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Steph and Jason can only stare at the myriad of plans, filling up multiple monitors, all of them excruciatingly detailed. All of them with one single purpose, one single goal: to kill Captain Boomerang. Not just a contingency, not to incapacitate, but straight up murder. All penned by one grieving Timothy Drake. Who is still hunched over the keyboard, typing up even more plans.
“Dee?” Jason’s voice tries for lightness, but fails against the intensity of the situation. “I don’t think the batcomputer should be used for murder plans.”
Tim ignores him as he continues to type out a plan in a flurry of keystrokes, this specific plan focuses on making it all look like an accident.
“Um,” Steph starts, leaning towards Jason. “Should we be concerned...?”
“Of what? Of his mental health or the fact that he’s gonna actually implement one of them?”
“...Both?”
They watch as Tim pulls up a 3D blueprint of the hospital Captain Boomerang is in, zooming into his specific room.
“Probably not...?”
They continue to watch as Tim drags a shockingly realistic model of Captain Boomerang across the screen and plants it on a hospital bed. He then starts to simulate it being flung out the window, taking multiple screenshots of the ‘corpse’ on the pavement and saving them in a folder—which was full of even more photos of Captain Boomerang’s simulated cadaver—when Jason steps forward, spinning Tim’s chair around in a single motion.
“Donnie. You gotta stop.”
Tim blinks up, startled back into reality for just a moment. He tries to swivel back, but Jason keeps him faced forward.
“This can’t be healthy for you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tim snaps. “Let me wait for you to experience what it’s like for your dad to get killed by a mercenary who botched the job so bad he almost got killed by his own target, and if it weren’t for the target’s son who showed up just in time to save him—the man who killed his father, by the way!—then we’ll talk what’s a healthy way to cope or not.”
Tim’s breath is shallow and fast as silence fills the Cave. “Sorry,” he says after a beat.
Jason releases the chair, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Look, Dee, I know this is rough, and you’re right, I don’t know what you’re going through, but plotting murder against a comatose guy isn’t gonna help, you know that, right?”
“It’s helping me plenty,” Tim argues flatly.
Jason points at one of the screens. “Some of these plans have you breaking into Belle Reeve to finish the job in case he wakes up. That's bonkers.”
Tim grunts and turns back to the keyboard.
“I’m just gonna ask,” Steph interjects, “What was the point of saving him if you’re gonna kill him anyway?”
“No one would assume Donatello killed him if he was the one who saved him in the first place,” Tim replies automatically. He pauses, hands hovering over the keyboard. “I’m not actually going to kill him, by the way. This is just... cathartic.”
“Still,” Steph says, shifting on her feet. “Why did you do it?”
“...Because it was the right thing to do,” Tim finally replies. “Leo stopped me from killing for a reason. I don’t want to... I don’t want it to be for nothing.”
“But it’s not the same,” Steph insists. “You letting him bleed out isn’t the same as decapitating him with a sword.”
“But I saw the solution,” Tim answers. “I saw how to staunch the blood, how to help him stay alive. It was too late for my dad, but it wasn’t for—letting him bleed out would have been the same as killing him.”
Before Steph can protest, a new voice cuts through the room.
“What the hell is this!?”
Everyone looks towards the sound. Dick is standing only a few feet away from them, face raw with shock as he glares at the screens. Curse the stupid Hamato and their stupid ninja footsteps.
“Sewer apples,” Tim mutters under his breath, scrambling to close windows but it’s too late. Dick surges forward quickly, clamping his hands around Tim’s wrists and the Cave goes quiet—no one moves, because everyone knows it’s over.
There’s a shouting match. Tim grieves, cries, and Dick hugs him, carding his fingers through his brother’s hair. Truths are revealed, and it’s bad enough that Tim agrees to go to therapy to deal with this new upheaval in his life. The plans are deleted but Steph figures Tim has a copy of them somewhere else, for a rainy day or whatever he wants to do with them.
