Everlasting Trio Nobody Knows AU DP x DC Part 4
Part 3
(Tim POV! This is a long one 😅)
Tim almost has it. He's so close to cracking this file he can fucking taste it. He's been fighting this thing for two weeks. It's the most incomprehensible and infuriating code he's ever faced off against, which is fitting considering who gave it to them.
The engineer. THEIR engineer. The engineer they didn't ask for and Tim still isn't sure how they got, and the single biggest mystery in Tim's fucking life right now.
See, a significant amount of Bat gadgets at this point are Tim's brainchildren. He imagines them, he designs them, he workshops and tests them.
A few months ago, he'd had a pouch on his utility belt full of experimental pellets meant for slowing down fleeing vehicles. They were designed to break when run over and the compound inside would expand into durable, sticky foam that would ensnare tires.
He'd tested them in the cave.
He had not been prepared to take one hit to that side and have to frantically divest himself of that pouch before he became Gotham's latest foam based cryptid.
His family had laughed themselves silly at him even as he broke off in pursuit of the drug runners he'd been fighting.
When Tim had doubled back expecting a mess to clean up and pellets to rework? It had been gone. All of it. The foam, the pellets, the pouch of his utility belt.
A serious problem, because who knows who got their hands on that?
Then it had shown back up.
That is to say, Gordon had called them because he found a pouch with a note labeled ‘for Red Robin’ sitting on the stand of the Bat Signal and didn't dare touch it.
After making sure it wasn't a bomb or some kind of biological weapon, Tim had opened the pouch - his own belt pouch - and found pellets. New pellets. Different pellets.
The note just read, “As funny as that was to watch, I fixed them for you. No more premature sploogage on the job. :3 P.S. here's a recipe for solution to dissolve future intentional discharges.”
They'd been right, too. The new pellets were tested (in case THEY were a bomb or biological weapon) and they'd been just strong enough to safely transport but still break when under the pressure of tires. Even the foam was more effective, and the spray Tim synthesized from that stupid recipe had worked like a dream.
What. The fuck.
This person not only improved his design and came up with a dissolution agent from scratch in days, they'd been watching without him knowing and made off with the original pellets without anyone noticing.
This was either a rogue in the making or someone they wanted on their side, and either way they needed to be found.
So Tim had done the obvious.
He'd put together a lockbox of money for the product they'd been given, loaded it with no less than ten (10) bat trackers and a note thanking their mysterious benefactor and requesting to meet up. He'd exploded a foam pellet on a rooftop and left the box on it in the hopes they'd notice and find it, then hung around far enough to not be seen and close enough to beat feet as soon as the trackers started moving.
They did not start moving. They all went offline simultaneously.
Tim has never moved so fast in his life, and yet by the time he got to the rooftop there was a pile of foam and nothing else. Not even a trace of whoever took the lockbox.
The next day, there was a ping of one (1) tracker that led them to a note thanking him for the money, refusing to meet, and asking if they'd considered certain improvements to their grapples with schematics for said designs.
Thus started the most bizarre and infuriating chase through notes, money, helpful designs and disappearing trackers Tim has ever been a part of.
Last time, the engineer had left them a USB stick and a note claiming that since they really wanted to know about him so bad, they could have the information on the USB if they could crack the encryption on the zip file inside.
Obviously they screened heavily for viruses or backdoors, but long story short Tim has been trying to crack the fucking thing for two weeks and refuses to let Oracle help. It's personal. It's a matter of pride.
He could swear the code itself has actively been sabotaging his attempts to hack it, which is, you know. Impossible.
Ping!
Tim blinks, looking over at the map on another monitor of the Bat computer.
“Motherfucker-”
He taps into Duke’s comms. This is the first time this has ever happened during the day shift, he wasn't expecting it.
“Signal! I need you on the roof of the warehouse on the corner of Fifth and Everest - a tracker just came online.”
