Archive of Our Own

“Our case involves a series of attacks around Gotham Village that we have strong reason to believe are being committed by the same perpetrator. In all six of the cases, the victims were found nearby, unharmed but stripped of their belongings with no memory of what happened. All the instances occurred on a Thursday between eleven P.M. and three A.M.” 

Dick tapped a few keys and pulled up a map of Gotham Village with six red dots clustered around a few blocks. 

Jason asked, “What’s the profile?” 

“None of the victims or witnesses could give a clear description. Answers ranged anywhere from one to five people, all dressed in dark colors with features obscured.” 

Dick opened the grainy security footage of a few guys lurking around a van without a license place. In the soundless clip, one of the perps entered the alleyway. The video glitched and the van drove off. 

“Someone tampered with it,” Jason stated. 

“And Bruce Wayne is Batman.”

Dick snickered as Jason flicked him on the side of the head. 

“You think it might be the League of Assassins?” Jason asked.

“Looking at the victims themselves, I doubt it,” Dick answered as the Batcomputer loaded the six files. “None of them have criminal ties or anything that would make them a lucrative target like wealth. I’ve been digging since last night and as far as I can see, they’re just regular people.”

Their person files attested to that. All of them were ordinary-looking men anywhere between eighteen and forty with unremarkable jobs living in Gotham’s plainest neighborhoods. 

“They’re all dudes.”

“Again, Bruce is Batman.” 

Jason motioned for Dick to get out of the chair. When Dick refused, Jason plopped himself in Dick’s lap.

“Get off.” Dick shoved, but he might as well have been Sisyphus with the rock rolling back. “Seriously, what have you been eating?”

Jason took the keyboard and zoomed in on the map until the place names popped up.

“I just think it’s weird that all the targets were all guys,” he said. “Not that guys can’t be victims, but when you’re in a nightclub district popular among young women, you wouldn’t expect someone to target men as old as forty. Let’s see the testimonies.” 

“We could if I didn’t have a rhinoceros on me.” Dick wrenched his arm free and reached around. 

He pulled up the victims’ testimonies to the GCPD. Jason, thankfully, leaned forward just enough for him to slither under the armrest and into sweet, sweet personal space. 

“Circus people.” Jason rolled his eyes. “Too busy fitting through needle heads to notice all the victims were targeted as they were leaving Molly’s Bar.”

“Wait what?” 

He turned the screen with the highlighted sections. 

“Of course,” Dick said. “It’s easier for lower-level Rogues to target a smaller area.” 

“This is why I was adopted first.” 

Jason laughed as Dick shoved him. 

“Come on,” Dick said. “We got some witnesses to interview.” 

They got an interview with Molly herself—an older woman with big blonde hair from the ‘80s and a pink leotard-like dress to match. Her office wasn’t much different, like if Ziggy Stardust and Prince went hog wild in IKEA. She looked over the six photos in front of her. 

“Yeah, I saw ‘em.” She took a puff of her cigarette. “They come ‘round once a week, all of ‘em.” 

“Do they come together?” Dick asked. 

“Sorta.”

“What do you mean ‘sorta’?” 

Molly glanced at Jason, who was eyeing the bowl of Jolly Ranchers. She rolled her eyes and slid it over. Jason stuffed them in his pockets while Dick glared. 

Jason paused. “It’s… evidence.”

“Mhm.” He turned back to Molly. “Can you elaborate, please?”

“They come and leave separately, but they cluster together while they’re here. That’s all I can say without breaking our confidentiality clause.” 

“Confidentiality clause?” 

She pointed to a contract in a multicolored picture frame. “Anything that happens here, stays here. I don’t spill to no one, not even if you got a warrant—which I know you nosy birds don’t.”

She took another long drag and blew it in their faces in short smoke rings. 

“I’m just protecting my children. Batman would get it.” 

“We understand. Thank you for your time.” Dick gathered the photos. “Hood, let’s go.”

“Right behind you.” Jason poured the rest of the candy down his shirt. 

Some maintenance guys blocked the back door where they came from, so instead, they walked through the empty club, past the stage with a long runway and bar decked in rainbow flags. 

They would’ve gone straight home if Jason wasn’t a petulant baby who wanted smoothies from next door and oh, Dick had to pay because he was the older brother. But maybe it was a good thing they stopped for a drink, otherwise they wouldn’t have caught another certain bird slinking out of the same alleyway behind Molly’s with a black box under his arm. He was strapping it into his bike when Dick and Jason approached. 

“Hey, Red Robin!” Dick waved.

Tim jumped. “Hey, guys. Whatcha doing here?”

“Spoiler and Orphan handed us their case,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“I… also have a case.”

Jason pointed to the box. “What’s that?”

“Evidence.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“The kind for a case.”

“Can we see?” 

“No.”

“Come on, one peek?” Jason asked. “I’ll just open it a little.”

“You can’t!” Tim blurted.

Jason’s helmet did the equivalent of raising an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“It’s anthrax.”

“Really?” said Dick. 

“No, it’s not,” Jason replied. “It’s like the other day when Damian said he was selling weed.”

“Damian’s selling what now?” 

“Damian’s a drug kingpin. Now that’s something to pay attention to,” Tim said, mounting his bike. “I’m just gonna—”

Dick put a hand on the handlebar. “Not so fast. I just remembered that our kidnapping case is the only active one in Gotham Village. In fact, weren’t you assigned to that heist in the Diamond District?”

“No.”

Jason paused. “Oh yeah, I remember that now.”

“No you don’t,” Tim said. 

“I definitely do.”

“You sure?”

Jason’s lenses shifted as he thought hard.

“In fact,” Tim continued, “I was put on your case. Spoiler and Orphan might have handed it to you, but Batman officially reassigned me.”

