“I’d feel weird punching her hard after she just had to fend off a pervert!”

“--but she was full-on punching him. You should’ve seen the look on his face, Tim, it was so funny--”

Tim’s Robin suit is laid out on his bed. Dick Grayson stands next to it, arms crossed. “I’ve made a decision,” he announces, eyes boring into Tim. “You can come out as Robin.” 

“Yes!” Tim fist pumps the air. 

“ But ,” Dick stresses, “There are conditions.” 

“Sure, sure. What are they?”

“First off, you have to listen to what I say. If I say hide, you hide. If I say run, you run. Second, it’s too dangerous for you to patrol solo so you need to stay close to me. Third, I’d like to use an approach where if I have to go down to street level to talk to someone, you stay up high and out of sight. Keep an eye on our surroundings-- you’ll be my eyes in the sky and watch my back. Use your best judgment. I don’t want you joining fights unless there’s literally no other option. Have I made myself clear?” 

Tim grins at Dick. “Crystal. When are we heading out?” 

“As soon as we’re both suited up. We’ll take the rooftops out.” 

Tim flashes him a thumbs up and Dick huffs out air through his nose in an almost-laugh before striding out of Tim’s room. Man, Dick’s been kind of insufferable lately but at least he’s starting to see reason. Finally, Robin can take to the skies again! Tim hums to himself as he starts the familiar process of donning his uniform. Tonight is going to be fun. 

Flying through the skies again after being grounded for so long is like a breath of fresh air. The city itself may be unfamiliar but the sensation of his grapple hitting its target feels like he’s finally allowed to spread his wings. Sure, Robin has to stay up high and out of sight while Nightwing walks people to the bus stop and waits for their bus with them, but it’s better than being cooped up indoors.

Nightwing grapples up to the roof Robin is perched on and pauses on the ledge next to him. “Ready to start moving towards the warehouse district?” He asks quietly in english. 

Robin gives him a thumbs up so Nightwing launches himself onto the next roof. By now, Robin has spent enough time staring at maps of Musutafu to recognize the route they’re taking. It’ll bring them through the office district with its tall, looming buildings and side streets that are typically quiet at this time of night. 

Nightwing leads him easily through the streets, street lights illuminating his silhouette. When he suddenly veers off to the side, it’s unexpected. Frowning, Robin stops on the office building’s rooftop and plants his hands on his hips. 

“What’s going--” 

Nightwing cuts him off. “We’re being watched. Stay here and hide,” he whispers, voice only audible through the comm line connecting them. With that, he races off, increasing his speed. 

Robin throws his hands up in frustration before curling up in the shadow of an AC unit. The concrete is cool against his back but at least he’s out of sight or whatever. Ugh. A quiet beep tells him that Dick has muted his comm-- Tim can still hear him but he can’t hear whatever Tim says. Great.

Given by the soft puffs of breath over the comm, he can only assume Nightwing is running. Tim would make a snarky remark about it but Robin is supposed to be hiding. Whatever. 

It’s quiet, other than the occasional hiss of the grapple gun through the comms. Robin sets his chin on his knees and waits.

Chapter Text

Nightwing runs across the rooftops as fast as he can away from Robin. Whoever that dark shape in the sky is, Dick doesn’t want it to get anywhere near his baby brother. The less people who know Robin exists, the safer he’ll be. 

He grapples from building to building, vaulting himself over AC units and rooftop ledges. His trajectory keeps him within the office district-- he’s pretty sure that one of Eraserhead’s patrol routes is nearby so at least he can help scrape Nightwing off the pavement if it comes to that. 

Finally, he lands on a nice medium height building with a roof ledge that’s tall enough to not worry too much about accidentally falling off if he hits it at the wrong angle. 

“I know I’m pretty but don’t you realize it’s rude to stare?” Nightwing calls up to the dark sky in japanese. 

One heartbeat passes, then two, three, four… The dark shape in the sky, the thing raising the hairs on the back of Nightwing’s neck, gets bigger. Closer. Until he can see the humanoid silhouette, the wings sprouting from the back. A masculine face, short golden hair, flight goggles. Wings as red as freshly spilled blood. 

“Don’t mind me,” says the number three hero, Hawks, as he touches down lightly on the roof. “I just wanted to put a face to a name. So you’re the infamous Nightwing.”

