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The thing about being a food reviewer, Jason had discovered, was that it gave him an excuse to be places at odd hours without raising suspicion. Nobody questioned why a guy with a phone tripod was hanging around a food truck at midnight. They just assumed he was one of those content creators chasing the algorithm, hunting for the next viral review of some hole-in-the-wall establishment that served greasy food to drunk people and night shift workers.
What they didn't know was that Jason Todd had ulterior motives.
Not tonight, specifically. Tonight was actually just about the kebabs.
He'd been getting comments for weeks now about the kebab scene in Gotham. Apparently there was some kind of unspoken war happening between three different establishments, each claiming to serve the best kebab in the city. His followers had been practically demanding he settle the debate, and Jason, being the people-pleaser that he absolutely was not but pretended to be for the sake of his channel, had finally caved.
"Alright, you animals."
Jason muttered to himself as he checked his phone battery and made sure his pixelator was working properly.
"Let's go review some meat in bread."
He'd mapped out his route carefully. Three places, all within reasonable distance of each other, all open late. The first was a food truck parked near the docks that allegedly served kebabs so large they could feed a family of four. The second was a tiny hole-in-the-wall bistro in the Bowery that had been there for 30 years and supposedly had the best sauce in Gotham. The third was a 24 hour joint near Robinson Park that had opened recently and was trying to make a name for itself.
Three kebabs. One night. What could possibly go wrong?
Jason grabbed his leather jacket, not his Red Hood one but a civilian one that was slightly too big and had definitely seen better days, and headed out into the Gotham night.
The first stop was technically in Crime Alley territory, which made Jason feel a certain kind of way about being there as himself rather than as Red Hood. He'd parked his bike a block away and walked, phone already out and recording as he approached the food truck.
"Alright, Fatson Yumm fans, it is currently 11:30 at night and I am standing in front of Kebab Kingdom, the food truck that you guys have been absolutely losing your minds over in the comments."
He panned his phone around to show the truck, which was surprisingly clean for something parked near the docks. It was painted a garish red and gold, with a cartoon crown-wearing kebab as its mascot. The owner, a large Middle Eastern man with an impressive mustache, waved at Jason from the service window.
"They claim to have the biggest kebab in Gotham."
Jason walked closer, keeping his phone steady.
"And I gotta say, looking at the pictures they've got posted, I'm inclined to believe them. Let's find out."
The owner, who introduced himself as Mustafa, seemed genuinely delighted to have a food reviewer at his truck. He insisted on making Jason's kebab fresh rather than using any of the pre-prepared meat, which Jason appreciated even though it meant waiting longer.
"Everything is made from scratch."
Mustafa's accent was thick but his enthusiasm was clear even through the pixelation Jason would add later.
"The bread, my wife makes every morning. The meat, I season myself. No shortcuts, no frozen ingredients. This is real food."
Jason filmed the preparation process, asking questions about the spices and the cooking method. Mustafa was more than happy to explain everything, clearly passionate about his craft. The kebab, when it was finally handed over, was genuinely massive. Jason had to hold it with both hands, and it was easily the length of his forearm.
"Holy shit."
He forgot to censor himself for the video.
"This is ridiculous."
It was also, he had to admit after taking his first bite, really damn good. The meat was perfectly seasoned, the vegetables fresh and crunchy, the sauce tangy with just a hint of heat. The bread was soft but sturdy enough to hold everything together without falling apart, which was a genuine achievement given the sheer volume of ingredients stuffed inside.
"Okay, okay, I get the hype now."
Jason spoke to the camera, mouth still partially full.
"This is genuinely excellent. The portion size is absurd but the quality isn't sacrificed for quantity, which is rare. The meat is tender, the sauce has actual flavor complexity, and the bread is homemade which you can absolutely taste."
He took another bite, bigger this time, and made an appreciative noise.
"Price point is $12, which for the size of this thing is honestly a steal. You could genuinely split this between two people and both leave satisfied. Location is a bit out of the way unless you're already at the docks, but for food this good, it's worth the trip."
