Chapter Text
There are rumours.
Barbara may be back in the field, but old habits die hard, and she was Oracle for longer than she was Batgirl. She has a photographic memory, an eye for patterns, and (while she doesn’t like to fully admit it) a habit of being nosy. She’s been around long enough to know that you keep an eye on the skies and an ear to the ground.
There are rumours — nothing more than whispers, but it’s enough that it reaches the occupants of the Belfry.
The Batman is dead. It took a while for the streets of Gotham to realise this, and longer to fully grasp it. That’s the thing about legends — they persist. It’s not unusual to hear people in the streets claim they saw the Bat, as exaggerated as they’ve always been in their retellings.
But something about these ones feel different, in their mounting numbers and consistent details. A shadow, silent and small, quick and efficient. Nobody’s seen the shadow for longer than a few seconds — only enough time for the criminals to realise they’re under attack before it’s all over.
Barbara’s been pulling double duty for a while now; with the Birds of Prey still needing Oracle in their ranks, with Batgirl needed in the streets now more than ever before. Nobody has dared tell her she’s spreading herself too thin, they’re all far too aware of how hypocritical that would be (Dick tried, once — he regretted it almost instantly).
There’s a shadow running around the streets of Gotham, and it’s not Nightwing or Batgirl or Robin or Red Hood, but they're fighting on the side of justice, helping take down crime, and rescue those less fortunate. They never stop to talk to those they save, never check to see if they're alright. Dispense the threat, then leave.
It’s the same every time. A shadow, silent and small, quick and efficient.
There are rumours, and the more reports that come in, the more Barbara’s interest hones in.
“I just don’t get it,” Barbara says, staring up at her map of the city, pins pushed into several locations. “There’s no pattern, no set area. I can’t figure this out…”
“Wow, the great Barbara Gordon, stumped?” Dick quips, leaning back against the desk. “Stop the presses!”
She sends him a withering stare over her glasses, and he chuckles.
“I’m just teasing, Babs,” he says. “Do you want a fresh set of eyes?”
Barbara drops back into her wheelchair, pushing it backwards to allow Dick to step up to the map.
“Timeframe?”
“The past month,” she replies, “each week is a different colour.”
Not that it even matters — there’s no clear pattern. “If I could work out the times these events are, maybe I could work out where they’re based…”
“If they’re based,” Dick hums. He taps a point in the Bowery. “Blue all seems to start from here, and yellow is all north, heading up towards Robinson Park. It’s almost as if…”
“They’re what, Dick? In a different base each time? How many safehouses do you think they have, spread across the city?”
Dick follows the pins down the most southern appearance — they never seem to stray too close to the Belfry, or the surrounding areas.
“No, no, Jay had safehouses before he… this is different.”
“You’re speaking in riddles. Keep this up, and Nigma’s going to be suing you for copyright infringement.”
“Hey,” Dick warns. He makes a move to shove her shoulder lightly, but she smoothly manoeuvres her chair out of the way.
“Okay, so what we do know is that they’re operating all over Gotham, right? It almost feels as if there’s clusters.”
“But there’s not,” Barbara points out, finger tracing over the pins, the ghost of a route throughout the whole city. “Look, it's almost a long trail…”
Dick nods. “Right. So they're highly mobile — probably using the roofs like we do, though I doubt their tech is as refined as ours. Fire escapes and rooftop accesses, maybe. It’s slower without grapples, but still viable. You’ve seen what the braver freerunners can do.”
Barbara sucks in a breath, letting it squeak between her lips and teeth. “So what does that mean for us?”
“It means that we’ve got someone with no clear homebase to return to.”
“Right…” Barbara huffs, a little miffed that Dick could parse that from a simple glance over her data when she’s been pouring over it for hours.
“So what’s the point of this, anyway?” Dick asks. “Looks like they’re avoiding our frequent locations.”
That was something that Barbara noticed. Even with no pattern to the movements, there’s one constant — they’re carefully keeping distance to the Belfry. Their usual patrol routes are suspiciously clear of any markers, too.
