Chapter Text
“Intel from our sources at Arkham has reported that Joker is planning another breakout,” Bruce switched the slide and Tim was debating on weather it was okay to fall asleep. He had helped him put the slides together so he already had an idea what they were going to be talking about. “They are uncertain when exactly, but prepare for sometime in the next few weeks.”
They had these big meetings monthly, where Bruce goes over the potential attacks or missions that range from ‘unlikely’ to ‘most likely’ based on the information he has. Sometimes it’s true, a few times they’ve stopped kidnappings and shoot-outs before they happen, other times they’re wild and so far out there Tim believes he’s messing with them for those. Like a few months ago, he put out a slide that highlighted Killer Moth and the unusual amount of times he’s gone into the woods around Gotham. Tim couldn’t tell if it was a genuine concern of his or if he was joking that Killer Moth was mothman—which, now that Tim thinks about it, isn’t too far off.
Either way, Tim was tired, his chair was comfortable, and he was ready to fall asleep on the conference table as Bruce allocated who was to go after Condiment Man the next time he got rowdy. At least, he thinks that’s what Bruce was talking about.
“Circling back to the potential Joker escape, I have allocated you to new teams,” Bruce clicked to the next slide and Tim managed to lift his head and prop it on his arms. “Stephanie, Cass, and Harper are to focus on civilian rescue and surveillance. Kate, Luke, and Jean-Paul are response in their respective sectors, their positions have not been altered.”
“Dick, Barbra, and I are immediate response,” Bruce listed off. “Last are Damian, Tim, and Jason, you three are to return to the manor and aid in comms, as well as the new emergency response team if the situation calls for it.”
“What?” “That is absurd, father!” Jason and Damian shouted as Bruce finished. That was the last slide apparently, he knew this would anger them and he prepared for it. Batman is prepared for anything apparently. Jason sat straighter in his chair, one fist clenched on the table top and the other pointed at their father. “You better give me a goddamn good reason I was switched off I-R, old man.”
“Reports from Harley’s sources say that the Joker’s new serum has supposedly been cut with an older version of Crane’s toxin,” Bruce answered. “They say that the victims are forced to relive the last ‘impacting’ interaction with the Joker as the toxin will have a bias because of the venom. For obvious reasons, I have placed you, Jason, on emergency response in case you are affected by this new serum. And while Damian, thankfully has no interactions with the Joker that have been impressionable such as yours, I would rather not this be it.”
Ah, yeah, that would not be fun. Honestly, Tim would rather work comms anyway. He sprained his ankle last week on a mission with the Titans, and while he didn’t need a boot, it still hurt to run. Tim’s been lucky to have not run into the Joker in the years since the…incident and a large part of that was because Bruce put him on the emergency response. He tried to stay away whenever the Joker came up, his triggers were a bit more obscure than Jason’s but a lot worse, he’d say, but it wasn’t a competition.
Jason crossed his arms, the reasonable answer being more annoying than he thought, “I guess, but why hasn’t Tim ever been on I-R or rescue? He’s always, emergency or comms, I don’t think it’s fair to the girls.”
“Because I requested that team? B does take requests y’know,” Tim parried.
“He does? Since fuckin’ when?”
“Since now,” Tim rubbed his eyes. “Are we done? Can I go to bed now?”
Bruce nodded his head, the shuffling of papers and a quiet grunt dismissing the table like a school bell. He could feel the other’s gaze on the back of his head because they can smell the bullshit in his answer. Bruce never does requests, and he doesn’t do favorites (no matter how much he denies, they all know Cass is his favorite as well as Starro.) But Tim will be damned if they find out why he stays back.
Only three people know about it and one of them he’s still warry about, and he’d like to keep it that way.
—
One week later, Tim finds himself hightailing it from the diamond district back to the manor. Or at least the auxiliary cave, since it was closer. However, Steph called out that most of the roads leading that way had been hit by the funneling bombs Joker’s goons set up. He was thankful Harley’s insider was able to get that info, it was helping the rescue team a lot. Just knowing where they were pushing the civilians to helped them create bypasses in the eight days since the meeting.
Say what you will about Gotham infrastructure and it’s contrsuction times, but when it comes to foiling Joker’s plans, they are fast.