He gave Kebab Kingdom a solid 9/10, docking one point only because the location meant that on windy nights you were definitely eating with a side of harbor air, and finished the entire kebab on camera before thanking Mustafa and heading to his next destination.
The second stop was Kebab Palace, which was not a palace by any stretch of the imagination. It was a narrow little storefront wedged between a laundromat and a boarded-up former video rental store in the Bowery. The sign flickered ominously, and the windows were so steamed up that Jason couldn't see inside until he pushed the door open.
The inside was small but warm, with only four tables crammed into the space and a counter that took up most of the back wall. An older woman with silver-streaked hair and kind eyes was working the counter, and she smiled when Jason walked in.
"Welcome, welcome."
She gestured to the menu board hanging above her.
"What can I get for you tonight?"
Jason set up his phone at one of the tiny tables and went through his usual spiel about being a food reviewer. The woman, who introduced herself as Mrs. Demir, seemed amused rather than impressed.
"We've been here 30 years."
There was a note of pride in her voice.
"We don't need reviews. But you are welcome to try our food."
She prepared his kebab with the efficient movements of someone who had done this thousands of times before. The kebab was significantly smaller than Kebab Kingdom's offering, more in line with what Jason would consider a normal portion size, but it smelled incredible. The sauce, which Mrs. Demir had told him was a family recipe passed down through three generations, was a deep reddish-orange color and had a complex aroma that made Jason's mouth water.
The first bite was a revelation.
"Oh my god."
Jason was genuinely stunned.
"The sauce. What is in this sauce?"
Mrs. Demir just smiled mysteriously from behind the counter.
The sauce was the star of the show, no question. It was creamy but tangy, with layers of flavor that revealed themselves one after another. There was garlic, definitely, and something slightly sweet, maybe roasted red peppers, and a warmth that built slowly rather than hitting all at once. The meat was good, the vegetables fresh, the bread decent if not as remarkable as the homemade bread from the first truck, but the sauce elevated everything to something approaching art.
"This is a $10 kebab."
Jason addressed his camera with complete sincerity.
"And I would pay twice that just for a bottle of this sauce. The portion size is reasonable, not as massive as our first stop, but the flavor more than makes up for it. This is the kind of place that doesn't need to show off with size because they know their food speaks for itself."
He gave Kebab Palace a 9.5/10, the highest rating he'd given anything since starting his channel.
"The only downside is the hours. They close at midnight, which means you have to plan ahead if you want late-night food. But honestly, that's a minor complaint. If you haven't eaten here, you're doing yourself a disservice."
Mrs. Demir, who had been listening to his review with a pleased expression, insisted on giving him a small container of extra sauce to take home. Jason thanked her profusely and promised to come back soon.
The third stop was Night Owl Kebabs, the 24 hour joint near Robinson Park. Jason was starting to feel the effects of eating two full kebabs in relatively quick succession, but he was committed to the bit. Besides, this was the last one. He could power through.
Night Owl Kebabs was clearly the newest of the three establishments. The interior was modern and brightly lit, with clean lines and a color scheme that was probably supposed to be trendy but came off as trying too hard. There were exactly three customers inside when Jason arrived, all of them looking like they'd been awake for too long and needed food more than they wanted it.
The guy behind the counter looked about Jason's age, with tired eyes and a customer service smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Welcome to Night Owl Kebabs."
The words came out like they'd been rehearsed.
"Home of the Owl Special. What can I get for you?"
Jason ordered the Owl Special, because of course he did, and set up his phone at one of the sleek metal tables near the window. The kebab came out quickly, almost suspiciously quickly, and Jason couldn't help but notice that it looked almost too perfect, like it had been assembled by a machine rather than a person.
"Alright, last kebab of the night."
Jason tried to muster some enthusiasm despite his growing fullness.
"Night Owl Kebabs, 24 hours, conveniently located near Robinson Park. Let's see how they stack up."