Dick has read about the Hero Public Safety Commission. Researching them was the first thing he did after learning of their existence. Hawks is their poster boy-- his face is everywhere when it comes to them. Big, attention grabbing missions, sure, but smaller things too. More subtle things. 

The HPSC controls all things related to heroes, including the heroes themselves. As a vigilante, Nightwing decidedly does not dwell within their realm of control. Sending Hawks must be their response to learning of a vigilante who has a working brain. 

A top one hundred ranked hero would’ve been a more routine check-in. He’d have been flattered by a top fifty hero. Sending someone from the top twenty is where it starts getting dicey. The top twenty heroes presumably have much, much better things to be doing than following some random vigilante in the middle of Musutafu. Unless… the HPSC decided this was important enough to send someone stronger. Someone like the number three hero. 

Dick didn’t realize the HPSC valued their control to their extent. That was a miscalculation on his part, a mistake that Bruce would have reamed him out for. But Bruce isn’t here. 

Nobody is here, in fact. Just Nightwing and the number three hero in all of Japan. Hawks would be overkill unless they wanted this taken care of quickly and quietly. Apprehend the target and grab them without too much noise or fanfare. 

Fuck. The HPSC wants to black bag him, don’t they. 

His escrima fall into his hands as easily as breathing. He shifts his weight, keeping it on the balls of his toes in case he needs to move quickly. “I didn’t realize I had a fanclub. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Of course you have a fanclub,” says Hawks. His movements are casual, unhurried, but there’s power coiled beneath his skin. This man is dangerous. His wings are fluffed up as if to appear bigger and more frightening. “The hero killer evaded police for years. Nobody could make sense of his case. Then here comes a nobody vigilante from Musutafu who says that we were looking at everything all wrong. You saw things that nobody else did. Can you blame me for being curious?”

“I didn’t do anything special. All I did was connect some dots the police hadn’t paid enough attention to,” Nightwing deflects. “I don’t think that’s quite deserving of such a warm welcome.” The air is buzzing with so much tension that he can practically feel it in his teeth. 

Hawks circles Nightwing, forcing him to continually turn to avoid putting his back to his opponent. His hands look like he’s ready to reach for a weapon but Nightwing can’t see any on him, so what… maybe his feathers? “Oh, but you were very impressive. I just had to pay you a visit after that display. Had to come see what you’re made of myself.” 

He stalks towards Nightwing, feathers flaring. Alarms honed by years of practice blare in the back of back of Nightwing’s head and he raises his escrima to block. Two long primary feathers slide into Hawks’ hands, increasing his reach. Nightwing shifts his weight onto his back foot, ducks a swing from one feather, spins into Hawks, and strikes at his ribs to probe his defenses. Hawks blocks easily. Shit, he’s fast. 

“You’re good,” Hawks says, calm and collected even as Nightwing tests his defenses with a series of blows. “Who taught you?” 

“Your mom did,” Nightwing chirps with false levity. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a hint of something familiar in the darkness. He tries to distract Hawks with a one-two combo of a hit and a kick to the inside of his foot but Hawks just moves with it. At least the motion gives Nightwing a better glimpse of… fuck. 

Fuck. Robin just had to disobey orders didn’t he. This is exactly why Nightwing wanted him to hide-- he is literally fighting a hero who presumably wants to kidnap him for the government . The safest place for Robin to be right now is anywhere but here. 

God, he doesn’t want his baby brother to watch him get kidnapped. 

Guess he’ll have to distract Hawks, then. 

“You really enjoy poking your nose into things, don’t you,” Hawks says, only a little out of breath as he parries Nightwing’s next blow. “You know an awful lot of information, especially for a vigilante.” 

“Thanks, your mom told me all of it. We have weekly--” he grunts as Hawks twists his wrist uncomfortably but doesn’t drop his escrima stick, “--weekly lunch dates.” 

Hawks just smiles and rapidly shifts, throwing all of his weight into a strike. It almost meets Nightwing’s face and the force of his feather-blade hitting his escrima splits Nightwing’s lip anyways. Blood dribbles down his chin as Nightwing retaliates with another flurry of blows. 

They dance back and forth, trading blows. Hawks is good. Nightwing dimly suspects that he’s holding back somehow. Toying with him, probably. Maybe he’s trying to extract as much information as he can before carting Dick off to some government facility that doesn’t legally exist. There could be another strike team lying in wait but that seems unlikely-- Nightwing would have seen them by now. 