The wind whipped his cape behind him as he drove down Midtown Bridge. Smoke billowed out of the corner of his eye, either another bomb went off or the Joker’s goons had started their arsonistic tendencies when it came to property damage. And as bad as it was, it must be very fun to do, Tim thinks. Just, blowing things up and setting things on fire just for the hell if it. He already did that to a few League bases and the Widows. It was fun then, and it’d be fun now too, but he was a hero and not a rogue vigilante. Which was stupid in his opinion.
“Bomb went off on Robinson Bridge, Gotham side down,” Jason called into the comms and Tim started to pull up the other ways to get across. They had, or at least Tim had, the underground tunnel. It took about ten extra minuets to get to Bristol, and a lot could happen in that time. Tim was also the only one able to use it since the entrance was closer to him than the others. Damian was closest to the Sheal bridge, but that put him at the risk of running into the Joker or other escapes inmates since it was close to Arkham. Jason would have to go the even longer way by taking the Bludhäven-Gotham highway on the outskirts of the sister city.
“Rendezvous at Auxiliary cave,” Tim called out. It wasn’t the best seeing as how they would be in the center of evacuation and all the medical attention Cass and the others were working on, but Barbra would need help on the comms soon. She can do many things, but keeping track of the goons and the Joker for Batman and Nightwing, as well as tell the others what was going on in their area. It was too much for one person. “Hood take the tunnel down Robinson, it’ll connect to the Hastings entrance and it’ll be a straight shot home.”
“Copy.” Jason’s mic cut off right as the thunder of his bike picked up.
“Spoiler, you there?” He connected Steph to their line. Normally they shouldn’t do that, it’ll cut communication between teams leaving them open and vulnerable. An even bigger taboo to do that to someone who was in rescue. “Come in, Spoiler.”
Her line cracked to life, “Here, I’m here, what’cha need Red?”
“Robin needs an opening on either tenth or sixteenth to get to the penthouse, can you do that?” He asked.
”Sixteenth was cleared twenty minutes ago,,” She answered as the sound of her grapple pierced the mic. “Civilians have been directed towards Narrows, unfortunately following the funnel since they’re torching us from behind, so he’s good to go.”
“Roger, don’t loose your eyebrows this time, Fatgirl,” Damian answered and switched off, ignoring her gasp.
“Thanks, Steph,” Tim ramped over a blockade.
“No prob, Rob,” she said. “I though you guys were supposed to head to the cave, not penthouse?”
“Robinson fell, and it’s take too long to go through the other entryways,” He answered. “O needs us on coms for team two with Batwoman and them.” He was close enough to the underground tunnel entrance off of Euclid. He’d have to be careful going down since Jason’s path would connect with this one and it’d suck pretty hard to have the over two-hundred pound tank and almost thousand pounds of his bike crash into him. Tim wouldn’t stand a chance. “Penthouse was the best option since it has enough computers for us three and it was the central most location.”
“Makes sense,” Steph grunted on her side, she either hit someone or someone hit her. But by the faint groan in the background, it was the former. “Don’t forget to patch it through to Oracle, let her know. She’s waiting for a signal from the main computer.”
“Gonna do that now, good luck over there,” He ended the connection, his comm open for his other two brothers to confirm if they made it there before him. Damian should be the first. Sixteenth stretches from one side of Gotham to the other, no curves or turns in it’s path. It almost cuts the city in half, north of it was a bit of the Diamond district, little China, and the commerce district, as well as Gotham University. South was immediately followed by the Narrows and Gainsly, which admittedly wasn’t that bad, but their proximity to Crime Alley and the Bowery left something to be desired.
And it wasn’t like that side of town was bad, that is where Bruce got Jason and Duke, though an argument could be made for Stephanie. His favorite boba place was close to Harlow Park, as was Damian’s art supply dealer. (The guy was shady as all hell but the kid did some really nice work with what he gets from him so it’s hard to go after the guy.)
Anyway, the drop down for the tunnel began to open before him up. The yellow lights stationed a few feet apart to provide the optimal lighting down the slightly curved tunnel before it straightens out. About seven miles of a liminalspace tunnel and it made him feel like he was in the backrooms for a few seconds before it opened to the familiar sights of caverns and perilous drops into jagged stagnant water below. Tim didn’t quite like the auxiliary cave much, he doesn’t know why, no real good reason besides ‘bad vibes occasionally.’
