Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

GothamPrince: It has been awhile since you messaged. Are you well?

GothamPrince: Duat?

GothamPrince: I am still here. If you need me.

GothamPrince: Be safe.

Chapter Text

Tucker had tried not to get involved. What Stagg Industries was doing behind the scenes didn’t affect his paycheck, and so it shouldn’t affect him. The fact that they were involved in shady business was just a part of living in Gotham.

Who wasn’t involved in something shady, really?

Stagg Industries was Tucker’s “legit” job, the one that he used as his main income, the one he could tell people he worked at. It paid the bills, and between it and Sam’s myriad of part time jobs in various non-profits and Danny’s muralist job, they did pretty well. Tucker and Danny both took a couple night classes, though Danny had some classes at the local university for astronomy and the history of human spaceflight. Sam worked in too many online classes that changed too often for Tucker to keep up with.

Beyond their legit jobs though, they all had various other jobs that shifted in legality depending on the moment. Tucker had mad hacking skills, he might as well get paid for it. He was picky about his jobs—he didn’t want to help an actual villain of course! But hacking into security systems to provide proof of a cheating husband or catch an employee that was on their way to becoming a villain were simple but well paying jobs that went towards their savings.

Gotham was a stopgap. A place to hide.

(Amity was far, far away from the rest of the world. News traveled slowly in and out of it, and connections beyond the town limits were always difficult. Despite this, there were ways they managed to find things beyond Amity, beyond the ghost attacks and the GIW. It wasn’t easy, but they managed to join some forums, ones that discussed heroes and villains and rogues—and how to survive them. Quietly, cautiously, they gave and got advice. Miraculously they made connections. Found people who seemed to understand living in a town full of insanity, even if they were careful never to say what, exactly, they dealt with.

It’s part of what drew them to Gotham when they needed to leave. How they knew it would be a place to hide.)

Danny’s scars were still raw edged and red. Sam eyed people’s intentions with a wariness that ached like thorns.

Tucker had set up the security in their apartment himself, had placed every camera, wrote every line of code, and changed the passwords with a level of paranoia that would make Batman concerned.

All this to say, Tucker should not have gotten involved.

But there’s only so much he could ignore at Stagg Industries. Only so many times he could keep his head down and carefully bypass projects that were nothing but trouble.

It started with an email that he shouldn’t have been CC’d in.

It ended with the Bats on his ass

Chapter Text

Duat: I hope you don’t mind the direct message, but I was wondering if you could expand on something you posted about?

GothamPrince: If I minded direct messages, I would have turned off the ability to have strangers do so. What do you need me to clarify?

Duat: Lol, that’s true, but still. And it’s about your post on places for persecuted metas to hide?

GothamPrince: It is a list of safe cities for metas facing unfair persecution. It is not a list for criminals to escape due punishment.

Duat: No, no I get that, sorry. I’m just wondering why Gotham is on there? Like…I thought it wasn’t the best place.

GothamPrince: You think Gotham is unsafe for metas, due to rumors about Batman, yes?

Duat: …well yeah, I thought he didn’t like them in his city?

GothamPrince: I know not what Batman has actually said, nor where this rumor originated, but Batman has been part of supporting meta rights via the Justice League. With everything that goes on in Gotham, I cannot believe he’d have the time to banish every meta from the entire city.

Duat: I guess you’re right, that’d be kinda hard to do. Just one of those things you hear on the internet, I guess.

GothamPrince: Indeed. Is that all you needed?

Duat: Yeah, I was just curious.

GothamPrince: Very well. Feel free to message again if you need anything else clarified.

Duat: Sure man.

In Tucker’s own defense, he hadn’t expected the Bats to know it was him! He thought he’d covered his tracks well enough. He may have been in Amity Park for most of his life and cut off from the latest and greatest in the tech world, but he’d caught up!

Mostly.

There were still things he was discovering, new techniques, new systems, and coding styles, but he was good. He knew he was.

Whoever the Bats had in their corner, whoever they had lurking in the web, was better.

And what a kick in the ass that was.

(There’s things he could have done, abilities he could have leaned into but—there are paths he can’t trust himself to take.)

He supposed this is what he got for not staying out of it. But it’s hard to regret it when his bosses were getting what they deserved.

It doesn’t change the fact that he’d rather not get caught.

But, well, unlike Danny, Tucker’s abilities have nothing to do with neat, practical things like invisibility or walking through walls.

It’s really making his attempts to keep ahead of the Bats rather pathetic though. He’d made sure not to be in the building when Stagg was invaded by authorities. From what he’d seen, it wasn’t regular cops that stormed the building either, but some government authority that lingered between the FBI and the CIA and worked with the Justice League in some capacity.

Which, in hindsight, made sense—Stagg was working in direct violation of some pretty hefty, shiny new human rights laws. And honestly, some older, but just as important ones.

He really didn’t want to know where they’d lock everyone up, how they’d run interrogations, how they’d determine who was involved and who wasn’t.

Tucker had done everything to erase himself from the company. He’d hacked his own bank account to change where his pay stubs had come from, he’d backtracked that and changed the information in the IRS’s databases. He’d erased himself from Stagg’s databases, their email, changed his name in every mention, no matter how small.

As far as the Bats, the Justice League, Stagg Industries itself, was concerned, Tucker Foley had never worked for Stagg Industries.

And yet there’s a Bat on his ass.

Tucker ducks out of the narrow alley he used as a shortcut, and he slips into the crowd that’s going down into the subway. He has no intention of getting on the subway, but it’s a good place to try and lose a tail. If all else fails, Danny had told Tucker and Sam that the subway tunnels were a maze, with abandoned rails and unused stations.

Tucker’s not stupid—there’s no way he can beat the Bats in their own city, no matter how much scouting and plans they’ve made since they came here. The best idea they’d had was not to get on the Bats’ radar at all.

They were always bad at following their own plans.

GothamPrince: That outburst in the server seemed unlike you. Are you well?

Duat: …Well that was kinda anticlimactic.

GothamPrince: I do not know what you mean.

Duat: I figured you were messaging me to tell me I was in trouble or something for that. A server timeout. Something. Since you’re a mod and all.

GothamPrince: I am not a babysitter and I do not manage timeouts or such things. I am a mod as a resource, and to shut down conversations if necessary.

Duat: Fair enough. I’d say I was sorry, but I’m really not.

GothamPrince: PoisonIvyIsHot has been a problem before. Their opinions are uninformed and seem to come from an uneducated mind. They seem to like picking fights. I fail to see the reason you would need to apologize for shutting down such a conversation. The username alone makes me want to ban them.

Duat: …yeah that’s fair. Also, I think that’s the most polite way I’ve ever seen someone call someone else an asshole.

GothamPrince: They’re an asshole. But you did not answer my question: are you well?

Duat: Pfft. Lmao. And yeah, Prince, I’m alright. Just been a rough day, and I snapped a bit.

