Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim wasn’t expecting to survive. But he planned for it just in case.

Before starting the spell, he put a first aid kit and high-quality painkillers in one pouch of his utility belt. In the next, he stuck his detailed notes on the timeline for the next two years, heavily encoded so only he could read it. He also stuck as many encoded notes as he could fit on antidotes for various chemicals like fear toxin that he might need to make himself an antidote for. 

In a third pouch was money, all dated as being printed before the time he was going to. In the fourth through ninth pouches, he stuck rations, something to purify water so he could drink from a stream if need be, and a lighter to make fire if he needed to cook. In the tenth was the key to his plan, and in the eleventh was a few more odds and ends to make it work. 

The rest of his pouches contained as much of his normal bat kit as he could possibly fit, from weaponry to antidotes. He left some more specific items behind, like his Bat Shark Repellent.

With that, he dressed in the Robin suit. Not his normal Robin suit, mind you - a replica of Jason’s, recreated down to the last detail. It would likely fit Jason better than Tim, but their bodies were similar enough that it fit Tim well. And Tim had added armor to act as padding in a few places to make it fit him perfectly. He completed the last step of his plan, putting makeup on the bottom half of his face. His goal was to make him indistinguishable from Jason unless you looked closely. He knew the Joker wouldn’t be looking closely. 

Tim finished his final preparations and sat down. He’d drawn the spell circle, lit the dozens of candles required for the spell, and all that was left was the chant. He took a letter out of his pocket, set it down in front of him, sat down, and began chanting.

As he finished the last word, the candles flared, and one bright flash of light later, Tim looked up and saw the grin of a clown, a crowbar swinging, and then stars as said crowbar collided with his head.

Just survive this, Tim, he thought to himself. You did the important part. You got Jason out of here. Now survive this without letting on that it’s you and not him. You can cry out in pain later.

And survive he did. After what felt like an eternity, the Joker set his bomb and left.

At this point, Tim was having a hard time moving. The crowbar had hit and hit and hit, breaking and bruising him. But some of the armored padding had made some blows hit less, so Tim was less injured than he figured Jason had been when he had been in his place. Plus, Tim was very good at playing dead, so he’d managed to remain conscious while convincing the Joker he wasn’t. The clown set the bomb timer for 10 minutes when he left. Plenty of time. Tim could do this. He stood up with 9 minutes to spare and turned to Sheila.

“Sheila Haywood. You have two choices. Stay here and die or cooperate with my every order and live. I am not Jason Todd. I used time travel and a bit of magic to swap places with him moments before the beating.”

“So he’s okay?”

“Yes. He has been returned to his family.” Tim politely ignored her flinch at his words and kept going. “For the sake of the timeline and the stability of the universe, I cannot change anything else. Jason Todd and Sheila Haywood must die in this warehouse when this bomb goes off. I have a plan for that. The question is, are you dying here, or are you going to follow my every instruction to the letter?”

“I’ll follow your lead, Mr. Time Traveler.”

“Okay. Here’s the plan.” He untied Sheila as he explained. “With a combination of shrinking technology, cloning technology, and some light robotics, I managed to make miniature versions of you and Jason. Neither are or have ever been conscious or sentient. The Jason one was beaten with a crowbar, mimicking the injuries from his original autopsy report. The Sheila one has programmed with recordings of your voice from the internet that will say your original last words to Batman when he arrives.” 

Tim set the mini copies on the ground, then pulled out a remote control and hit the ‘Grow’ button. They grew to human size. Tim set the timer on the controller to sync up with the bomb timer so that Sheila’s recording would play at the right time. Other than the small recording box in Sheila’s throat and the wires sewn into her mouth to pull at the muscles to shape the words, the two were indistinguishable from Sheila Haywood and Jason Todd. Any mortician who autopsied them would identify them as real, especially since they were clones and therefore had the correct DNA and teeth for identification matches just in case, would identify the time of death as coinciding with the bomb, and would likely never find Sheila’s robotics. 