Dick shook his head. “This definitely isn’t your case.”

“Yes it is.” 

Jason said, “You know, ‘Wing, I think the kid might be right.”

“I thought you were gonna back me up,” said Dick. 

Tim shrugged. “Hey, look, if you forgot Batman reassigned it to me that’s alright. But unless you wanna waste time on technicalities, I think it’ll be more efficient if we work together. It’s two against one here though, so the choice is ultimately yours.” 

Dick eyed Tim. 

“Give us a sec.”

He pulled Jason aside.

“Should we?”

Jason shrugged. “Honestly, if I was more invested in the case I’d fight it, but as it is, I don’t see why not. Three heads are better than two.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Also, are we sure he wasn’t assigned? A lot’s been happening this week.”

Dick paused for a second. “On second thought, I think he actually might’ve.” 

They went back to Tim. 

“We have a deal,” Jason said, “under one condition.”

Dick looked at him. What was he on about? They didn’t discuss any conditions.

“A new Batburger opened nearby. I wanna get Damian another Red Hood toy.”

Dick facepalmed. 

Dick’s slow pacing echoed through the Cave. “We definitely need to scope out Molly’s Bar. If she won’t tell us the full story, we’ll have to find it out ourselves.”

“What exactly are you hoping to find?” Tim asked. 

“With luck, the kidnapper. But when has it ever worked that way?”

“Surprisingly, a lot,” Jason said, stealing a sip of Tim’s coffee. “Remember when we investigated that building to get some radioactive chemical readings and walked in on the Joker dancing butt naked?” He shuddered. “I’d rather he just kill me again.” 

Tim plucked the mug out of Jason’s hand. “I’m pretty sure it’s ‘buck naked’.”

Jason took it back. “That doesn’t make sense. You see butts when you’re naked, don’t you?” 

“I don’t. Not all of us shower at prisons.” Tim dismantled a pen and used the plastic tube to suck up the rest of the coffee. 

“I don’t do that as much anymore,” Jason replied, jerking the empty mug away. “Keep up with the times, Babybird.” 

“Says you. You didn’t exercise your right to vote because you had to be dead, so in a way, the Trump administration was your fault.” 

Ugh, little brothers. 

Dick waved between them. “Hello? Can we focus? How are we supposed to dig around Molly’s?”

“What is this, your first day?” Jason scoffed. “We obviously go undercover. I’m the bartender, Timmy floats around as a patron, and you can be a stripper again.”

Tim typed something into the computer. “Hate to break it to you, but Molly’s doesn’t do strippers.”

“Okay, Dick’s out of disguises then. But the two of us can still go and relay what we find to home base.” 

Tim thought for a second before pulling up Molly’s website. On the front page was a poster that read: 

Amateur Drag Race

Every 3rd Thursday

Anyone can enter ($15 signup fee)

Come on in!*

*Molly’s is not responsible for lost wigs or damage due to flying shoes

“I know it’s a stretch,” he said, “but we’ll get access to the back without having to fake a job.”

Dick and Jason leaned in for a better book. Tim muttered under his breath about how this family had no personal space. 

“That’s a pretty good idea.” Dick ruffled Tim’s hair. Tim beamed. 

“The next one’s in less than a week,” Jason observed. “You think we’ll be ready by then?”

“Sure, why not?” Tim said. “We’ve had worse odds. I’m talking way, way worse. Remember the time Dick fell into the toilet and got stuck? We were this close to building a snack zipline so he could eat while he spent the rest of his life wedged in porcelain.” 

“That was totally Bruce,” Dick said. 

Jason snorted. “With his pancake ass? Yeah, right.” 

Tim grabbed a notepad. “We’re gonna want to cover all our bases, both in terms of fitting in and fighting if we need to. Which, given our track record, we will.” 

“We don’t always fight, do we?”

In response, Tim grabbed a clicker and pulled up a PowerPoint slide titled “Number of covert missions that end in not-covert fights” with a solid circle pie chart. 

Jason crossed his arms. “You were just waiting to use that.”

Tim smiled. “Maybe.” 

Dick gestured to the notes. “The list?”

“Right,” Tim said. “First and foremost, we have…” 

“And two, and three. Nice job!” Selina high-fived Dick. 

They were on their second hour of sparring practice in the high-heeled drag shoes they bought online. Well, Dick and Jason did, at least. They offered to get some for Tim, but he told them he could use Impulse’s. 

Dick plopped down on the bench next to Jason, who was massaging his calves from his session with his thigh-high platform boots. Wincing, he pried the Cinderella slippers off his aching feet.

He gestured to the lotion. “Can I borrow that?”

“No.”

Dick took it anyway. 

Jason called him an asshole before asking, “How is he still at it?”

Tim grappled the training dummy’s head between his legs and brought it down with a twist before somersaulting away—all while in a pair of bright orange stilettos. How he wasn’t in immense pain was a mystery. He picked up a pair of hand fans and clapped another dummy on the side of the head before sending it back with a kick. 

“I swear, he could be Selina’s catboy or something,” said Dick. 

“Dude, no,” Jason groaned. “ Why would you put that image in my head?”

Tim put the fans down and grabbed his water bottle. “So what are we gonna do for outfits?”

“I can go shopping,” Dick said. 

Jason said, “I can borrow some after I get these blisters surgically removed. What about you, Timbo?”

“I already got mine.”

“From where?” Dick asked.

“I have my sources.” 

He took a hefty cardboard box from of his locker and pulled out an off-the-shoulder gown. Blazing orange rhinestones adorned the top half, giving way to sunset ripples cascading to his ankles. 

