#so that's at LEAST three out of four Batgirls with at least one criminal parent too

[mzminola]

Considering that Jack Drake stole from dig sites, unless I’ve completely missed something about the Graysons, Dick is the only main continuity Robin to not have at least one criminal parent (outside of Bruce).

I don’t know enough about Bette Kane to say if we can make a similar statement about the Batgirls.

[octalove]

V: Letting Lie

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: There’s a breakthrough in the case, and Reader takes things into her own hands. Part one, two, three, and four.

The hospital was white. All white. Like a dream. White walls, white floors, white curtains, white stretchers, white papers fluttering around on clipboards, doctors in white coats. Mr. Wayne’s suit was black, so I focused on him. Black suit, blue tie. Black hair, blue eyes. He was filling out whatever paper the nurse had given him. Something about seeing it all play out, despite the face he had put on for me, made my eyes well up with tears. He was afraid, so I was afraid.

“Mr. Wayne?” His eyes shot up as he looked desperately at the nurse. He was so helplessly at the mercy of whatever news they brought us. We both were. “Will you come with us? We’ll have a nurse stay with the girl.” The nurse looked down at me with a warm smile. White teeth.

“We need to borrow Mr. Wayne for just a second. That okay, baby?” I just nodded, not really considering it something I could say no to. No, please, I want him to stay. I’m scared and I want him to stay. A male nurse came and sat by me. He talked to me about school, my favorite subjects- science, math. He asked me what I wanted to be, and I shrugged.

“People who like science and math make good doctors.” He said. I shrugged again, but then considered it more.

“Is it hard?” I asked.

“It’s very hard. Not a lot of people can do it.”

“…”

“But it’s worth it. You help people, you know?”

Mr. Wayne appeared from around the corridor. The look on his face made all the papers stop fluttering. Made all the doctors stop rushing. Made the world stop where it was. Somewhere, maybe, in retrospect, I knew before he said it. I kept my eyes trained on his face, even though I wanted to look away.

“Y/N…” He said, taking a seat beside me. “Listen to me, sweetpea. Your parents-” His voice was cautious, considerate as he tried again. “Your moms got hurt really badly tonight… They- they’re both…“ A tear landed on my hand as the memory grew into a reality, which was bigger than I was. White sheets, red blood. He took my hand, and wiped it away.

“They’re gone now.”

*

They didn’t talk about Jason Todd.

And since they were the only people in his life at the time he died, nobody talked about Jason Todd. We met a couple of times, before Bruce took me in. I hated my expensive gowns, and he hated his expensive obligations, and we hid together at parties, all the while Dick insisted we’d get married. He lived, albeit briefly, as a smart, capable boy, and died as a smart, capable Robin. I had trouble looking at his face- pictures and old year books. When I did, I was looking into the face of a boy who died an untimely, tragic death. That was it. That was his story. Jason Todd died alone, afraid, and probably in a lot of pain. I went to his funeral.

If at all he came up (I could only think of one or two occasions), Bruce would tense, his eyes falling away, and Alfred’s gaze would cloud with memory. Dick, at least, could share a story or two, coveting the fondness and pride he had for his brother without dismissing the whole subject. Tim and Damian didn’t ask. They just tried not to die with the uniform on.

So walking into the cave and seeing Jason Todd’s face plastered on the central monitor seemed like the single most unlikely thing to occur in the Wayne household. I would’ve placed Bruce adopting another child before digging up and displaying dead ones.

Tim, Dick, and Babs were huddled close, faces wound and tight, while Bruce looked distracted, fascinated with his W.E. ballpoint pen. I dragged my feet a little to alert them all of my entry, but only Babs looked up.

“Y/N.” She said.

“Hey. What’s going on?”

Everyone just sort of concluded that someone else would explain, or take the lead, but no one made any attempt to do so. Finally, Bruce sighed.

“Come here. Sit down.” Okay. If there was anything in the world that could make your intestines feel like they were getting turned to ramen noodles by a paper shredder, it was Bruce Wayne telling you to come here, sit down. I searched the others’ faces as I did so.

“What happened?” I asked quietly, trying to fill the chasmic silence.

“I’m going to go over everything. Do you remember…” He trailed off- just for a second. It wasn’t often I saw him battle with something like that. His face was tired, and his eyes revealed a struggle as he fought whatever emotion he was grappling with. “Do you remember Jason?”

I nodded. “Sort of.” An echoing memory passed. Lacy table cloth curtains and chocolate covered strawberries as we camped under gala snack tables, whispering and laughing. Bruce watching me when my parents went out of town, and Jason giving me a tour of the library. The red roses on his burial. Sure, sort of. His blurry picture was on the monitor, anyway.

“Okay. Very good.” Bruce began again, perhaps relieved he would have to go into detail to refresh my memory.

“We’ve been putting a lot of information together regarding the Red Hood. We’ve been able to deduce his origins were The Viper House, but before that, Arkham. He began working out of the Asylum, and contacts there had a lot of information about him.”

That, I didn’t know. I supposed I wasn’t the only one slinking around in shadows. He was addressing everyone now, going through visuals on the monitor.

“He began to placate what was left of Joker’s operations in Coventry before he started on general crime. Oracle was even able to get some information from Harley Quinn.” I looked at Babs with some surprise, and she just nodded along.

“The very first sighting of him- in Coventry- was April 27th, seven months ago. The fifth anniversary of…”

I nodded. I knew what April 27th was. A vapid, despairing day in the manor that Bruce spent in his office and Dick didn’t call. I didn’t follow, but if Bruce had linked Jason’s death to Red Hood, I knew he must have something big.

“All of the information we gathered, on top of his intimate knowledge of us, vigilante or otherwise, has lead us to a clear conclusion. The encounter in Crime Alley on the 21st was just another confirmation.”

I almost flinched as my eyes flew to Tim, but no one seemed particularly interested in me. I texted him quickly, careful to avoid Bruce’s eye.

You told him?

- I told him I was the one who saw it. It was important information.

Shit, Tim. Was he mad?

He didn’t answer, looking back up to the briefing. I slid my phone into my pocket, guilt weighing in my chest alongside the other myriad of emotions building.

“He’s been around longer than seven months. Much longer. And it began with Jason’s death.”

I furrowed my brow, putting together a puzzle with with bent, broken edges, like trying to fit a triangle into a square-shaped hole- just one angle missing.

“Are you saying… Joker didn’t kill Jason? That this guy did?” My body felt cold.

Bruce looked at Dick, who didn’t return his gaze. Then, he turned back to me.

“I’m saying... that Jason is Red Hood.”

I let confusion twist on my face. “What? How? That’s not possible. You think he lived? We- I mean, we had a funeral.”

Dick shook his head, answering on Bruce’s behalf. “He did die, but… are you familiar with the Lazarus Pit?”