“Let’s go,” Tim said, heading for the door of the warehouse and picking the lock. Sheila looped an arm under Tim’s to help prop him up when he was done, and he limped out of there. He relocked the door behind them, and the two took off as fast as possible. They made it far enough to not be seen from the warehouse, but they could still hear the explosion when it went off. Sheila shuddered at the sound.

“Thank you for saving Jason and I from that,” she whispered to Tim as they trekked along. 

Tim didn’t reply, too busy running through events in his mind. He knew Batman would be right outside the warehouse as it exploded. He knew he’d be finding Sheila and hearing her last words praising Jason, and then she would die. He’d find Jason’s body next and cry for his dead son.

Tim desperately wished to go and find Bruce and tell him that it would be okay. But he couldn’t. No matter how much it hurt, he had to stay off the grid for the next two years. 

Tim and Sheila made it away from the warehouse, away from Batman grieving his son, away from the Joker who’d nearly killed them. They managed to find a secluded town nearby and found an abandoned building to squat in. Tim pulled out his med kit and took a painkiller, then began first aid on himself. Sheila silently helped him when he began to struggle to reach certain places. Bandaged and bruised, Tim whispered to Sheila “stay put” and promptly passed out. 

In the morning, Tim woke up to find the woman still there. He was glad. It was time to tell her the rest of his plan. 

“Sheila.”

“Good morning, Mr. Time Traveler. I wiped the makeup off of your face with a spare wet wipe I found in your med kit; I hope you don’t mind. I figured it was to look like my son, and since Jason is now presumed dead, you don’t need that anymore.” 

Tim nodded, and began carefully taking off the Robin suit. He left the mask on, and once he’d taken off everything but the simple thin armored black clothes he’d put on under the suit, he put the utility belt back on. Tim reached for the eleventh pouch and pulled out a chemical he designed. “Be careful, this is basically insanely strong acid,” he warned Sheila, then he began dumping the chemical on the Robin suit. Within minutes, the entire thing had dissolved. There was no evidence of the suit left. 

Next, Tim pulled out a second bottle of the solution. This one was meant to react with the colorful paint specifically. He took off his boots one at a time and poured it on, leaving black boots behind instead of the bright green. He also detached a few pieces of the boots to make them look more like normal shoes. He did his belt next. Finally, turning his back to Sheila, he removed his mask. When Tim was done, he was wearing entirely black, with a mask, utility belt, short boots, tight-fitting gloves, a short sleeved shirt, and, unfortunately, tiny black shorts. Curse Jason and his unwillingness to correct Dick’s terrible fashion sense. And actually, curse Dick’s terrible fashion sense as well. 

Sheila nodded. “Well done, you’re in all black and there’s no trace of the Robin suit left. Very impressive. But can you tell me why?”

Tim nodded. “We need to lay low. I have plans to get you to a secluded village where you’ll never be found and you can live out the rest of your life in peace, and then I intend to make my way back home, because if I’m not where I was when I left, it’ll cause issues. But I’m not telling you when that is, because I don’t want you running off to Jason if he doesn’t want to see you. You selling him out will be fresh in his mind. If Jason ever wants to see you again, I’ll bring him to you, but I assume he won’t want contact with the woman who sold him to his death. I need to preserve my secret identity while I do that, though. And I can’t leave my copy of the Robin suit lying around somewhere. That would definitely screw up the timeline.” 

“Got it.” 

It wouldn’t actually cause issues if Tim wasn’t back in two years. Alfred would likely notice his absence, but Tim figured that Bruce would barely miss him and would be so focused on his relief at having Jason back that he’d be too busy to care about Tim beyond the letter he had left explaining things to Jason. Besides, he would age, so even if he showed back up, people would be able to tell something had happened to him.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

Tim was surprised by how little Sheila complained, but he figured she had a lot to think about. A time traveler who had been capable of passing as her son showed up, took a beating that should’ve probably been fatal for him, put fake versions of her and her son in the warehouse, picked a lock, limped away with her, let the bomb go off, destroyed his outfit with a weird acid, and then explained that she needed to stay off grid for the sake of the timeline. It would be a lot for anyone to process, much less someone who’d just been betrayed by the man she sold her son out to.