Time moves on, and Steph doesn’t think about that day for a while. Not until one day, where she and Jason are sitting on the couch, watching a movie together. Steph is leaning against Jason, shoulders pressed together, a bowl of popcorn between them.
“I think I’m a bad person,” she blurts out, because she can’t hold it in anymore.
Jason chews a mouthful of popcorn, glances at her, and says with his mouth full, “You’re not a bad person.”
She gets up to look at him. “I think I am.”
He shoves her face aside so he can see the screen. “No bad person dresses up in armored tights and fights crime on the near-daily, Steph.”
Steph lets the momentum carry her and lands on a nearby pillow. She stares at the ceiling and then confesses, “I still want Tim’s answer.”
“What?” Jason asks.
She sighs and sits back up. “You know how we’re in this... situationship now? Because Tim is Donnie and I’m Casey?”
“Yeah?” Jason says. “Wait—you guys still haven’t figured it out?”
“We haven’t!” she snaps, throwing her hands up. “I asked him if he still likes me and he hasn’t answered.” She pouts. “I’ve been waiting for so long. But things keep popping up! First my dad, then your mom, then his mom, then Black Mask, and now his dad. I’ve been trying to be patient, I really have, but—is it so difficult for him to give me an answer!?”
“Don’t call her that.”
“Shit, sorry,” she apologizes.
Jason nods. “But you’re right. It’s kinda shitty of him to string you along like that.”
“He’s not stringing me along,” Steph objects. “I’m not being strung anywhere. I just want a concrete answer, you know?”
Jason shrugs. They both drift back into watching the movie, neither of them actually following it. “You want me to beat him up?”
Steph snorts. “Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t think that’ll help.” She exhales, harder this time.
“It’ll probably help you feel better.”
“Probably.”
Jason doesn’t even glance away from the TV when he asks, “Why do you want an answer so bad, anyway?”
Steph groans. “Why else? So I’ll know if I can, like, like if I can move on or not! There’s so many cute guys and girls everywhere, and I don’t want to, y’know, get into a relationship with one of them and then have Tim suddenly say he likes me back. Because then what do I do? That’s not fair! And I’ll probably break up with them for him because... because...”
“Because you still like him,” Jason supplies flatly.
“Yes!” Steph blurts, smacking her face into her hands. Her voice muffles against her palms. “It’s so embarrassing, Jay. We’re risking our lives every night and I keep wondering if Tim still wants to make out or hold hands and stuff!” She lifts up her head. “But I have needs! He’s depriving me of my needs, Jay!”
She dramatically wails as she leans onto Jason, hands on her forehead like a fainting Victorian noblewoman and he’s the chaise.
“Then sue him for emotional negligence,” Jason snarks, pushing her off because her sharp elbows are digging into his skin.
“Bold of you to assume I have the money,” she easily plays along.
“Then borrow some of Bruce’s. Better yet, take Tim’s and use his own money against him, I’d pay to see that happen.”
Steph lets out a small laugh, imagining the scenario and Tim’s baffled reaction. Jason always knew how to make her feel better, no matter the situation. It’s actually pretty bogus that she likes his brother instead. “Why couldn’t I have fallen for you instead?”
The air shifts as she says the words aloud, and she can feel Jason stiffen as he inhales.
“Case?” he asks, voice soft. There’s a question in the air, a curiosity that they’re both feeling. It couldn’t be... could it?
Before she knows it, she’s moving, and he shifts easily to let them settle into a new position. She’s in his lap, her arms around his shoulders, eyes locked on his lips. His hands are on her waist, like it’s natural. He lets her lean in and their lips touch, salty and buttery from the popcorn. An immediate tingling sensation dances against her skin.
Steph doesn’t know how long it’s been before they finally pull apart from each other.
“Wow...” she says, in a state of disbelief.
“That was...” he starts.
“So bad,” she finishes.
“Weird,” he states at the same time.