I went over my tangling thoughts. The crime scenes. The anger. The vigilante justice packaged in a case of blood and bullets, shipped right to Gotham’s largest looming criminals. The warehouse, the alley. The button. The leather on his gloves as he ran his fingers along my face and pressed it, leaving me all alone.

Tell Batman,

It was all falling in line; bubbling up and searing together like hot, melding flesh pulled together in the burning waters of the Lazarus.

I’m getting impatient.

“So… what are you going to do?” I asked.

Dick’s face was pained. Solemn. “I… we want to try to talk to him. There’s a reason he’s doing all this, and there’s a reason he chose now. If we want to figure it out, we have to find him.”

I swallowed. “I can help.”

“No.” Bruce declared swiftly. “Absolutely not. The only thing we know about him is that he’s dangerous. Red Hood may have Jason’s DNA, but we need to work under the assumption that he isn’t the same person.”

I could answer that. He wasn’t.

“Do not look for him. Do not engage him. Is that clear?” He was talking to me, Tim, and Damian. We all nodded.

“Any unapproved interaction could jeopardize the case, and give him more insight into our movements. We want to try and remain one step ahead. That is all.” The explanation was for Damian, who operated on bargains, not orders. Again, we all nodded. After a moment, I sighed.

“Well… I have school in the morning. Will you tell me if you learn anything else?” I asked. The three of them nodded, and Dick muttered a ‘goodnight’. I turned, mind working against the grain of what I should do and what I wanted to do.

Just go to bed, I willed myself.

Just go.

*

Night fell, black and smoggy. The sea was hissing and writhing, unsettled with the gale of a promised storm. I wasn’t entirely certain what would catch Red Hood’s attention. It seemed that our history comprised of him finding us, and not the other way around. Gotham Docks seemed like a good place to start. Ever since Kuznetsov was found in his watery grave, his men belonged to Hood. They moved drug imports that came to Port Adams- actual drugs- pharmaceuticals, over-the-counters, hydrocodone, acetaminophen; all legal things. But Gotham City taxed the living hell out of medicine imports, so people like Kuznetsov (may he rest in peace) smuggled them in fishing vessels for cheap, and got them into the hands of big pharma and medicare companies for a lot of money.

I’d picked a cozy spot on the roof of a bait shop that made me feel safely invisible as my eyes swept over the docks. Batman didn’t typically prioritize crime of this caliber; over the counter meds weren’t going to blow anyone’s heads off the way crazy clowns and mafia bosses were. It made the busy henchmen on the boardwalks nice and blatant. It wasn’t hard to find tonight’s operation.

I needed to make a scene. Make some noise, throw out some names- one name in particular. Wherever he was, I hoped it’d be enough to make it worth dropping in. I was used to making quick, efficient work of criminals, not stalling. Making a scene meant no disappearing in shadows, or quieting the sound of my breath.

There were a couple of men dollying crates in and out of a packaging plant. Disguised as fishermen, naturally. As they approached the building, several feet from the propped-open door, I dropped. Embracing the momentum, my weight striking the old wood made a salient sound, and sent the startled men gasping and staggering backward.

“Holy shit!”

“B-Batma-

“B-B-Batgirl?” I clipped. “Were you gonna say Batgirl?” It didn’t really matter which bat they thought it was. The fear all worked to the necessary effect.

“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary,” The man muttered, scooting backward along the wood as I let my step fall heavy against it.

“Where is he?” I asked, drumming up my vicious, raspy voice, like smoke on the sea.

“Where-where’s who?” He stuttered. The other man was taking advantage of my focus and scrambling to his feet. Any second, he would bolt into the building. Perfect.

“Red. Hood.” I said, loud enough that the fleeing man would hear.

“I don’t know! Hand to god, I don’t know!” The man on the ground pleaded. I looked down at him, letting the fear and shadow distort my face.

“I don’t believe you.” I kicked him in the chest, sufficiently knocking the wind out of him, but left him there, turning my attention to the packaging plant.

Adrenaline was in my limbs, pushing and pulling with the running blood under my skin. When was the last time I had a good fight? Carjackings and bank robberies felt so small, and predictable. Everything was always stable. Batman always had it under control, watching dutifully from rooftops, appearing in split second if I needed help.

Tonight, Batman wasn’t here. I felt no eyes on my back, no voices in my ear. It was under control, but it was my control.

The men inside had already sufficiently scattered. I didn’t bother to hush my footsteps as I entered. The icy breeze from the open door made my cape flutter, despite its weight- and that was the only sound.

Suddenly, boots on concrete, and a man let out a defiant cry as he shot toward me, with a rusted tire iron raised above his head. I moved on practiced instinct, side stepping and leaving him stumbling, before delivering a hard, well-aimed kick that he wasn’t getting up from. Two other men concluded (incorrectly) if they went together, they could take me.

It was a blur of fists and make-shift weapons comprised of packaging tools, but they were easy to parry and subdue. I kicked the second one back with enough force to send him through a thin wooden partition, which cracked and splintered under his weight. I swung my eyes around the scene.

“Anyone else?” I knew they were there. Tucked behind conveyor belts and crouched low, using fish barrels for cover. No one answered the call of duty.

“I’ll ask again,” I called. “Where. Is. Red. Hood?”

Suddenly, a flash of color, and I went backward and downward, catching myself enough that my arm slid across the concrete instead of my face. I let out a sharp breath just in time to dodge another blow.

“All this,” The computerized tilt of his voice couldn’t smother the anger in it. “For little old me?”

I kept my eyes trained on his hands, because I could entertain close combat, but knew I’d need to bolt if he drew his guns. That didn’t appear to be his intention. I dipped away from one of his swings, but he swiped at the fabric of my cape, grip closing, and used it to heave me into a barrel. I gasped at the force of it as I reckoned with shattered wood. Barely recovering, I rolled out of the way as he swung low. I went for the door, figuring I could use a little more space, since he had a hundred pounds and a few feet on me.

Outside, a frigid wind was cascading across the docks, biting my skin and casting droplets of salt water all around. Red Hood moved imposingly slow-paced, attending the cuff of his jacket sleeve, while I put a hand on the railing and tried to find my footing again.

“There are easier ways to get my attention, sweet thing.” Drawing to a halt, he didn’t look like he was going to attack me again, so I wiped the blood from my lip and straightened.

“Sorry. You forgot..” I was still breathing heavily. “To give me.. your number… last time.”

He laughed; a terrible, beautiful thing. “I guess I did, didn’t I?”

I fought to remember why I was here, and consequently, tried to pull together Jason Todd with the faceless man before me. They seemed to foil one another- a triangle through a square-shaped hole.

“So what do you want?” He asked, more serious this time. Though a reasonable question, it almost sounded rhetorical for the sheer lack of curiosity in it. I swallowed.

“Show me your face.” I said. It was so quiet, so hushed by the jeering sea that I was surprised when he tilted his head in response.