Perhaps it was because the cave was more Damian and Dick’s cave than it was Bruce’s. They made this cave theirs, their preferred scents in the showers, their clothes hanging in the locker room, their spares (that were too small for Damian now) in the uniform storage. The configurations on the computer were tailored for them and their way of being Batman and Robin. It was like being thirteen in the main cave all over again. An outsider in someone else’s domain, interacting with things that weren’t his and that he had no claim to. But he had to suck it up and deal with it, he had a mission to do.
The roar of another motor behind him startled Tim out of his thoughts. It was a large car, almost a tank by how armored it was, but it lacked the signature bands around the tires. There was a cannon though, relatively small, like that of a t-shirt cannon, mounted on the roof. Green trailed out the barrel after it’s ammo shot out of it and Tim knew of one thing that had that signature green. His eyes widened when the first smoke bomb whirred past his head, the fog blinding him for a short second.
His helmet, for all it can do, does not have a filter on it like it should. (And if he could strangle past Tim for this, he would. He’d do it for a lot less too.)
Tim held his breath as he dropped down, the clicks of the entrance snapping back into place echoed in the corridor. Each tick like a countdown, a slow descent back into the madness. It was only a little. Just a short breath as it whizzed past, but sometimes that was all it needed. He hated being the most susceptible to it, the one with the weakest resolve to the tiniest bit of Joker green. How ever little he inhaled shouldn’t have been enough, so why did it seem like it was getting stronger, the world getting greener? Why did its giggles want to escape?
He risked a stop, a little pause that wouldn’t be more than five seconds, but that was the difference between being sane and being Junior. A few feet back, slowly spewing it’s contents into the air, was one of the smoke bombs they had been firing. It was faster somehow, crawling over the asphalts and tiled walls like it was sentient.
Tim knows he should be moving, knows that he shouldn’t be letting the smog climb up his boots and try to consume him. And the self-preservation was trying to get him to move, it was tugging at the muscles in his legs, the tendons in his hands to rev his bike and speed down the tunnel. But the smell of the toxin, of the poison that the crazy in him was still addicted to, was still as sweet as he remembered.
A part of him missed it. Missed it so bad that he didn’t know he inhaled a lungs worth of it till he choked on it a few seconds later, snapping him back to reality. His stomach dropping, eyes widening as the reality of what he’s just done set in.
Shit.
He turned the head of the bike back down the tunnel, engine roaring and echoing as he tried to escape the green. It was following him. Right on his tail and giggling, chuckling, cackling. It bounced around his his head like the worlds worst bell toll and trying to pull the same ones from him.
“Robin! Airlock Euclid entrance door eight, one of the toxin bombs followed me in!” Tim yelled hoping his little brother had already reached the computer. If this did what they were told it was supposed to do then Tim was in for a rough night. He was compromised before he’d even make it to the cave proper. “Robin do you—” His cape narrowly missed getting caught in the snapping metal door.
“I shall take my thanks in the from of a boba and a pastry,” Damian said.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, voice growing hoarse and a lump building in his throat. He had to get to his vaccine. It’d been years since he took it, but no matter how much they had changed it, the med bay should still have his injection. Where in the medbay, he cant remember, reality was shifting like a fun house mirror. Stretching and expanding in a funny way that wanted to make him laugh. He didn’t have much time he knows this, he can feel the phantom jolts of electricity that accompany the giggles run down his limbs, the corners of his mouth begging to pull back into to the smile that left him scarred.
With a shaky thumb, he pressed his emergency contact button. The one he used when Junior got too rowdy, when Tim wasn’t just Tim. Barbra and Bruce were the only ones it was able to contact. The only ones he trusts to help him during his little…fits.
“Tim? You okay?” Babs’ voice came over the comm, it helped a little but whatever was in the toxin was a lot stronger than any of them thought.
“I-I got hit,” He chuckled, bottom lips caught between his teeth to try and stop the spreading smile. Tim really needed his injection. “I’m-m hehe—I second cave, Jay and Dami-hihihehe!”
Tim lost control of the bike, his eyes closing as the laughter became too much and he didn’t know how close he was to the vehicle bay wall till he crashed into it. He could hear voices around him, but which ones were real? The ones in the helmet, the ones in his head, or the ones that pried his helmet off? A small part of him, the little part that was still Tim pushed his brothers away as he staggered towards the medbay. Hands reaching up to rip his mask off, the adhesive too irritating and tingling on his skin.