Nightwing blocks, spins, and gives Hawks a shove in the same direction he was already moving in. Hawks briefly stumbles but dodges Nightwing’s next strike, putting distance between the two of them. 

“I guess you won’t tell me who your sources are, huh.” 

Nightwing smiles, straining his split lip. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

Hawks tilts his head, surprisingly birdlike. “Is it related to your quirk?” 

“You’re certainly a curious bird.” 

Something flutters in the corner of Nightwing’s vision. A floating red feather? But-- WHAM! Hawks takes advantage of his momentary distraction to tackle Nightwing to the ground. The edge of his feather-swords are surprisingly stiff and sharp when he holds it to Nightwing’s throat, much like real swords. 

This close, Nightwing can see that Hawks’ eyes are a bright gold. At one point, one of Nightwing’s blows had hit his nose and caused it to bleed. When he smiles, his teeth are stained red with blood. “Do you really expect everyone to trust a vigilante? Someone with no known connections, who won’t reveal his sources, who won’t even disclose his quirk?” 

The floating red feather slides neatly back into Hawks’ wings. Fuck, so it was a diversion. A deliberate diversion.

“I don’t need them to trust me,” Nightwing spits. “I just need to be able to protect them. Let me earn their trust through my actions.” 

He throws his whole body to the side, toppling Hawks, and simultaneously brings up his escrima to get those feather-swords away from his neck. With a twist, Nightwing springs back to his feet and launches a new onslaught of attacks. More hardened feathers dart out of Hawk’s wings, parrying until Hawks can climb back to his feet. 

Man, Dick hates being toyed with. 

Once Hawks has regained his footing, his feathers disappear into the mass of his wings once more. He spits out a glob of blood onto the ground. “You’re spirited, aren’t you?” He watches Nightwing with a gleam in his eyes. “The cameras would love you.” 

“I have a lot more than spirit,” Nightwing snarls, escrima raised. “I’m not here for fame or attention. I’d much rather be left in peace so I can do my job.” 

“And what is your job, Nightwing?” 

Dick’s temper has been simmering for so, so long. At Hawks’ words, it boils over and Dick sees read. “What’s my job? What’s my job ? Take a look around the city and tell me what you think my job is! Are you seriously so out of touch that you don’t know what’s happening under your nose? Just because everything is fine in the daylight, in the rich office districts, in front of the cameras doesn’t mean that everyone is fine.

“People in this city are poor, Hawks. They’re poor and they’re sick and they’re hungry and they can’t afford healthcare and they can’t afford rent. Do you know how many purse snatchers I’ve stopped who needed the money for their family because they can’t find a job? Because they have what some people like to call villainous quirks. Apparently nobody wants to go to a store when the cashier has the head of a shark or a jaw that’s permanently unhinged! Maybe you spend too much time in the skies to see this, Hawks, but all heroes do is find these people and beat them and lock them up and give them a criminal record that makes it even harder to find a job or a place to live. Then the cycle repeats itself and all you create is more pain and misery.

“If that’s what heroes are supposed to do, then guess what! I don’t want to be a hero!”

His words echo around the rooftop. Across from him, Hawks watches him with a contemplative look on his face. Both feather-swords are lowered, their tips barely brushing the ground. 

At last, Hawks says, “You’re an interesting bird, Nightwing. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Smiling around his split lip hurts but Nightwing does it anyways. “Some have, yes.” 

Hawks hums and glances up at the sky as if he could read something in the stars. “If I let you go, will you run around causing massive property damage and killing innocent civilians?” 

Hope is a cold, dead creature in Dick’s heart, but it stirs to life nonetheless. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” 

“Better hope nothing kills you, then,” Hawks replies. His feather-swords disappear back into his wings and he flaps his wings a few times as it shaking them back into place. “Well, duty calls. I’d imagine you’d know more about that than most of the heroes in this city.”  

Dick thinks of The Mission and laughs mirthlessly. “You have no idea.” 

Hawks points two fingers towards his own eyes and then towards Nightwing. The meaning is clear: I’ll be watching you. With that, he does a running leap off the edge of the roof and takes off into the air. 