“Liked our little game that much? Had to crack a few skulls just to play it again?” I was frustrated, wishing he would come close, like he had in the alley, and let me touch him. Let me push away the helmet and know.

I tried to convey my seriousness with a look, but he just rolled his shoulders.

“Is that all, little bird?” He seemed annoyed; like I’d dragged him here only to concern myself with the small matter of his secret identity. The secret identity of Gotham’s most prolific crimelord. I wanted to make him understand, but I didn’t know what to say. He didn’t say anything else, either. He didn’t say “no” or “whatever” or “goodbye”. He just started walking away.

Jason.

Suddenly, I stopped myself. What if he wasn’t? What if Bruce was wrong? I’d throw out a name- an accusation- at a monstrous stranger who had no connection to me or my family. He’d laugh his terrible laugh and know that the world’s greatest detectives weren’t so great after all. Nervousness consumed me, tightening around my throat, placating me while I watched his form get smaller as he walked away, the darkness threatening to swallow him up.

“Jason!”

He stopped. His boots dragged to a jarring halt on the wood. Slowly, then, he turned around. The shadows were long and cast over him, turning his helm the color of old blood.

“Come back.” I said. “Please.”

His body language was unreadable, a mix between relaxed and hesitant that left him standing there, looming, and left me unsure as to whether he was going to leave, or pull a glock on me. Then, he lifted his hands. His thumbs dragged beneath his jaw methodically, until there came a hiss from his helmet, and he pulled it off.

“Jason.” I repeated. My voice was tight. It shook. His gaze followed me in the dark before he approached, gate slow and heavy, and sat down on a fishing crate.

“What? Do I look different? Put on a little weight?” Maybe he was joking- I couldn’t tell. The soft rasping of his voice startlingly contrasted the voice scrambler, and blended with the bubbling waters below our feet. But something eerie laced it. It was still foreign to me. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”

I had previously thought I might be able to do this; face him. After all- I should be happy to see him again, alive after five years of Bruce’s grief and wretched hollowness. Years of operating in the long, dark shadow cast by his headstone. But somehow, the man before me was instead a confirmation. A walking death certificate. Jason Todd- the other Jason Todd- was still gone. Bronze skin, of which small, light colored scars adorned. Midnight hair mussed from his helmet, leaving a couple strands to fall over his dark eyes; eyes that used to hold warmth, and now held a malefic coldness. When I drank in the features of his face, I found my chalice empty. He didn’t approach me this time- didn’t draw near enough to feel his heat. Just sat there, elbows resting on his thighs, leaning forward and looking at me. I had trouble holding his gaze, but I did. Then, he gave me a chilling grin.

“Did you miss me?”

His voice knocked something loose, as my mind placed him as a memory. Someone I’d actually known. I had a million burning questions. “How? What happened?”

He pulled out a cigarette, shrugging. “I’ve been busy. Dying’s a lotta work.”

“Why- why are doing this?” This being spending seven months as the most prolific crimelord in Gotham. There was a spark of his lighter. Using his hand to shield the flame from the winds and misting water, it nurtured an orange glow on his face, bathing his skin in auburn light for just a moment. I blinked, and it was extinguished, replaced, again, by the blue darkness. He took a deep drag.

“Know how I died, dollface?” He asked. I did, so I nodded.

“Remember what happened to the bastard who killed me? After.” I studied him, still reeling a bit from accepting the man before me as the boy he’d been. I remembered there was another attack after Jason’s death. Joker took forty pounds of C4 to a shopping center in Fashion district at the beginning of May. Amidst the rubble were Robin: Missing posters. Bruce didn’t make them. Joker kept up his streak thereafter. He didn’t stop until his death, last year.

“Nothin’.” Jason supplied the answer. A hard, bitter, sorrowful nothing. It burned cold, like an inverse flame.

“Batman doesn’t kill. He doesn’t kill, and killers do. So they walk, and keep killing, and he calls it justice.”

I let it all sink in. Batman was the only thing standing between Gotham and complete corruption. I saw, in my memory, all the people I’d helped. All the victims who’d ever clung to me or thanked me through tears. All the pride I’d ever felt carrying the mantle. Batman didn’t kill because you can’t go back from killing. If he did, it wouldn’t be vigilantes against criminals- it’d be dogs eating dogs. Domestic war. Jason had been Robin. Surely he understood the philosophy of it?

But, then, what did it get him? He took those philosophies to the grave. When he finally crawled back out, he did what anyone with a vendetta might do. He overcorrected.

“Tell me somethin’, little bird.” His eyes leveled steadily on mine as I looked back up. “You call that justice?” I swayed under the intensity of it. I was afraid to disagree with him, but I didn’t even know if I wanted to. There were a lot of times I watched Joker slip through Batman’s hands, free to blow up another shopping center, when he could’ve stopped him if he just-

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

He got up, cigarette hanging from his lips, gaunt eyes burning through the blue dark.

“I think you do.”

The sea hissed, and the wind writhed, and I watched as the night swallowed him up.

[violetsmoak]

Pieces of April [17/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099044/chapters/50202530

Summary: On the anniversary of his death, Jason’s second life takes an abrupt new turn and he’s faced with a challenge that neither Batman nor the All-Caste prepared him for.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Author’s Note: Daily check-in to see how you're holding up under social distancing, and a reminder that in addition to washing your hands and stay inside, don't snack too much, drink at least 8 cups of water and take a shower! You'd be surprised how easy it is to stop doing a lot of the basics when you're in isolation for a while! Hang in there, people!

First Chapter

________________________________________________________________

Six o’clock is an ungodly hour in the morning to be awake and Jason honestly doesn’t know how people do it. The hours between four and eleven in the morning are the only time he has a chance to rest, and now that’s been co-opted by the squawking creature in his arms.

He can’t imagine how the non-vigilante population finds it any easier.

And then there’s Tim.

Who voluntarily gets up at this time every morning to go play Wayne Poster Child™ after a night of knocking heads in the city.

There was a reason Bruce never let Jason patrol on a school night, and it wasn’t just because of the potential for unexplained bruises, and yet here’s little Timmy, off to run a multibillion-dollar company while existing on coffee grounds and stubbornness.

And the dumbass keeps offering to give up more sleep to take care of Jason’s kid.

How has he not fallen off a building yet?

Luisa’s gluttonous grunting brings Jason’s thoughts back to the present. She’s finally started to attack her bottles with gusto, as if it’s finally occurred to her that, “Hey, weird rubber thing in my mouth equals food”.

Jason’s grateful for that, too; not that he’s going to admit he was starting to worry there was something wrong with her.

It’s not that he’s trying to be heartless or anything, but there’s a fine line between being concerned and getting attached. And there is a mess of reasons why he can’t afford to do that. If Tim’s dopey insistence to help out is any indication, he’s already starting down that dangerous road.