GothamPrince: I believe such a thing is understandable. Would it help to know that they are on their last strike with the mod team? I have provided evidence of their previous transgressions and lack of willingness to consider outside perspectives. They have stated such ill-informed opinions before.

Duat: Yeah, it does. And like, how have they lasted this long if they’ve stated the same bullshit before? Meta rights might still be in progress or whatever, but saying all metas are dangerous and should have to be registered is bullshit.

GothamPrince: The mod team is…lenient and tries to see the good in those who join. They wish to educate. An understandable, if sometimes frustrating stance. I have been trying to get them to see that some people simply do not wish to learn. I apologize that it has taken this long for them to realize.

Duat: No. I get it. It’s hard to write people off. And you don’t gotta apologize for them. You’re doing what you can. It’s good they aren’t just tossing people out for the slightest thing, ya know?

GothamPrince: That is a prudent point. And thank you.

GothamPrince: May I…ask you what may be a personal question?

Duat: …sure, but I get to tell you it’s not your business if I’m not comfortable with whatever you’re asking.

GothamPrince: Of course. We are both a part of several places that boast resources for metas, as well as civilians who live in dangerous or active cities for superhero activity. I will not ask of your situation, but you pay very close attention to all the resources and advice. And I find myself wondering if you are safe. There are some groups I know of that could help, if you need something more immediate.

Duat: How did you manage to ask a question without actually asking, lmao. I’m good, Prince.

Duat: The situation is…well it is what it is. And the server and the forums have been good to help with my paranoia. The world’s a wild place, ya know?

GothamPrince: It certainly is. I am…glad to know that the server helps. I was skeptical of such a thing, but the community that has been built is rather astounding.

Duat: It’s pretty insane. I forget that people can be kind, ya know? Good to see it.

GothamPrince: It is a refreshing reminder. I find I need such things from time to time. It is…easy to dwell on the atrocities of the world.

Duat: Lmao no joke dude. All you hear is the bad stuff, nice to actually see some good. You’re a part of that too. You’ve got some of the best advice, ya know.

GothamPrince: …that is kind of you. Thank you.

Still, if he can get down in the tunnels, there’s a chance he can lose them. He warned Sam and Danny before he pulled the plug at work, and then again when the Bats got on his ass. If things go well, Danny might be able to pop into the tunnels and snag Tucker a get out of Bat-jail free card.

Carefully, Tucker works into the crowd. It’s elbow to elbow, with the rush of people trying to get home. He clocks the security cameras, and notes that only about half of them seem to be functional. He’s still cautious when he uses a particularly thick part of the crowd to pull off his easily spotted beret. He should be in a blind spot for the cameras, even the ones that seem non-functional.

There’s a group of burly people ahead of him, and if he were a betting man, Tucker would bet they’re part of the enforcement for some shady businessman or even part of one of Gotham’s many gangs. He’s careful not to look at any identifying marks, and to not seem like he’s paying them any mind. He uses them as a block as he yanks off his third-hand jacket, and flips it inside out. Sam had switched out the ruined lining and made the jacket reversible.

He doesn’t have anything to change his build or even disguise it, but he slouches a bit to blend into the crowd better, using the jacket’s collar to hide his face. The probably-enforcers move on, and Tucker uses the gap they make in the crowd to slip around and move towards an unused track. He’s trying not to make it obvious that he’s eyeing up the deep abyss of one of the abandoned tracks that runs through the still active station.

As good as the Bats are, moving unnoticed through a crowd this large in full costume has to be a little difficult, right?

Tucker was part of a hero/vigilante’s entourage for a long time, he knows some of the logistics that go into it, and it’s not as easy as it looks!

“Tucker Foley,” a voice intones, far too close. Tucker catches the flare of a cape, yellow bright in the corner of his eye, and just barely hears the creak of kevlar.

He doesn’t wait, doesn’t even pause to see who, exactly, is behind him. He dives into the black of the abandoned line he’d been edging towards and crashes into the dark tunnel. And this, this is one of the few things he can claim, one of the things that Amity left her mark on.

There’s not a single light that’s still working in this tunnel, not a flicker of light left to be had beyond what stretches in from the station—but Tucker can see anyway. He’s not stupid, he knows that whatever Bat is behind him has night vision, can see just as clearly as Tucker can. But that’s tech.

And Tucker’s always been good with tech.

“Halt!” the Bat calls, voice tense, but Tucker yanks himself around a corner, throws himself further into the maze of tunnels. There’s access points, old maintenance hatches, half built tracks, stations that never opened, others that closed decades or months ago. Gotham rivals New York City for its extensive subway system, and outright beats it in the amount of abandoned sections. Gotham has just about as many abandoned subway lines as it does active, and no amount of research had given the full extent of it all.

Tucker has an idea of where he is, where he’s going—and an idea of where Sam and Danny should be, where they’re going if the Bats make themselves known. They’ve had go bags packed for months, emergency cash, and plans.

Gotham was good to them for a while, let them build up reserves, make plans, recover.

They’d known it wasn’t permanent.

Chapter Text

Duat: Hey, uh, sorry for dropping mid convo. Forgot some chores and had to get them taken care of.

GothamPrince: Duat, there is no need to apologize. Nor to lie. We started the conversation after you had finished all your duties. It is fine to have been called away.

GothamPrince: …I must confess I was…concerned. As your last message seemed cut short.

Duat: Sorry I worried you. I’m not.

Duat: I don’t really want to talk about what happened.

GothamPrince: You owe me no explanation. I simply hope things are as…safe? as they can be. Shall we continue our discussion about why, and I quote, “Nvidia is a hoe”?

Duat: OKAY BUT THEY ARE THO. Have you SEEN the prices for graphic cards???

GothamPrince: I have not. I take it they are ridiculous?

Duat has sent five screenshots.

Duat: Look at this bullshit!

GothamPrince: Atrocious.

Duat: THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYING.

This isn’t how they’d wanted to leave—they really didn’t want another person after them, but the Bats shouldn’t care once they’ve left Gotham. In the grand scheme of it, Tucker’s not that important, not that crucial. Stagg Industries is going to collapse, whether it’s by the Bats or the League or whoever wants to take credit for blowing the whistle—but nothing hinges on Tucker.

He’s done what he needed to do, and now it’s just a matter of not getting caught up in the fall out.

Tucker picks a turn at random, concentrating on keeping his breathing steady, on ignoring the growing burn in his legs, the strain of his lungs. He was never a prime athlete, but he’s had plenty of practice in running for his life.

He can still hear steps behind him, knows he’s far from in the clear. He’s got a bit of a mental map going, the bits and pieces they’d strung together echoing in his head. But the Bat’s footsteps are much more sure, and gaining steadily.

Tucker’s hand drifts to his trusty PDA. It’s battered and should be more than obsolete, but it’s his, and well—

Amity left her mark here, too.