Another thing that infuriates Tim. You can't just turn Bat trackers on and off. They're activated, and then they either stay active or they're destroyed. They can't be turned off and then reactivated.
And fucking yet.
Duke groans, but his own tracker starts making its way in that direction.
“Dude. He's gonna be long gone by the time I get there. He always is.”
“He can't run from me forever,” Tim insists. “I'm almost in this damn file, and I am going to find him and dangle him off a roof from his ankles for giving us this runaround, so help me God.”
“Uh huh,” Duke deadpans. “Sure you are. I'm almost there, and- oh look! A note. What a surprise!”
Tim hears Duke touch down on the rooftop, eyes on the code on his screen while his brother clears his throat and reads aloud.
“Ahem- ‘Good morning, sunshine!’ - guess that's me - ‘I hear some bats and birds have been murdering tires at an alarming rate with the way they drive their bikes-’”
Tim freezes. He's not listening anymore.
“Signal.”
“‘- and that just can't be good for business. Nobody wants a bald tire ruining a chase. So boy do I have the thing for you-”
“Signal!”
“What?”
“I got it.”
“Huh? Got what?”
“I cracked his file. I got it.”
Tim is staring, wide eyed and full of a mixture of elation and trepidation at the contents of the zip file. It's a single text file titled, ‘Wow! You did it!’
“Oh, shit? Well? What's in it?”
Tim swallows, mouse hovering over the file. He takes a deep breath, then double clicks.
The file opens.
Tim blinks.
“Red Robin? What's in it?”
Tim scrolls slowly down, disbelief and horror dawning across his face. “Oh my God.”
“What? Come on, man, talk to me.”
Tim scrolls further.
“Oh. My God.”
“Red? Red Robin, you're scaring me, man.”
Tim puts his face in his hands. Voice muffled, he responds.
“Duke.”
“...Red? You okay?”
“No.”
“No?”
“It's the entire Bee Movie script.”
Silence reigns for a solid five seconds before Duke breaks and descends into raucous, hysterical laughter.
Even muffled by his own hands, Tim's scream of rage scares the bats in the cave into a tizzy.
Part 5
Masterpost
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DP x DC: The Rivalry
It's a little-known fact among the Watchtower residents that there is a fierce rivalry going on amongst its members. On one side, the Flash, a core member of the Justice League. On the other, Daniel "Danny" Fenton, Head of Engineering for the Watchtower.
Nobody knows when the rivalry started. Some rumors say that it began when, after hearing the Flash rant about how stupid it is to believe in ghosts, Danny took the effort to reroute all of his outgoing calls to the advice line of the JLD. Others say that after Danny doubled the max speed of one of the jets, Flash took it upon himself to have a joyride in it and then submit a complaint about it being too slow... twelve separate times, each one no more than 24 hours after Danny had finished the last speed improvements.
Ever since, the two have been taking potshots at each other with pranks large and small. Danny arranged a standard maintenance check to change room authorizations... resulting in the Flash being unable to access the kitchens for a week. In return, the Flash spent an entire week replacing every single cup of coffee Danny had with the cheapest, most watered-down decaf he could find - and he swapped out the mugs for Flash-branded ones as well. Danny's modification of the Flash's suit to change colors to randomized sets of the most eye-searingly-bright, clashing colors possible for exactly one second after being exposed to the Speed Force were met with "Kick Me!" signs taped to Danny's back.
But... surely this has gone too far, right? Flash... really can't think of what he can do to top this.
He stares as every single Watchtower engineer zips between tasks using the Speed Force as if it's nothing. It's not a permanent change, thank god, he can see the packs on them that apparently give them the Speed Force, but it's still ridiculous.
You know what, no. He's just... not gonna engage with that. He turns around and leaves the engineering department.
It becomes a lot harder to avoid engagement when, over the course of the day, he has to witness each and every member of the Justice League speed around with a Speed Force pack of their own. Shouldn't Batman and Wonder Woman be above this sort of thing? Why does Superman need to be faster?!
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