“So they're aware of our presence,” Dick muses, before looking back at Barbara. “Think they know we’re aware of theirs?”
Barbara slowly shakes her head. “It’s hardly what I'd call a presence, is the thing… This is all based on rumours and hearsay.”
“And you got this much from only that?”
“They all keep saying the same things,” Barbara shrugs. “I’m just extrapolating based on that.”
The first whispers are always the easiest to brush off; a trick of the light, a long night without sleep, paranoia leaking into the corners of your eyes. Once is nothing more than that — a whisper. Twice it’s a coincidence (unless Harvey Dent is involved). But after the third time, the fourth, the fifth… that’s when you take notice. Barbara knows to keep her eyes open and her ears to the street. She knows that the strongest rumours are the ones with a grain of truth within.
Dick watches Barbara for a long moment. She deflates, frowning past him at the map again. “They're… this shadow,” she says. “Like when Batman started operating.”
Dick nods, something like understanding crossing his face.
Neither of them were there for the first few years, but Barbara remembers them (she remembers everything) from the outside — her father, complaining about a rumoured vigilante, the way everyone described the same thing: a shape in the dark, fighting on the side of the light. Nobody in the force had proof of their existence, but criminals learnt to fear the shadows more than the searchlights of the police.
“So how do we catch a shadow?” Dick muses, folding his arms as he shifts his weight onto his back foot. “Stakeout?”
“Wouldn’t work, with how mobile they are.”
“Tracking?”
“Too unpredictable. We’re either going to have to rely on chance bringing them into our hands, or lure them in.”
“And you’re already thinking of them as an ally,” Dick notes.
“I’m not sure what I'm thinking of them as,” Barbara sighs. “Clearly they have the same goals as us, but if they’re avoiding us, then… I don’t know, Dick, what if we scare them off?”
“It’s not as if we’re territorial,” Dick says, a tinge of amusement in his voice.
“I know, I know…” Barbara’s eyes flick from pin to pin. “They’re consistent in the amount of distance they’re keeping from the Belfry,” she says. “Maybe we can shift patrols to focus on that radius, just for a little while. Don’t let it draw your attention too much, just keep your eyes and ears open.”
“Right. I’ll let the boys know.”
“Hey,” Barbara reaches out, catching Dick’s hand before he can fully leave. He turns back to face her, and she smiles. “Thanks, Dick.”
His returning grin is bright, dimples in his cheeks showing clearly, the way they have since he was a boy wearing the red, green, and gold. “Anytime, Babs.”
Re: Crossroads
To: Dick Grayson
From: Donna Troy
Hesitation isn’t your style, Dick. You know that the Knights are more than capable of looking after Gotham while you’re gone, I doubt the appearance of this mystery vigilante will change much.
It’s good for you to have time solo in Blüdhaven. Besides, there’s only a short drive between the two cities — I’ve seen how fast you can answer a call, no matter the distance.
The others will have it handled, and I’m just a call away; as are all the Titans. Don’t feel as if you have to do everything alone.
_____
Donna
“I know it doesn’t come at the… best of times,” Dick says, and Jason snorts.
“No shit.” Jason throws himself onto the couch. “We’re already having to adjust patrols to make up for you leaving—”
“It’s not forever,” Dick protests weakly.
“You leaving, or the new routes?” Tim asks. Unlike Jason, there’s no heat in his voice.
While they managed to circumvent a power vacuum and any major shift in Gotham’s dynamics with the disappearance of Batman, Dick can only expect people to excuse his absence from Blüdhaven for so long. It’s a learning curve all over again, trying to work out how to best split his time between the two cities without leaving either of them unprotected.
(It’s a bit of a surprise to find himself floundering from it all when he fell into it so easily before; leading the Titans and spreading his wings solo for the first time, stepping out from Batman’s shadow. Sometimes, it still feels as if he’s under that shadow, as much as he tries to pretend otherwise.)
After everything, Dick’s only just now refinding his footing, regaining balance, and the swirl of whispers is threatening to throw him off all over again.
“We’ll manage perfectly fine,” Alfred says placatingly.