“I figured we could at least get the basics and ask Bruce or someone to help us with additional touches,” he said. 

Jason stretched and stood up. “One thing at a time. Dickiebird, where do you normally go dress shopping?”

“Wow,” Jason said. “That is… a choice.”

Dick looked down at his outfit, which resembled a folded metal tiki head. “What, you don’t like it?”

“It’s very nope.”

Tim nodded. “Maybe try something a little less…” He gestured to the whole outfit. 

“This is my sixth dress. What do you suggest, then?”

Tim left.

“You could at least say BRB,” Jason said.

He leaned against the wall next to a rack of unwanted skirts, tops, and accessories. While Dick struggled in the dressing room (seriously, it sounded like a candy wrapper), Jason picked a thick black choker from the rejects and put it on. As he admired it in the mirror, he started to understand why it was Dinah’s go-to. 

He met Tim’s eyes in the reflection.

“What? Just getting a head start on step two.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” Tim said. “Anyway, I found a couple options that might work.”

In one hand he had a black velvet dress with poofed-up shoulders and a slit down the side. In the other was a layered baby blue ball gown without sleeves. Both looked a little plain on their own. Dick stuck the origami outfit among the rejects and scanned the two dresses.

“I don’t think the sleeves on the black one work. They just look awkward.” He took the blue one and held it up to the mirror. “This one has potential. Question is how do we spice it up?”

Jason said, “It’s missing something around the middle.”

“And up top,” Tim added. “Try on it for size while Jason and I look around.”

The store they were in specialized in prom dresses and evening wear, and the only reason they were there was because Bruce gave them his credit card. Somehow, rich people were simultaneously weird and really, really boring. In the display window was a mock-up of a meat dress like Lady Gaga’s—Meat Dress 2.0 for this season’s barbecue. But as for what they could buy, most of them were the same few cuts in a small range of solid colors. 

The place next door, though… 

The alarm went off. Jason realized he was still wearing the choker when an employee and security guard approached him. 

“I swear, I just forgot.” 

The employee hummed disbelievingly as he took off the choker. “Can you leave it with my brother? I’ll be back for it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You expect me to know who your brother is?”

“He’s the CEO of Wayne Enterprises?”

“Who’s the CEO of Toyota?”

“Uh…” 

“Exactly.” She snatched the choker back. 

After a quick conversation with the security guard, he made his way to the store next door—a smaller boutique selling an array of period pieces. The lighting wasn’t as harsh as the other store and ragtime played softly over the speakers. It also smelled a little like old people, but that was beside the point. 

Jason flagged down a worker and pointed to a mannequin in a long gown and corset covered in white fabric flowers. “Excuse me.”

“Yes, how can I help you?” the older man asked.

“Could I borrow that corset for a minute?”

The man gave him a puzzled look.

“My brother’s next door,” Jason clarified. “I just wanna see how it looks on him.”

“I’m sorry, but items may only be tried on in-store. If you could fetch him, I can help you find the right size. Are you looking to try that particular design?”

“Yes, please. I’m actually wearing his jacket so you can use that as a reference.” Jason took off the jacket and handed it to the man.

He marched back into the other store.

“Dickolas, get your ass out here!”

The employee shot him a dirty look rivaling a librarian. 

A moment later, Dick and Tim emerged with the dress. After checking out (with Jason’s choker too), they went to the next store, where the worker handed Jason his jacket and the corset.

“Really?” Dick asked.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

“Okay, um, should I do it with the dress?”

“It makes sense,” Tim said. “See how cohesive they are before buying anything.”

Dick slipped behind the canvas curtain and changed into the dress. After that, the three of them worked together to lace it up with some ribbons provided by the worker. 

“WikiHow says to pull it tight,” Tim said.

Jason scoffed. “We don’t need them to tell us.”

“I can’t reach it. Jaybird, think you can do it for me?” Dick asked. 

“No promises.”

He grabbed the ends of the ribbon and yanked. Dick stumbled back with a yelp. 

“Dude, hold on to something,” Jason said. “I swear, it’s like you’ve never watched a period movie.”

Dick held onto the doorframe while Jason pulled as far back as he could, propping his foot on a nearby stepladder. Dick groaned like he was giving birth. 

Click. 

“That better not go in the family group chat,” Jason warned. 

“‘Course not,” Tim said.

A second later, their phones went off.

“Wally wants to know why I’m in a corset.”

“Roy called it a Renaissance painting” 

They glared at Tim. 

“What?” Tim said innocently. “You said not to put it in the family group chat.”

All in all, Dick’s outfit worked. Before moving on to Jason’s, however, they stopped at the mall’s hair and makeup shop.

“What do you think?” Tim asked, weighing a wig in each hand. One had long auburn beach waves while the other was a faint Malibu pink with cropped bangs. 

“The second one for sure. Now help me out here.” Jason held up two lipsticks. “Should I go with Batwoman Red or black like Bruce’s soul?”

“Bruce’s soul is gray at most,” Tim said, grabbing a tester strip. “He’s an edgy seventh grader trapped in a middle-aged body.”

“So basically Damian in thirty years.”

Tim snickered and held up the two lipstick scribbles. “Batwoman Red it is.” 

“Timmy, can you help pick an eyeshadow?” Dick asked.

“What makes you think I can?” Tim asked. “Is it because I’m bi? Way to stereotype.”

“… But can you?”

“Yeah, one sec.”

Tim grabbed a couple pastel palettes off the shelf. He turned to Jason, who was trying on a black Morticia Addams wig that went down to his waist. 

Tim nodded. “Slay. Just be careful with products if it’s synthetic. Now help me with Dick’s makeup.” 

