Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Heroism could be unpredictable, weird, and often tragic. Steph was no stranger to that fact. It had been told to her many times, and she’d lived through a lifetime of examples. Sometimes you died, and were kidnapped to Africa for a year. Sometimes a man that hates you forces your best friend to give you her identity. And that wasn’t even starting on everything Tim had told her about Young Justice.

So when Steph got hit with a smoke bomb, her first thought was that they were just making a quick escape. She still reached for her mask, because her patrols were less effective with lung damage, but she thought she’d be fine. Worst case scenario? It was Joker venom, or fear toxin, or one of Ivy’s pollens. Maybe she’d wake up with amnesia for a couple days until Oracle cured her. No big deal, right?

“Oracle,” Steph reported into her comms, “I’ve been hit with something— I’m not sure what. I’ve got my gas mask on.”

“Heard. Do you need reinforcements? Batgirl is 4 minutes away.”

“I—” Steph coughed. The mask wasn’t cutting it. Her suit was airtight, but she could feel that the gas had gotten in from a tear. It clung to her skin, needling her. Like her skin was too tight over her body. “Maybe? Yeah, I— Send her.” She could feel a static in her brain, with signals taking too long to get processed. Shit. Hopefully, Cass could help her out of here, and it’d wear off on its own.

“Batgirl, stay—”

“What?”

“Getting you— Just—”

“You’re breaking up.”

“Tracker isn’t— Cutting—”

There was a loud buzzing.

Then, silence.

“Oracle?” Steph asked. “Is anyone on the line?” Was she hallucinating? Was there a tech virus? Was Babs in danger? Shit. She had to get to the Clocktower.

Steph looked towards the skyline. It was… shorter, than she knew it was supposed to be. Less neon signs, and less smog. Still dark, and still rainy, but it reminded Steph more of some of Donna’s old photos than of the Gotham of the present.

Steph was starting to get a sneaking suspicion that things were more wrong than she’d thought. But she really, really didn’t want that to be true, so she would act the way she would in any other similar situation: head to the Batcave, reconvene with everyone else, and decide what to do from there. After that, she would probably head to the Clocktower, but she needed a briefing.

There was no sign of Cass, and Steph’s phone wasn’t working. She had it on Bruce’s phone insurance. He had unlimited data. Her phone was always working. It was charged, sure, but it wouldn’t even give her a time. Who knows how long it’d take for Cass to find her? Or if Cass was even here? What if Babs was in trouble, and Steph was just waiting?

(Why did the symptoms of the gas just disappear? The rash was gone, and the brain fog. That wasn’t how this was supposed to work.)

The goons had left in the confusion. That part, at least, was normal: the smoke bomb was part of their getaway plan. Cass would probably capture them. The street was different, too: the buildings were shorter, the architecture was older, and it lacked any signs of past rogue activity. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her? Or maybe a magic spell had been cast over all of Gotham, or some third thing. Frankly, Steph was too used to the hero schtick to rule anything out.

It was generally advised to stay put and wait for rescue when lost in the wilderness. But Steph wasn’t in the wilderness, was she? She was potentially compromised in a dark alley, and waiting would make her a sitting duck.

She felt her thumb land on the familiar spot in the grapple gun, closed her eyes, and felt okay for a second. It was just like being back at gymnastics (before her coach had been fired for drug dealing). Her feet landed on a cinder-brick roof, and she let her feet dangle over the side.

The air wasn’t actually cleaner up here. In fact, the air up high could be even dirtier than the air on the ground, depending on what pollutants you looked at. Steph didn’t care. The wind was cold in her lungs and tasted of sulfur, exactly the way it was supposed to.

At least her gear was the same. And her own costume. That meant she probably wasn’t dreaming: her nightmares tended to put her back in the Robin costume or in the Spoiler one. Sometimes Batgirl, but rarely her current suit: usually Cass’s, or her first one.

Bang

Gunshots.