They blink, both equally shocked at the turn of events.
And then a raucous laughter erupts from the both of them. Steph throws her head back to laugh with her whole chest as Jason presses his head against her clavicle, shoulders heaving heavily as he’s lost in his own mirth. She gets off of him as her sides begin to hurt and he wheezes like a chew toy.
Her laughter finally dies down in a drawn out exhale. “Welp.”
“Now we know,” Jason assesses, coming down from his own high.
“Now we know,” she agrees.
The credits are rolling now, the text scrolling lazily by, but neither move to stop the movie, letting it play out.
“I think I’m aro,” he confesses during the mid-credit cutscene. “Maybe ace, too. Maybe not. But definitely aro.”
“Oh. Dope.”
“You’re the first person to know.”
“That’s rad, man, thanks for telling me. How’d you figure?”
“Raph had so many crushes growing up. This time around? Nada.”
“You did? Coulda fooled me.” But then again, she remembers how easily Raph had fallen in love with Mona. At first sight, too. Okay, yeah, that makes sense now that she thought about it. She can see it now.
“Well, everyone gets little celeb crushes now and then, you know?”
“Ohh, yeah, gotcha gotcha. Who on?”
“Nice try.”
“Welp.”
Silence.
“I thought if anybody was gonna flip the switch, it’d be the person I liked the most outside of my family, you know?” Jason says, as if this was a universal experience. “But it felt so weird, the kiss I mean. Not bad, just odd—and not just because it was you. I’ve kissed others I thought I liked before, too. Same thing.”
“Oh. Cool. Congrats, then?” She offers her fist.
He takes it, bumping their knuckles together. “Thanks.”
Another beat.
“I think I would have liked that kiss better if you were a turtle.”
He sits up straighter, knocking their knees together. “Excuse me?”
“What? Is it so hard to believe I thought you were cuter as a turtle? But man, your shitty turtle luck rubbing off on us innocent bystanders, eh?” she continues, not clarifying anything in the least bit. “First you were with Mona and now we have incompatible sexualities.” Steph then pats him consolingly on the shoulder. “Maybe next time.”
“Next time!?”
“Yeah, like next reincarnation. If we ever meet—or even get reincarnated, for the matter.” She checks her phone. “Oh! I gotta register for my dual enrollment classes.”
Steph then leans over to grab her laptop out of her bookbag, turning it on to an already opened page of the college portal. She begins to log in with her credentials, completely unaware that Jason’s mind is still reeling, struggling to process the bombshell she had just dropped on him.
For the next few days, Steph notices a difference in how Jason acted around her. He’s slipping out of her arms when she leans on him, ducking her hugs with an awkward half-laugh, brushing off her attempts to hang off his shoulder. He still jokes, still talks, still sits next to her—but there’s a deliberate distance between them now.
After a week of it, she’s done pretending not to notice.
So when she catches him in the hallway, she plants both palms against the wall on either side of him, caging him in.
Jason freezes. “What are you—”
“Why have you been avoiding me?” she demands.
“I’m not avoiding you,” he replies too quickly.
Steph narrows her eyes. “Don’t lie. You’ve been weird with hugs lately, weird every time we’re alone, and you’re always ‘busy’ when I ask to hang out. So spill, what gives, dude?”
Jason breaks eye contact, glancing off to the side. “Alright, alright,” he mutters. “Can you, like, stop kabedonning me and let me go first?”
Steph blinks, slightly amused at the word choice. She lowers her arms and takes a step back, crossing them over her chest.
Jason exhales, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand while the other folds across his body. “Sorry. It’s just been weird.”
“It’s only weird because you’re making it weird,” Steph points out.
His shoulders hunch tighter in a shrug. He twists his wrist to hold his palm out. “I don’t know—how can you just pretend everything’s normal after we kissed?”