A touch brings it to life, and a thought brings up maps, locations, electrical grids, blueprints. His trusty PDA connects to things it shouldn’t have the hardware for, let alone the software.

In an instant, in a breath, Tucker knows where he is, has a signal where feet of concrete and rebar and dirt should make it impossible. It’s still not perfect, there’s contradicting maps and blueprints, but he’s got a goal in mind now. A place to be.

A place to hide.

He ducks to the left suddenly, leaping over tracks and picking up some speed as he darts into a side tunnel. There’s a curse that echoes behind him, the buzz of a comm, and it’s not something Tucker uses often. Not something he dwells on but—it’s much, much simpler than it should be to blur the signal. Connected as he is, he could probably do more, block it all entirely but—Tucker’s no villain, for all that he’s running from the Bats like one.

This tunnel is narrower, full of old wiring and mysterious piping he doesn’t know the function of. There’s access hatches and switches, and the hum of power is low, a buzz against his bones—a call.

One he won’t listen to.

“Stop!” The Bat calls again, his voice a snap, but Tucker’s not about to face whatever tooth breaking justice this Bat feels like dealing out tonight. Tucker did something right.

This time, this time, Tucker saved people.

Duat: You can say no.

Duat: And I know you’re like. A busy dude.

Messages deleted.

GothamPrince: Duat. What do you require? Why did you delete your messages?

Duat: Shit. Sorry to bug you man.

GothamPrince: You are not “bugging” me. Why did you delete your messages?

Duat: Just. Asking something I shouldn’t have.

GothamPrince: I believe I will judge if you “shouldn’t have.”

Duat: I-just wanted someone’s voice. Someone different. To talk about something other than today. You don’t have to. I just. I can’t sleep.

GothamPrince: Allow me to find my headset and a quiet room. While you wait, please pick a topic: My pets, current art project, a rant about the last movie my siblings dragged me into watching, or we can discuss which of the eighteen video games I was told I “have to play” I should start with.

Duat: Thank you. Just-thank you.

He really doesn’t give a damn if the Bats believe otherwise.

His lungs are burning now, his legs going numb at the ankles. Tucker was not built for this part of vigilantism. Of all the things Amity left on them, of course Tucker wasn’t lucky enough to get flight.

It’s only a little further, then he should be home free. With a another push, Tucker breathes in, concentrates behind him, gets a hook into the mask of the Bat chasing him and—

An indrawn breath, a stumble, another curse and Tucker shoots right, using the seconds he bought himself by turning off the Bat’s night vision.

(He could keep it off. He could break the mask, along with the other tech he can feel humming around the Bat. He could do more than he’s allowed himself. He could’ve done more to Stagg. Could have crippled all their systems, could have shut down the entire building. There’s more power at Tucker’s fingertips than he allows himself to think about. He’s good with tech, always has been. His skills were fought for, and learned—he earned every bit of his skills.

He just has a little extra. He tries not to let it go to his head.)

GothamPrince: You did not ask, but I find I don’t mind telling you. I am not a meta, though with the amount of advocacy I do, people tend not to believe me. I do, however, know several.

GothamPrince: I do not expect you to tell me either way. It simply seemed…relevant.

Duat: I have got to stop losing it on assholes in the server.

GothamPrince: You were hardly the only one. GothicDoomed was not shy in her opinions. I am a bit surprised however, LightLurker seemed perfectly reasonable in the few times I’ve seen them interact in the server.

Duat: Guess we hit a nerve or something. But coming into a conversation on how to hide powers from parents with bullshit about “this isn’t like being in the closet or something, you’ve gotta tell your parents for health reasons and hey! This is actually something you were born with!” is stupidly tone deaf.

Duat: and homophobic. So homophobic.

GothamPrince: In a server that’s become home to many metas and a large amount of LGBTQ people, it’s more than tone deaf, and goes into plain stupid. I cannot understand how they expected anyone to agree with them.

Duat: like, I’m glad if they’re lucky enough to have parents who wouldn’t really care if they were gay or meta or whatever. But how the hell have they been in the server for months and not seen people get kicked out, fired, nearly killed for maybe being meta or gay? Did they think they were all lying or something?

Duat: Though the mods coming in with the timeout and the nearly instant ban was good to see.

GothamPrince: Truly they displayed a clear lack of intelligence. Good riddance. The mods decided that they would no longer tolerate such things, and only deliberated for a moment about LightLurker’s ban. I find I am proud of them.

Duat: Lmao, you should be. I hope LightLurker does learn, but it can’t be in the server.

GothamPrince: Not if they are going to be hostile about it, no. I am busy for the next few hours, but would you like to join me as I start a new game?

Duat: I’m busy for a bit too, so that works! And yeah, what game?

GothamPrince: Subnautica

Duat: !!!! HOLY SHIT YES YOU ARE GOING TO LOVE IT.

He keeps running, but now the Bat’s footsteps aren’t at his heels, now he’s got some room. The tunnel he darted down is narrower still, close and old and musty, with stale air and the scent of rust and water. The ground beneath his feet is slick, coated in algae and a thin layer of moisture. He stumbles a few times himself, despite being able to see, but his goal is just ahead, and he can’t give up his lead.

He’s just starting to wonder if the maps were wrong, or if he’d missed a turn when suddenly he bursts into a large room, the narrow tunnel giving way to the larger room in the space of a breath.

It’s huge, two stories and a maze all on its own. There’s dozens of doors, a veritable warren of rooms. Multiple tunnels of varying sizes converge here, with tracks crossing here and there. Part of an old subway train lists on one of the tracks, and it’s somehow, impossibly, covered in graffiti.

But it’s not this that Tucker came for.

The entire section was built to be a control center for both an expansion of the subway network as well as a bolstering of what already existed. There’s a half built mall and food court that takes up part of the space, as well as a mechanic shop that has dozens of tracks leading into it, although it’s hidden behind old garage-style doors, a couple of which have buckled in on themselves. They too, are covered in graffiti.

There’s sleeping tech everywhere, broken bits just waiting for some power—direction. Tucker ignores most of it—he’s not here to fight, he’s here to hide. He heads for the control room, moving fast despite the ache in his everything.

There’s a scuff behind him, the only warning he gets before a body impacts his, and they go tumbling to the filthy ground. Grit and stones immediately dig into Tucker, catch into his clothes and his hair. Air slams out of his lungs, and he’s not one for combat, but he remembers bigger hands grabbing onto him, multiple bodies dragging him down and—

He kicks, tries to get something under him to shove the Bat off of him—he’s so close—but the Bat shifts weight, rolls with Tucker’s failed attempt at shoving him off and gets his hands around Tucker’s wrists.

Tucker’s pinned, breathing heavily, staring up at a mask that’s eyes are narrowed, a face that’s set in a scowl.

And well fuck, of course it’s Robin.

