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Gotham’s skyline stretched before Red Hood, the city alive with flickering lights and muted sounds of late-night chaos. Jason Todd crouched on a gargoyle, scanning the rooftop below with his red-helmeted gaze. The figure pacing there was unmistakable Red Robin; Batman’s meticulous and ever-prepared protégé.
Jason grinned beneath his helmet. Tim’s shoulders were tense, his back turned. Perfect.
For the past week, the Bat-family’s group chat had been blowing up with Tim’s reminders, patrol schedules, and excessively detailed contingency plans. Jason, ever the rebel, had ignored all of them. Still, he couldn’t resist poking fun at Tim’s uptight nature.
Tonight, Jason planned to make a statement. Something dramatic. Something memorable.
The wind carried Tim’s muttering upward. He was talking to himself, going over details for their latest mission, oblivious to the looming threat perched above him. Jason suppressed a laugh.
“This is going to be amazing,” Jason murmured to himself, carefully positioning his foot on the edge of the ledge. He inhaled deeply, letting the theatrics of his plan fill him with anticipation.
Taking one final step forward, he bellowed, “THIS! IS! SPARTA!”
Before Tim could process the shout, Jason’s boot connected with his back. The force sent Tim tumbling forward, arms flailing.
“Jason!” Tim shrieked mid-air.
With a grunt, he crashed into a tarp-covered stack of crates in the alley below. The tarp broke his fall, but not his dignity. Jason leaned over the edge, hands on his hips.
“Ten points for creativity, huh?” Jason called down.
Tim groaned, untangling himself. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Jason chuckled. “Lighten up, Replacement. It’s called ‘team bonding.’”
Above the fray, a new voice entered the scene. “Jason Peter Todd, what did you just do?”
Jason froze. He turned slowly, only to find Nightwing perched on the adjacent rooftop, arms crossed. His expression was a mix of exasperation and disappointment, like a father scolding his mischievous child.
“Oh, hey, Dickie,” Jason said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t see you there.”
“Don’t ‘Dickie’ me.” Dick leapt effortlessly to Jason’s rooftop, landing with cat-like grace. He pointed an accusing finger at Jason. “You kicked Tim off a roof. A roof, Jason!”
Jason shrugged, unconcerned. “He’s fine. Look, he landed on—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Tim interrupted, staggering out of the alley below. He was dusting himself off, his cape torn. “I swear, I’m going to strangle you in your sleep, Todd.”
From yet another corner of the rooftop, a faint chuckle echoed. Jason turned to see Robin sitting cross-legged on an air vent, his phone held up like a camcorder.
“Did you film that?” Jason asked, gleefully.
“Of course I did,” Damian said, smirking. “You think I’d let an opportunity like this pass by? This is pure gold.”
“Damian, delete that,” Dick ordered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Absolutely not.”
Tim climbed the fire escape to rejoin the group, glaring daggers at Jason. “You know what’s worse than you kicking me off a roof? Damian recording it for the world to see!”
“Relax,” Damian said, examining his phone screen. “I’m only sending it to Alfred. Maybe Bruce. Oh, and Barbara. She’d appreciate the comedic timing.”
Jason burst out laughing, clapping Damian on the shoulder. “See, the Demon Spawn gets it. Classic Bat-family humor.”
“I do not laugh with you, Todd,” Damian said, though his smirk betrayed him.
“Enough!” Dick’s voice cut through the banter, silencing everyone. He pointed at Jason again. “You owe Tim an apology.”
Jason’s grin faltered. “What? No way. He’s fine. Look at him.”
Tim threw his arms up. “I’m not fine, Jason! You ruined my cape, my ribs hurt, and now Damian’s got blackmail material for the next five years!”
Damian chimed in, “Five years? You underestimate my archival system.”
Dick ignored the exchange and stepped closer to Jason. “You’re apologizing. Right now.”
Jason groaned, throwing his hands in the air. “Fine. Tim, I’m sorry I kicked you off the roof.”
“And?” Dick prompted.
“And… I’ll buy you a new cape.”
Tim raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”
Jason sighed dramatically. “What more do you want? A fruit basket? A hug?”
“Both would be preferable,” Tim deadpanned.
Before the argument could escalate, the sound of a grapple hook deploying echoed through the night. All four heads turned to see Batgirl swinging onto the rooftop.
“What’s going on here?” she asked, looking between the group.
Damian held up his phone. “Jason kicked Tim off the roof. Want to see?”
Barbara tilted her head, intrigued. “Absolutely.”
“Barb!” Dick said, aghast.
“What? It’s funny!” Barbara said, shrugging. She leaned over Damian’s shoulder to watch the replay. “Oof, nice form, Tim. Very graceful.”
Tim groaned, burying his face in his hands. “This is a nightmare.”
Jason, emboldened by Barbara’s reaction, threw an arm around Tim’s shoulders. “See? Even Babs thinks it’s funny. You’ve got to lighten up, Replacement. Life’s too short to—”
Tim elbowed him in the ribs, hard. Jason doubled over, coughing.
“That,” Tim said, “was my thanks to you.”
Barbara smirked, slipping her phone out of her utility belt. “Hold still, boys. This one’s going in the group chat.”
“No!” Tim shouted, scrambling to stop her.
The chaos of the night eventually settled, but the rooftop scene remained etched in Bat-family history. Tim got a new cape, Damian edited the footage into a meme, and Jason—though chastised—maintained that it was one of his finest moments.
Somewhere in the Batcave, Alfred watched the video with a raised eyebrow, a cup of tea in hand. “Ah, family,” he mused, shaking his head.
Even in Gotham, they had their moments.