They spent the next twenty minutes debating on whether Dick’s makeup should match his dress or the blonde Marie Antoinette updo he picked. Jason was all for matching the dress, but Tim was adamant about matching the wig since outfits change more frequently. Eventually, Dick got sick of them squabbling and bought both. 

As they loaded everything into the car, Jason said, “You know what I could go for right now? Ice cream.”

“Ice cream sounds great.” Tim patted his pockets. “Oh, darn, looks like I forgot my wallet.”

“Same. What are the odds?”

They looked at Dick.

He rolled his eyes. “Every time.”

Bruce had found them a pile of accessories from his past girlfriends’ things. While Dick and Jason gathered everything, Tim took up Selina’s offer for another quick sparring session. Then, they sorted through everything in the Cave, settling on a wool jacket and satin gloves for Dick, fishnets for Jason, and a camisole for Tim. 

After that, they found themselves at none other than Harlivy’s doorstep. 

Jason rang the bell. 

The eye slat slid open. “Password?”

“Harley, it’s us,” Dick said. 

“Wrong answer.” It slid shut.

Jason rang it again.

“Password?”

“Lemon meringue.”

“Wrong again.” 

“Damn, they must’ve changed it.”

Tim lifted a plant pot and grabbed a spare key taped underneath. He rang the bell again as a warning before letting himself in. 

They found her in the kitchen. Between the curling vines and leafy canopies, mixing bowls, utensils, and tray upon tray of desserts laid about like she was in a jungle cooking contest. Jason helped himself to a sugar cookie, splitting it with Tim but keeping the bigger half for himself. 

“What’s all this?” Dick asked. 

“The teen clinic’s doing a bake sale for mental health awareness. I’m making extra ‘cause half the folks who signed up don’t know baking soda from baking powder.” She turned on the stand mixer. “What can I do ya for?”

Jason said, “I’m going on an undercover drag show sting and I was wondering if I could borrow some of your clothes.”

“Hang on,” Tim said. “Will you even fit?”

“No, you won’t,” Harley said. “Don’t worry. I’ve prepared for this day.”

“You have?” Jason asked.

“Not you specifically,” she said, leading them down the plant-filled hall. “I just meant when another bat decides to get into drag.”

She led them to her walk-in closet, where she pulled out a black leather skirt with a zipper down the side and the price tag still attached.

“I bought this the other day but haven’t gotten the chance to wear it yet.”

Dick snickered. “Maybe he can break it in for you.”

Jason lined it up in front of the mirror. “I dig it. What about the top?”

Harley scanned her closet before sliding a bin out from underneath a pile of leggings. “I’ve been meaning to donate these, but you can take whatever you want. Something tells me the shelter ain’t taking mesh turtlenecks this winter. Since you’re going with a dark bottom, maybe add a splash of color.” She pulled out an electric blue tank top. “How’s this?”

Jason shook his head. “Not exactly what I pictured.” 

“How ‘bout red?” Tim suggested. “You and Bruce were talking about it earlier.”

“Oh yeah. Got anything in that?”

Harley rifled through the folded shirts. “I’m guessing you don’t want a tailgate tee or an anti-Christmas sweater, so that leaves this.” 

She held up a black-and-red leather bodice not unlike the ones she wore on the field, just without her insignia. 

“I wore this in my second trimester, so it might be a better fit.” She gestured to the door in the corner. “Bathroom’s over there. I’m gonna check on the cupcakes. You want some? I’m trying a new red velvet recipe—the secret is an extra egg and a splash of coffee.”

“We’re good, thanks,” Dick said.

“Speak for yourself,” said Tim. 

“Wait,” Jason said. “How do I stuff it?”

“What?”

“You know, around—” He made a circular motion around his chest. “I figured if we’re going all out, might as well throw in some nice badonkadonks.” 

“Oh yeah,” Tim said. “Some whooperproperdrs.” 

“Some wampeedamberfuckalongas,” said Dick.

Harley crossed her arms. “If you can’t say boobs you’re not ready to have ‘em.” 

It was weird all around. The sound of Jason talking to himself as he changed clumped with Harley’s stand mixer whirring, the hyenas barking in the living room, and Ivy loudly scolding the plants outside. 

Jason stepped back out. “Alright, we definitely need to do something about this.” He cupped the empty pouches. 

“Cotton balls?” Dick suggested. 

“I was thinking toilet paper,” Jason said. “But both work.” 

Dick found a bag of cotton balls in the drawer while Jason unfurled a toilet roll. 

“How should we do this?” Jason asked. 

“We can wrap the cotton in toilet paper,” Dick suggested. “Like bra dumplings.” 

“Congrats, you’re the first person to ruin dumplings.” 

“No need.” Tim pulled a few unmatched socks out of the bin. “I saw this in a movie.” 

He folded them in half and put them in the bottom of the cups. 

“How’s that?” 

Jason bounced them around, genuinely amazed. “It’s like plastic surgery.” 

“Really?” Dick grasped one of them. “Woah. Nice work, Timmy.”

“Thanks?”

He went on. “Seriously, come see for yourself.” 

Tim acquiesced, cupping the other one. Jason jiggled them again, laughing like a kid who discovered a new toy. 

Ivy knocked on the doorframe. “Is this a good time?” 

They paused. 

“Never mind, shouldn’t have asked."

The show was just a few hours away, but they had one last thing to do before.

Dick pulled into the Dairy Queen drive-thru. Tim unbuckled his seatbelt and crawled forward.

“Dude!” said Jason. 

“Shush.” He pushed Jason’s face away. “I’m making a very important decision.” 

His tongue poked out as he micro-analyzed the menu like it was a business contract. Finally, after the third time the worker asked what they could get them, he snapped his fingers.  

“Chocolate cone!”