Chapter Text

Duat: Alright, so this might be in too personal territory but we all saw that video

Duat: And I’ve gotta know. Are ALL the bats just…like that??

GothamPrince: That may depend on what you mean by “like that”

GothamPrince: And how are the “Bats” too personal?

Duat: Because despite your username, you’ve never actually said what city you’re from. And obviously it’s not my business, and I’m just kinda assuming but yeah

Duat: As for “like that” I mean that effortlessly scary and badass and competent? The one with the freaking sword. Dude. Just dude.

GothamPrince: We’ve spoken of the Bats before, assuming my residence is in Gotham is logical. And correct. I am still confused as to what you’re referring to.

Duat: They’re just cool. And make it look so easy. And I KNOW it’s not, but--it’s nice to see someone who knows what the hell they’re doing.

Duat: There’s not a lot of videos of them. At least where you can actually see them, ya know? So it’s wild to see them so clearly.

GothamPrince: I suppose living here has worn some of the…novelty off. Seeing them isn’t common, not unless, of course, you’re regularly fighting them. Videos are fairly rare, but there’s others out there, if you look. I am still confused about your comments about Robin? GothamPrince: (The one with the sword.)

Duat: yeah I could see that, lol. Makes sense that you’d be used to it, especially with all the research you clearly do for the server and forums. I’ll have to take a look.

Duat: and uh. He fights good, ya know?

GothamPrince: It could be argued that they all fight well.

Duat: I know, I know. But. Swords.

GothamPrince: …Swords indeed.

And the stabby one at that—Tucker’s never been one for combat, never had the aptitude for it but—he can appreciate a good sword. And the talent it takes to wield it. There’s just something about the way swordfights look that Tucker’s always liked, and Robin’s clear competence with the weapon caught Tucker’s eye even amongst the other Bats.

It’s not something he really wanted used against him, but well.

He made his choices. Now he has to live with them.

At least it’s not the GIW.

“Tucker Foley, we have some questions for you,” Robin says, voice stern, with a slight accent.

Tucker laughs, though it has nothing to do with humor. “Yeah, I got that. Can you settle a debate I had with a friend first, before you drag me to whatever holding cell in some undisclosed location has my name on it?”

Robin’s brows furrow. “I have no intention of taking you to an undisclosed location. What debate could you have possibly had that I can solve?”

Well then, Tucker muses. Looks like they don’t plan on vanishing him, at least.

“Your sword,” Tucker says, gesturing with his chin. The movement makes him just that much more aware of the rough ground beneath him, and he’s really trying not to focus on the scent of the stale air around them. “My friend and I were debating on whether it’s a full katana or a wakizashi that’s at the maximum length.”

Robin’s eyes widen a bit, and he cocks his head slightly.

GothamPrince: There’s limited video and photos, with varying perspectives and distances, it’s nearly impossible to tell how long the sword truly is.

Duat: I know but there has to be something else that we can use to tell the difference? Google says that a katana is 24 to 31 inches long and that a wakizashi is 12 to 24, so there’s a little overlap. There has to be something else, right?

GothamPrince: There’s many small differences between them that would be hard to see in the few videos that are available. But I maintain that it must be a katana, the blade seems long enough.

Duat: You just said it’s hard to tell in the videos! Plus, Robin looks a little on the shorter side, he could be making the blade look longer simply by comparison.

GothamPrince: It’s hard to tell, yes, but not impossible. And there’s some videos and stills of Robin next to some of the other vigilantes, and he is not that short.

Duat: Someone’s defensive. Got a celebrity crush?

GothamPrince: Of course not! Don’t be ridiculous.

Duat: Teasing, teasing! I still think it’s a wakizashi

GothamPrince: It is a katana!

“It is a katana,” Robin says after a long pause. There’s the thinnest thread of exasperation in his voice. “Wakizashi are typically one-handed blades, the katana is two-handed.”

Tucker sighs. “Well, guess I’m just on a losing streak then.” He wonders vaguely if he can tell GothamPrince about his own encounter with Robin—and that Prince was right. The gloating might honestly be worse than whatever’s staining his clothes right now, but at least he wouldn’t be facing down a Bat.

And where there’s one Bat, others are sure to follow.

“It was foolish to run,” Robin says, and it’s just a little smug. Tucker makes a face, before blowing out a long breath. His heart is still pounding, and the unknown of this entire encounter isn’t helping.

A bit of fury winds through him, even though he knows it’s useless. “Whatever, man, can you blame me for it? And I don’t get why you’re after me anyway! I’m the one who handed you everything wrapped in a bow! I tracked down everything you needed to bring Stagg down, and I’m the one getting chased halfway across the city?” Tucker bears his teeth, leaning up as much as he can with arms pinned. “I’m not some saint, but I’m not the bad guy here—why don’t you make sure all of Stagg’s scientists are locked up tight? They’re the ones who wanted to turn metas into pin cushions!”

Tucker’s voice echoes around them, pinging off every surface, ringing in Tucker’s ears. He’s damn near shaking with anger, and it’s only years of self control that makes it so every dormant computer, every bit of circuitry around them isn’t lighting up with the force of it.

Robin, for his part, seems mostly unaffected, other than the slight widening of his eyes and the way he cocks his head. He says nothing for long, long moments.

“Why?” Robin asks after a long, long moment. “Why become a whistleblower? You do side jobs, hack into databases, work with criminals. Why blow the whistle on Stagg?”

Tucker snorts and flops back onto the ground. “Have you seen Gotham? If I refused all the jobs that were from criminals, I’d have nothing.” His heartrate bumps up again though—if they know about his side jobs, if they know who he’s worked for, then they’re digging. If they’re digging, they may already be at the apartment he shares with Sam and Danny—he can only hope they got out.

They don’t need anymore stress and his gut twists at adding to it—but he had too.

He’d seen what they’d wanted to do, what Stagg had been willing to do and—

He couldn’t sit by. He couldn’t let it happen. No one said a word when the GIW started up.

Tucker closes his eyes, swallowing down the panic that wants to rise—hands on him, cold, cold faces, no way out.

Sorry. Someone had whispered, like it made a difference, like it changed what was happening, like it stopped the horror that ate through Tucker. Sorry. Like it meant a damn thing.

Tucker opens his eyes, his fury down to an ember and exhaustion coating his bones.

“As for why,” Tucker says, voice dull. “If not me, who else? They’d kidnapped people, had plans for more. Kids. Babies. Snatching from hospitals, from the streets, orphanages. The government ruled that metas couldn’t be compelled to do tests or register or submit their DNA for study. Stagg didn’t care, they wanted to study metas like bugs, and no one was stopping them.”

“So you’ll hack for criminals but you draw the line at human experimentation? How noble.” The judgment, the sneer in Robin’s voice rekindles the fire of Tucker’s fury.