“Ah-ha! So it is about the kiss!” Steph exclaims, jabbing a finger at him. She inclines her head, letting the gears turn before re-crossing her arms, putting weight on one hip. “And why shouldn’t we be normal? I thought we both agreed it was mid and neither of us felt anything.” She squints. “Unless you were lying?”
Jason crosses his arms defensively. “I wasn’t lying—it’s just—we shouldn’t have kissed. Like, in the first place. I shouldn’t have let it happen.”
Steph frowns. “Why are you taking the blame for this? We both kissed each other, Jay. You’re making it sound like you took advantage of me or something.”
“Because I kind of was?” Jason says, voice rough. “You were feeling emotionally low, and I just... let it happen, despite knowing how you were feeling. And how am I supposed to look Tim in the face knowing that—”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Steph cuts him off, her hands coming up in disbelief. “Is that what’s got your boxers in a twist? Because you feel awkward kissing your brother’s maybe-girlfriend-maybe-ex?”
Jason blinks. “Yeah? I mean... wouldn’t you? It’s—kinda scummy, isn’t it? Kissing your bro’s partner? Whether you two are together or not? Especially since, you know, you kinda admitted you used to like me, too?”
Steph stares at him, then bursts out laughing. “Now hold on, I never said I used to like you. I just said I thought you were cute.”
“You said you would have liked the kiss better if I was a turtle.”
“Yeah? I mean. I guess? Maybe?” She waves her hand dismissively. “Honestly, I thought all you guys were cute.”
Jason lets out a strangled noise.
“What? You were! Plus I said that after we kissed, so it’s not like you used that information to make me kiss you or anything. We thought we had a moment. Until we didn’t.” She punches him on the arm, relishing in the wince. “But oh my god, Jason, really? That was it? I thought you were acting weird because you felt bad about being the rebound or something, and I was gonna have to hype you back up and coddle you into remembering you’re still my best friend!”
“Coddling?”
She then slowly extends her hand. Jason, fortunately, takes her hand in his. “You know that right? That you’ll always be my best friend?”
Jason wordlessly nods before his eyes widens for a fraction of a second. He puts his free hand on his mouth. “Oh my god,” he mutters, half to himself, “I kissed Casey Jones.”
“Really?” Steph groans. “Tim had the same reaction. God, you two really are brothers, no DNA needed or required.”
Jason frowns, as if he’s about to protest but Steph barrels on. “Is this gonna be a thing now? Like you being weird around Tim forever just because you two kissed the same person?” She suddenly gasps, a perfect idea forming in her head. “Wait, I know how to fix this!”
Jason’s brows furrow even deeper as she drags him down the hall and into the media room. Dick and Damian are sitting on the couch, locked in an intense Smash Bros. match. Tim’s in a separate armchair, typing away on his laptop—probably working on something boring, like a spreadsheet—but that doesn’t really matter to her right now.
“Good, you’re all here,” Steph says with a grin.
Jason pries his wrist from her grasp and she lets go. He starts to massage it, continuing to look at her with complete incredulity.
“Um,” Dick says, half looking at her, half keeping his character from getting pummeled, “hi, Steph?”
Steph flourishes a hand dramatically. “‘Tis I,” she declares, “the Hamato Kisser!”
Dick lets out a strangled noise, his character flying straight off the map. Damian’s head jerks up, wide-eyed. Tim looks over, already wearing his trademark ‘what is she up to now?’ face.
Undeterred, Steph continues, “—is formally resigning from my position! No longer shall a Hamato feel the presence of my lips upon theirs—”
She doesn’t get to finish, because Jason has immediately wrapped his arms around her waist and she is suplexed straight onto the carpet.
“What the hell, Jason!?” Dick yells, scrambling up from the couch.
Jason is red-faced from the tip of his ears to down his neck as he gets up from underneath the suplex. He frantically looks from her to Tim to Dick. He points to Steph. “Either help me or look away because it’s gonna get messy!”
“What the hell are you talking about!?”
As Jason tries to lunge at Steph again, Dick springs into motion to keep the rabid suplexer off his victim.