Tim and Sheila hitchhiked across the country and snuck across the border, then hitchhiked again. They traveled for a month straight until they reached the village Tim had planned for Sheila to live in. With that, he left her there. 

“Will you be okay?” Sheila asked as he left. 

“I will.” With no more ceremony, he left her behind and kept traveling. 

He spent the next two years traveling around the continent. He mostly ate food he’d foraged, resorting to his rations when he had to. He’d even once forced himself to cook and eat a dead animal he’d come across. It wasn’t a fun experience, but it was necessary for his survival. He found experts he’d noted in his encoded notes and watched them from a distance, studying their techniques and learning them for himself. He lived, he learned, and he was lonely.

Tim was no stranger to loneliness. It was almost comforting, being alone again, like he’d been for so long as a child. 

When two years was up, Tim bought a plane ticket. He still had access to his bank account, and since time had caught up to when he’d left, he could use it again. He bought a one-way flight to Gotham City. 

It was time to return home.

Chapter Text

Jason opened his eyes in a room he didn’t recognize. 

Moments ago, he’d been looking at the Joker, who was standing over him, beginning to swing his crowbar. Now, he was in a room with sigils and candles and a note on the floor addressed to him.

Wait. A note?

Jason picked it up, opened it, and began to read.

Dear Jason Todd,

Welcome back to Gotham. You’re currently in Drake Manor, the mansion next to Wayne Manor. I’m Tim Drake, the person who owns this house. No one else will be coming by, since I live here alone, so take all the time you need. 

I’m sure you’re wondering how you got here. The short version is this: I bought a time-travel-body-swap spell from a magician. 

Essentially, the spell put me two years in the past in the place you were in that warehouse, and brought you here, to where I cast the spell, two years into your future. Oh yeah, you’re two years into the future. Welcome.

Originally, you died in that warehouse. As far as the world is concerned, you did die in that warehouse two years ago. Joker beat you nearly to death with a crowbar and then set a bomb. Batman was right outside the warehouse when it exploded; he didn’t make it in time to save you. It’s haunted him ever since. 

(Yes, I know Batman’s identity and yours as well. No, I have not told anyone outside of Batman, Nightwing, and Alfred that I know.)

In the wake of your death, Batman got more violent. He had lost someone he loved, he had lost his son , and he had been barred from vengeance by international laws and diplomatic immunity after the Joker became the ambassador to Iran (a position he lost soon after when he attempted to bomb the UN). Batman needed someone to calm him down. To balance him out. He needed a Robin. 

So I went and found Dick Grayson and insisted that he return to the position. But Dick had been in space at the time of your death and, not wanting to jeopardize Dick’s mission and put him in the path of the danger that would be likely if he was mentally unstable and grieving, Bruce didn’t tell Dick you had died until after he returned. Which was after your funeral. Dick and Bruce weren’t speaking after that, and he refused to become Robin again because of it. So if Dick Grayson wouldn’t return to the mantle of Robin, someone had to do it. I volunteered. 

Bruce didn’t want another Robin at first. His son had just died in that suit. Why would he let someone else put it on? But I’d been following you all for years, taking pictures. I knew what I was doing. I didn’t intend to become Robin forever, just long enough to rescue him from danger and prove to him that he needed a Robin. And after I saved him and Dick, he realized that I was right and that he needed a Robin, and he allowed me to take up the mantle. 

My parents were still alive at the time. However, after my mother’s death and my dad’s hospitalization, Bruce took me in.

I’m sorry for replacing you.

I was a good Robin, and I won’t apologize for taking up the mantle in your stead. But I was terrible at being Bruce’s son Jason. And that was what he expected me to be. He kept looking at me and seeing you. He was grieving you too much to do anything else. And I’m sorry that I couldn’t help Bruce heal from losing you. I’m sorry that I couldn’t do a good enough job at being you to help him. And I’m sorry that I ever replaced you in the first place. I only meant to become Robin. Nothing more. 

I’m so sorry.