The first bite was fine. Just fine. The meat was a bit dry, probably from sitting under a heat lamp, and the sauce was clearly mass-produced rather than homemade. The vegetables were fresh enough but lacked the crunch of the previous two places. The bread was the biggest disappointment, dense and slightly chewy in a way that suggested it had been frozen at some point.
"It's not bad."
Jason meant it.
"But after the first two places, it's definitely a step down. The portion size is decent, bigger than Kebab Palace but nowhere near Kebab Kingdom. Price is $11, which feels a little steep for what you're getting."
He took another bite and considered his words carefully.
"I think the problem is that this tastes like food that was designed to be convenient rather than food that was designed to be good. Which, you know, for a 24 hour place, maybe that's what you're looking for. Sometimes you just need food at 4:00 AM and you don't care about quality. But if you have other options, I'd recommend going elsewhere."
He was about to give his final rating when something outside the window caught his attention. A flash of red, a familiar silhouette moving through the night sky.
"Oh no."
Jason forgot he was still recording.
Red Robin swung down from a nearby rooftop with the kind of practiced grace that came from years of training under Batman. He landed silently on the sidewalk just outside Night Owl Kebabs, his cape settling around him like folded wings, and for a moment Jason thought maybe, just maybe, he would keep walking.
Instead, Tim Drake pushed open the door to the kebab shop and walked inside.
Jason hunched his shoulders slightly, trying to make himself smaller. He was wearing civilian clothes, his face was pixelated on the recording, and the lighting in here was harsh fluorescent that washed everyone out. There was no reason for Tim to recognize him. No reason at all.
Except Tim was a detective. A really good detective, actually, probably better than Jason in some ways. And he was currently staring directly at Jason with the slightly unfocused intensity of someone who had been awake for far too long and was running on caffeine and spite.
"You."
Tim pointed at Jason with one finger while using his other hand to push his cowl back from his face.
"You're that guy."
Jason's blood ran cold.
"What?"
"The guy. From before. You were at that burger place a while back, weren't you?"
Tim squinted, trying to place him.
"I saw you through the window when I was patrolling. You were filming something."
Jason's mind raced. So Tim had seen him before. Great. Fantastic. This was fine.
"I review food."
His voice came out surprisingly steady.
"For the internet."
Tim nodded slowly, the information apparently processing through his sleep-deprived brain at half speed.
"That explains the phone."
He gestured vaguely at Jason's setup.
"The little tripod thing. I wondered about that."
He walked over to the counter, ordered what appeared to be the largest kebab on the menu along with a coffee that was probably ill-advised at this hour, and then, to Jason's absolute horror, sat down at the table right next to his.
"I'm Red Robin."
Tim said it like it was just a casual introduction, like he was talking to a complete stranger in full vigilante gear. Jason had to resist the urge to point out that this was exactly the kind of behavior that would give Bruce an aneurysm.
"I can see that."
Jason kept his voice carefully neutral.
"The costume kind of gives it away."
Tim squinted at him again, harder this time.
"You look familiar."
Jason's heart rate spiked.
"I get that a lot. I have one of those faces."
"No, you really look familiar."
Tim leaned closer, and Jason could smell the coffee on his breath, which meant Tim had probably been drinking coffee before this, which meant he was running on even less sleep than Jason had initially assumed.
"Have we met?"
"I don't think so."
Jason's voice came out slightly strangled.
"I'm pretty sure I'd remember meeting a superhero."
"Hmm."
Tim didn't look convinced, but his kebab arrived at that moment, providing a welcome distraction. He stared at it for a long moment, as if he'd forgotten he'd ordered it, before picking it up and taking a bite.
Jason watched him eat with the kind of horrified fascination usually reserved for car crashes. Tim was a mess. His costume was rumpled, there were dark circles under his eyes visible even through the domino mask, and his hair was sticking up in approximately 17 different directions. He was eating his kebab mechanically, like he'd forgotten food was supposed to be enjoyed rather than just consumed for fuel.
"When was the last time you slept?"
Jason heard himself asking the question and immediately regretted it. He was supposed to be keeping his distance, not engaging in conversation with the Robin he'd been tormenting.