“Seriously?” Jason asked. “Three minutes for that? You are the worst.”

Dick rolled down the window. “We’ll take a banana split, chocolate cone, and… Jason, what do you want?”

“Brownie sundae.”

“A brownie sundae,” he repeated. 

“Please pull up to the window.”

“Thank you.” Dick shooed Tim back. “Sit down.” 

After paying for their ice cream—courtesy of Dick, as Tim and Jason promised—they parked in the empty lot at the library and sat along the outside of the car with the doors flapped open like elephant ears. Tim sat in the trunk among the boxes while Dick rested against the windshield and Jason laid across the roof. The sky was the color of a first-place medal, straddling the fence between afternoon and evening. The radio was playing that one song that went “come on Superman, say your stupid line” or something like that.

“So what’s this about Damian selling weed?” Dick asked.

Jason laughed. “I doubt it. I know every dealer in Gotham. He’s just being twelve.” 

Dick chuckled. “Figures.”

Tim licked a drop of chocolate off his hand. “Have you thought about your drag names yet?”

“Yep,” Dick said proudly. “Mine is Dixie Wing.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“What? It’s fun, whimsical, and an homage to the best superhero to ever live. At least it’s not Jason’s.” Dick reached up to take one of said brother’s brownie bites. “Go on, tell him what yours is.”

“Do I have to? Can’t it be a surprise?”

“Jason,” Tim said. “What’s your drag name?”

“Assenal.”

Tim burst out laughing. 

Dick said, “See?”

“It’s a great name,” Jason said. “You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first.”

“No, I’m really not.”

Tim said, “Well, I thought I’d be a little more lowkey.” He put his wig on haphazardly and flipped his hair. “You can call me Tiffany Winters.”

“Assenal’s still better.” 

He took the wig off. “You can always have multiple for when you wanna be PG.”

“PG? In Gotham?”

“It’s more likely than you think.”

Dick checked his watch. “We should start heading over. We still need time to get in character.”

Several feet away, a pigeon pecked at the ground. Tim broke off a piece of his cone and tossed it. The bird pittered closer.

“Whatcha doing?” Jason asked. 

“I’m luring it in,” he said. “Consider this an early birthday gift to Damian.”

Jason snorted. 

Tim got up and slowly approached the pigeon from behind. Just when he was about to grab it, it bolted. Dick watched as Tim chased it around the parking lot.

“Is it just me or does he seem more upbeat this week?”

Jason looked over. “Huh. I guess you’re right.”

“Should we just let him run around for a while?”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

Once they were in Gotham Village, Dick parked the car a block down from the bustling nightclub. The rainbow lights on the roof shined into the endless sky as people milled around. Some got out of cabs while others tried to find a place to park. Against the graffiti-covered brick, a guy was bumming a cigarette. A pair of high schoolers looked around fervently as if the bouncer could detect their fake IDs fifty feet away. 

Inside the car was a week’s worth of cursing, bumping around, and elbows jabbing into stomachs as the three of them changed into their drag outfits. Dick’s wig kept brushing the ceiling, so he had to tilt his head forty-five degrees to do his makeup. Tim’s shoulder went numb from being pressed against the window. And to top it off, Jason accidentally engulfed them in a cloud of Febreeze when he mistook it for body spray. 

“I can’t reach my corset again,” Dick said. 

“Tim, it’s your turn.” 

While Tim climbed over the headrest, Jason combed his wig before moving on to his makeup. Even with the lights on, it was next to impossible in the tiny rearview mirror. His lipstick smudged and his eyeshadow looked less like an alluring smokey eye and more like their dad in the morning. 

After his attempt to correct it made it even worse—now he was their dad in the morning with a shiner—he said, “Screw it, guess I’m a drag zombie now.”

With a final grunt, Tim secured the corset. 

“Finally,” Jason said. “Let’s bounce.”

“Hang on,” Dick said. “Did anyone Google how to refer to each other? Like pronouns and stuff?”

“It’s up to you,” Tim answered, slipping the stilettos on. “I’m going with female ones.”

“Guess I will too.”

“I’m whatever. Call me Lex Luthor for all I care,” Jason said. “Actually, scratch that. Anything but him.”

“Whatever you say, Bruce.” Tim got out of the car. 

Sign-ups were at the front. Even though they were among the last to register, the employee assured them they shuffled the performance order. The employee also asked what song they wanted for their performance. Dick— Dixie —gave them a ubiquitous ‘80s pop song while Tiffany opted for a lesser-known alternative band. 

“And what about you, um…” The employee giggled at the name. “Sorry. What song would you like?” 

“Not sure.” Jason turned to his siblings. “Should I Tom Holland it?”

Tiffany groaned. “Don’t, that’s so cheesy.” 

“M’kay, I need a minute then.” 

Before the shows started, they split up and wove through the crowd, eyes peeled for suspicious figures, though that was difficult under the nightclub lights and sea of bodies. Not to mention they couldn’t bring weapons unless they wanted to compromise their identities at the security checkpoint. 

Dixie pressed her comm. “See anything?”

“Negative,” said Tiffany.

“Lil’ Wing, how about—” 

She met Jason’s eyes. He sat at the bar, slowly sipping a mojito. She facepalmed. 

“Sucks that we never got a profile,” Tiffany said. “It could be anyone. Heck, they might not even be here .” 

“They better be,” said Jason, “or I’m robbing them to pay for all our stuff.” 

“It just feels weird being unarmed,” Dixie said. “It’s like not wearing armor.” 

“Says the patron saint of spandex.” 

“They have props backstage. So I heard,” Tiffany said. “Just grab one when you go on and keep it.” 

“Hopefully sooner than later,” Dixie said. 