Nightwing’s arms fall to his sides and he cranes his neck as he watches Hawks fly up, up, up. He watches the sky even after Hawks vanishes from sigh, wondering what Hawks could’ve possibly seen up there. 

It’s hard to tell how much time passes before Robin emerges from his hiding spot. Dick just stands there, staring up at the sky. 

“N!” Robin scrambles over to him, hands hovering as if scared to touch him. “Are you okay?”

Dick allows himself a long, slow blink before replying, “I’ll be fine. Robin. You disobeyed a direct order.”

“You were fighting, I wasn’t about to let you get killed,” Robin huffs. 

Nightwing takes one deep breath in, holds it, and releases it. “We’ll discuss this tomorrow,” he decides. “For now, let’s get ourselves home.”

The rest of patrol is comparatively uneventful. Nightwing helps some lost tourists, gives the name of a sympathetic local temp agency worker to some disgruntled fast food employees who are outside for a smoke break, and returns a dropped wallet. By the time they climb back into their apartment via an unlocked window in the third bedroom, all the lingering adrenaline has worn off and Dick is dead on his feet. 

“I’m going to shower and go to bed. We can talk about what happened tomorrow.” 

As he walks out of the room, Tim has his mouth open like he wants to say something. If Dick has to hear it right now, he isn’t completely certain that he won’t shatter like glass. He closes the door behind himself. It’ll be a problem for tomorrow. 

Chapter Text

Breakfast the next day is stilted. Back at Wayne manor, Alfred always loved going all out for weekend breakfasts. He was always trying new recipes but often rotated between homemade pancakes with fresh cut fruit, french toast with homemade jam, a full english breakfast, omelets made to order…. 

Back when Jason was little, Dick is pretty sure the big weekend brunches were specifically to tempt him into poking his head out from Bludhaven, visiting Alfred, and letting Jason interact with an adult other than Bruce or Alfie. Dick didn’t go every weekend, particularly when his argument of the month with Bruce was still fresh. Still, he tried to see Jason even if it meant awkward silences at the kitchen table.

Breakfast today reminds Dick of those awkward brunches. In an attempt to continue the weekend breakfast tradition, he’d made pancakes from mix but his cooking is only passable. Some of the pancakes are a little burned. At least the smoke detector didn’t go off. 

Tim spears some pancakes onto his plate with a little more force than necessary. He eats with his eyes on his phone, likely to avoid conversation. Dick surreptitiously watches him between bite, doing his best not to crowd him. His phone’s messaging app is open. Maybe he’s talking to his friends? It’s good for Tim to interact with people who aren’t Dick and especially people his own age.

Dick’s anger from last night sits heavy in his gut. It’s a dark, oozing, slimy feeling even if it’s largely dormant right now. He takes a seat across the table from Tim and takes small bites of his pancakes as Tim resolutely ignores him. 

It’s… not as bad as it could be, he supposes. At least Tim is still alive. Hawks didn’t notice Robin and spirit him away to some hidden facility, so that’s good. 

Dick manages to clear his plate and stands up to do the dishes so he doesn’t have to deal with the sour feeling of Tim ignoring him. It’s fine. He scrubs at his frying pan until it’s never been cleaner.

He heads for his bedroom but stops at the edge of the kitchen. “Are we still on for training at noon today?” 

Tim doesn’t glance up from his phone. “Yeah,” he replies, thumbs moving over the screen. 

Okay then. Looks like this is the best he’s getting. Stifling a sigh, Dick turns and heads into his room. Maybe he just needs to give Tim some extra space before lecturing him about disobeying orders last night.

At noon, Dick peeks his head into their spare bedroom slash sparring room slash weightlifting room. Tim is stretching his legs on the mats and look at Dick when he enters but doesn’t greet him. Okay, Dick can probably work with that. 

“Hey kiddo,” he says as he settles onto the ground to stretch. Tim just grunts. “Are you almost done warming up?”

“Yeah, I’m almost done.” A multi-word reply, woohoo!

Dick forces himself to smile. “Great! How about we do some hand to hand for a while and work on your right uppercut?” 

Tim blinks lazily at him. “Sure.” He goes back to stretching. 

They continue stretching in silence. Dick lets himself fall into the stretching routine he’s been doing ever since he was old enough to walk. Left hamstring, right hamstring, left quad, right quad, left calf, right calf. By the time he’s done stretching, his heart feels more settled in his chest. Good. Maybe he can have this conversation with Tim without losing his cool after all.