“Oh, and I’m sure you’re a fucking paragon,” Tucker snaps out. “Or haven’t you noticed that vigilantism is technically illegal? If you know who I’ve worked for, you also know who I haven’t. I don’t really see the problem in hacking into a billionaire’s illegal offshore accounts and giving the money to the people he screwed over—who cares if they’re criminals themselves? Gotham—hell, the world is filled with bad people, but there’s shades. I’m not going to help the fucking Joker—but one of his henchmen? Who cares? Maybe he’ll stop being a henchman if he’s got the money to feed his kids, or maybe he’ll just use it to bankroll some job or other. I told you already I’m not a saint. Besides, most of my jobs were just finding out if Jim was cheating on Sandra or not, are you really going to give me hell for that?”

“Illegal or not, at least I know how Gotham works,” Robin snaps back. “Outsiders interfering is how things get out of hand.”

Tucker’s knuckles skim the rough ground beneath him, his hands curling without thought.

“So what, I was just supposed to sit on my hands and let Stagg do what they wanted?” Tucker scowls. “It’s not like I tried to fight them, I just handed the information over. You shouldn’t have even known I existed, let alone known I was the one who gave you the info.”

Robin rolls his eyes. “We’ve been watching Stagg for weeks. Oracle watched as you erased yourself from their systems.”

Well fuck.

“Fuck,” Tucker says. Oracle. That must be the Bat’s tech person—and what an apt name. Tucker’s good, and there’s things he could do to make himself better. He could bypass a lot of coding, bend the tech to himself but—it’s a slippery slope, that kind of power. He’s not Danny, not Sam, and he worries, what would happen if he lost himself.

(He remembers the Scarab Sceptre, the thrill of power, the greed. The way he wanted, needed more, and it didn’t matter who stood in the way. What stood in the way. And he knows that it’s part of the Sceptre’s power, to corrupt, to dig in and find those greedy little pockets that live inside everyone but—it’s not a risk Tucker’s willing to take. He will not use his powers for more than a little boost, or a desperate trick. He won’t.

Even if it means he’s at the mercy of the Bats.)

“You are good,” Robin says, and Tucker snorts, a grin spreading across his face. He looks up at Robin and wiggles his eyebrows.

“Baby, I know I am,” he says, and it’s a joke, a bad one, but really—

What does he have to lose at this point? He’s caught, Sam and Danny had to have fled by now, and whatever the Bats have in store for him can’t be any worse than the GIW. It’s probably, honestly, better. At least the Justice League doesn’t think he’s something inhuman. Something to be pulled apart.

Robin’s face spasms, not in disgust but in surprise, followed by what Tucker can only describe as a hard reboot.

“Batman is waiting,” Robin says, voice slightly chilled.

“Oh, what a mood killer,” Tucker says, as Robin shifts, pulling Tucker up. “Do me a favor, and don’t tell me what’s stuck to my back. I’m burning these clothes the first chance I get. Do you guys ever think to mop down here? Giant shop vac? Also, what questions could you guys possibly have if your all powerful Oracle already knows my everything?”

“Not everything,” Robin says, and there’s something buried under the words, something Tucker can’t parse.

“Great. Wonderful.” Tucker supposes he should just be glad that Robin hasn’t slapped Bat-Cuffs on him. “So okay, back to my debate—is it possible to have a wakizashi that’s as long as the shortest katana and if you did, how would you tell the difference? I wouldn’t mind sources, my friend likes his facts laid out and like, respect, ya know?”

“Why do you insist upon this discussion?” Robin asks, and under the bite of it he seems genuinely confused.

“Because you’re frog marching me to the fucking Batman and I’m using the conversation to try and not panic,” Tucker answers readily. He’s not here to fool anyone, really. “And we were debating over your katana, so it seems appropriate to ask you.”

Robin’s silent for a long, long moment. They’re back into the narrow confines of the tunnels, and the whispers of the tech, and the escape route he’d planned start to fade out.

Sam and Danny have got to be long gone. Hopefully they won’t try anything stupid, or brave, or stupidly brave. There’s really not a lot that Batman should need from him. His carefully laid plan to avoid detection is ruined, and there can’t be much they don’t know.

Silence reigns for a long, long time, and Tucker’s heartbeat ratchets up with every step he takes.

“Wakizashi tend to be slightly wider,” Robin says finally and his voice is—different. Less formal and it niggles at the back of Tucker’s brain. Like something familiar. “They are meant to have a tighter balance point and are used more often in kendo. A one handed blade leaves your other hand free and allows for a different style of combat than a katana. They are better for close combat, especially indoor combat, as their blade is smaller.”

Robin continues to speak as they walk, and—it’s soothing to listen. Soothes some of Tucker’s nerves, and gives his often overactive brain something to focus on rather than the upcoming meeting with the damned Batman.

GothamPrince: I know it has been awhile, however you did request that I keep you up to date on my pets. I have rescued a litter of kittens. I worry for one of them, he is not very strong. I am doing what I can, but he has much to get past.

Attached: Four photos of four different kittens, roughly three weeks old. The last picture is of a small orange and white kitten, whose eyes are stuck shut.

GothamPrince: I hesitate to name him. I wonder if you have any suggestions?

GothamPrince: He has survived the night. Maybe he’ll be okay after all.

GothamPrince: It has been a week, and this kitten has proved me wrong. I still am unsure of what his name should be.

GothamPrince: Here’s some updated photos. They do not like to be still, I apologize for the blurriness.

GothamPrince: I have named him Bastian. I hope you are well, Duat.

Chapter Text

They go a different way out than how Tucker entered before. It’s hard to tell at first, what with all the tunnels twisting together and largely looking the same, but Tucker’s sure they're on a different route.

It becomes clearer when they hit a staircase—no subway station in sight, just a narrow staircase that leads up to a door.

Well, Tucker muses, at least the Bats do well to lean into their aesthetic. The whole city is perfect for the Bats, to the point where it’s hard to tell how much they’re leaning into it and how much is just a product of presumably living here. Growing up here.

Fighting here.

How much of Amity still lives on Tucker’s skin? How much does he drag around? How obviously Other is he?

And what the hell does the big bad Bat of Gotham want with him? He did something good, surely that should be enough for them. Even if they know what he did, what work he’s done, it can’t be worse or more important than everything else. Then everything Stagg Industries alone has done.

Nerves crackle over his skin, and Robin pauses for a moment, voice fading out. Tucker lost track of what Robin was saying not long after the katana versus wakizashi talk, and had simply let his voice flow over him.

He’d paid just enough attention to egg Robin on, while most of him was focused on not panicking.

Robin stops and Tucker almost fumbles the next step.

“Relax,” Robin says, and it’s half an order, half something that’s almost a plea. “Batman is…blunt, but not unkind.”

Tucker barks out a laugh. “I’ve heard what he does to criminals—”

“From what you’ve said,” Robin interrupts sharply. “you’re not much of a criminal.”