Tim sinks back into the cushions with a heavy sigh. “Yeah… we’ll manage,” he echoes. “I’m just…” He looks to Barbara, brow furrowed. “You’re placing a lot of faith in rumours for this.”
“I know, I’m sorry. But the more I look into this, the more certain I am. At first it was just one or two instances — you know, a stopped robbery here, an interrupted drug deal there — things that didn’t line up with our dealings.”
Dick nods. “I’ve double checked her research. I think Babs is onto something here.”
“So she’s not crazy,” Jason says, and Barbara’s ponytail swings wildly as she whips her head around to look at him.
“You thought I was?”
A scoff. “No.” He throws an arm up, before tossing it over the back of the couch. “You just have a weird thing about needing to be the smartest person in the room at any given moment.”
The corner of Barbara’s mouth curls upwards as she tries to work out whether to be offended or not, and Dick holds back a huff of amusement as he remembers when Batgirl was first brought into the fold — or rather, her insistence that she didn’t need to be, that she was better off independent. She’s mellowed out over the years, of course. They all have; finding how their pieces slot together.
“Would strengthening our patrols even do anything?” Tim questions. “I mean, if you’re so sure that this mystery vigilante exists — and is avoiding us — wouldn’t upping our presence potentially have the opposite effect?”
“Only once they catch on,” Barbara says. “At the start, they wouldn’t know that we’re doing it, right? So there would be a higher chance of encountering them within that perimeter.”
“What makes you so sure about that?” Jason asks.
Dick spins so he’s upside down on the armchair he’s claimed, feet in the air. “Hence why it’s a temporary shift in patrols. Once they work it out, or the pattern changes—”
“The lack of pattern,” Barbara corrects.
“Once the lack of pattern changes into something that resembles a pattern,” Dick amends, and she nods.
Jason looks between the two of them, unamused. “This is worse than when you were dating.”
“You weren’t even alive for that.” Tim points out.
Jason gives him a flat look. “Exactly.” He grimaces, throwing his head back to direct his voice to the ceiling. “For the record, I think this is a dumb idea.”
“Noted,” Barbara replies.
“You’re expecting us to shift to focus more on somewhere when we really should be widening our coverage to fill in the gaps.”
“Which brings us back to the original problem,” Tim pipes up. The longer the conversation goes on, the more prominent his frown gets. “All of this comes right on the heels of Dick heading back to Blüdhaven.”
“It’s hardly the first time,” Alfred points out, ever the voice of reason. “Richard has been lessening his presence in Gotham for months now, and you’ve all proven to be adaptable enough to make up for it.”
“But—”
"But nothing, Tim,” Dick says, “You've shown that you’ve got Gotham under control even without me here. I’m proud of—”
“Don’t get sappy,” Jason interrupts. “For the love of god, don’t.”
Dick holds his hands up in a surrender, which only serves to cause him to slip further down the armchair, head nearly hitting the floor before he hooks his knees and catches himself. Judging by the look Barbara sends him, barely holding back a laugh, she knows exactly what happened, but she doesn’t say anything about it, instead turning to the other boys.
“If there’s any chance of an encounter, I want to take it,” Barbara says. “I truly believe increasing patrols around our home sector will give us a better shot. No chasing, no extra hours, no drawing attention to it. Just a… little extra surveillance.”
Jason takes a long, slow breath. “Fine,” he says, “but don’t expect me to be happy about it.”
“You? Happy? Never.” Tim says, and earns a punch to the shoulder for his troubles.
Barbara’s phone rings, and she pulls it out, glancing at the contact before declining the call and dropping it facedown next to her. Not five seconds later, it starts to ring again.
It’s apparently a casual call — Barbara has ringtones set to tell the difference between what should be a friendly chat and Oracle business — so that doesn’t explain the way it rings for a third time after she dismisses it once more.
Dick raises an eyebrow in silent question, and she mouths ‘Helena’ at him. He nods, shooing her off.
“Hey you,” Barbara answers as she leaves the room. “Clearly you have some hot gossip you can’t wait to share.”