Tim paused mid-chew, considered the question, and then shrugged.
"What day is it?"
"Thursday. Well, technically Friday now, I guess."
"Then I last slept on Tuesday. Maybe Monday."
Tim took another bite of his kebab.
"Time is fake and I've stopped believing in it."
Jason made a non-committal noise, the kind of sound that could mean anything from "that's rough buddy" to "please stop talking to me." Tim, unfortunately, took it as encouragement to continue.
"The thing is, my family is going insane."
Tim gestured with his kebab, a piece of lettuce threatening to fall out.
"Like, completely insane. And I'm the only one who seems to notice."
Another non-committal noise from Jason, this one slightly higher pitched.
"My dad saw a ghost last month."
Tim continued, apparently having decided that Jason was a captive audience.
"Well, he says it wasn't a ghost, but he pressed his face against a window and stared at some guy in a fast food restaurant because he thought he looked like someone who's been dead for years. Which is insane behavior, right? That's insane."
"Very insane."
Jason agreed weakly.
"And then my older brother, right? The one who's supposed to be the normal one, the stable one."
Tim's voice was getting more agitated.
"He comes home last week and starts talking about how he met this guy in Blüdhaven who looked exactly like how our dead brother would look if he was still alive. Exactly like him. And his name was apparently Tason. Tason. Who names their kid Tason?"
"Terrible name."
Jason said, feeling slightly hysterical.
"It gets worse."
Tim leaned forward conspiratorially.
"My youngest brother, the brat who never even met the dead one because he wasn't born yet, starts arguing with me about how our dead family member is actually alive. Says he's been talking to him. Personally. Which means either my brother is hallucinating, which is concerning, or he's lying, which is also concerning, or our dead family member actually is alive and has been talking to him this whole time, which is the most concerning option of all!"
Jason made a sound that might have been "hmm" or might have been a whimper.
"And through all of this, Red Hood, who by the way is the one who started all of this because he came back to Gotham and tried to kill me specifically, has decided that his new hobby is kicking me in the shins and running away!"
Tim slammed his kebab down on the table, making Jason jump.
"Kicking me in the shins! Like a child! Like a petty, immature child who never grew out of the middle school bully phase!"
"That does sound frustrating."
Jason managed.
"It's not even good tactics! If he wanted to hurt me, he could shoot me! He's shot my dad! Multiple times! But with me it's just..."
Tim made a kicking motion with his foot.
"Shins! Every time! And then he runs away laughing! Who does that?!"
"A very immature person, apparently."
"Exactly!"
Tim pointed at Jason triumphantly, apparently having decided that they were now friends united in their judgment of Red Hood's behavior.
"You get it. You understand. The guy is supposed to be this terrifying crime lord who controls the drug trade and makes Black Mask look reasonable, but in reality he's just a guy with a grudge and the emotional maturity of a 15 year old."
Jason, who was indeed a guy with a grudge and arguably the emotional maturity of a 15 year old, nodded along like this was all very insightful commentary.
"And the worst part is that I can't even really be mad about it because I keep thinking about what my little brother said. What if he's right? What if our dead family member really is alive? What if he came back and we just didn't notice?"
Tim looked down at his half-eaten kebab, his expression suddenly very tired and very young.
"I was his replacement, you know. The one who came after him. I read everything about him, studied all his moves, learned all his cases. I probably knew more about him than anyone except my dad and older brother. And now there's this guy running around Gotham who might be him or might not be him, and I can't tell, and it's driving me crazy."
Jason's throat felt tight. He hadn't known that. Hadn't known that Tim had studied him, had cared about him, had thought about him as more than just the dead kid he'd replaced. It was easier to think of Tim as an interloper, as the kid who'd stolen his mantle, as a convenient target for his anger and frustration. It was harder to sit here and listen to him talk about Jason like he was someone worth missing.
"You should finish your kebab."
Jason's voice came out rougher than he intended.
"It's getting cold."