There’s a part of Tucker that for one hysterical second takes offense to that. Another part that feels an almost dizzying sense of relief. Everything he’s tried to do is working then—every temptation he’s avoided, every time he’s locked the bolt on the abilities he refuses to let rule him, has worked. He doesn’t come across as the villain.

He’s still going to face down Batman but maybe he’ll escape unscathed. Unknown.

“Sure did chase me down like one,” Tucker mutters, for lack of anything better.

And because he still doesn’t know what’s on the back of his clothes and he’s so, so better off not knowing. He’s allowed to hold a little grudge about that.

“You were the one running,” Robin says, unrepentant.

“I was being chased,” Tucker sputters. “Of course I ran!”

“I said to stop,” Robin says, starting forward again.

“Oh, and how often does that actually work for you?” Tucker demands, following behind him.

“One has to have some hope,” Robin says solemnly, but with a hint of well-hidden humor.

“I think you might have better luck hoping for it to rain money,” Tucker says, catching up to Robin. It’s a mild surprise to find himself looking up—only just barely, but Robin is taller.

Tucker, being the mature basically adult that he is, chooses to believe that it’s the boots on the Robin suit.

“It rained money last month,” Robin says, so confidently that it takes Tucker’s brain a moment to reboot.

“It did not,” he protests, running through his list of Shit Gotham Has Pulled since they’d arrived. Raining money was not on that list.

They’d have been to that fight scene so fast if it had been.

“One of Cobblepot’s warehouses blew,” Robin explains. “He’d been keeping cash there to keep it out of his bank accounts—the area was covered in coins and destroyed bills.”

Tucker doesn’t respond for a moment, trying to work out if Robin is fucking with him or not.

“You’re fucking with me,” he says, finally, and the smirk on Robin’s face should make Tucker angry—instead he kind of wants to see more of it.

Robin shrugs, elegantly. “Believe what you will.”

“Are you flirting babybat?” A voice calls out, and Tucker is abruptly slammed back into reality. He jerks, spins, and meets an impassive red helmet. The man—Red Hood—taps the side of his helmet. “Comms were open.”

Tucker goes abruptly cold. Comms. Of course. All that talking—it was just to get information.

Any sense of camaraderie he’d felt from Robin was simply a front.

“I do not flirt on the job, Hood,” Robin snaps back, and Tucker somehow goes colder. How much had Tucker given away? How many conclusions had they all made?

You’re not much of a criminal—but had Robin meant it? Was it truth or…

Movement, black on black and the barest flutter of heavy cloth, and Tucker turns in time to see Batman step from the shadows.

He’s tall, taller than Robin, and built on a wide frame that’s obviously corded with muscle. Tucker grew up around Jack Fenton—he knows strength when he sees it, but this is far more controlled than Mr. Fenton could ever manage. Batman knows every ounce of his strength, where Mr. Fenton could accidentally walk through a wall or crush handles when distracted.

Red Hood, too, is big, wider and maybe taller than Batman. Comparatively, Robin’s almost small, if it weren’t for the straight line of his back and the confidence that follows in his wake.

Batman’s gaze is locked firmly on Tucker, and it’s a good thing that Tucker’s feeling about as warm as the Far Frozen right now, because it lessens the effect of Batman’s stare.

“Batman,” Robin greets easily, sliding closer to Tucker. To make sure Tucker’s not going to run? There’s nowhere to go. Five minutes ago having Robin close might have been something akin to a comfort, but instead it itches along his skin like a threat.

“Robin,” Batman says, his voice as deep and gravely as Tucker expected. Batman inclines his head, takes in the other person in the room. “Red Hood,” There’s something there, buried in the name, and Batman’s voice is just a hint softer.

Red Hood shifts, a little tense. “Old man,”

“Mr. Foley,” Batman says, and Tucker feels his back and shoulder tighten.

“The one and only,” he manages, ignoring the slight look that Robin sends him, almost confused.

“If you would follow me,” Batman says, and sweeps away towards a few doors that linger deeper into the gloom of the building they’re in. Tucker has no idea what it was or where they are, really, but it’s clear they don’t expect to be interrupted here. Just a few minutes ago, Tucker probably would’ve made a joke about undisclosed locations and how this very much counts and so what, exactly, does Robin plan on doing to make up for it?

He doesn’t dare make the joke, not when it’s easy to see that Batman did not intend for his previous sentence to be a question as both Robin and Red Hood follow with ease.

It’s clear Batman expected to be obeyed.

It’s not clear where he stands with Robin. With any of them.

Robin keeps close, and it tears at something in Tucker—where is the truth and where is the lie? It’s also irritating to notice the little details about Robin—the sharpness of his mask, the muted, yet still clear colors on his suit, the familiar green, yellow, red hidden in streaks and stripes around his costume.

The little cat keychain that hangs discreetly from his belt.

They’re all things Tucker wants to question, wants to poke at, but he’s said too much, given too much away. It’s all a weapon, and Tucker forgot that.

A door thunks open, scraping slightly against the aging carpet of what looks to be an office. Batman sweeps in, leaving the door open behind him. In moments, they’re all in the room. There’s a couple of chairs, an old desk covered in dust, a window that probably hasn’t been opened for longer than Tucker’s been alive and then some, and a filing cabinet that’s been shoved over, a couple of the drawers are open and spilling yellowed paper from their depths.

Batman gestures to a chair, as Robin and Red Hood range around him. Tucker sits, the cold melting away into nervous dread.

There’s a bit of silence as everyone settles in.

Tucker’s never done well with weighted silences and he knows, okay, he knows, it’s a tactic, that sometimes silence gets more results than threats or bodily harm but he can’t stop the flood of words that break free.

“Not sure I can tell you anything you don’t already know,” Tucker starts, and he still feels like he’s missing something, but he continues. “If this Oracle was literally watching everything I did at Stagg and knows who I am, there’s really nothing I can clear up for you. Plus, I explained most everything else to Robin and I’m sure you heard that,” —oops, that was a little bitter—“so this just seems like a waste of everyone’s time. I cannot stress enough how much I want to burn these clothes, so if we could skip to what you need from me, that’d be great.”

He’s pretty sure that Batman raises an eyebrow and he’s not entirely sure what noise Red Hood makes—it’s muffled by his helmet—but Batman pulls a couple things from his utility belt and sets them on the desk.

“It isn’t your whistleblowing of Stagg that I’m interested in,” Batman says, which throws Tucker for a complete loop. He looks closer at the objects that are on the desk—and can’t stop the blood from draining from his face.

A scrap of red and black fabric, layered over armor and integrated with tech.

A thin bit of metal, white with lurid green accents, a familiar symbol etched in the metal, bold and loud.

Another scrap of fabric, this one almost impossibly white, with white thread just barely raised from the surface spelling out GIW.