He felt like he couldn’t contain himself, legs strong enough to walk but not balance as he crumpled to the ground, arms wrapped tight around his stomach. His eyes were shut tight, the bright flashes of pain and light dancing across his vision. It sent ripples down his spine, twitching his limbs as he laughed into the cold metal floor.
The corners of his mouth hurt. The unnatural stretch of human lips at their limits, ripping the scarred over thin pieces of skin that connected one’s top lip to their bottom. In his head he can hear it separate, see the flesh part like the red sea. And he knows it’s red, it was wet, dripping down his chin, and he could taste blood on his tongue. It just made him cackle louder. The stares from his brothers made him cackle. The trepidation they had as they surrounded him was funny, it was so funny.
He looked at the big one. Something danced over his features when they made eye contact.
His hand extend from under him and he didn’t know if that was Tim moving it or Junior. The lines had been blurred by now, he couldn’t tell where Tim ended and JJ began, but the slightly trembling hand wasn’t Tim. Tim would never smile at Jason the way dadd—the Joker had, he’d never stare at him with constricted pupils like a madman. He’d never point with a finger gun, and say “Bang.” He wouldn’t laugh as Jason stumbled to ground in a shakey backwards step, as if he himself had been shot by the flag.
But Jason hadn’t been shot by the flag, daddy had. Junior had shot him. He pulled the trigger and laughed even if daddy said it wasn’t funny.
“My daddy killed you,” his voice soft in the quiet cave. Junior laughed as he lifted his head. His eyes never once lifting off of his daddy’s favorite bird. Junior remembers his daddy telling him about his pretty bird. The little Robin dressed in red in the cold cage far from daddy-bats protection. Junior wanted to be loved like that, to have daddy’s attention again.
Even if daddy’s attention hurt, and it hurt real bad. The table burned at his back, the straps cut circulation in his hands and wrists, and the pain in his head. The aching, throbbing, searing pain that flashed before his eyes and lit the world around him white. He remembers when his yelling would make his throat hurt, scratching the tender muscles and strained vocal chords as his screams turned into laughter.
Junior could feel the scratch come back. It made his laughs sound funny which made him laugh harder. It had been a while since Junior had come out to play, no wonder everything was so funny.
When his eyes finally left the bird, they trained over the empty cave, little fits of chuckles bouncing his shoulders every now and then. Where was all the color? The toys? This place was nothing like his daddy’s place where everything was big and playful, it was full of boring colors and dark shadows, of metal and rocks that would hurt if someone were to get slammed into it. No that would no be fun. Not fun at all.
The other two in the room weren’t fun either, they had these dumb shocked faces on him. Watching with furrowed eyebrows and slightly agape mouths as Junior stood up from his spot. He looked at the big one. It would be harder to make that one laugh, he was much bigger than him. If they played too roughly, Junior could get hurt. That’s when he remembered the little one.
The new birdie took a step back when he looked at the kid. He was small and already dressed in green. He’d be fun to play with if only he wasn’t so mad. Junior can fix that. His laughed echoed in the quiet cave, the muscles around his mouth were aching from his smiling, but that just means he was having fun! He needs to have fun! Junior reached for the collapsible staff in his pocket, it was different than the gun daddy gave him, but it should still do the trick.
He saw the kid’s gaze flicker down to the bo before going back to look at him. “You’re always so,”he dragged out the ‘o’ as he made careful steps to the little bird, the end of the bo scrapping along the floor. “Serious.”
“Cease this at once, Drake!” The kid demanded, one hand reaching for the hilt of his sword. Oh, that wouldn’t do.
With a lunge, JJ swung the end of the bo to dig into the shoulder of Robin’s uniform. He was startled for a second, enough time for him to sweep the kid’s legs out from under him. His head sounding like a drum when it hit the metal floor, it made him chuckle. Robin grunted when JJ pressed the bo against his throat. He laughed as Robin tried to push him off, the counter force against the staff from wasn’t even so it was useless, not that the kid knew that. But it made him laugh, a loud round of giggles as he pressed harder against his throat, he lowered himself a little, enough to have Robin’s attention shift from the staff to him, “If we play a game, I bet I can make you smile.”