Eventually, Luisa releases the nipple, and Jason maneuvers her around to burp her, only to hear a tiny, gurgling cough, which is then followed by warm wetness spilling down his shoulder—at the exact moment that Tim walks into the kitchen.

“Looks like she has a complaint about the chef,” he remarks, mouth twisted into a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason mutters, holding the now vomit-covered baby as far out in front of him as he can do while keeping her head steady. He tries not to grimace at the stain spreading across his back; he’s probably been covered with worse, but that doesn’t make it any less unpleasant.

“That’s why you’re supposed to put a towel over your shoulder.”

“I know!” Jason snaps. “I forgot.”

Tim holds his hands out for the baby. “Go change.”

“I need to clean her up first.”

“You’re not sitting on my sofa covered in puke.”

“Who says I was going to sit on your sofa?” Jason challenges, even though that's exactly where he was going. He’s sort of co-opted that whole area into the downstairs changing station.

The sour-sweet smell of vomit makes the decision for him, however, and he passes Luisa over to Tim, who’s already got a washcloth in hand to dab at the mess. While Jason heads upstairs, he brings her over to that same makeshift changing station and starts to undo her soiled onesie.

The last thing Jason hears as he closes the door to his room is, “Ugh, he was right. That doesn’t look human.”

Jason snorts, glad he’s not the only one that has to suffer through mysterious bodily fluids.

He considers the merits of showering now, weighing the need to be clean versus the probability of ending up dirty again anyway in an hour or so and then decides to just wipe himself down with a wet cloth before putting on a new shirt.

Digging around in the duffel bag, he accidentally knocks down the jacket he threw haphazardly on the loveseat. The inner pocket gapes, allowing several items to fall out, including the Red Hood plush toy and the sonogram from Isabel’s fridge.

He grabbed them both on a whim before leaving the apartment, but he can’t quite recall the logic or reasoning behind that. Isabel’s email and its implications had taken up most of his brainpower at that point. The trained detective part of Jason tells him he wanted evidence, but he’s not entirely sure of evidence of what.

He picks the items up now, frowning at their existence, and then abruptly shoves them both into one of the dresser drawers.

It’s too early for soul-searching.

When he comes back downstairs, it’s to Tim just wrestling a grump baby into a white onesie. Even standing at the foot of the stairs, Jason notices that it contrasts very obviously with Luisa’s skin.

“I was right,” he says, “she’s definitely turning yellow.”

Luisa cracks an eye open at the sudden sound of his voice, and beyond the startling blue iris, he notes that her sclera is also off-color. “Look, even the whites of her eyes are going yellow.”

Tim studies her, and nods. “Yeah, she is a little jaundiced.”

“So do we take her to the doctor for this, or what? I mean, does she have yellow fever or something?”

“Yellow fever has an incubation period of three to six days,” Tim replies. “Since she hasn’t been alive that long and hasn’t had a chance to be exposed to anything like that, I doubt that’s what it is.”

Jason gives him a look. “How the hell do you know this shit?”

“An eco-fascist cell tried to contaminate Gotham’s water supply with a strain of it last year.”

“It’s always the water supply with these people,” Jason mumbles. “You’d think the city would invest in better security down there. Batman’s not always going to be there to stop it.”

“Batgirl, actually,” Tim replies. “Singlehandedly. Steph was very proud.”

“I’m sure.” Jason frowns again at the vaguely yellow baby, telling himself that if Tim isn’t worried, he shouldn’t be. Still, “You know, while we have her here, we should maybe wash off some of that white stuff."

“What? No. Did you forget? ‘Wet baby equals slippery baby’? Those were your words.”

“There are other ways to take a bath, moron,” Jason retorts, examining the bulge above Luisa’s umbilical cord stump. He thinks he remembers Dr. Kerry saying it would fall off in a week or so, but to be honest, most of the night they picked her up from the hospital is a blur to him.

“Well, I’ll leave you to that then, because I have to get going,” Tim says, heading upstairs to transform himself from half-asleep slob to Timothy Drake-Wayne.

Jason tries not to balk at that; part of him was hoping Tim would offer to do that chore.

Bathing is different from feeding. With blankets around the kid, he doesn’t have to worry so much about bruising her skin by just touching her. And yes, he knows that babies don’t bruise that easily, but he’s so used to ruining everything he touches that this seems like a valid concern to him.

In the end, he just takes his time, not giving her a real bath from the tiny tub still packed up in the pile of baby things, but an approximation of the wipe down he gave himself earlier. Careful to keep her covered except to expose whatever arm or leg needs wiping off, he slides a cloth gently against her skin, noting she’s still got that weird white residue on her.

She makes squeaking grunts of complaint at the alien feeling, but it must not feel too bad because she doesn’t erupt into crying. He takes that has a win.

“Now that Her Highness has had her morning toilette,” Jason grouses as he nestles the lump of baby into her carrier.

Once Tim leaves, Jason spends the day at home much like he did the day before, scouring the apartment for anything readable that isn’t a gaming guide, taking apart his gear and putting it back together and grabbing quick naps between feedings and changings. It’s entirely possible he may be losing his mind, because how did his life become this?

I didn’t even stay this still when I was a kid. Is this what life is like for eighteen years when you have a kid?

There has to be more to the parenting gig than this.

Frustrated, he turns the television on, surfing the channels and wondering why there’s nothing worth watching on any of the thousand channels Tim has access to. Eventually, he lands on a local news channel which he keeps on just to have something making noise in the overly silent house.

He’s barely synthesizing the information until a special report comes on, the shaky camera capturing a car speeding through Crime Alley, windows rolled down to allow a gun to open fire.

“…only the latest in a series of violent incidents that have occurred just outside of the Bowery this week,” the woman on the screen is saying. “Officials believe these may be retaliation for the recent raiding of three businesses in the Bowery with connections to the Maroni crime family…”

“Then officials are stupid because anyone gunning for Maroni wouldn’t be takin' it out on him in Crime Alley,” Jason mutters. Especially since everyone in Gotham’s underworld knows the penalty for going anywhere near Hood territory.

“…just the latest in the continuing unrest in the neighborhood. Local police are still asking for information regarding the disappearance of teenagers LaRynn Davies and Carlton King, last seen leaving the schoolyard of PS 181. This has been Maria Amardosa, Gotham News—”

Jason jabs at the remote, switching the television off.

It doesn’t surprise him that crime’s up; April and May are when the weather starts to warm up, which means a lot of enterprising criminal organizations open back up for business. Even when he was Robin, Jason used to make a point of more heavily patrolling his neighborhood in the spring to discourage that sort of thing.

And now, it’s going on a week, and he hasn’t been out once. It’s bad enough having to leave matters when he’s out of town or off-planet, but in those cases, he can’t do anything about it.

“But now, I’m right freakin’ here, and sittin’ on my ass.”