Tucker swallows, and it’s too late to pretend that he doesn’t know what they are. Too late to pretend he’s unaffected, not with static building in his ears, and panic like a bird’s wings in his throat. He’s pretty sure he knows where these items were found.

And he remembers things he’d prefer not to.

GO! A voice shouts, and an impossibly strong hand shoves him into the speeder, his green-covered hands slipping on the metal.

Val—

Go! I’ll be right behind you.

The door hissing shut, and his hands suddenly pressed onto—into—his best friend, desperately holding him together, even as green and red mixed and spilled over his hands.

“Tucker,” Robin, Robin’s talking to him, is in fact right in his face, one hand gripping Tucker’s shoulder.

Tucker swallows. “Where did you get those?”

Robin frowns, but eases back.

The objects are no longer on the desk.

Batman holds his silence for a moment, and Tucker can’t even begin to guess what he’s thinking.

“We found them,” he says finally. “We were looking into the organization that Stagg Industries was working with on their meta experiments. We linked it back to a town in Illinois, and found evidence of some sort of fight. An escape, and an abandoned craft.”

Tucker’s heart is loud loud loud in his ears.

The fucking GIW was involved with Stagg? How the fuck had Tucker missed that link? How close had he been to leading the GIW right to Gotham?

Right to Danny?

“It seems this GIW didn’t get the message about the new Meta Protection Laws,” Robin says, still so close, but no longer touching. Tucker both misses the contact and is relieved that it’s gone. “They practically had the town on lockdown…and were looking for three very specific people.”

GothamPrince: Here’s some updated photos of Bastian. His siblings have all been adopted, but I find myself reluctant to let him go.

GothamPrince: I find myself more and more worried about you, Duat. The Meta Protection Acts have gone into effect and to say it’s been chaotic would be an understatement. There’s even been government organizations that have been raided for breaking the laws already, and some corporations have gotten into trouble for discrimination.

GothamPrince: I hope you, and whomever you were protecting are both safe. If you have a need of me, please do not hesitate.

Tucker lets out something that might, to someone, be a laugh. “And they weren’t shy about letting you know who, I’m sure.”

“Not even a little,” Red Hood says, his voice artificially deepened by a voice changer. “Gotta say, I’m impressed at how much you managed to piss them off. You and your friends must have really pissed in their wheaties.”

“Hood,” Batman says, but it’s less a reprimand and more a sigh. Hood snorts, and makes it obvious he’s rolling his eyes despite the helmet covering him. But he crosses his arms and says nothing more.

“They claimed to have a loophole in the laws,” Robin says, almost careful. “Something about how they protected the living—not the dead.”

Tucker’s heart stutters and the lights overhead give one damning flicker.

“You’re a meta,” Batman says, and it’s not even in the same universe as a question. “Your powers allow some control of tech and coding. But the GIW claims it is not the result of a mutation—but rather a contamination.”

Some control rings in Tucker’s head—and it takes everything he has not to light the whole building, wake the sleeping computers left broken and abandoned, the fine tuned tech and coding that he can feel in the bat’s suits, the lights out on the street, the control panel of the subway train passing underneath them—

“Ghosts,” Robin says, just on the edge of disbelief. “Ghost Investigation Ward.”

“Believe it or not,” Tucker says. “Think they’re crazy—I’m crazy if you want. But ghosts are real. And if you were in Amity Park, you know it already.” There’s no way around the truth—the GIW isn’t subtle, and frankly, neither is Amity Park.

If someone didn’t see at least one ghost, it’d be a shock.

“It would seem that while the GIW is incorrect in many things, ghosts existing is not one of them,” Batman intones, and dammit if they know all of that already, why the fuck is Tucker here?

And why haven’t they heard from Val?

Red Hood snorts. “Ghosts really shouldn’t be a shock at this point.”

Robin sighs. “I suppose not. I was simply unaware that it had been proven in this case.”

“I did just return,” Batman says, and Tucker’s heart stutters. He was just at Amity? He slams forward in his chair, ignoring the aborted movements from both Robin and Red Hood.

“Valerie Gray,” he says, desperation burning. “Do you know if a girl named Valerie Gray is alright?”

Batman pauses and something in him softens. “Yes, she’s fine. She was our…tour guide, if you will. You should be hearing from her soon, as the Justice League should be removing the last traces of the communications blackout that the GIW had set up.”

Tucker slumps back in his chair, ignoring how it protests at the sudden movement. Relief isn’t a strong enough word for what he’s feeling. The communications barrier the GIW had set up had Tucker’s bane. Nothing he’d tried, nothing he’d found, had managed to break it. And with all the ghost shielding, weapons, and guards, they hadn’t been able to get to the power source either. The shielding prevented him from simply overriding it with his…abilities, and with the increased hunting from the GIW they hadn’t had the time.

(And then everything had gone to hell, hands on him dragging him down, Danny captured, Sam bleeding and screaming, all their plans in ruins—)

“Then you know everything,” Tucker says, and it’s a shocking thing to not have a secret to his name. To have nothing he has to hold close and quiet within him. The Bats know all his secrets.

Well. All of them except Danny’s and that one has lived with Tucker so long he barely recognizes the weight of it.

So what do they want with him?

“Not quite,” Batman says, and Tucker laughs without humor.

“What could you possibly not know?” he wonders.

“You escaped,” Robin says, out of the blue, like he’s just put some of the pieces together.

Tucker looks at him with some surprise. “Duh,”

Robin gives him a look that’s as dry as the desert. “I meant why did you escape? What changed to make it so it had to happen?”

Tucker shrugs, tries to add a little annoyance, a little sarcasm to the movement.

Sam’s much better at faking body language.

“The GIW was getting a little too much, to the point where any power was because of ghosts,” Tucker explains, and it’s not totally a lie. If the Bats believe that he’s a meta and that the “corruption” the GIW talked about was nothing more than the babbling of madmen, then Tucker’s not going to dissuade that. “Like you said, I’ve got some power over tech, knew some friends with other little things and well.” He shrugs again and here’s hoping they don’t dig any deeper. “Seemed like time to get gone.”

There’s no point in mentioning the GIW’s labs, the experiments, the way they ripped Danny open—if they haven’t found the labs yet, they will. And hopefully they’ll be smart and destroy them. Hopefully they won’t look into the green splatters, the ectoplasm, the research on ghost physiology. Hopefully they keep ghosts and humans as separate things in their minds.

Tucker’s hoping for a lot, really, but it’s about damn time he was owed some good luck.

But that’s a lot to ask of Bad Luck Tuck.

Robin makes a small tt noise, and stalks over to the desk, placing his hand in the middle of it.

“The reaction you had to the objects here, and your concern for Miss Valerie Gray, do not line up with simply deciding to leave. You escaped,” Robin says again, an emphasis on the word that Tucker can’t parse. “There is leaving, there is running away, there is breaking out, and then there is escaping. They are not necessarily the same thing.”