His view shifted, the big one had pulled him off Robin. He wanted to play to? Why didn’t he just say so? JJ chuckled as he threw the batarangs from his belt, feeling it grow in his chest every time one either landed on it’s target or nicked them as they dove for cover. He didn’t let them run for long.
A well placed kick to the ribs sent the dead bird into the table, his cranium smacking against the edge with a crack before he groaned when it hit the floor. The little bird came at him again, stance very similar to how that one ninja lady trained Tim. So he used the same maneuver he did back then. One hand grabbed the blade—careless of the slightly sharp edge, the pain in his palm making him laugh—and the other pushed his elbow in. Forcing him to drop the weapon as he cried out as he dislocated the joint.
He pulled Robin to the floor, twisting his arm back and howling in laughter when Robin cried as he dislocated it from the shoulder. “Drake! Stop!” He called, wheezing when JJ placed more weight on his back.
“You’re not laughing,” JJ dropped the arm, and kicked him over. A bruise was starting to form on the kids’ temple, yellow but he can tell it was going to darken into a deep purple. The heel of his boot dug into Robin’s sternum. Pressure on ones chest and diaphragm, even pressure, can make everyone laugh. It forces the air out of the lungs and maybe he’ll get a laugh out of him. “All you have to do—” JJ was nearly standing on him, his left arm was pushing against his leg, trying to push him off. “is laugh!”
JJ stomped down, the chocked gasp of pain and the feeling of a cracked sternum made him grin. His chuckled sounding muffled as it passed through his teeth. He lifted his foot, brushing his hair back with one hand because it kept getting in the way. If his daddy was still here, he’d slick it back the same was he does it, with a slight pouf in the front as it sloped to the back.
He looked for the other one, his smile faltering a little when he couldn’t see him. Oh well, he has his own little bird to play with anyway.
—
“Hood, come in.”
His head hurt like a bitch and he was sure that there was going to be a large welt on the side of his head for a few days. Someone was trying to talk to him in his ear. Someone was yelling a bit further way, it sounded like Damian. And there was a laugh—a cackle that was too close to the Jokers’ in the cave. But that made no sense. The Joker was currently terrorizing the streets of Gotham, trying to gas people with this new strand of toxin that he was luck to have avoided on the way here.
Jason opened his eyes, it was a little blurry, but that’s the norm for blunt force trauma to the head. Damian was lying on the ground, one arm pulled back too far, Tim stood over him—holding said arm—with the biggest grin on his face. That wasn’t right.
“Hood, do you copy?” Barbra’s voice in his ear pulled him back to the present.
“Fuck,” He groaned rolling over. “Yeah, yeah, I hear you Barbie.”
“Get to the medbay and in the drawer under the centrifuge there are already prepped injections, it opens with a fingerprint scanner,” she commanded in his ear. “Get one and give it to Tim.”
“Was he gassed or some shit? Can’t I just give him the regular shit?” Though he complained, he still got up and began the wobbly journey to the medbay.
“Wont work, it’ll make…just trust me, okay?” She said and oh boy! Jason has some digging to do when this is all over because what does she mean that the anti-toxin wont work? What’ll happen if he gave it to him? What even is happening to him?
And like yeah, sure, people do fucked up shit when on the giggle gas. Their inhibitions and lack of self-preservation got tossed out the window and they go off the rails, though there had been a connection that those people were already off the rails to begin with. And normally, he said with heavy sarcasm, those who have been exposed to it aren’t coherent. They’re staring off into space, hands gripping tight to their hair and yanking out the roots, unnatural smiles and laughing till their voices go hoarse or the toxin kills them. But Tim?
Jason looked behind him at his little brother. The signature Joker smile plastered on his face, blood dripping from wounds on either side of his mouth, painting that awful smile red. Hair slicked back and glinting a dark green under the fluorescent lights of the cave. Pale eyes blown wide and unnerving, but he could talk. He was conscious enough under the effects of the toxin that was able to fight.
What happened to Tim that made him able to do this?
“Jay, hurry, the longer it’s in his system, the worse it gets.” Jason shook his head, trying to clear his foggy mind as much as he could.
