Chapter Text
Jack Denis had always assumed he would die in office.
He just hadn't expected it to be quite so undramatic.
There was a particular kind of silence that came with poison. Not dramatic, not theatrical, no foaming at the mouth or villainous laughter echoing in the distance. Just a quiet, creeping certainty that something inside you had gone terribly, irreversibly wrong.
"Well," he muttered to himself, dabbing at his nose with a handkerchief that had cost more than his first car, "I am fucked."
Across Gotham, people got mugged, stabbed, electrocuted, fear-toxined, Joker-gassed, and occasionally turned into plants. Most developed either an immunity or a complete refusal to acknowledge it as unusual. It was a civic adaptation. A survival mechanism.
Jack Denis, unfortunately, had spent most of his career behind a desk.
Which meant when he got poisoned, properly poisoned, his body reacted like a man who had never once built up Gotham's unofficial tolerance. Getting to the hospital would only prolong the pain most likely.
His vision blurred.
He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling of his office the Mayor's office, technically, though he still sometimes expected someone more important to walk in and tell him to vacate it.
He was just the deputy mayor a few months ago, then became mayor almost by accident.
His predecessor had been dragged out in cuffs during that whole League of Assassins invasion. Jack had inherited the position the way one inherited a cursed object: suddenly, unwillingly, and with far too many consequences attached.
"I had plans," Jack said aloud.
No one answered. The room felt very large.
He did have plans. Infrastructure reform. Anti-corruption initiatives. A budget that didn't mysteriously reroute half its funds into "miscellaneous urban theatrics." He'd even gotten three city council members to agree on something without blackmail or bribery. Hell he got the Goonion to the table during the whole Riddler Robot thing...
That alone should've tipped him off that he wasn't long for this world.
Another wave hit him. Sharper this time.
He doubled over his desk, coughing, and then he puked.
"Oh, that's a lot of blood," he observed, as it splattered neatly across a stack of unsigned documents. Jack blinked down at it. "…And definitely fatal."
He sat there for a moment, breathing shallowly, mind racing not with panic, but with irritation.
They'd gotten him.
Of course, they had. But who? Organized crime? Corrupt officials? The Court of Owls? Another secret society? A particularly vindictive zoning committee? Well it hardly mattered. Gotham didn't lack for people who wanted reform-minded mayors dead.
"Fine," Jack said hoarsely. "Fine."
If he was going to die, he was at least going to be inconvenient about it.
He reached for his phone.
If Batman had taught Gotham anything, and Jack had learned a lot from watching that man dismantle entire criminal networks between breakfast and lunch, it was that information mattered.
Clues mattered.
And if Jack Denis couldn't survive, he could at least make sure someone else made his killers regret it.
He began typing.
Slowly, carefully, deliberately.
A message here. A forwarded document, there. A cryptic note embedded in the budget files. He tagged inconsistencies, highlighted suspicious transfers, and flagged names that shouldn't have appeared where they did.
A trail.
A very obvious trail, by Batman standards.
"Come on," Jack muttered. "You solve riddles from a man in green spandex. This should be easy."
His vision swam again. He blinked hard, refocused.
There was one more thing he could do.
One last, beautiful, catastrophic idea.
Jack froze mid-motion.
Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face.
"Oh," he whispered. "Oh, that's perfect."
If they wanted him gone because he was fixing Gotham.
Then whoever replaced him would undo everything.
Unless…
Jack turned to his computer with renewed determination, fingers trembling as he pulled up a file he had hoped never to use:
Emergency Deputy Mayor Selection Protocol.
A legal nightmare. A bureaucratic failsafe. A clause buried so deep in Gotham's governance that even most lawyers pretended it didn't exist.
In the event of a mayor's immenent incapacitation or demise, the acting mayor could appoint a successor outside of Deputy Mayor, immediately, unilaterally and, most importantly, irreversibly.
Jack cracked his knuckles.
"Let's see," he murmured, opening a search bar. "Who do I know in Gotham who absolutely cannot be controlled…"
He typed:
Gotham Batfamily members who could be mayors.
A list appeared.
Jack squinted at it.
"Right. Of course, there's a list."
He scrolled.
"Batman… no. Definitely not. Murder accusations, public image issues, the whole 'brooding symbol of fear' thing and the Vigilante Act only covers so much. Plus he is needed on the streets."