“Does it really matter?” Tucker asks, anger sparking. The electrical sockets in the room spit sparks as if to match his mood. “We left, we’re here, and now Amity’s free of those bastards. Case closed. Let’s not act like you care about me, here. You just want to make sure I’m not going to cause any trouble in your city. I’m a threat to be assessed, a case to be resolved and set aside.”

Robin blinks, and for the first time that Tucker’s seen he almost seems to shrink on himself.

“It isn’t that cold,” Red Hood says, dragging Tucker’s attention from Robin, but he catches Robin moving to fiddle with the cat keychain even as he eases back from the center of the room. “There are times where it is, I won't lie and say some things aren’t just cases. Aren’t just a threat to stop and lock away. But this isn’t. Something went down, something that made you run to the otherside of the country and into a city that’s far from friendly. One that’s rumored to hate metas—and yet here you are. And despite that, you still chose to blow the whistle on Stagg. You didn’t even know they were connected with the GIW. We don’t see that kinda thing often, people helping to help.”

Red Hood chuckles, moving to lean against the desk. “And then you gave Oracle one hell of a runaround while you erased yourself from existence. Not often O has such trouble when it comes to tech. So it’s a little curiosity yeah, a little assessing the situation, not so much a threat. But it’s also fixing something we missed.”

Tucker frowns. “It wouldn’t have mattered if you knew about Amity. The Meta Protections weren’t signed yet, and they are correct that them being dead is kind of a loophole. Legally, you couldn’t have done anything.”

Robin’s derisive snort echoes in the room. “As you pointed out before, vigilantism isn’t exactly legal. The dubious legality of what they were doing does not stop the fact that it was simply wrong. You are no lab rat.”

Duat: Do you think if the Meta Acts fail to pass, they’ll at least have decent cheese for the lab rats they’ll be making out of metas?

GothamPrince: The Acts will pass. There is nothing to fear.

Duat: Okay. But that doesn't answer my question.

GothamPrince: I do not know what quality of cheese is used on lab rats.

Duat: I could hear the sigh you made. I want you to know that. I heard the sigh. Allll the way over here in the Midwest.

GothamPrince: Am I not supposed to sigh over ridiculous questions? You will not have to find out if they have decent cheese or not.

Duat: Never said I was worried about me.

GothamPrince: Regardless. It will not be something you will know, either from personal experience or from stories.

Duat: Gonna come fight them yourself? Set your utter hoard of animals on them?

GothamPrince: I would never use my innocent pets as weapons.

GothamPrince: Besides, there’s much better things to use in this house.

Duat: That…that’s ominous as fuck.

GothamPrince: Indeed.

Duat: …I don’t know why I expected an explanation.

Tucker swallows—white, white walls, the stink of ecto mixed into a nostril burning concoction with the addition of antiseptic and bleach. The hum in the walls that promised pain, and the screams that echoed from everywhere and nowhere.

Red Hood tenses, even as Robin’s eyes narrow.

“They took you,” Batman says, and fuck Tucker’s lack of poker face.

He jerks a shrug. “They didn’t do much, and like you keep saying, I escaped.”

“It wasn’t you they wanted,” Robin says, nearly muttering to himself. “You haven’t asked about your roommates, Sam Manson and Danny Fenton—”

Tucker heaves up from the chair, this time not bothering to stop the surge of the lights, the hum of tech waiting for an order. It nearly shakes the room, but he can’t stop it.

Won’t, not for them.

“Don’t touch them.” he snaps out, his voice just a touch too deep, too mechanical to be human, to not be a threat. But Danny’s been through enough. Is still recovering, and as long as he has Sam, they can get through most anything.

Tucker failed Danny, failed Sam once.

He won’t do it again.

“Easy,” Batman, standing, hands up and empty. Robin, braced, but sword undrawn. Red Hood, tense, hand on a gun but only watching. “Easy, Tucker, they’re okay. Black Bat followed them to make sure they were alright. We believe they’re waiting for you on the edge of Gotham.” Batman grimaces, lets out a low sigh. “I should have been clearer—you are not in trouble. This isn’t meant to be an interrogation. We’re concerned about what we missed, and what an entire town suffered because of the League’s ignorance. We’re also concerned that if the GIW are attempting to exploit an apparent loophole in the Meta Protection Acts, others may do the same.”

Adrenaline and power shake through Tucker, making Batman’s words take long, long seconds to parse. He takes even longer, longer than he’s comfortable with, to ease back on what he can feel around him. In him.

He swallows, breathes in, breathes out. “Funny way of starting a conversation, chasing me down and recording everything I said.”

“We never claimed to be socially adjusted,” Red Hood says, and despite it all, Tucker almost laughs.

“I did not record it,” Robin says, sounding almost offended. “I opened my comms just before we entered the building, as a response to my…colleagues checking in. They were asking if we were close.”

“Can you blame us for getting a little worried, babybat?” Red Hood asks, hand falling away from his gun. “The only thing we got from you was a quick message that you were on your way with Tucker.”

Robin wasn’t recording. The Bats weren’t listening.

Fuck, he’s so turned around right now, he doesn’t know what the hell to make of all this.

“I think,” Batman says, eyes sharp. “That a break may be in order. It has been a very long day. I would like to speak with you on more of the details of the GIW, and how exactly they used the existence of ghosts as a loophole to strip rights from living people. There’s no need for you and your friends to leave Gotham, not if you would prefer to stay, or at least not leave in a rush.”

Tucker blinks, feeling like he’s getting whiplash. “You’re just…letting me go?”

Batman flicks an almost imperceptible glance at Robin. “It was never my intent to capture you. Things got out of hand, and I apologize. We will speak tomorrow, after you have had a chance to shower and relax.”

“Okay.” Tucker furrows his brows. “I don’t…know where I am, actually.”

Robin noticeably winces.

“I’ll get you home,” Red Hood offers, and Robin bristles. “We aren’t too far, and while the Batmobile has seen worse, my bike’s easier to clean.”

What the actual fucking fuck is happening. There’s still something missing here.

Warily, he nods. “There’s no need to spread whatever the hell I’ve got on me. Thanks.”

Red Hood shrugs. “Least we can do, and we’re not far from your place. Think you can call your friends back?”

Tucker shrugs, because yeah probably, but Sam’s going to be pissed about this whole thing.

“Good enough, let’s go,” Red Hood says, and Tucker can’t stop himself from glancing back at Robin, who looks like he just swallowed something nasty. He’s fiddling with his cat keychain again—but this time, Tucker notices there’s two cats hung from the chain. One black and white, looking full grown and the model is larger than the second cat. The second cat is smaller, with proportions that look kitten-like, and is much smaller than its companion. This one is orange and white, with fluffy fur.

The last glimpse of Robin Tucker gets is him fiddling with his keychains, looking pensive.