Which is why when Tim gets home from work that night and gratefully accepts the stir-fry Jason whipped up more out of boredom than actual hunger, he decides to broach the subject.

“I’m goin' out to patrol tonight,” he informs him, half-defiant. “If I don’t put in an appearance along my usual route, people are gonna start gettin' ideas.”

More than they already are.

He expects protests or warnings, but to his surprise, Tim swallows a mouthful of rice and nods. “I’ll watch the baby while you’re out.”

All reasonable like, the way he’s been since he picked me up at the bar.

Jason tries not to feel like he’s being handled, and goes on in a guarded tone, “This isn’t me tryin' to dump her off on you and run. I’m not that big of an ass.”

“Debatable. But noted. It’s not a problem.”

“Are you sure? Because if you don’t want to, tell me.”

Tim fixes him with an exasperated look. “You’re really not used to people just…genuinely wanting to help you, are you?”

“Not generally, no,” Jason replies, folding his arms across his chest. “Especially not people that I’ve tried to kill.”

“Twice.”

“Twice.”

“Though I did knee you in the balls that one time,” Tim reminds him, shoveling another bite into his mouth.

Jason winces. “Yeah, I remember. Not sure that’s enough to put us on equal playin' field though."

“Also, do you remember last year when you thought you had a bedbug infestation, and even when you switched safehouses, you couldn’t get rid of them?”

The question is asked with an innocence that wouldn’t fool even the most naïve person in the world, and Jason growls. “Okay, I take it back. You do owe me. At least I would have made your death quick. Bedbugs are just…” He shudders. “Evil.”

“There’s a reason Ra’s al Ghul wants me to work for him,” Tim agrees cheerfully.

“I’m suddenly re-evaluating the wisdom of leaving you with a small child.”

“I’m serious, though, it’s no problem to watch her.” Tim makes a waving gesture. “Go. Break up a few bar fights, knock around whatever pimps deserve it, whatever. Just…don’t kill anyone.”

“I ain’t askin’ permission here, Drake.”

“I know that. Doesn’t mean you don’t need the reminder.”

“If you’re so worried I’m gonna snap, maybe you should be tryin’ to keep me home.”

“That would be pretty stupid. And possibly suicidal on my part. You haven’t been out on the streets for a week, and you’ve been cooped up in here since Isa came home.” He ignores Jason’s glare at the nickname. “You need some kind of outlet, and this is the best one I can think of for you.”

It’s the most laissez-faire response he’s ever gotten from a Bat when it comes to Red Hood’s involvement in the Gotham nightlife—or rather, his frequent interruptions of it. Even Barbara—who he knows understands the logic of his crusade, even as she vehemently decries it—has never been like this.

Barring the whole ‘don’t kill anyone’ spiel, that was almost encouraging.

And a far cry from the kid that accused him of taking the easy path of crimefighting when they first met years ago.

Jason realizes then that he’s had a very specific image of Tim Drake in his head all this time. Living in close quarters with him is showing him that he really doesn’t know him at all.

Now is that just me…or is the rest of the family just as clueless when it comes to the baby bird here?

He must be giving Tim a funny look, because the kid says, “What?”

“Nothing,” Jason replies. “Just wondering what Bat Daddy would think about your pro-Red Hood stance.”

Tim winces, an expression of deep revulsion on his face. “Please. Never, ever refer to Bruce or any other guy I know as ‘daddy’. Ever again.”

Jason raises an eyebrow—that’s the first time he’s elicited that reaction—but rather than ask about it, he instead returns to his room to grab his clothes.

The Nest isn’t like the Cave, where Batman keeps extra gear for everyone stowed away (even for the Red Hood, he learned shortly after the mission to bring Damian’s body back from Apokolips), which means Jason’s going to need to stop at one of his caches after leaving to get his helmet and some of the bulkier pieces of armor he didn’t have with him.

Kitted out in everything except the eponymous red hood, Jason pauses in front of the secret entrance to Red Robin’s base.

Sitting on the couch with Luisa, Tim is just hanging up the phone. “I made an appointment for her to see Leslie next Tuesday. It’s the earliest she could fit us in since I couldn’t tell her the exact details.”

“Yeah, probably something to explain in person,” Jason agrees. He jerks his thumb at the door. “I’m leavin' now. Last chance to back out.”

“It’s not going to kill me to be responsible for an infant for a few hours,” Tim deadpans. “I mean, you’ve done it all week, so it should be easy.”

“Famous last words, Replacement. Just remember—Safiya’s number’s in your phone. Use it if you get overwhelmed.”

Tim rolls his eyes at his own words being flung at him. “You’re hilarious.”

“I know,” Jason grins.

“Get out of here.”

“Gone—also, stealing one of your bikes.”

“Just make sure to fill up the tank when you’re done!” Tim calls after him before the door shuts and locks away the domestic part of Jason’s life for the evening.

The short trip from Tim’s place to Jason’s nearest safehouse passes in a blur, and before he knows it he’s safely behind the visor of his helmet and back on the streets.

There’s nothing quite like Gotham at night, and even after a lifetime living here, he’s not entirely sure if that’s a good thing or not.

The rooftops are familiar steppingstones beneath his feet, as he tucks and rolls upon landing, only to propel himself back to his feet and do it again upon reaching the next roof. The rhythm of it all is easy, second nature even, and one he missed in the days where he’s been cooped up.

The last time he was out of commission for so many consecutive days was when he caught the winter flu, and even then he dragged his carcass out of bed just to loom in the dark as a warning to anyone who might try something. It’s a trick Bruce used to pull, when needed to make an appearance as Batman but was hacking up half a lung.

Tim was right about one thing: being able to throw himself into a fight is cathartic. His mind closes off every other thought beyond the here and now, and for the first time in a week, he feels like himself.

He busts up two bodega robberies, stops a carjacking and when a john tries to drag one of the girls working the corner into his car, Jason takes supreme joy in slamming the bastard’s hand in his car door. He checks in with several of his sources, some of whom have names for him of whatever moron has decided to ignore the rules of the Hood this week.

It’s a few hours worth of running about before he finally feels clear again, and by the time he starts winding down his patrol, there’s a deep but familiar exhaustion curling in his muscles that he only ever feels after a good workout. It makes his thoughts feel clearer and more capable of tackling his personal problems once more.

Using the interface in his helmet, he runs a search for the addresses of every Jonathan Sutter in Gotham, then uses the program he piggybacks off the Batcave server to attach the names to any of them that have been treated for Joker toxin in the past year.

There are two and considering one of them is about sixty years old and works as a greeter at Walmart, it’s a safe bet which one he’s looking for. He makes a stop out of his usual route to check up on the guy.

Isabel’s ex lives in the nicer part of Otisburg, about two blocks from an elementary school and a playground.  His home is a decently maintained two-story walk-up, with one of the newer Volkswagen models in the driveway. From what Safiya told him, Sutter does decently financially, and according to the photo in his dossier, he’s got a kind of refined Tony Stark looking going on.