“Ready?” he asks. 

Tim rises to his feet and rolls his shoulders. “Yup.” Without waiting for Dick to get to his feet, he runs at him. Dick simply twists and rolls with the motion, using Tim’s momentum to knock him down to the mats while Dick springs to his feet.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Dick remarks with a Robin-wide grin. 

Eyes narrowed, Tim rolls up his feet and unleashes a barrage of attacks. Left hook, kick to the instep, right uppercut. Dick parries, rolling with the blows, and sweeps Tim’s feet out from under him. It’s a move that he normally would’ve evaded but today, it sends Tim tumbling down to the mat. 

“What, no quip?” Dick extends a hand down to Tim to help him up. 

Tim glares at him, brushes his hand aside, and pushes himself to his feet. Ah. “Would you shut up?” he demands. 

Dick pulls back, eyebrows raised. “Whoa there,” he says but Tim attacks again before he can say anything else. This barrage is more focused than his last and he lands a good hit on Dick’s already bruised ribs. Ouch. 

“I can feel you judging me from here,” Tim snaps. 

Dick pulls his hand away from his ribs and forces himself to fall into a loose fighting stance. “I wasn’t judging you, bud.”

“Don’t lie to me. I know you think I’m,” Tim grunts as he steps back to avoid getting socked in the gut, “ Helpless .” 

“You’re not helpless. We both know that.” 

Tim fends off a punch to the sternum and attempts, and subsequently fails, to elbow Dick for his efforts. “Then why are you acting like I am? You grounded me.” 

Dick feels his patience begin to wear thin. “We’re in an unfamiliar dimension with none of our usual resources. Of course I grounded you.” 

“You made me wait and hide ,” Tim hisses. Uppercut, left hook, duck. “I thought I was going to listen to you get yourself killed. You need Robin with you. And don’t talk about being stuck in a new dimension hwen you haven’t even bothered looking into ways to get us home.” 

“Of course I want us to go home, Tim. But what I need is to not get you killed when we’re out of our depth. I don’t want you to become a target when we don’t have the resources or political capita we’re used to having to bail you out.” 

This was, evidently, the wrong thing to say. Tim’s next punch is sloppy; Dick catches it in one hand. “I won’t need to be bailed out! You’re the one getting followed by weird bird people!” 

“Tim, that hero works with the committee that manages hero oversight. I do not want you on their radar.” 

Tim struggles, almost flailing as he tries to wrench his arm free. “So I’m supposed to just sit back and watch? To do nothing ? Why don’t you trust me!” he cries. 

“I trust you but I don’t want you to be hurt when we’re still finding our footing in this world,” he tries. “If I get swept up in some government bullshit, I want someone on the outside to bail me out.”

“But--”

“Tim,” Dick finally snaps. “I made a judgment call that I believed would keep you safe. You disobeyed a direct order in the field.” 

Tim rips his fist free and takes a step back. His chest is heaving. “I don’t care ! You needed someone to watch your back!”

“What I needed was to trust that you’d be able to follow a simple order when we’re in the field with an assailant with unknown motives,” Dick shoots back. 

Scowling, Tim stomps over to the door. “You don’t understand. You’re so impossible ,” he seethes, opening the door. Tim closes it behind himself with a slam. A moment later, his bedroom door squeaks open before closing much more quietly. 

Ugh. Dick sighs and drops down into a crouch, face in his hands. Why does he always fuck things up? Why couldn’t he keep his stupid temper in check and talk to Tim about this? How did Bruce handle wrangling three strong-willed children with entirely different personalities? 

Well, granted, one of those kids died, was resurrected, and then tried to murder his third child. And all three of them run around fighting crime. Bruce’s parenting is good in some aspects even if it’s too stifling and lacking in others.

…Is Dick turning into Bruce? Oh god.

Maybe he should give Tim some space. Yeah, that sounds reasonable. Tim needs time to cool off from the excitement of last night. It must have been worrying to hear Dick being attacked when they’re somewhere with no real backup besides maybe Eraserhead. He still should’ve listened to Dick but Dick can still empathize. 

With a groan, Dick pushes himself to his feet. Going over some old case files he’d copied from the Musutafu Police Department’s database will help take his mind off things. And hey, maybe he’ll even be able to solve a few kidnapping cases or something.