Damian slides down from the sofa to check up on Steph, poking at her. “You alright?”
Steph’s fine. She’s on her back, limbs sprawled out like a starfish. “Ow.”
“If this is about Jason and Steph kissing, I already know,” Tim says from his chair, taking a sip from his juice box.
Everyone freezes, staring at Tim.
Dick, already locked into a game of Mercy with Jason, is the first to react. “You did what!?” he squawks. Almost like an actual bird. He turns to his brother. “Jason, how could you!?” he berates as he twists Jason’s hands further and further into an unnatural position.
Jason stammers. “We thought we were having a moment and—ow, ow, ow—mercy! Mercy!”
Dick lets go, and Jason collapses onto the ground, rubbing his wrists for the second time that day.
Damian, meanwhile, pokes at Steph’s arm again. “Is that true?”
“Yeah.” Steph sighs, rolling her eyes back to look at an upside-down Tim. “Although I have no idea how Tim found out.”
“I have my ways,” Tim says ominously. “I have to say, though, Raph—you couldn’t have done me this solid when we were turtles? Hm?”
“What the hell does that mean?” Jason asks.
“You know. If you two had dated we could have avoided the whole...” he trails off, waggling his fingers dismissively, a corner of his lip pulling up in disgust, “love triangle thing.”
Jason snorts. “Oh please, me dating Case wouldn’t have helped you with April in the least bit with what you were working with.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Damian pouts as he pokes Steph again. “You’re not even a full Hamato Kisser. You never kissed me.”
“Well, it’s too late now, because I retired,” Steph says solemnly.
“That’s kind of not fair.”
Steph sits up and plants a quick kiss on his cheek. “There. Happy?”
Damian’s face lights up. He turns toward Dick expectantly.
“Don’t you dare,” Dick blurts, rushing to hide behind Tim’s chair.
“Wow. So ‘Fearless,’” Jason mocks, immediately taking the opportunity to needle his brother, even if he’s in the middle of an argument with another one.
Steph smirks. “You don’t know what we did when he was a turtle.”
Everyone’s heads whip toward Dick.
“I—what? No! Nothing happened!” he denies vehemently.
Everyone’s voices are layered over each other as the volume increases. Tim is actually on his knees, laptop fallen off his lap and forgotten, turned around and grabbing Dick by the shirt. “You and Casey!? You and Casey!?”
Dick is holding Tim back by his wrists. “Me and Casey nothing! She’s lying! Let me go!”
“Bro! You and my best bro?” Jason asks.
“I thought we told each other everything!” Damian bemoans.
“I’m telling you guys, nothing ever happened between me and Casey!”
Steph, in turn, finally gets up to dust herself off and heads out the room. She’s done her job, informing the former Hamatos she’s no longer going to be kissing them, past, present, or future, putting the whole situation to rest.
She’s only a little bit bummed that she basically had to officially break up with Tim for good. But he’s had plenty of chances, and she’s tired of waiting. Plus, it wouldn’t be worth it if Jason’s gonna be weird about it the entire time, so she might as well be the one to pull the plug.
The whole ‘Hamato Kisser’ fiasco fades into a distant memory for a long time and life moves on. One winter’s day, an earthquake ravages Gotham, sending the already tenuous peace of the city into indescribable chaos. Not only that, but a man-made virus threatens to wipe out the people, if the aftermath of the natural disaster didn’t get to them first.
Federal aid does not come. The US government cuts their losses and leaves Gotham to fend for themselves.
The Bats are left to clean up the mess. New players have joined them, increasing their numbers, but some are incapacitated. Donatello is one of the ones that have been downed, inflicted with the new disease, and the clock continues to count down.
Which brings them to the present day, where the docks smell of smoke and ice.
Dick is trading blows with Mr. Freeze, though trading blows might be generous, because it’s more of the Boy Wonder trying to talk while dodging cryo-blasts on precarious scaffolding. And he’s already nursing an injured arm.