Though that means about jack squat when it comes to whether the guy should be around kids.

If he were Batman, Jason would break in and loom over the guy’s bed until he woke up, but since Sutter’s less likely to be receptive if he’s pissing himself in fear, Jason decides he’ll return by daylight.

He just wanted to scope out where the guy lived, anyhow.

Whether due to his own exhaustion catching up with him, or the nagging feeling at the back of his mind wanting to make sure Tim’s place is still standing, he returns to where he parked the borrowed bike and heads back to the Nest earlier than he normally would.

He’s not even surprised to see the family insomniac still awake, although for once he’s not poring over case files. There’s a game paused on the flatscreen, and Tim is in the process of carefully hefting the baby in his arms up and down, a frown on his face.

Like every Bat, he gives no indication he even noticed he’s no longer alone.

“What’s up?” Jason asks as he rubs a towel through his sweaty hair; he left the bulky bits of his gear in the Nest.

“I think she feels lighter than she did when we brought her here,” Tim replies, a perplexed expression on his face. “Do you think she’s not getting enough food?”

“Not possible with the amount we feed her.”

“Yeah…” Tim shakes his head, then meets Jason’s gaze. “So, did you strike fear into the hearts of every gangbanger in the Alley?”

“You joke, but I take that as a personal challenge.”

“Please don’t.” Tim stands up, holding the baby with more confidence than Jason thinks he’s ever imagined and wanders over. “She slept most of the time you were away.”

“Of course she did,” Jason mutters with a scowl. The baby seems to behave for Tim a lot more than she does for him.

“That’s pretty impressive since she already spends about three-quarters of the day asleep.”

“Wish she would sleep at night, or at least let me.”

“It’s not like we’re not used to being up at all hours.”

“Yeah, but we’re also used to passing out for actual sleep when we get home. I think she thinks sunrise is a signal to work up a f-fuh--,” Jason’s complaint is interrupted by a yawn, and he shakes his head. “Fuss. And on that note…”

“Go. Shower,” Tim says. “I can put her down before I turn in.”

Jason nods at that, putting a foot on the stairs before something occurs to him and he glances back.

“Hey, Tim…”

“Yeah?”

“…Thanks.”

Tim appears caught off-guard, and then an actual grin breaks over his face. “Careful, Jay, you’re starting to sound downright friendly.”

“It’s the sleep deprivation,” Jason replies, “Don’t read into it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”  

⁂⁂⁂

Your feedback matters! I want to know what you think of my story, so feel free to leave kudos, a comment or as many of these emojis as you want and let me know how you feel!

❤️️ = I love this story! 😳 = this was hot! 💐 = thank you for sharing this 🍵 = tea spilled 🍬 = so sweet and fluffy! 🚔 = you’re under arrest! the writing’s too good! 😲 = I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER 😢 = you got me right in the feels 🤯mind blown 🤬god damn cliffhanger 😫 whyyyyyyy?!?!?

Next Chapter

[bsmallvoice]

Code Black

For Camsthisky’s #batfamcontentwar

Code Black

ff.net|AO3

Present Time

It was movie night, and, after completely their homework, all four boys were curled up in the armchairs with strawberry milkshakes, popcorn, and blankets. Damian had curled up on his side facing the movie screen with his head near Dick, who was occasionally petting the child's hair. Jason was to Dick's left and Tim slumped to Jason's left. After much arguing, they had finally agreed on a Pixar film with respect to the fact they had a six year old in the room who had forgotten most of the gore he'd seen as a kid and had never been out as Robin.

Naturally, putting on the Incredibles in a room full of heroes led to a lot of crap-shooting. 

The boys commented on everything from fighting style to good points and "how the hell did he miss that? The guy was monologuing!" and "Well, at least she had her sh*t together. Seriously, the dude's surrounded by people with superpowers and there's no inhibitor collars, and he's giving up!? What an idiot!"

"Jason, stop cursing."

"Oh come. I heard worse than this when I was Dami's age."

"Still…"

It was about midway through the attack on the city before the Incredibles got there, when it happened. They couldn't make out what Alfred said, but they very clearly heard the four gun shots that rang out midway through his sentence. Dick and Jason froze, listening, while Damian and Tim jolted upright.

"What was that?" Tim asked quietly. Jason raised the remote to pause the movie, but Dick reached out and stopped him, shaking his head. The two eldest had a silent conversation in Batspeak, and then slowly shrunk down in their seats and down to the floor. Dick picked up Damian and Jason dragged Tim out of his seat. They kept low and crept to the door. Dick looked both ways and then ushered his brothers across the hall into the study quickly. They streaked across and took the lift down to the Batcave. He was about to follow with Damian when he saw a large shadow fall across the hallway, moving closer in his direction.

Dick quickly ducked back into the theatre, and ducked behind the seats. He was moving quickly and quietly in the direction of the other door when his senses went haywire. He hit the ground just before a spray of bullets ripped through the chairs where they had been sitting less than five minutes before. Damian's squeak was covered by the hailfire. Dick breathed deeply to stave off a panic attack and waited for the spray to stop. As he waited, he carefully untangled Damian. The kid looked terrified. Dick gave him a small kiss and, with a look that he hoped conveyed instructions to stay safe, slid the scared child beneath the ottoman.

The second he heard the gun click empty, Dick leapt up and jumped the chairs to attack their assailant.

Unfortunately, he forgot a few key facts. One, he had no clue who was attacking them. Two, he had no weapons. Three, he was in pajamas, and thus had no protection. He realized these key things when he found himself dangling by his wrist face to face with the man Batman had been actively hunting the past few weeks. Dick felt the blood leave his face. As the man grinned lecherously, he remembered that if they hadn't heard the gunshots he and his three brothers would be dead at the minute, and pulled his free arm back to punch the man in the face.

Two hours earlier

It was new moon, and the stars were difficult to see with the city's light pollution. On top of that, thick clouds were scattered across the sky. The air felt charged, full of static waiting to be brushed against, and the smell from the streets was unusually strong. There was an ominous feeling, as if the city's inhabitants were collectively holding their breath.

It was nights like these that made Batman on edge. He preferred to leave Robin at home on nights like these and with the rumors circulating the newest criminal, he felt extra thankful Alfred was around to protect them. Luckily, none of them had argued, all excited about the biweekly movie night Dick and Damian had established upon returning home. Bruce had left them in Dick and Damian's room finishing up their homework so they could start the movie soon. Damian, having already finished, was sitting on Dick's lap as the teen finished up an English essay. Jason was doing math on the other desk, while Tim read Sherlock, having also already finished his homework for the evening, and probably for the next week as well.