Sure enough, Jason’s thumb opened the drawer. Inside five syringes—that were more like epipens than actual syringes—lie in foam padding with a clear liquid in the body. There were no markings to count how much was in it but he could see extra viles of what ever it was lined the back. And though there were never any cameras in the medbay, Jason stuffed it into a pocket on his belt while looking over his shoulder, hoping it wouldn’t get crushed or get caught. He was probably going to regret taking one, but he needed to know, he still was a bat. Technically.
“I guessing this is just like an epipen, right?”
“Easy to use for all of us since we all should know how to use one,” She answered. “But it’s more effective if you administer it in his arm. Thigh works too, but it takes longer. Learned that the hard way.”
“Copy.” Jason twisted off the plastic tab off the button, tossing it somewhere he wont find until later. “Oh, and Babs?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re gonna have a talk about this.”
“Figured. I’ll let B know.”
Of course he’d keep what ever this was a secret because he was sure as shit that it was news to him and Damian—who by the way, was trying to keep one of Dick’s escrima sticks from zapping his own bruised noggin. He had one leg pushing against Tim’s chest, his good hand holding back Tim’s wrist, head pressed as far back into the table as he could. The electric blue at the end of the weapon was slowly lowering closer and if Damian lifted his head he’d get fried right at the temple.
Tim on the other hand, looked like he was enjoying himself. His shoulders bounced as he laughed, crazed eyes boring holes into Damian, “This made me laugh, you know? It hurt at first, but then it tickled. It’ll tickle you too!” Jason managed to grab Tim in a choke hold just as the lit end touched Damian, his little brother’s scream echoed just as laughter erupted form Tim’s mouth. “No! You didn’t want to play!” Tim flipped the escrima in his hand, jabbing it in Jason’s side.
He nearly dropped the antidote as the jolts of electricity shot through his right side, and damn. Was that the default? Has Dick basically been giving people electricity burns when he uses it or did Tim crank it all the way up? And also, with this amount of juice going through him, shouldn’t Tim be feeling it too?
Jason cursed when Tim rammed his heel in to his shin, his hold on around his neck loosening enough for Tim to break free and jab the escrima into Jason’s thigh this time. Down he goes. His knee thudded against the floor and he was just fast enough to avoid getting Tim’s knee in his nose. And apparently, because it turns out they’ve been underestimating Tim when it comes to his hand to hand combat, Tim takes the opportunity to shock him right in his brachial plexus. His arm twitched at the high velocity, fingers spasming and the antidote fell to the floor.
Tim stumbled before he could kick Jason (again) the escrima stick dropping to the ground as he tried to pull Damian off his back. One elbow shooting backwards, trying to jab into Damian while the other pulled at his hood. Damian’s dislocated arm hung limply over Tim’s chest, weakly grabbing onto the neck piece of his uniform. “Todd! Where do I—ah!” Damian groaned when Tim began to pull at his hair. “Inject it!”
“Arm!” He grabbed hold of Tim’s legs, making them topple to the floor where Jason was able to restrain him. It was harder for Damian to do it with his left hand, but eventually he managed to give Tim the antidote to whatever happened to him.
“Y-You’re no fun,” Tim chuckled. It was disturbing to see that smile on his little brother. Jason didn’t like how similar to the real one was. How sharp the corners of the mouth were, how much teeth was shown or the red around the lips. The laugh too, that god awful laugh that has plagued many nightmares since his Resurrection now falling from his brother’s mouth in a near identical cadence.
Slowly, Tim’s chuckles came to lull, and for the most part Tim was quiet and out of it on the floor. Whatever kind of drug in the shot was one hell of a blender if it kept Tim in that dissociative state not even a minute after ministration. Jason led Damian to the med bay, his arm more precedent than their there-but-not-there brother. He winced with each step, his thigh still sore from the shock. He can’t complain though, Damian got the worst of it.
“What happened to Drake?” Damian asked after they set his arm back into place (twice because it just had to be at the elbow and shoulder Tim?) “Why did he react like that to the Joker toxin?”
“I don’t know, baby bat,” Jason wrapped his arm in a sling, eyes scanning over Damian’s head for injuries or blood. “But I know Bruce is going to answer for this. Whatever this is, it’s big and it shouldn’t have been kept from us.”
Damian was quiet after that, eyes watching the statue of a boy outside, “Do you think that is why he’s always placed on the emergency response?”
“I wish I knew,” He knocked back some pain killers for his head ache. “Wish I knew.”