All that suddenly dropped its importance. Steph’s feet were moving before her brain as she smoothly ran towards the noise, breaking her fall with the shot of a grapple gun, her heart pounding faster and faster and faster. In a city like this, gunshots were never good.

One man. Mugging a couple, with a child—maybe 9? 7 at the youngest. He had a gun, and his stance was… honestly? Quite poor. He’d shot the man in his shoulder, and the woman was holding him in shock.

Steph swept the mugger’s legs before he could react. Kneed his stomach, and let her foot fall onto his forehead. She heard the gun go off again, but the bullet missed, flying into the distance. He clawed at her, aiming his gun towards her.

“I’ll take that!” Steph told him. “I’d suggest you pretend that you’re asleep. I don’t think you want to see me when I’m actually trying.”

He was shaking. Only a little. Just enough to make Steph feel a little bad, before she remembered who he was, what he would’ve done. She simply threw a pair of handcuffs on him instead and began the work of tying him to a light post.

“Are you guys alright?” she asked the woman. “Besides his wound. Is there anything I can help with?”

The man was leaning on his wife for support, glassy-eyed. The woman was simply staring, phone pressed to her ear but her mouth away from the microphone. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“I’m Batgirl.” The woman just kept staring. “Do you need help getting your husband to a hospital? That bullet looks pretty nasty.”

“No,” she replied almost reflexively. “I’ve called an ambulance. We’ll be alright.”

“That’s good.” Steph kneeled down to the kid’s level. He was staring at her in awe, although Steph could detect some fear mixed in. She intimidated him. Not uncommon with kids, but it still made Steph feel a little bit like a villain. “Are you okay? That was scary, but you’re safe now, I promise.”

He nodded mutely. Steph grabbed a Bat-sticker from her belt. Damian had sketched them. He’d insisted that he hadn’t wanted to, but Steph knew how proud they made him, especially his designs of the Nightwing symbol. She handed it to the kid: just a basic Batgirl purple bat. “You were so brave. This is a reminder that no matter how dark it is, someone will always be there to be the light.”

The ambulance was close. It was already audible. “I’ll be off,” Steph called over her shoulder. “Try to avoid more muggers.” Steph let herself fly into the air, away from families and muggers and police. Back to her world of distance and heroics.

Nobody else had chosen to sit on this roof. Good. She pressed her comms. “Oracle? Spoiler to Oracle. Where’s Batgirl. Why can’t I hear any of you. Are comms back? Do you know what hit me?”

Static. Fucking static. Steph gave it at least a minute, but there was just… nothing. “Babs?” She whispered, her voice quiet. Steph wouldn’t let her voice shake. She didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to feel how alone she was right now. “Anyone?”

They were still down. That was fine. It had to be fine. She would go check the Batcave, and Batman would be there, and he would grunt what was going on to her, and Steph would be okay. She still knew her old route, like the back of her mind. She just had to get there.

It didn’t take long, all things considered, to get to the cave. Steph was fast on her feet, and it was only a short distance from the alley.

Except, it wasn’t the Batcave. It was just an empty cave, complete with a couple of bats in it— the animals, not the vigilantes. She could see where the computer was supposed to go, where she’d trained with Tim, where Bruce would climb down from the manor. None of those things were there. They were supposed to be, but as of right now? This was just the scaffolding of the place she knew.

Steph didn’t think she was hallucinating. If this was her mind warping the world around her, she wouldn’t feel this intense sense of wrongness, would she? In the past, she’d believed the world around her was different, and it had felt real. This looked real, but her brain just wouldn’t believe it.

She closed her eyes. Deep breath in, slow breath out. She’d gotten through worse. She could survive this.

It seemed like she was in the past, or some alternate dimension, or something like that? One where Batman didn’t exist yet, if he existed at all. Which meant the Justice League didn’t exist yet either. She had no way back to her world, assuming she was right, and she had no idea how to even determine if she was right, much less fix this. She could call the JSA, maybe, but she didn’t know who they were, much less if they could help.

She was so fucked.