The newest criminal was a serial killer who had a thing against Batman, like so many did. He targeted single fathers with young children, and the media had dubbed him "Double Trip", because he often both shot his victims and slit their throats, occasionally using additional methods on the children. The man had, at several of the crime scenes, written messages for Batman in the blood of his victims. The latest one had disturbed Batman the most. "1, 2, 3, 4, how many more, Batman?' But there had only been three known attacks.

A tip had placed the criminal's base of operations at a classic abandoned warehouse near the docks. Batman landed softly on the roof of the building and retracted his grapple. There had been no patrol of guards or anything of the like. All signs indicated that the murderer was working alone, but there was no guarantee. Batman carefully removed a panel from the skylight on the roof and slipped onto a catwalk. He stalked through the shadows of the building searching. He found a computer with evidence of the previous murders, and a scrap book about the murders, and called in Commissioner Gordon.

Shortly after he finished the call, Batman heard a scuttle behind him and froze. He slowly turned around and found himself facing Double Trip's neck. Seven feet tall, the man was a goliath, thick muscles stretched taunt everywhere. He looked a bit like Bane when Bane was juiced up except with real muscles. He wore a dark shirt with a thick biker jacket, jeans, waterproof laced boots, sleek racing googles, and a gas mask.

That should have been his hint, but for some reason, probably the number of villains that wore gas masks who didn't have anything to do with gas, Batman did not pull out his gas mask and put it on. Double Trip was a tougher fighter than Batman had expected, and got a couple lucky gunshots in. The fight lasted five minutes before the gas really started to affect Batman. The first sign was a stumble, minor, but it led to Double Trip catching his cape. Batman quickly detached it. The dodges were getting closer and closer and then a knife dropped on Batman's head. Hard. And he sucked in a huge breath of some hallucinogen.

He couldn't see. Everything blurred into many different colors and, while he could feel the phantom limbs, his struggles were feeble. With his last presence of mind, he pressed the emergency signal on his belt. The whirl disappeared as the world darkened and faded.

30 minutes earlier, about ten minutes after Batman passed out.

GCPD stormed the abandoned warehouse where Double Trip was rumored to be located, followed closely by Batgirl who had arrived at the same time. When they entered, they found the demon holding a limp Batman up with one hand. The other hand was on the edge of Batman's cowl. Batman was bleeding from several bullet wounds and knife slashes, although luckily, his throat hadn't been slashed.

"FREEZE! Drop the Bat!" The serial killer turned to face them. A low chuckle filled the air.

Double Trip removed his free hand from Batman's cowl and opened it. A moment later smoke filled the air and a body, Batman, came flying at the coughing police officers.

When the smoke cleared, Double Trip was gone. Commissioner Gordon cursed, and contacted the outside forces. A response came. Double Trip had shot one of the other officers and stole their car. He was gone.

Gordon cursed again. Batgirl, meanwhile, was examining Batman.

"He's alive," she said. There were several sighs of relief. "I need to get him to medical attention though. Did anyone happen to see where the Batmobile was parked?"

There were several nos. "Can't you call it like Batman does?"

Batgirl shook her head. "That option was… temporarily… disabled." She chose her words carefully, inwardly cursing Robin's recent joyride that got the privilege taken away. "It's still available for the bikes, but the Batmobile would be easier." She shook her head again, and called the bike, getting up and supporting Batman. The commissioner got his more tech-smart officers started on trying to track the missing car.

"Robin." One of the officers realized. "Where's Robin? Double Trip goes after both parents and kids."

"He's not out tonight." The officers helped her secure Batman to the bike with enough room for her to squeeze in front and drive. As they were finishing up, Batman's cowl slipped. Not enough to show anything related to his true identity, thankfully, but it shouldn't have done that.

"It's loose." Batgirl muttered. "Why is it loose? It shouldn't be loose, unless…" Her eyes widened behind the mask. Her hand flew up to her ear. "Batgirl to Robin. Come in, Robin!"

"Got it." A police officer said. "He's making a beeline for the outskirts of Gotham." Batgirl glanced in the man's direction.

"Batgirl to A, come in A!"

"Yin, Bennett, go with Batgirl and get Batman to a nondescript hospital. Guard him and make sure they don't remove his mask. Patton, get Merkel to a hospital as well. Montoya, Bullock, Anderson, with me, we're following Double Trip. The rest of you, stay on alert. If word gets out Batman is in the hospital, the city will go to hell. Stop all the crimes you can."

Yin went over to Batgirl as Bennett ran to grab a car. The girl was still desperately trying to contact Robin or any other member of the Batfamily.

"We're giving you an escort to the hospital, to protect Batman from identity peeks. Do you have a safe doctor to go to."

Batgirl looked at them, hesitantly. "You'll keep it a secret."

"Of course. And Bennett will as well."

"Alright." She let her hand drop from her earpiece. "Let's go. The faster we get him to a doctor, the faster I can check on Robin." She slipped onto her bike, and took off, hearing the car start up and follow her.

"Where are they?" Tim asked, as Jason ran around grabbing weapons and medical supplies. The teen had already changed into his Robin outfit. Jason stopped and sighed.

"I don't know, but if they're not down here by now, they were probably spotted. Dick won't risk bringing the shooter down here. You know how he is." He put his mask on. "Pull up the house security footage. I need to see where they are and if the entrance is clear."

Tim nodded, and quickly pulled it up. Jason leaned over his shoulder, searching the screen as he shoved a communicator in his ear. He adjusted it to include the police frequency, and then scowled.

"The police know Double Trip is here. They're on their way. Should be here in ten."

Tim gasped as he spotted the screen Dick was in. "We don't have that much time. He's killing Dick!" Jason gripped Tim's shoulder. "The entrance is clear. I'm going up to help. Make it look like I came in another way. Try to contact Batman or Batgirl. Tell me if you see Damian, and, unless someone makes it down here, DON'T. LEAVE. THE. CAVE."

"Okay." Tim mumbled.

Jason gave his shoulder one last squeeze than took off up the stairs.

Dick pulled weakly at Double Trip's arm, trying to loosen the iron grip the monster had around his neck. It was tight, cutting into his air, but not fully, leaving him with the suffocating feeling without the ability to pass out. He had tried kicking the man, but his socked feet had no real effect on the goliath, even when Dick kicked him in the groin.

The living room was a disaster. After Dick had punched Logarithm in the face, he had broken free of the initial grip and proceeded to throw everything he could reach at the man. He'd been careful to draw the man away from the ottoman where he'd hidden Damian, as well as making sure none of the milkshakes landed in that area. Running low on things to throw, he had lashed out with a sweeping kick to knock Double Trip down. It had worked, and Double Trip had fallen onto the glass, but Dick had gain several cuts on his leg in the process. The monster stood up bleeding in several places, the smirk the man had earlier fading into a scowl. Dick stayed in a crouch, waiting for Double Trip to make the first move. The man had reached forward, and Dick had gone under and attempted to throw the man.