I realized that I was a poor substitute for the real thing and came to the obvious conclusion. I had to get you back, at any cost. And that’s when I found out about this spell. I heard the details, and after tracking down its location, I bought it from a magician named John Constantine. It swapped our places. I’ve made an outfit replicating yours and made myself look like you as much as possible. Hopefully, it’ll be enough to fool the Joker when I arrive in that warehouse to take the beating in your place. If it all works right, we should swap exact positions, so you’ll be sitting cross-legged at the spell circle and I’ll be standing however you were. No one should notice the difference, the swap. You’ll be safe. 

I’ll likely die in your place.

Don’t feel bad. I have every intention of surviving if I can. I’ve planned for it. But I know you didn’t make it out, and you were an incredible Robin, so my chances are even slimmer despite my future knowledge. If I don’t survive, then no one will ever see me again. But if I do, then I look forward to meeting you someday, when I catch back up to the normal timeline. 

I’m glad you’re safe, Jason. Even if the price of this spell ends up being my life, that price is worth it to keep you alive. 

Show this letter to Alfred, Bruce, and Dick. I’m sure they’ll want to know how you got here and where I am. If they want more information on what happened, I’ve left a file on the Batcomputer. 

Bruce, if you’re reading this, I’ve given you your son back. I know you’re going to be tempted to make sure you never lose him again by doing everything you can to protect him. But you’re likely going to make him feel smothered if you do, and he’ll just leave for good. Let him live and enjoy his life the way he wants. Be there for him to catch him when he falls. But don’t stop him from flying in the first place. Get therapy if you need help with that. I’m sure Black Canary would be happy to help.

Alfred, if you’re reading this, thank you for everything. I don’t know how I could ever repay you. I hope bringing Jason back at least somewhat helps. 

Dick, if you’re reading this, I wish I could’ve been a better younger brother to you. But it’s okay now; you have your real little brother back. I’ll miss you. 

Jason, you’ve been given a second chance at life. Use it well. I trust you to make the best of it. But don’t forget to rest and relax when you need it. I know heroes tend to use second chances as excuses to be workaholics. Don’t. As a favor for me if nothing else. Take care of yourself. You deserve it.

Tim Drake

Jason was speechless. He was supposed to die, and had been saved by another kid who’d tried to put his family back together in the wake of his death by becoming Robin, and had then decided that it wasn’t enough and that instead the better option was to get himself killed bringing Jason back? 

Jason sat in silence for what felt like 30 minutes, processing it all. His mom’s betrayal, his near death, the way he was saved, the fact that Bruce, Dick, and Alfred had spent two years thinking he was dead. Then he picked himself up off of the floor. 

He turned around to leave the room, and found a set of clothes by the door with a sticky note on top. He picked it up. It read Here’s a set of normal clothes for you and a bag to stick your Robin suit in if you want to change. I took the clothes from your room in Wayne Manor so they should fit.  

This Tim guy was smart, it was likely a bad idea for Jason to run up to Wayne Manor in his Robin suit. He quickly changed into the shirt, pants, and sweatshirt, shoving the letter in his front pocket and the Robin suit in the drawstring bag, which he then slung around his shoulders. He left the mansion and headed in the direction of Wayne Manor.

After a long walk (why were rich people’s houses so far apart??) Jason arrived at Wayne Manor’s main gates. He took a deep breath in anticipation, then punched in his code. To his relief, it still worked. He walked through the gates and up to the house, then paused in front of the doorway. He put a hand in his front pocket and grabbed onto the letter, tracing its folded edge with a finger to steady himself. Then he lifted his other hand and knocked as loudly as he could. 

A few moments passed, then the heavy doors were pulled open by none other than Alfred Pennyworth. Their eyes locked, and Alfred’s lips parted in shock. He blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear away a false image. 

“Hi, Alf,” Jason said shyly, pulling out the letter and handing it to the man. Alfred took it with a shaky hand but didn’t open it. 

“Is that truly you, Master Jason?” he whispered. 

“Yeah. I don’t… fully understand what happened, but apparently I’ve been gone for a while and magic pulled me into the future? The letter I just handed you explains it. It’s from some guy called Tim Drake?”

