Chapter Text
𓏵
Blüdhaven never shuts up.
There's always traffic somewhere, sirens in the distance, neighbours arguing through walls thin enough to qualify as paper. The city exists loudly.
No.
Dick stares at the ceiling for a moment before checking the clock.
4:12 AM.
It’s too early – not that he's been sleeping much anyway. He rolls out of bed, pulls on a shirt from the floor and heads for the kitchen.
Coffee. A human right. Caffeine is a problem for Future Dick. Present Dick is surviving. The machine gurgles as it brews the antidote.
His phone buzzes against the counter.
Tim.
Dick rolls his eyes and chooses not to answer.
It buzzes again.
Timothy.
Then:
TIMOTHY JACKSON DRAKE.
Dick sighs and answers. "Morning."
"You ignored the first two," Tim reports, his voice sounding a bit too clear for such an ungodly hour.
"You changed names three times."
"That wasn't the point, Dick."
Dick takes a sip of coffee.
Tim sighs through the phone. "Have you heard from Jason?"
Dick closes his eyes. There it is – the question of the month. "No."
"Blocked?"
"Blocked."
A pause, while Dick opens his messages. The chat remains exactly as it has for weeks.
Blocked.
Blocked.
Blocked.
Blocked.
Blocked.
Blocked.
Dick isn't offended. Jason blocks people the way normal people lock doors – which makes his heart clench slightly, because he recalls the days when Jason used to block him for different reasons.
The point is that Jason usually blocks everyone except one person.
Maybe Roy.
Maybe him.
Usually Alfred.
Sometimes Tim.
Occasionally, Bruce, if the stars align and hell freezes over.
But time? Everybody – nobody has heard from him, nobody has seen him, nobody knows where he is.
Which would be concerning if Jason hadn't disappeared before.
Unfortunately, Dick knows him well enough to understand the difference between disappearing and vanishing.
This feels like vanishing.
Tim sighs through the phone again. "I checked his safehouses."
"Any luck?"
"No," he deadpans.
Dick rubs a hand over his face. "Credit cards?"
"No."
"Motorcycle?"
"No."
"Phones?"
"No."
"This is getting annoying."
Tim hums. "This is Jason we’re talking about."
Dick stares out the apartment window, where rain taps softly against the glass. The city below is already waking up.
People returning home from night shifts, cars moving, dogs barking in the near distance – everything moving.
Except for whatever the hell Jason is doing.
A thought pushes its way into Dick's head, but he shoves it back down immediately.
No point – there’s no evidence, no lead – no body, no answers.
Just a pile of scraps from what was left of her suit – just a girl who vanished years ago and a boy who would rather die again than even think about moving on.
Dick recalls a few weeks back, when he and Babs barged into Jason’s apartment uninvited – Jason was staring at a case board on the wall while twirling a gun in his hand.
The apartment was a mess – which seemed like a foreign concept considering that it was Jason Todd’s apartment – a place that always seemed so organised and clean.
His body was covering what exactly was on the board, but from what Dick could tell, all the leads were dead ends.
Tim breaks the silence. "You okay?"
Dick laughs. "Why wouldn't I be?"
The pause on the other end lasts a fraction too long. Apparently, everyone has decided he's fragile at the moment.
Fantastic.
"Jason's missing." Tim rolls back into the previous topic.
"Jason's hiding."
"You got dumped yesterday."
Dick rubs his temples. "There it is."
"Dick."
"I'm working today."
"Dick."
"I have a case."
"Dick."
"I'm fine."
Tim sighs the sigh of a hypocritical man who has been dealing with emotionally constipated people for too long. "You know, pretending your life isn't falling apart doesn't actually stop it from falling apart."
Dick picks up his coffee. "It worked for Bruce."
"No, it didn't."
Fair. Dick hates when Tim uses facts.
The call ends shortly after, and the apartment grows quiet again.
Dick stares at his phone – at the messages, at Jason's name, at the space beneath it.
Then he locks the screen and gets dressed.
Heads for the door.
A murder investigation honestly sounds significantly easier than thinking.