“Victor, listen!” Dick calls out. His cape is half-frozen at the edges, his shoulder dragging. “We’re not enemies here! You want to save lives—I want the same thing! Help me cryo-freeze the infected! It’ll buy us time—”
“And I say I will gladly help,” Freeze snarls. “If you just let me take care of that incessant little bug.”
“I’m not going to let you kill Firefly.”
Firefly and Freeze. The two have locked themselves in a turf war even since it was announced Gotham was no longer a part of the United States. Fire versus ice. So many are stuck in the crossfire. The Bats have tried to mitigate the damage. But they needed Freeze’s help. They were prepared to strike up deals, handle negotiations.
But they don’t deal with people’s lives.
“Then it appears we are at an impasse, boy.” Freeze’s cannon charges with a high-pitched whine.
Steph is too far away to get there in time. But she tries, my god does she try, grappling towards them. She is forced to watch the whole thing unravel, the distance too vast for her to interfere.
“Robin!” she shouts, but it’s drowned out by the blast.
The first shot hits him square in the faceplate, cracking it clean through the domino mask. The second strikes his good shoulder, spinning him halfway around. The third slams into his chest, and that’s enough to send him tumbling backward.
“No!”
He scrambles for his grapple—but his arm’s locked up from the frost, and the other’s already useless.
He falls, plunging towards the freezing waters below. Steph is already on the ground, sprinting towards the dock’s edge, where water meets concrete pillars.
“Leo!” She dives into the icy water the same time he hits it. The water is muddy and churning with oil and debris. She can’t see anything—only feel the burn of cold biting through her suit. It’s insulated for rooftop stakeouts, not submersion. The chill seeps through fast, numbing her limbs.
She breaks the surface for a single breath. “Oracle, I need coordinates!”
The comm crackles. “Got you. He’s four meters east, seven down. Angle thirty-two degrees—hurry.”
Steph dives again, kicking hard, lungs tightening under the pressure. But she sees him, she finally sees him, spotting the flash of yellow beneath the dark. She reaches him. Yanks him at first by his cape until he’s in her arms, and drags him to the surface.
With one arm, she crawls her way onto the docks, her limbs burning. She pulls him up as best as she can. Her treatment of his body is rough, her fingers will probably leave behind bruises, but she can’t exactly afford to be gentle right now.
His body is finally out of the water and she collapses, chest heaving from exertion. She only allows herself a second of rest before she rolls out from underneath Dick and kneels beside him. Her teeth are chattering at this point, but she manages to successfully check his pulse. There’s a heartbeat, but he’s not breathing.
She moves automatically, muscle memory taking over, lacing her gloved hands and presses them over his sternum. After 30 rhythmic compressions, she pauses long enough to tilt his head back, sealing her lips over his and breathes. Once. Twice.
30 chest compressions. Two breaths. 30 chest compressions. Two breaths. 30 chest compressions—
Water gurgles from his throat as his body jerks. He rolls onto his side, hacking up water, choking between ragged gasps.
Steph sits back on her heels. “Oh thank god...” she lets out in a shaky laugh, her shoulders sagging with relief.
She looks down at her hands, shaking from both the cold and the adrenaline, the reality of what she had done finally clicking into place. “Oh no. I did it again. The Hamato Kisser strikes once more...”
“...What?” Oracle’s confused voice comes through at the same time that Dick groans, who looks like he has finally finished coughing up half his lungs.
Steph clenches a fist against her chest, closing her eyes in a prayer. “It is my duty. My curse. My responsibility,” she laments. “Heavy is the burden that bears the title of the Hamato Kisser.”
“Steph,” Dick rasps, with water no doubt still burning the back of his nose, “please... just push me back in.”
“...So is it too late to tell you that CPR doesn’t need the rescue breaths?”
Steph opens her eyes. “It doesn’t?”
Dick lets out another groan.