Chapter Text
If there was something Tim had learned during his long career as a prolific vigilante in America’s crime capital, it was that stakeouts were a lot more boring than movies made them out to be.
As he watched the windows of an incredibly big and luxurious penthouse –also a very empty one, as it had been for the last 6 hours–, his hand reached towards the small bag of trail mix hanging from his belt. When instead of the expected bland snacks his fingers graced the bottom of the bag, he couldn't help but sigh heavily.
“Red Robin still in position, no change.” He murmured, tapping the comm in his left ear.
There was a brief burst of static before Oracle's voice answered him. “Maybe it's time to call it a night, Red Robin.”
“I can't!” he protested. “The shipment came in today and this is the only place he could hide it in. I just need to catch him in the act.”
Instead of Barbara, another very familiar voice came through the comm.
“Yeah, you’ve been saying that for the last three hours.”
Tim rolled his eyes. “Nobody asked you, Hood.”
“Hey, you know the deal. I let you take the lead on this case and I reserve my right to make fun of your fuckups.”
“Like you wouldn't do it anyway,” Tim muttered under his breath. Then he raised his voice. “Just focus on your side of the operation and don't blow it like you did last week.”
“Oh?” Started Jason. His tone was light, clearly amused. “Fighting words! I–”
“Chatter in the comms, guys.” Barbara drawled, clearly bored of their bickering.
Yes. Tim knew that using the encrypted line to argue wasn't very professional but he had just spent the entire night in position waiting for a perp that wasn't coming so he felt like he deserved one last dig before letting it rest.
“If Hood hadn't–”
However, before he could finish, his words got stuck in his throat as he noticed something moving inside the house.
Immediately, he felt his body tense, the lightness leaving his frame as he changed positions, picking up his binoculars to focus on the closed window.
He zoomed in. The apartment was still completely dark but there, in the dark shadows it was almost as if…
“Red Robin?” Called oracle, now a lot more serious than before.
“There's someone inside,” he said slowly. “They didn't come through the front door.”
He quickly switched to heat vision, trying to verify that this wasn't just a case of pet-sitting or an unexpected stray.
The first thing he registered was the size of whoever was inside –and it was a who, too big to be anything else–, the second thing was that the image didn't seem right. It was too cold and the shape was strange in some places. Were they wearing some kind of power armor?
Except it wasn't just that. It was also the temperature, the way it almost didn't register in his heat scanner. So what was this? It didn't seem like Mr Freeze at all. It could be some kind of stealth suit. Or maybe…
“We have an unknown possible meta in Wilson’s home,” he relayed to Oracle as he put the equipment away. “Methods and appearance are outside the usual suspect’s mo's. I’m going to do some recon to make sure they aren't a threat.”
“I’m on my way,” said Hood. His tone was low, all business.
“No,” replied Tim, already moving to the fire escape as he pressed the button on his bo, extending it to its full length. “If they're part of the drug operation I don't want to lose this lead. I want to do this as quickly as possible and not scare them off.”
“The moment you get in over your head is the moment I’m calling for the calvary,” Oracle allowed.
It was nice that she was trusting him on this and not immediately snitching on Batman but also… It sounded awfully like an order and this was supposed to be his case! –Hood backup aside, of course–.
Oracle's tone left no room for argument, though, and Tim knew when to pick his battles so he simply shrugged it off, swinging with his grappling hook towards the building.
“If you get the shit kicked out of you I’m gonna laugh at you forever,” was Hood’s unhelpful contribution.
Of course, everyone ignored it.
“You said the mo was strange,” commented Oracle, the sound of background typing coming clearly through the comms.
“Whoever this is either has their hands on some kind of cloaking technology or should be dead from hypothermia. I considered Freeze but this isn't like him.”
“He's also in Arkham at the moment,” Oracle replied, “so probably not.”
He slowly descended from the rooftop, rappelling towards one of the windows without letting himself be seen.
He hit the comm twice, signaling to his teammates that he was going silent before taking a better look at the penthouse.
With the way this home was bathed in darkness, the fact that Tim had memorized the layout of the building was very helpful. He was looking through the living-room window, which seemed to be empty now but there was a very faint light coming from the kitchen.
Unlocking the window and silently letting himself in was child’s play. He did so in complete silence, noting how strange it was that not a sound was coming from where the possible meta was.
He had to take this seriously. It could be more difficult than he expected.
He carefully made his way towards the opened door of the kitchen, putting his back against the door before peeking in.
Unfortunately, the angle didn't let him see much, just a small, whitish light that illuminated the kitchen tiles.
No sight or sound of his suspect.
He rolled inside, drawing his weapon and bracing himself for a fight only to stop in his tracks when he saw them.
Whatever he had been expecting it wasn't this.
A giant, humanoid turtle dressed in some kind of fighting gear and armed with a pair of nunchuks hanging from their belt looked at him with wide, surprised eyes. They stood in front of the opened fridge –ah, that was where the light came from, wasn't it?–, arms full with food and a half eaten chocolate bar in hand.
The origins of the food were crystal clear judging by the multiple opened cabinets that clearly looked like someone had been rummaging through them.
Did he just catch an… atlantean? Strange random meta?? Stealing food from his suspect???