Tim blinked, looked down at his food like he'd forgotten it existed, and obediently took another bite.
Jason finished his own kebab quickly, suddenly desperate to get out of this situation. He'd come here to review food, not to have an existential crisis about his relationship with his successor while said successor unknowingly trauma-dumped on him in a 24 hour kebab shop.
"Anyway, I don't know why I'm telling you all this."
Tim's mouth was full again.
"You're just some food guy. Sorry for dumping all my family drama on you."
"It's fine."
Jason stood up, gathering his phone and tripod.
"Happens more often than you'd think."
"Really?"
"No. That was a lie. I need to go now."
He was already moving toward the door when Tim called out.
"Wait! I didn't get your name!"
Jason paused, his hand on the door handle. For a moment he considered giving another fake name, something normal like Tom or Mike or literally anything other than what he was about to say. But the combination of exhaustion, residual guilt from Tim's confession, and sheer pettiness over the shin-kicking comment made him say something incredibly stupid instead.
"It's Tason."
The word left his mouth before his brain could stop it.
Tim's eyes went wide.
"Tason? Like the guy my older brother met? The one who looks like our dead family member?"
"What a coincidence."
Jason's voice was strangled.
"Small world. Gotta go."
He was out the door before Tim could respond, but he made it approximately three steps toward freedom before his pettiness got the better of him.
He turned around, walked back to the window where Tim was still sitting with a confused expression, and kicked the glass right at shin height. The window rattled, Tim jumped, and Jason took off running.
"HEY!"
Tim's outraged shout followed him down the street.
"WHAT THE HELL, MAN?! ARE YOU A RED HOOD WANNABE OR SOMETHING?!"
Jason didn't stop running until he reached his bike, and even then he only paused long enough to shove his helmet on before peeling out into the night. His heart was pounding, his lungs were burning, and he was probably going to have to avoid Robinson Park for the foreseeable future.
But as he drove home through the dark streets of Gotham, he found himself grinning.
Three hours later, safely back in his apartment with the door locked and the blinds drawn, Jason uploaded the edited kebab review to his channel. He'd had to cut out the entire Tim interaction, which was a shame because it would have made for great content, but keeping his secret identity intact was slightly more important than going viral.
The comments started rolling in almost immediately. People loved the kebab comparisons, loved his reactions, loved the sauce lady and her mysterious family recipe. A few people asked why he'd looked so nervous in the third location, and Jason pointedly ignored those comments.
He was just settling into his sofa, ready to pass out for the next 12 hours, when his phone buzzed with a message.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Little Brat (Robin/Damian)
Damian: Akhi.
Damian: Tim came home tonight and said he met a man named Tason who kicked a window at shin height and then ran away.
Damian: Would you happen to know anything about this?
Jason: No idea what you're talking about.
Damian: You are a terrible liar.
Jason: I'm an excellent liar, actually. I just choose not to use my powers for good.
Damian: Richard is now convinced that Tason is a real person who is stalking our family.
Damian: You have created a cryptid.
Jason: Good. Let them wonder.
Damian: I hate you.
Jason: No you don't.
Damian: No. I don't. But I am going to make you pay for that video appearance.
Damian: We are doing it this weekend.
Damian: Do not try to weasel out of it.
Jason: Wouldn't dream of it, brat.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Jason set his phone aside and stared at the ceiling of his apartment, still grinning.
This was, he reflected, probably not sustainable. Eventually someone was going to put the pieces together. Eventually Tim was going to connect Red Hood's shin-kicking habit with Tason the food reviewer's window-kicking habit. Eventually Bruce was going to look at him for more than two seconds and recognize the son he'd buried.
But for now, for tonight, he was just Jason Todd, food reviewer and part-time cryptid, and he'd just given three kebabs very thorough and honest reviews.
He'd call that a win.
Tomorrow he'd worry about the consequences of his actions. Tonight, he was going to sleep off three kebabs and the lingering adrenaline of nearly getting caught by the world's most sleep-deprived detective.
Just another night in Gotham.