Just her luck, a crew member told her she was first and that she was on in ten. Dixie relayed that to her siblings before slipping behind the heavy velvet curtains. 

“Five bucks she trips with that top-heavy wig,” Jason said. 

“She’s a circus kid, she’ll be fine. I’m more worried about you.”

He scoffed. “Me?”

“Of the three of us, you’re not exactly the most… how do you say it?” Tiffany wiggled her fingers. “Talented.” 

“Excuse me, I was both Romeo and Juliet in ninth grade.” 

When she didn’t answer, Jason looked up to find her chatting up some basic white shirt/leather jacket guy a few years older than her. Not that he cared, but she could do better. The stranger said something. Tiffany giggled and tucked her hair behind her ear. 

The music stopped. Several smaller lights circled the stage, merging into a single spotlight. The emcee’s voice boomed through the speakers. 

“Our first act tonight: our newest queen, Dixie Wing!” 

The curtains fell away. Dixie strutted down the runway, twirling her baby pink ribbon to a Cyndi Lauper song. She reached the end and batted her eyes like a lost lamb, ribbon between her teeth. A woman stepped up and gave her a dollar. Dixie took it graciously and stuck it down her dress. 

Jason’s eyes widened. “Wait, we get paid?”

As if to answer the question, she twirled around and plucked another dollar from someone behind her. Jason subconsciously joined in clapping to the beat. 

She did a back handspring into a split before bouncing right back up. Someone handed her a dollar and she invited him onstage. She draped the ribbon around him like a scarf as they swayed to the chorus. 

Jason glanced back at Tiffany and the stranger. She now had a Shirley Temple in hand, sipping as the guy animatedly told a story. By the way his hands moved, he was probably telling her all about how he caught a fish thiiis big. Not something Jason expected from a knockoff greaser but to each their own. 

A crew member tapped his shoulder. “You’re fifth on the list.”

He followed the employee to a backroom where about eight other drag queens (and a couple of kings) gathered around each other, putting on final touches while conversing. Jason grabbed a black umbrella off a hook. “Can I use this?”

When no one answered, he took that as a yes and refolded it to hide the Super Bowl logos along the edge. 

One queen, sporting a green disco jumpsuit and afro, said to another, “I just hope we make it home safe after this.”

Jason asked, “What do you mean?”

“The robberies, duh,” she answered. “Whatever, we’re all here tonight and that’s all that matters. Wish me luck!”

Before he could ask anything else, a crew member directed her to the stage. He looked around, a feeling of déjà vu creeping in. His gut told him he knew someone but couldn’t discern under the wigs and bright makeup. For all he knew, the Joker himself could be here and Jason would be none the wiser. 

Dixie’s song gave way to the second person’s Bee Gees track. Jason caught up to her.

“We should interview these folks.”

“But how?” She took off her jacket and grabbed a bottle of water from the crew. “They seem pretty tight-knit. Most of them are regulars while we are, as they put it, baby queens. What if they don’t open up?”

Jason glanced back outside, where Tiffany was alone now, glass almost empty. 

“We divide and conquer. I’ll start back here while you two talk to folks out there.” He peered at the roster as the employee walked by. “Tiffany Winters is second to last, so we have time.” 

Dixie nodded. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but good plan, Assenal.”

Whilst Jason navigated backstage, Dixie squeezed her way up to the bar. 

“What can I get ‘cha?” the bartender—a painfully average brunet in pinstripes—asked. 

“Can I get a sparkling cranberry with an egg white?”

The bartender gave her a weird look. “Sure. Customer’s always right, I guess.” 

In reality, Dixie just needed him to be mixing something while she said, “So, I heard there’s been a string of murders around here.”

“Murders? Nah,” he said. “Just some weird kidnappings-slash-robberies these past weeks.”

She fiddled with a pink, blue, and yellow flag hanging off the bar. “Oh? Tell me more.”

“Nah, I shouldn’t.” He filled a glass with ice. 

“I just wanna know if it’s safe out there, is all,” she said, batting her lashes. 

“Just so you know, I’m ace. They hired me specifically ‘cause the last guy kept falling for that crap.” He slid the drink over. “But since you’re asking, did you by any chance come alone?”

“No, I’m with others.”

“M’kay, good.” He leaned in, voice lowered. “Between you and me, it’s always been the folks who come alone. Not that I’m too surprised. Strength in numbers, you know the drill.” 

Singles. But didn’t Molly say the victims clustered together? The bartender went back to work as Dixie tried to fit the pieces in her mind. 

The song abruptly changed.

“He’s Tom Hollanding it, isn’t he?” Tiffany said, taking a seat as the beginning of Umbrella played. 

“I don’t know what I expected.”

She pointed to the drink. “Is that…” 

“No,” Dixie said, handing it over. “I’m not Assenal.” 

Speak of the devil and onstage he shall saunter, a black umbrella over his shoulder. If it wasn’t for the stage name and choreography that would make Bruce clutch his pearls, Jason wouldn’t be a half-bad drag queen. Still, Dixie looked away. She did not need to see her little brother working the umbrella. 

“This is gonna be the longest song ever.”

“You can say that again.”

After the song, Tiffany made a quick trip to the bathroom while Dixie and Jason resumed the investigation. Backstage, Jason slipped into the dressing area. 

No one heard him over the clamor of conversation and a hairdryer running. He spotted someone with large white hair and a flapper skirt. “Excuse me?”

“Not now,” she said curtly.

“Okay, when’s a good time then?” he asked. “I can do in two minutes or Saturday at eight. Seriously, I just have a few questions about the robberies.”

She rolled her eyes and went back to teasing her hair. 

“Don’t mind Belladonna,” someone else said. “She’s just been high-strung.”