Scroll.
"Robin, Robin, multiple Robins. Why are there multiple, oh never mind. Most are retired. The one who isn´t is too young. Probably. Hopefully."
Scroll.
"Red Robin…hm. Tempting. But he's off with Titans? Young Justice? Some kind of youth extracurricular violence club. Too busy to be a mayor."
Scroll.
"The Batgirl with red hair...isn´t she dead? Or retired? Moving on."
Scroll.
"Signal. Also young."
Scroll.
"Red Hood-" Jack physically recoiled. "No. Absolutely not. I'm dying, not insane."
Scroll.
"Orphan could work. Silent, though which isn´t a bad thing for a cabinet member but will be for a mayor. Plus would be difficult in press conferences."
He paused.
Scrolled past Batwoman for the fact she had a confirmed body count. He also ignored Nightwing.
And then he found her.
"Oh."
Jack leaned closer to the screen.
Spoiler.
He read the short description.
Talkative. Chaotic. Frequently underestimated. Resourceful. Persistent.
"…and," Jack said slowly, "almost certainly over eighteen."
He considered it.
Then he started laughing.
It hurt. A lot. He coughed halfway through, more blood hitting the desk but he couldn't stop.
"Perfect," he wheezed. "Absolutely perfect."
Gotham would have its first vigilante mayor.
And it would not be Batman.
Not one of the terrifying ones.
But someone unpredictable. Someone who would not play along.
Someone who would absolutely ruin the day of whoever thought killing Jack Denis was a good idea.
"Congratulations," Jack said to the empty room, fingers flying across the keyboard. "You've just been outmaneuvered by a dying politician."
He selected the name.
Spoiler.
He hit confirm.
APPOINTMENT ACCEPTED.
TRANSMISSION IN PROGRESS.
"Beautiful," Jack whispered.
Citywide alerts began.
Government channels got a message that joined the pile of unread ones.
Press networks got sent the emails.
Every official communication system lit up at once.
The message was simple.
By emergency authority, the office of Mayor of Gotham is hereby transferred to the vigelante known as The Spoiler, Batgirl III and Robin IV. Effective immediately.
Jack leaned back.
Mostly satisfied.
"I wish," he said faintly, "I could see their faces."
Another wave hit him.
This one didn't pass.
He slumped forward, vision fading, the world narrowing to a pinpoint.
"…worth it," he managed.
Then Jack Denis, a would be reformer, accidental mayor, and posthumous hero, died face-first on his desk.
Across Gotham, phones buzzed.
Screens lit up.
Confusion spread like wildfire.
In Wayne Manor, Stephanie Brown was halfway through stealing snacks from the kitchen when her phone chimed.
She glanced at it.
NEWS ALERT: VIGILANTE "SPOILER" APPOINTED MAYOR OF GOTHAM
Paused.
Looked closer.
"…no," she said.
She read it again.
"…no."
A third time.
"…no."
The bag of chips slipped from her hand as the full, horrifying weight of the situation settled in.
"NO."
Moments later, she was in the guest bedroom, door locked, lights off, phone face-down on the floor like it had personally betrayed her.
"This is a nightmare," she informed the ceiling. "I am asleep. This is stress. Or fear toxin. Or I ate something weird."
Her phone buzzed again.
And again.
And again.
Stephanie grabbed a pillow and shoved it over her head.
"I refuse," she declared. "I refuse to be the mayor. That is not a thing I am doing. I didn't even sign up for student council."
Another buzz.
She peeked at the phone.
Stephanie screamed into the pillow.
On the Watchtower, Batman was reviewing surveillance data when his comm chimed.
He glanced at the incoming alert.
Read it.
Paused.
Read it again.
For a brief, unprecedented moment, the Dark Knight of Gotham, the man who had faced gods, monsters, and the IRS, simply… shut down.
"…no," he said.
Then, without further ceremony, Batman passed out.
Superman caught him mid-collapse.
Back in Gotham, the city reacted exactly as one might expect.
Which is to say:
Poorly.
Criminal organizations scrambled.
Politicians panicked.
News anchors tried and failed to maintain composure.
And somewhere, in a locked bedroom in Wayne Manor, Gotham's newest mayor considered faking her own death.
Meanwhile, far too late to stop it, the people responsible for Jack Denis's death began to realize they had made a truly catastrophic mistake.