TIM DRAKE 

(Now, 2:13pm)

> Hey, I’m sorry for snapping at you. We do still need to talk about what happened last night and finding our way forward, can we do that now?

> Tim?

Tim doesn’t reply when Dick knocks on his door. 

Dick looks down from his phone and then up at Tim’s door. “Tim? Uh, can I get some confirmation that you’re alive?” A pause. There’s no sound from inside the room.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay. After yesterday, I’m kind of paranoid now, ha. I don’t like the idea of the hero public safety commission sending one of their puppets to do their bidding.” 

Still no reply. 

“Tim? I understand wanting to make me sweat but can you please let me know that you haven’t been kidnapped by Hawks or whoever?” 

As seconds tick past with still no reply, Dick’s chest grows cold. Maybe Tim is sleeping. God, he hopes he’s sleeping. “If you don’t answer in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to come in.” 

He pulls up the timer app on his phone and opens the stopwatch. With each second that passes, his heart creeps farther and farther up his throat. Finally, it hits thirty seconds with o reply. 

“Okay,” Dick says as calmly as he can manage, “I’m coming in.” 

It takes almost no time at all to grab his lock picks and pop open the lock. Tim’s bedroom door creaks open and Dick’s heart plummets down to his feet. 

It’s empty. Tim isn’t here. His bed is unmade, clothes strewn in a few piles over the floor. It’s a typical teenage boy’s bedroom except it’s missing its occupant. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

Dick takes one deep breath in, exhales, and lets himself fall into crisis mode. This, Bruce has trained them for. Check for his personal belongings first. Tim’s backpack is still next to his bed and his duffel bag is stashed under it. His wallet is sitting on his desk next to his laptop. Next to that are-- shit his keys. 

Tim wouldn’t have left without his apartment keys, right? Surely not. 

Dick can hardly breathe. He has to grab the edge of Tim’s desk and remind himself how lungs work-- inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale-- until the room feels less like it’s spinning around him.

Tim is gone. Okay. His phone isn’t here so maybe its tracker is still alive. Dick’s feet move him to the multi-monitor computer setup in the third bedroom and his fingers fly over the keyboard. 

The tracker is disabled. So is the backup tracker. Tim’s location won’t show up. 

He can’t find Tim. He can’t find Tim.

Time is of the essence. Dick knows about the statistics for the survival rate of kidnapped victims but he isn’t sure how being kidnapped by what’s likely a government agency complicates it. Shit, and he doesn’t even have any backup. He’s in over his head.

Unless….

Dick finds himself staring at his phone with Eraserhead’s contact information pulled up. Tim is in his civilian identity right now. If he calls Eraserhead, he’ll have to reveal their identities to a hero in order for Eraserhead to be able to actually help find Tim. If he does nothing, then he’ll be stuck finding Tim on his own in a dimension with no backup, no resources, nothing.

Without a second thought, Dick hits the call button. It’s answered after only two rings. 

“Eraserhead,” he says. “I need your help. I think my little brother was kidnapped.”

Aizawa Shouta knocks on the front door exactly fifteen minutes later. If nothing else, at least the man is punctual. Dick opens the door and steps back to let him enter. 

“Eraser,” he greets, a little more sure on his feet now that there’s a competent person here who isn’t emotionally compromised. “Thank you for coming.” It’s weird inviting a literal hero into his home without a mask on but hey, desperate times call for desperate measures.  

Aizawa nods and leaves his shoes in the genkan. He makes a noise that Dick interprets as I couldn’t ignore a good faith request for help when it involves a missing child and crosses his arms. “What’s the situation?” 

Giving a sitrep is familiar enough that he doesn’t even need to think. “Fifteen year old went missing from his bedroom between noon and three o’clock today. Examination of his room indicated that he left his keys and wallet behind but took his phone. No sign of forced entry and I didn’t hear any commotion from his room. If he was abducted, it would have been quick and quiet.”

Aizawa hums. “What’s his quirk?” 

Dick resists the urge to fidget. “He doesn’t have one. He’s trained, though, similarly to how I am.” 

Aizawa sighs. “I see why you try to keep him off the streets.”

“Well, I tried but he was with me when Hawks paid a visit to us last night.”

This catches Aizawa’s attention. “You talked to Hawks?”