Jason jumped. The other girl was so short he didn’t notice her. She only reached up to his shoulders, even with the wings on her twilight-colored fairy costume and a tiara on her blonde bob. She couldn’t have been older than Tiffany—and the latter was barely 18. 

She held out her hand. “Lilac Moonshine, pleased to meet ‘cha.”

Jason shook it. “Assenal.” 

“First time?” Lilac asked. “You seemed a teensy bit shaky. It’s okay, I don’t think anyone else noticed.”

“Yeah, it seemed fun, so I thought I’d give it a shot,” he replied. “My old man told me not to ‘cause the papers say people have been getting snatched up and mugged around here. You don’t happen to know anything about that, do you?”

“I know we’re not as scared as your dad,” she said. “Even the ones who got jumped still make it out here every week.”

“Really?”

“It's a sanctuary,” she explained. “It’s a weird thing to say about a bar but it’s true. A lot of us don’t have anywhere else. Plus, we’re Gothamites.” 

“But it’s—”

“We’re aware what year it is, but progress doesn’t pan out evenly. It comes in patches and some of us got luckier than others.” She offered him a wipe from a flower-shaped bag. “You got a little lipstick right there.”

“It’s a style choice,” he said. “Can I tell you something?” 

“If it’s that you’re Tiffany’s sibling, I already figured,” Lilac said. “Y’all open doors the same way.” 

Jason blinked. “What?” 

“You two and that Dixie chick twist your entire arm with the knob. It’s weird.” She reapplied her lip gloss and smacked her lips. “Anyhow, I’m up. Wish me luck!”

“Break a leg.” 

He lingered, unsure where to go from here. While Lilac performed her indie pop piece, Jason peered through the curtain to find the pseudo-greaser back and Tiffany holding another Shirley Temple. 

Someone said behind him, “I could go for one of those.” 

Jason turned to the queen behind him. “Really? He seems kinda basic.”

“I meant a Shirley Temple,” she said. “Too bad I can’t.”

“Why? You don’t need an ID.”

“I’m ninety percent certain it’s the scum’s MO.” She scowled. “Heard you talking to Lilac. What are you, a cop?”

“Gross, no,” he said. “I was just wondering. Does he… you know, put anything?” 

Her red ringlets bounced when she shook her head. “Nothing at all. It’s how he gains trust.”

“I gotta go,” Jason said. 

“Where?” she asked. 

“To refill my badonkadonks.” 

He picked up his pace, tapping his comms. “Guys, we have a situation—”

He almost crashed into Tiffany. 

“Oh good, you’re here. I was just about to—”

She tucked her fans in her waistband. “I’m on in a minute. Can it wait?” 

“What do you mean by—”

The employee cut in. “Tiffany Winters, you’re on.”

“Hold that thought,” Tiffany said. 

Jason threw his hands up. They were supposed to be on a mission. 

Dixie’s voice crackled through the comms. “Hood? What’s going on?” 

“I have the perp. Just keep an eye on Tiffany.” 

Jason wove through the rippling crowd as Tiffany stepped onstage, whipping out her fan and fanning herself. The number of people whistling at her was weird as hell. That’s his sibling. 

He spotted Greaser over by the back door. Problem was, he was catching up with the bouncer like it was a high school reunion. Vigilante tactics were out of the question. 

He scanned the room. If he trained his ears closely, he could pick up bits and pieces of the many conversations around him. 

“—The new neighbor is cute but his dog is so loud—”

“—The beer here sucks but the fries slap like Will Smith—”

“—My parents would exorcise me if they found out I was here—”

“—Hot take: dijon mustard isn’t that good—”

Among it all, Tiffany glided across the stage like Red Robin between skyscrapers. Jason’s eyes landed on the bartender wiping down the glasses. 

“Yo.” He slapped a five on the counter. “Give me a vodka shot in a martini glass.” 

“Whatever you say.” 

The alcohol barely filled a third of the glass. The alcohol barely filled a third of the glass when the bartender poured it and handed it to Jason. 

His long red nails clacked against it as he stumbled over to Greaser. 

“Heeey, hot stuff,” he slurred. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, um, Brent.” 

Jason threw his arm around the man, a few drops sloshing out of his glass. The bouncer walked away. How convenient. 

He licked his bottom lip. “Well, Brent. You’re alone, I’m alone. What say we blow this joint and get some Batburgers, if you know what I mean.” 

Brent smiled wolfishly. “Well, if you insist.” 

“Oh, I insist.” 

As they made their way out into the stale-smelling alleyway, he discreetly patted him for wires while raving on and on about how cool his jacket was. Once they were far enough, Jason splashed the alcohol in the guy’s eyes. 

“What the hell?!”

Jason broke the glass and slammed the man against the wall. He pressed the sharp stem to Brent’s carotid. 

“Here’s what you’re gonna do,” Jason growled. “You’re gonna tell me the who, what, where, and why of your operation.”

“Jason!”

Tiffany marched up to them.

“Perfect timing!” said Jason. 

To his surprise, Tiffany shoved Jason away. 

“What was that for?!”

“You got the wrong guy,” she said. “That’s the owner’s son. Brent, go inside. I’ll deal with this.”

“I don’t get it,” he said. “The people backstage told me he was the one. He had that drink MO and everything—which you fell for, dumbass.”

“I didn’t fall for anything. He does it all the time. And if by people backstage you mean Lady Cupid, she’s full of conspiracy theories. What, you think the perps would waste time inside? Of course not, they’re lurking out here waiting for one of us to go home alone. It happens more than you think.” 

“Hang on,” Jason said. “What do you mean us?”

She froze. 

“Tim.”

She started walking away.