Before he could speak, however, the turtle-person moved.
He reflexively adopted a fighting stance but the meta didn't move towards him, hitting the light switch instead.
They stared at each other for a long moment before the meta's eyes lit up in clear joy.
“Oh my god, dude!” They said, clearly delighted. “You're Robin! Well, you're not Robin Robin you're Red Robin but like y’know, still Robin. I’m a huge fan, man. I love your whole thing, it's super awesome!”
The moment the kid had started talking, Red Robin relaxed slightly. He hit the comm, muttering a quick false alarm/developing situation code before muting it.
“Oh, you're a fan?” He asked in the standard tone reserved for potentially friendly interactions.
He didn't fully relax, of course. The kid was clearly a meta and he was armed. He was either trained or had some enhancement that made him more… stealthy than normal.
On the other hand, this was clearly a kid probably 14 to 16 judging by the voice and behavior and he seemed cooperative so there was no need to be overtly threatening.
“A fan? Of course! You guys are awesome. I mean… You're not my favorite Robin, no offense. My favorite Robin is the cool one but it's still so nice to meet you!” He gushed, shifting in the balls of his feet from sheer excitement as the food in his hands threatened to fall on the ground by excited, aborted twitches of his arms. Then, he seemed to catch up on his own words and he blinked, looking a bit sheepish. “Not that you're not cool, dude. You are. It's just that I prefer other Robin but you're my bro’s favorite so don't worry.”
Tim, who hadn't felt offended by that statement at all –his pick as the best Robin wouldn't be himself after all, Dick was clearly the superior choice–, simply smiled.
“Oh, you have a brother?” He asked politely. It was a good opening to start getting some information on them. “Do the two of you live here?”
The way the meta’s face scrunched up in confusion was an answer on its own.
“No? Dude this is like, a wholeass house. Do I look like I can live in a house? I mean, it would be cool but the moment the house seller person met me they'd be like ‘oh no that's a green monster!’ And then they wouldn't sell me the house because they’d be too busy passing out or running away. Happens a lot.”
The picture was starting to form itself clearly in Tim’s mind.
“I guess the screaming and passing out thing happens when you go out for groceries?” He asked, gesturing with his head at the food the meta was holding.
They looked down, seemingly having forgotten what they were carrying before groaning loudly. When they lifted their head again, they looked at Tim nervously.
“Oh, man. Right. You're a superhero and I’m stealing, I guess.” they said, biting their lip. “I can't let you catch me but I don't wanna fight either. I’m a lover, not a fighter. Well, I guess I am kind of a fighter but I don't want to fight superheroes unless it's in a friendly spar kind of way.”
Tim took the note of asking more about the weapons and possible training later. First he should address this and reassure the meta, though.
“Listen, you can't keep doing this,” he started, keeping his voice firm. “I can see that you're only stealing food so I am not going to have you arrested. The rest of your family are visibly metas too, right? This is why you're resorting to this?” At the meta’s affirmative nod, he continued. “This is not the solution, though.”
“Dude, we don't do this as a hobby. We need to eat,” the meta answered, slightly offended.
Hmm… maybe it was time to de-escalate.
“Look… ehm… I don't think I caught you name”
The question seemed to be enough to bring back the meta’s good mood.
“Mikey! My name's Mikey!” He answered happily. Too happily. It was kind of weird how much that question seemed to have cheered him up.
“Mikey, then. You said you didn't live in an apartment, did you? I know homeless shelters are difficult for metas,” he started and… now that he was saying it a hurricane of very alarming thoughts assaulted his head.
Oh, this was a real nightmare scenario. Wasn't it? A family of visible metas would be a prime target for traffickers and the handful of good shelters in Gotham wouldn't be equipped to deal with that.
God, how had they survived this long? Being unnoticed must be part of their abilities since this didn't seem like a new situation. Though… maybe they had only recently moved to Gotham, Mikey did seem to have a New York accent.
Maybe they had run away because of that.
He would have to get Bruce's help for this, didn't he?
“We can help you,” he finally said. “We’ll explain your situation to Batman and–”
At this, Mikey seemed to freeze.
“Oh dude. I cannot,” he said, shaking his head.
“Don't worry,” Tim tried, fully putting away his weapon and lifting his hands in an appeasing gesture. “I'm just trying to help.”
Mikey chuckled nervously, taking a step back.
“Sorry, Red Robin. You know I think it's super nice how you named yourself like a restaurant. That's a really neat way to choose your superhero name and I hope that one day you give me your autograph, one for me other for my bro who’s your super fan,” he rambled nervously. “But Leo would freak out. Rule number one is don't get caught by Batman. He’d give me so many lectures. I cannot stand that many lectures.”
“Alright,” Tim conceded, changing tactics. “I can go with you. You can introduce me to your family and we can talk this ou–”
Before he could react, the meta moved, throwing a projectile towards him. In reflex, Tim pulled out his weapon, deflecting it.
It was a mistake.
The fast, precise strike of his bo broke the bag of flour flying towards him, enveloping the room in a white cloud.
When the dust dispersed he was alone again.
He stood there, his mind brimming with thoughts. He was only pulled out of it when he heard faint beeping from his comm.
Oh, shit.
Jason was going to have a field day, wasn't he?