If she was right, and she was in the past or a different timeline or a different universe, she didn’t exist yet. No birth certificate, no money, no identity, no home. And none of the people she had connections to existed yet either. Who know where or when she was? She wasn’t a hacker, not like Babs or Tim, but she had to do something about this.

In the meantime. Steph was completely, utterly, screwed.

Chapter Text

The rich family above Steph’s squatting spot had finally left. They’d even brought their butler to whatever fancy little event they were attending. This was her opening.

Normally, Steph wouldn’t let herself resort to this. Her dad’s face flashed through her mind, and her heart twisted at the thought that this was the first step towards being like him. She wasn’t like him. She couldn’t be. Maybe this wasn’t ethical of her, but she needed a job, and she couldn’t show up to an interview as Batgirl.

It hadn’t taken long for Steph to Steph to realize that time travel had complicated Steph’s living situation. She’d used a public computer to get a job interview, which hadn’t taken too many tries, but she still needed something to wear and money for groceries and some form of ID so that she legally existed—

And. Well. Steph knew that this family would be okay with a little less, and that she desperately needed a little more. This wasn’t even enough for her to stop sleeping on the cold, hard floor of an empty cave. It was just enough for her to get past the starting line.

Someday, Bruce Wayne would liver here, and someday, the Drakes would be right next door. Steph knew that, but she also knew that just because it would one day be the Wayne manor didn’t mean that Bruce didn’t inherit it later in life, or perhaps buy it from some other filthy rich family. She and Tim had talked about this, and it was just common sense that Bruce had bought his house because it was over a cave as part of his Bat aesthetic, instead of happening to inherit a house that had a perfect base below it. Bruce was definitely famous enough to change the name of the house, and the family here didn’t resemble Bruce’s upbringing. This kid was happy, and he had two living parents, and she’d seen housekeepers besides the butlers. Steph had to check it out, she had to, just to figure out who and what she was dealing with, and to confirm that this wasn’t Bruce. Hell, knowing Gotham, she’d bet that the previous owners had bound demons to the guest rooms or hid human hearts under the floorboards. It was better for everyone if Steph checked the house out! She could solve whatever atrocities the previous owners were up to years before Bruce could, because she wasn’t quite sure if he was even born yet.

It was uncanny how easy it was to get in. The window wasn’t even locked. No house with Bruce in it would have unlocked windows, Steph knew that. Maybe he wasn’t paranoid as a kid or whatever, but she just couldn’t imagine him being that care-free. Even more proof that he didn’t live here. It was all-too-simple to get the window open and twist herself inside. It was barely even tight, and no alarms went off. This was, without a doubt, the easiest house she’d broken into in at least a year.

Her feet touched familiar wooden floors, and she knew before she stepped that they wouldn’t creak. She could feel the weight of the history of this house, like the ghost of some Rich McScrooge was watching over her. Steph didn’t know every room— that was nearly impossible— but she could figure out her general location, and she knew exactly where the master bedroom was.

There were two rooms Bruce never touched. One was his parents’. The other was Jason’s childhood bedroom, the one he hadn’t returned to after returning from the dead and which Bruce was still too sentimental to dust off. Steph had made fun of Bruce for brooding outside of the doors of his parents room, but she did feel bad for him— at least a little. At least, she did until she remembered how he treated her, and then Steph was back to not giving a fuck.

It was easy to fill in the gaps, to see the current manor laid over the relic that she was inside of. It was missing the booby traps, the decorations Bruce had collected during his worldwide training and Justice League missions, the secret hideaways that Steph could always spot the outlines of in the walls, the litter boxes and scattered dog treats for Alfred and Titus, the reinforced chandeliers from when Dick would swing on them, even the hum of a backup generator—and the other backup generator, just in case. It was exactly the same, except for everyone Steph knew and loved.

Everyone who made Steph want to spend any time in this damned house was missing, and nobody else even realized. It made Steph want to light the house on fire.