With Barbara’s voice fading as she heads down the stairs out of earshot, Dick turns to Tim and Jason. They shoot him twin warning looks and he huffs, before flipping upright again. “So… conversation over?” he asks.
“I would say so,” Alfred says, getting to his feet. “Now, I know there is plenty that needs to be done in time for these changes to happen. So if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get a headstart.”
“He’s got a point,” Jason says, pulling himself up. “You want us to change up routes? Fine. But I doubt you’ve actually reconfigured them, yet.”
Dick holds back a wince, and Jason shoots him a pointed look before stalking off.
It’s silent in the wake, the last two remaining occupants of the room not speaking for a moment. Tim leans forward, playing with his hands. He glances up at Dick for a second, before ducking his head again.
“It’s not forever,” Dick says quietly.
“You don’t have a set return, this time,” Tim mutters.
“Hey.” Dick moves from his armchair to sit next to Tim on the couch, wrapping an arm around Tim’s shoulders. “Just because I’m not going to be in Gotham full-time doesn’t mean I’ll never be here. Thirty miles isn’t too far — I can be here in a flash. Hell—” he lets out a noise of amusement. “If I call on Wally, literally.”
The corner of Tim’s mouth pulls upwards. “Right,” he says, though he only sounds partially convinced. “Guess I just got used to you being around.”
Dick slowly shifts the arm around Tim’s shoulders so he doesn’t catch on to what’s about to happen, before pulling him into a headlock. Tim yelps and squirms, temporarily forgetting all of his training as Dick noogies him. “I’ve still got a couple weeks before I leave. Can’t be rid of me that easily. ”
“How do you know that these rumours aren’t just about your team?”
“Helena,” Barbara finishes her set of sit-ups, lying back down on the floor to rest. She tips her head to the side to look at her phone, set to speaker. “Are you implying I don’t know my city?”
“Never.”
“That’s what I thought.” Barbara can’t help the grin that makes its way onto her face. “In all seriousness, though — I’ve always had feelers out and about. It’s a good idea to keep track of our work, make sure nothing too incriminating comes up.”
Helena hums. “Especially since the new commissioner came in…”
At the mention of Commissioner Kane, Barbara pulls a face. “Exactly,” she agrees. “I don’t think the GCPD have put any stock in the rumours, though. It’s not the kind of thing they focus on.”
The police have their hands full with the revolving door of Blackgate, focusing more on organised crime than the occasional (frequent) punch-ups on the street. The less people involved, the better their chances of success. Maybe she’s her own loudest hypocrite, pulling the Birds of Prey in when she hasn’t even spoken to Montoya about it.
“So, you’re certain it’s someone new,” Helena says, “and not that girl that’s been cropping up lately?”
“Who—?” It takes Barbara a moment to realise who Helena is talking about. “Oh. No, it isn’t. I’m certain of that — she has no sense of subtlety. But you might just have pointed me in the right direction…”
Rumours
To: <Encrypted Source>
From: <Encrypted Source>
Been hearing some things on the streets that you might be able to help me with. Meet me East side of the Cathedral tonight to discuss?
_____
Encrypted Source
—- next message —-
From: <Encrypted Source>
will be there
_____
Encrypted Source
A lot of kids slip through the cracks in the system in Gotham — orphans, children of disabled parents, those whose family can’t (won’t) care for them anymore, or have parents in prison. A lot of them end up as just another statistic; missing persons reports and expulsion papers, another face in juvie.
The luckier ones break the cycle, and the Watch provides the perfect opportunity for that.
If there’s anything Barbara is proud of, it's how much the network has grown over the years. The Watch has built up from simply being a crime report system to being a citywide support organisation, new connections forming all the time. Being able to help the Knights and volunteering to keep an eye out in their neighbourhoods makes people feel as if they're making a difference out there, and sometimes that’s all a kid needs to be able to keep afloat.
Her informant is one of those kids. Batgirl balances on top of an arch, peering down at the figure below her, leaning against the wall and wrapped in the shadows. Despite it being one of the more dangerous times to be out and about in the city, she looks almost comfortable waiting all by herself.