“Master Tim… brought you home? Where is he, then?” Alfred looked over Jason’s head, as if trying to spot the other boy walking up the driveway behind him. 

“The letter said he was going to where I was,” Jason whispered. 

Alfred’s eyes widened in horror, then he quickly opened the letter and read through it. A tear formed in his eye and slowly began making its way down his cheek. 

“Oh, Master Tim…” Alfred whispered as he got to the final part. 

After a few moments, Alfred looked up and cleared his throat. “Well, Master Jason, why don’t you come inside. Master Bruce is in Metropolis at the moment on a Justice League mission, I’m afraid, but I’ll call Master Dick and ask him to return to the manor at once. I’ll call Master Bruce later.” 

Alfred moved to the side, ushering Jason in. The room was incredibly familiar but different at the same time. Everything looked slightly older, the colors more muted and the edges of blankets beginning to fray. Jason could see the two years that had passed for the room that Jason had seen days ago from his point of view. He made his way to his favorite armchair and sat down in it gently, noticing how out of use it felt. The chair was stiff and creaked a bit as Jason settled into it. 

A minute later, Alfred appeared with the letter in one hand and Jason’s favorite tea in the other. Jason accepted the cup with a smile, setting it on the side table next to him. He took the letter next when Alfred offered it a moment later, slipping it back into his front pocket.

“I have called Master Dick and informed him of the situation. He should be here shortly,” Alfred said. Jason nodded, then in exchange, he handed Alfred the drawstring bag containing his suit. 

“Here’s what I was wearing when I was pulled here,” he said as Alfred took the offered bag. “Tim said in another note that the change of clothes he left me were from my room here, and he gave me a bag for my suit.” Jason had accidentally left that note behind, but that was okay. 

“Thank you. I shall put it in the cave when I have a moment, but until Master Dick arrives, I do not intend to let you leave my sight again.”

“I…” Jason swallowed. “I’m sorry for running off when Batman ordered me to stay put.”

Alfred’s eyes widened. “Oh, that’s not what I meant at all, Master Jason! You’ve long since been forgiven for that. I simply meant that if you were to vanish now I would have no way to trace you and I do not wish to lose you a second time.”

Jason blushed. “Oh.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Jason sipping his tea and Alfred sipping from his own cup that had been on a side table next to a book when Jason had walked into the room. Eventually though, Dick’s footsteps came running through the house. 

On the streets, knowing the footsteps of familiar people had been a survival skill, and even though two years had passed, Dick’s hadn’t changed. So Jason set his tea down and, knowing his brother, prepared himself for the likely event that he’d be tackle hugged. 

To his surprise, Dick stopped in the doorway and froze instead, staring at Jason. After a moment, Jason waved awkwardly. 

“Jason,” Dick whispered in awe. “When Alfred called… I thought…”

“Hi Dick. How was your space mission?” Dick had been away when Jason had left.

Dick let out a strangled laugh, then dashed over to Jason, perched on the arm of the armchair, and wrapped his arms around his little brother, locking him in a tight grip. Jason didn’t mind. It was a reminder that he was alive. That the Joker, who’d been about to kill him, had not succeeded. 

“Space was good. Getting home and learning you were dead was not,” Dick whispered. “How are you alive?”

“Tim Drake.”

“You’ve met Tim?” Dick pulled back a bit in surprise, not releasing his arms but moving his head so he could meet Jason’s eyes. Jason shook his head.

“Nope. He… swapped places with me, according to the letter he left.”

He pulled the letter out of his sweatshirt pocket, and since Dick’s arms were occupied and full of Jason, he held it up so that Dick could read it. Jason reread it himself, refreshing his memories of the letter’s words. He felt Dick’s grip tighten around him more and more as he absorbed the words on the page.

“He… he felt like he was replacing you? What bullshit! I can have two little brothers, for fucks sake! I can mourn my dead, nerdy, spunky little brother while bonding with my living, brilliant, determined even littler brother! What the fuck , Tim. How could you… how could we make you feel like we only saw you as Jason’s replacement?” Jason could feel Dick’s tears as they fell off of his face and dripped onto Jason’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Tim…” Dick’s voice dropped to a whisper, but his face was right next to Jason’s ear so he heard it loud and clear. “We failed you.” 