Steph had made a list of what she’d take, but she was still human. Of course she was a little tempted by the library, but even more so? By the linens closet. Steph knew, she knew, that someone who could afford this house could lose a set of sheets. They might not even notice. Steph also knew how expensive fabric got, and she missed sewing. It wasn’t cheaper to sew her own clothes, but modifying them made her outfits feel like her.

What kept Steph from taking more than a few things was, largely, her fear of this becoming a habit. Once and done was one thing. Desperate times, desperate measures, if they knew they’d understand. But a habit of crime… Steph knew where that path led. She wanted nothing to do with any part of it.

Steph hesitated before opening the door to the master bedroom. The knob was supposed to be covered in a light layer of dust. Nobody was supposed to enter. Steph didn’t care about Bruce’s rules, not after everything, she really didn’t. She had done more invasive things, and she probably would again. It was just that those were Bat things for the Mission, and this was a Steph thing for herself. She was alone, in someone else’s bedroom, seeing their slightly rumpled sheets and the lipstick tube left on the vanity and the family photo right above a child’s drawing of a tree. These were real people. And she was about to take from them.

Fuck.

Steph closed her eyes. Took a breath in. Let it out slowly. Repeat. Desperate times. Desperate measures. She opened a closet, closed that closet, and opened another one. Bingo, she’d found the walk-in. She strolled along the middle sections, avoiding the ends. What hadn’t been worn recently? What didn’t look fancy, but still looked professional? What looked like it lacked sentimental value?

There were two pairs of nice jeans: One dark blue, one light blue with little sunflowers embroidered near the pockets. A light purple blouse, and a black T-shirt. Getting each to fit in her utility belt was difficult, but Babs had done a good job of designing it, and Steph managed to make room in the end. As she left, Steph retraced her steps, turning off the right lights and closing the right doors, before leaving through the same unlocked window in the same guest bedroom. Getting out was just as easy as getting in, and Steph made sure to wipe away any fingerprints she might’ve left.

Steph was good, and it sent chills down her spine knowing that there was no Batman to stop her. Not because she needed him, but because she’d never been so truly on her own. Nobody had just allowed her to trust what she knew was right so freely. As her feet hit the ground, she couldn’t stifle the giggle, the little shot of adrenaline that pumped through her veins. She actually got away with it. Steph may as well have been another ghost, someone who hadn’t entered at all.

She shot her grapple gun at a nearby building: it would someday be Tim’s house, but not yet. He wasn’t even born yet, probably. Steph’s entrance to the Cave was farther away, and the manor and the cave didn’t have any passageways yet, which just gave Steph a good reason to use this as an impromptu patrol.

Steph had been scanning the city for Crime, but she hadn’t expected to actually find any. That was her first mistake.

Gotham existed where it did largely because in its early days, it overlooked a harbor and a river, making it an ideal hub for trading and ships landing ashore. All the best parts of town overlooked waterways. Steph had seen the view on her patrols, and she couldn’t blame the rich people for wanting to live near it. It was gorgeous.

The body in the river didn’t fit the twinkling-river-at-sunset vibe as well as Steph was used to.

Sure, Gotham had bodies in the river pretty often. She was the city of organized crime first, and disorganized crime second. But it was still worth looking into, because someone had probably killed this person, and they’d probably been sloppy.

They’d also done it right next to Steph’s entrance to the cave.

Steph stumbled as she hit the ground, tiptoeing closer and closer to the water’s edge. The man was on his back. It looked like there were impact wounds to his head before death, but his actual cause of death had been asphyxiation.

He looked like a perfectly ordinary guy. Steph couldn’t imagine why he’d been killed. But a conclusion almost never just jumped out at her. She still had her job to do: solve the crime, prevent any more from happening.

There were two things in the pockets: a crumpled up note that Steph would read later, and a little bag of some kind of powder. No phone, no wallet, but whoever had looted the body had chosen to leave a few things.

Interesting.

Maybe Steph didn’t have Bruce’s systems, or Oracle’s databases, she couldn’t start a flicker of excitement from lighting up. Once and for all, she’d prove she was as good as the rest of them, and they wouldn’t be able to deny it this time.