“Tim, wait!”

She whirled around “It’s Tiffany. In this dress, I’m Tiffany Winters and I like it. I don’t have to be the perfect CEO who’s the face of Wayne Enterprises. Here, even if I slip, people won’t pick me apart like they do every other moment of my goddamn life. ” Her breathing quickened. “I never told anyone ‘cause I didn’t know how people would react—how the two of you would react. So when I heard about your case, I saw a chance to share this without jeopardizing your image of me.” 

Of course. It all made sense now. The clothes, the makeup, what Lilac said. But by the time Jason came up with what to say, Tiffany already ran off toward the car. 

Jason slipped back inside and caught up with Dixie behind the curtain. 

“Hey, Big Bird, the perp is targeting—”

“Drag queens. I know.” She stepped aside to reveal all the other drag artists gathered around. “All the victims are here.”

“They are?”

Lilac stepped forward. “I was the first. My real name is Bernard Dowd and I’m a student at Gotham U. The kidnappers tailed me halfway to my dorm and I didn’t notice until it was too late. When I went to the police, they put Rogue after Rogue in front of me expecting it to be one of them and got frustrated when I couldn’t identify literal strangers who look no different from anyone else.”

Jason quickly pulled up the case files on his phone. Sure enough, the name and testimony matched.

Dixie gestured to them. “They’re all here. Belladonna, Holly O’Connery, Misty Tran, Sissy Fuss, Rochelle, and, of course, Lilac Moonshine.” 

Belladonna blew a strand of hair from her face. “Can we leave? I gotta feed my cat.”

“Yeah, go ahead. Thank you for everything.”

As the drag queens dispersed, Dixie pulled Jason aside.

“Dude, I feel awful,” she said. “I assumed it was some D-list Rogue ‘cause we’re so used to fighting a tiny menagerie of villains. This was hate, plain and simple. Ugh, what kind of heroes are we?”

Jason put a hand on her shoulder. “Quit beating yourself up. We can learn a million ways to spot hate and still get caught off-guard. It doesn’t matter if we missed it before. The only thing that matters is what we do about it now.”

Dixie smiled softly. “Thanks, Jaybi—”

Jason put a finger to her lips. “Hang on, the criminals are targeting drag queens who are out alone.”

“Yeah, wh—”

They looked at each other. 

“Tiffany!”

They found her as she landed a roundhouse kick to someone’s face, but there were still five other men in all black, cornering her against the van. One man came at her with a knife. She caught it in her fan and twisted it out of his hand. But while she did that, another reached under his jacket. 

“Like hell!”

A satin-gloved punch knocked him out cold. 

Dixie cracked her knuckles. “You just got dragged.”

Jason groaned. “Really?”

“I’ll work on the catchphrase.”

“Why do you need a catchphrase?” 

“You’re here,” Tiffany said.

Jason twirled his umbrella before ramming the tip into a man’s ribs. “Why so surprised?” 

Tiffany shrugged. 

“We just wanna say we’re sorry,” Dixie said, backflipping away from a baseball bat. “Both about the case and whatever we did to make you feel like you couldn’t be honest with us.” 

“We’d never make fun of you for it.” Jason parried the same bat with his umbrella. “Especially when you have so many other things to make fun of. I mean, seriously.” He kneed the man’s stomach. “You’re a mess. Making fun of you for doing drag is just lazy.” 

“Thanks.” Tiffany smiled, sidestepping a punch. “By the way, I think I found our guys.”

Dixie laughed. “And Bruce is Batman.”

“What?” a criminal asked. 

“Nothing. You shut up, you’re the bad guy.”

“Morality is subjective,” he scoffed. 

“You know what’s not subjective? These badonkadonks!” Jason slammed into him, sending him flying into the van. 

Dixie said, “That is one Superman-grade set.” 

“Don’t dunk the donks,” Jason said. “See? That’s how you do a catchphrase.” 

Tiffany clapped a criminal’s head with his fans before sending a kick to his chest. “Wait, did I ever accept your apology?”

“Don’t think so,” Dixie said. 

“Well, I do.” She dug her heel into a criminal’s foot, making him yowl like a tomcat. 

“I’m glad. Now check this.”

Dixie whipped out her ribbon and lassoed the tomcat man. She vaulted over and ensnared a second person. Jason gave her a hand by donka-slamming another man toward her. Soon, all six of them were tied up in a pretty bow, right as sirens approached. 

“What now?” Tiffany asked. “We can’t exactly talk to the police without compromising our identities.” 

“I say we leave before my parking meter expires,” Dixie said, tying her jacket around her waist. 

Jason said, “How about Batburgers?”

“Sure,” Tiffany said. “I’m starving.”

“Then Batburgers it is.” He threw an arm around Dixie. “Thanks for paying, Goldie.”

Dixie rolled her eyes fondly. “My pleasure.”

Parents and kids gathered around the rocking chair. Dixie and Tiffany were fixing the matching flowers in their hair while Jason went through the colorful picture books one more time. As Barbara made her way up to the front, the five-year-old who was picking at the rainbow area rug tried to stick his chubby fingers between the spokes of her wheel. His mother pulled him back. 

“Gotta say, this is a good look on you three,” Barbara remarked. “Especially Dixie.”

Dixie winked and shot a finger gun. 

Barbara turned to the small but enthusiastic audience. “Welcome, everyone. We have a special treat for you this afternoon. The Gotham Public Library is pleased to present our first ever Drag Queen Story Hour with Dixie Wing, Tiffany Winters, and—”

Jason whispered in her ear.

“—Robynn Hood.” She leaned back and whispered, “Good call.”

She turned to the crowd, smiling.

“Without further ado: take it away, ladies!”