“Talked is a strong word for it. I told Robin to hide but he disobeyed the order and snuck over to watch.” Dick sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “We argued earlier today and he stormed off into his room but he wouldn’t have left without at least his keys.” 

“On the phone, you mentioned being worried that he was ‘kidnapped by the government’. Is that because of Hawks?” At Dick’s nod, Aizawa tucks his hands into his pockets as he thinks. “I haven’t heard of anyone putting out a hit on a kid but I can reach out to some contacts. I don’t believe the HPSC would authorize such a thing but it’s possible they had some ulterior motive.” 

“Ulterior motive like trying to flush out the vigilante who exposed how shitty police work caused them to miss a whole serial killer?” 

Aizawa blinks, long and slow. “Maybe. I can’t say for sure.” 

Hm. If the HPSC is behind this, it seems like they haven’t told Eraserhead about it. He’s an underground hero and that type of hero rubs elbows with vigilantes more than the commission would probably like. As such, they typically either turn a blind eye to vigilantes-- Dick has seen more than one costumed hero take one look at him and immediately turn around-- or actually work with them like Eraserhead does.

Actually… perhaps a show of good faith is in order. “His name is Drake Timothy, but he goes by Tim.” 

“All right. I can reach out to a few of my more discreet contacts and see if they know anything about the HPSC showing any interest in a highly trained teenager. I’ll keep your name out of it.” Aizawa nods to himself. “If you wanted, I could include a picture of him so they can keep an eye out. In the meantime, we’ll stay here just in case whoever it was wants to come back to grab you too.”

“I’ll text you a picture from my civilian phone.” Dick pauses and then adds, “Thank you for this, Eraserhead, really. I’ll owe you one.” 

Aizawa grunts and takes a seat at the kitchen table, pulling out his phone. “Don’t thank me until we’ve found your kid.” 

As promised, Dick texts a picture of Tim’s face to Aizawa’s phone. It’s a picture of Tim smiling at the kitchen table with a plate of pancakes shaped like mickey mouse in front of him. He looks… young. And happy. Heart hurting, Dick hurriedly tucks his phone away and leans against the kitchen counter. “It’s possible that he ran away and I’m worrying for nothing. But after my encounter with Hawks last night… I don’t appreciate high ranking heroes being sent to sniff around my business when all I’ve done is help people.” 

Aizawa’s eyes flicker to Dick’s split lip. “Must have been some ‘talk’ with Hawks.” 

“Hawks was good. Very good. I didn’t have anything on me that could counter his quirk in any meaningful way. I was at a disadvantage during the whole fight but he was only toying with me.” Dick stares at the floor, arms crossed. “It could’ve gone worse, but… I don’t like being messed with.”

“Even so, very few people can actually hold their own against the number three hero. He’s ranked that high for a reason.” Even though Aizawa doesn’t look up from his phone, Dick gets the sense that he’s still very much watching him. “It speaks to your skill level and your training that you were able to face off against him at all.”

“Fishing for more information on my training?” The joke falls flat even to Dick’s ears. Aizawa shoots him an unimpressed look. “Fine, fine, don’t give me that look.” 

Aizawa sets his phone down. “All right, I’ve messaged Tim’s description to a few people who can discreetly look for him. While we wait, why don’t you tell me more about that suspected human trafficking operation running out of the hotel near the docks.” 

Dick is absolutely being managed. It’s likely to keep him from running off and doing anything rash like attacking HPSC headquarters, but it’s still effective. “Right. I’ll go grab my laptop. Don’t snoop around while I’m gone.” 

“As if I want to know whatever the hell you’re hiding in your house.” 

Dick retrieves his laptop from his bedroom and quickly pulls up his file on the suspected operation along with images he’d taken during a stakeout earlier that week. “Ready when you are.” 

“All right, let’s hear it.”

They spend what must be nearly two hours discussing the case. Dick should do more digging on local police cases from the past few years since Eraserhead thinks the current ring may be built off the remnants of another human trafficking ring that was busted by the police nearly two years ago. They share similar transportation methods but all the visible personnel involved appear to be different. Hmm. He’ll have to look into this further. 

After talking for so long, Dick’s throat is parched. He’s just finished brewing tea for both of them when Dick’s phone rings. He checks the caller ID and his heart nearly falls out of his chest. It’s coming from Tim’s phone.