Alfred had apparently heard as well, because he nodded at Dick’s words and said “Indeed we did. But Master Tim is quite smart and resourceful, so I have every bit of faith that he has a plan to survive this. We’ll see him again. And we will do better.”

Dick nodded. “Yes we will.” He hugged Jason tighter. “You’re gonna love our little brother, Jay.”

“He seems great, but hurting,” Jason replied.

“Indeed he is,” Alfred replied. 

“I wanna help him.”

“As do we all.”

“We will,” Dick chimed in. 

“I can’t wait to meet him.” Jason smiled for the first time since getting home. His family - his real family - was here, and they loved him. They’d missed him. And he even had a new sibling to look forward to, assuming he’d survived. Jason’s life was looking up. And it was all thanks to Tim Drake. 

Jason just hoped he could give him that thanks in person.

Chapter Text

It was time. After two long years of hiding, Tim was finally going home. 

He couldn’t go back as Robin, he knew this. And he’d really grown to like the black outfits he’d spent most of the past few years wearing. So, with that in mind, Tim fashioned himself a new outfit. 

He’d grown taller and filled out a bit over the last two years, causing him to have to adjust his clothing along the way, so he was good enough to make his new outfit himself. He acquired his materials and prepared his new outfit. When he was all done, he had a black long-sleeved shirt with a silver circle in the center (he wanted people to shoot there, since it was the most armored part of his suit), black pants with a single white stripe on the outside of each leg, tight black boots with silver accents that rose to his mid-calf, black gloves with red accents, a black domino mask, and a hooded black cape with a wavy bottom that cape roughly to his ankles. After thinking about what to call himself, he realized he was functionally a ghost now, and settled on the name Wraith.

At first, Tim considered moving back into Drake Manor. He’d still have access to it, but he wanted to help in Gotham, and he couldn’t do that from a manor on the outside of the city. Plus, it would be harder to hide from the Waynes if he lived next door, and Tim wanted them to move on with their lives, so it was better for them to think he’d died in the swap. So he bought an apartment in the center of Gotham through a Drake Industries shell corporation that his father owned and moved in. (Jack Drake was in the hospital, in a coma he wasn’t expected to ever wake up from, so Tim was able to do things like this in Jack Drake’s name with no one the wiser. Honestly, being unable to affect the timeline and therefore unable to save his parents from their fate was the hardest part of Tim’s whole time travel journey.)

The apartment was small; one bedroom, one bathroom, and a small kitchen. But it was close enough to the police precinct that he could drop off evidence easily, while far enough away that he wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire when a rogue inevitably decided to attack the police. It also was a good location to work from to try to catch information on ongoing crimes. 

Tim got started operating in Gotham. Using hacking skills he’d acquired during his time away, he secretly got into Oracle’s network to be able to use cameras to keep an eye on the city. He also set up a program secretly on her system that would alert his own computer if a camera caught a crime in progress, mostly by using image recognition to look for knives, guns, people in ski masks, and rogues. It would begin recording the footage and sending it to him, so even if someone tried to wipe the camera’s data immediately after, he’d still get a copy. 

Working off of this system, Tim began dropping recordings off at GCPD. Each flash drive contained the recording file and a text file explaining the context. He signed them all “From Wraith” and taped the flash drives onto the batsignal, right next to the on switch so Commissioner Gordon couldn’t miss them. Three flash drives later, there was a little bin next to the batsignal marked “For Wraith’s use only” that was the perfect size for the drives. With a smile, Tim put his next evidence drop in there. 

Jason started showing up on the streets a week after Tim moved back to Gotham. He was back in the Robin suit, although this time he’d apparently taken inspiration from Tim’s costume, because he now had scaly green pants with red accents (instead of Dick’s scaly green shorts and Tim’s red pants). It seemed he was inspired by both Robins, and Tim was confused; why was Jason looking up to him ? He hadn’t done anything remarkable as Robin. Soon, Tim realized it was because he’d saved Jason. Jason was trying to honor the boy who had died for him. Tim felt honored by it, and smiled whenever he saw Jason happily swinging around the streets, following his father. 