Despite her father being a small-time rogue (and he does deserve the rogue status, he’s got a gimmick and everything!) her own record is clean. She’s been a big help, joining the Watch and giving the Knights information on any of their leads, helping keep the streets even just a tiny bit safer.
But the Watch wasn’t enough for her — she’s been operating as a vigilante for a few months now, and while they need all the help they can get, she doesn’t have the equipment or training the rest of them have.
(“Then train me.”
“No.”)
Without Batman, the protection they can provide to the city is less than ideal, and despite — or rather, in spite of warnings that Batgirl or the other Knights have given, she continues to appear on the streets of Gotham in costume.
“Spoiler.” Batgirl drops down to street level.
Stephanie Brown straightens up, pulling her mask over her mouth.
“Batgirl.”
“I need info,” Batgirl says, and Spoiler rolls her eyes so hard her entire head and shoulders move with it.
“Uh, duh? Why else would you call me to meet up?”
Batgirl doesn’t rise to the bait. “There are rumours,” she says. “I’ve been hearing all over the city of another vigilante starting to take down crims. They’re avoiding the Knights. I hate to say it but… you’re unaffiliated with us. Have you come across them?”
“Maybe I have…” Spoiler says. “My memory might need a… light jog.” She holds out a hand, and Batgirl gives her a flat stare. “I’m joking, jeez!”
Spoiler shifts her weight to one side, planting a hand on her hip. “I ran into her last week. Was helping a girl get home safe after her shift at the club ended, we got jumped, she jumped them. It was kinda hot—”
“Spoiler.”
“What!”
Batgirl sighs. “Continue.”
“Girl. Black hair, about chin length,” Spoiler says, all humour leaving her posture. “She was a little shorter than me, maybe? Hard to tell, she moved quick. Almost superhuman, if you ask me.”
Batgirl frowns. “Did you get a good look at her face?”
Spoiler shakes her head, blonde curls bouncing. “Sorry.”
Disappointing, but not entirely surprising. Batgirl hums. “So then what makes you so sure she’s a girl?”
A shrug. “I’m not,” Spoiler says. “It’s just… intuition?”
Barbara knows more than anybody to trust gut feelings. They’re often right, more so than any level of deep analysis. Instinct is a powerful skill to have on your side, and Bruce emphasised its importance on more than one occasion. Things that felt like instinct were often built on subconscious intuition, pulled from prior knowledge. Spoiler may be less experienced, but that doesn’t mean she shouldn’t be trusted. If she thinks this shadow is a girl, then Barbara has little choice but to believe her until any further evidence suggests otherwise.
“Was that your only encounter?”
“Personally? Yes. My mother treated a couple guys a few nights ago who said that someone came at them from out of the shadows with no warning, and at the time I thought it must’ve been one of you guys but now that I think about it, usually people know who beat them up. Mom’s heard so many people groan about Robin, and I’ve never heard someone not complain about the one that got ‘em — that is, unless they’re embarrassed that a teenager beat them.”
Spoiler speaks a mile a minute, each word somehow giving less information than the last. “So yeah, maybe it was just them being butthurt about Robin taking them down, but with this new kid in town maybe they really didn’t know who it was—”
Batgirl holds up a hand and thankfully, Spoiler stops talking. “Stay on topic. Anything else? Did she speak to you at all?”
That causes Spoiler to give another shake of the head. “Didn’t say a thing, just shoved the would-be assaulter into a wall hard enough to knock them out and left again.”
Overall it’s not a lot of information, but it's more than she had before this conversation, and being able to confirm the rumours as something more concrete than hearsay is a win.
“Thanks for this, Spoiler,” Batgirl says. “You’ve been a big help.”
“So can I—”
“No costumed criminals,” Batgirl interrupts firmly. “Chasing off the occasional thug with a knife does not mean you’re ready for the big leagues.”
Spoiler shrugs, and even with the mask over her mouth, Batgirl can see her grin. “Eh, couldn’t hurt to try.”