Months went by, with Tim placing evidence the bats had missed in the bins. He snooped on active cases by using all of his stealth practice to hide in the shadows when Batman and Gordon chatted on the roof. Tim noticed that Batman and Robin were out a bit less often recently. Tim deduced that it was because Jason was still recovering from the trauma of what had happened to him and Bruce was still getting used to having his child back. Bruce was probably spending more time with Jason, treasuring the quiet moments together. He was happy for them, truly; he’d gotten what he wanted - the family was healing. So why did it hurt at the same time? 

Tim brushed those thoughts away as he looked down at the street. He was on this rooftop for a reason. If they were spending less time on the streets, Tim was going to pick up the slack. So he was here to stop the Riddler. 

He’d used his hidden program to track Riddler’s movement after his escape from Arkham two days ago, and found him setting up in this warehouse. But his trap wasn’t even close to ready yet. Riddler liked to create intricate traps, and he wouldn’t be ready for another three days at least , if past history was any indication. So Tim was here to take him down. 

He’d learned all kinds of combat methods during his travels, and he was ready. He knew he could do this. Aiming his grappling hook, he fired, then swung into the building through a top window. As glass crashed down, so did Tim, landing between two goons and instantly knocking them out. He had new weapons that he’d picked up since getting home. He couldn’t use a bo staff if he didn’t want to give himself away as Robin 3, so he took a page out of Dick’s book and got himself a pair of silver escrima sticks. Using the modification he’d made to the right stick, he hit the ground with the flat top of the stick and smoke billowed out of it, providing Tim with cover as the goons reached for their guns. 

He made quick work of them, taking them out left and right, ducking and dodging as he found them through the smoke using the thermal setting on his mask. A hit to the head here, a blow to the back of the knees there, Tim took out every goon in the warehouse. Until the only person left was the Riddler. As the smoke cleared, Tim switched his mask back to default and locked eyes with the man in green, who was staring at him in shock.

“Well, you’re new. And here I thought the answer to “Who wears all black and is knocking out my goons?’ would be Batman.”

“Sorry, Riddler, it’s Wraith.” Tim clicked the button at the base of his left escrima stick, then threw it at the Riddler. On instinct, Riddler caught it right as before reached his face, which was exactly what Tim wanted. He pressed the button at the base of the right stick, activating the stick’s electric mode. The Riddler fell to the ground as the metallic stick became electrified. He quickly turned it off with the same button as the Riddler fell, not wanting to kill the man. 

He fetched his escrima stick, then sheathed them both in the horizontal holsters on his back, dropping his cape to cover them. Then, he pulled out a third and fourth stick, both of which were about twice as thick, from vertical holsters above the main sticks. These ones had a different function. He touched the Riddler’s wrists with one stick each, then, as a thin but strong cable wrapped around the wrists, he brought them together. The moment they made contact, the straps bound themselves together magnetically. Tim was very happy. His handcuff sticks worked exactly as planned! He went around, cuffing the rest of the goons one by one as he waited for the sound of fighting to inevitably bring the police to the warehouse. He waited in the shadows as the police brought all of them into custody. Then, when only Commissioner Gordon was left behind, he called out “Wraith?”

“You knew,” Tim said as he slipped out of the shadows. 

“Well, you are Batman’s best informant right now, even if you happen to be sharing the information with me too when you drop it off. It makes sense that you’d be the new player taking the Riddler down.”

“Here’s the key,” Tim said, sliding a small device out of his belt pouch and tossing it to Gordon. “Press that to each of the cables where they touch and they’ll come off easily. You can stick the cables in the bin and I’ll grab them back the next time I swing by the police office.”

“Where’d you get these?”

“Made ’em myself,” Tim said. “Have a nice night, Gordon.” With that, he retreated, leaving via grappling hook through the same window he’d entered by. For his first verbal conversation with another human being in two years, it hadn’t been half bad. All in all, a very successful first outing for Gotham’s newest vigilante, Wraith.