Double Trip grabbed the back of Dick's pajama shirt with his other hand and yanked to throw the kid off balance. Dick tried to slip out of it, but Double Trip grabbed Dick's arm and twisted it behind his back, halting the effort with the shirt halfway over Dick's head. Dick cried out, and then bit down on his cry and jerked his arm out of Double Trip's grip. He slipped the rest of the way out of his shirt, and turned to face his opponent.

Dick was confused to see an amused smile on the man as Double Trip threw the shirt away. Unnerved, he took a single step back, and yelped as his foot landed on the base of one of the milkshake glasses. The base rolled under his foot, throwing off his balance for a second before he managed to shift his foot directly onto the broken glass next to it. He went down hard onto more broken glass, barely managing to keep his head and neck upright, away from the ground. Double Trip moved quickly, scooping the boy up with his left arm around the boy's neck.

Which brought them to now, with Dick tugging furtively at Double Trip's arm, while the man reached his right arm back and pulled out a knife. The man didn't say a word, although the grin grew, as he swiped at Dick's arms with the knife. The deep cuts that appeared served as a warning, and Dick pulled them down. The arm around Dick's neck tightened slightly, and Dick jerked his arms upwards. Double Trip knocked them aside, and touched the tip of the knife to Dick's bare chest above his heart. Dick jerked again as the man pressed the knife down and dragged it about four inches down.

"HEY!" Dick felt his heart plummet to his feet as he heard Jason's shout. He tried his hardest to look to his right where it had come from, but the grip around his neck kept him from turning his head. A low, menacing chuckle filled the air. "Drop him." Robin demanded.

Rather than dropping Dick, Double Trip looked back at his captive, placed the knife near the top of the cut and started carving a semicircle. Dick gave a gurgled cry.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!"

Double Trip took a quick step backwards and Dick felt a batarang pierce his right upper arm. He gave another gurgled cry, the closest thing to a scream he could get. The knife turned to draw a line at a 45 degree angle from where the semicircle intersected the original line. An 'R'? Double Trip was drawing an R? Why?

"Shit." Robin muttered. There were running footsteps, and Dick suddenly felt himself falling. He sucked in breath as he landed on the glass again. Trying desperately to get his breath, he glanced up at the fight above him. Robin flipped off of Double Trip to land next to his brother, leaving a beeping batbomb behind. He winced when the glass dug into his gloved hand, before he landed on his feet next to Dick.

"Who threw the milkshakes?" Dick flushed even as his breath evened out. Maybe that hadn't been the best idea… "Never mind." Robin hissed. "Where's Damian? I need you to go downstairs the first opening you get." Dick nodded. At that moment, the bomb exploded and Double Trip went down with the force of the explosion.

"He's under the ottoman." Dick whispered.

"Get him and go. I'll be right behind you." Robin pulled out some smoke bombs. Dick took that as he cue to go grab the youngest and leapt to the ottoman. He quickly pulled Damian out and started for the elevator. Double Trip was recovering when they neared him, but Robin struck the man in the head with a bo staff, and threw down a smoke bomb. Dick made it to the elevator and quickly entered the security codes to open the elevator. He looked back for Robin.

"Robin, hurry!" He called. Robin came sprinting out of the smoke cloud and slid into the elevator, narrowly dodging three bullets as he came. Dick pressed the button that closed the door while Damian hit the one that would bring them downstairs. The wall panel started to close, but not before four bullets impacted the back of the elevator. Dick cried out as one passed through his shoulder.

The door closed, and the elevator dropped. Above them, they heard the sound of sirens.

"GOTHAM PD! PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!"

Tim watched the cameras with not a small bit of fear. Jason, Dick, and Damian were almost to the elevator, but the police had just arrived and there was a chance they would spot the elevator going down. Wayne Manor was compromised, especially with Alfred down, and the Batcave might be right behind it, if the way Double Trip was shooting at the elevator, and then the wood panel that hid the elevator shaft was any indication. As soon as Robin had gone up to help, Tim had set about downloading everything on the batcomputer onto multiple, color coded flash drives. Villain profiles on the blue one. Heroes on the black one. Case files on the yellow and green. Everything else on the red one. The download was about 50% complete, but would take at least another ten minutes.

He knew he should have focused on contacting Batgirl or Batman, but the police radio had mentioned Batman was down, and if the Commissioner was on the case and put two and two together about Batgirl… It would take her too long to get here anyways. The police had a huge head start on her.

"Batgirl to Batcave. Come in Batcave. Please work…" Hearing Barbara's voice from the consul, Tim practically leapt for the mic.

"Batgirl?" He asked.

"Robin! Is that you?"

"Umm. Well, this is Rob 3." Jason chose that moment to come out of the elevator supporting a limping older brother.

"Is that Batgirl?"

Tim nodded.

"Rob 3. I've been trying to contact you guys for the last half hour. Double Trip is on the way to your house, followed by the police."

Jason snorted. "Lock down the cave and then fill her in, Tim. We need to keep both Double Trip and the police out of here. Hopefully, they'll think it's a bunker, rather than the Batcave." Tim quickly typed in the lockdown codes, and listened as the Cave started to secure itself. Nobody would get in or out unless the proper codes were entered except through a small tunnel that only the birds, Batman, and Alfred knew about. It was too small for Batman and Alfred to fit through, and Jason would be pushing it. It was meant as an escape route and wound down the mountain for miles, with several hatches to out so they were unlikely to get caved in, all the way to the edge of the city nearest the Zeta Tubes. Even that was only an out. It couldn't be opened from the outside.

"We know about Double Trip, Batgirl." Tim said. "We've been a little busy."

"Busy? Are you all alright?"

"We are, but Alfred's not. He had four bullet wounds to the chest. I think he's… He hasn't moved, Babs, he hasn't moved."

"O-okay. I'm almost to the Manor. What do you want me to do?"

"Keep them away from the Cave. Jason's helping Dick now, and then, I don't know what we're doing."

"Is the cave locked down?" Jason called from the infirmary.

"Yeah!" Tim called back.

"Alright. I can do that. I'm pulling up now. Keep me posted." Batgirl said.

Tim glanced at the download. 75% complete. "Damian, I need you to stay here and watch the comms. You're Rob Four. If you need to respond to someone, press this button and say 'This is Rob Four.' Then repeat the person's name. Say go, and let go of the button so they can respond."

"I know how to use a comm unit." Damian scowled.

"I know. But it makes me feel better to be sure. I'm going to go check on Dick and Jason and then grab us both something to change into. Unless Jay needs help. If he does, I'll help and then grab us both something to change into."

"Okay."

"Shout if you need us."

Tim hurried to the medical section. Jason pulled a glass shard out of Dick's back just as Tim entered. Dick had a breathing mask on, oxygen steadily flowing. Several cuts on his chest were bleeding to blur the pattern there and there were bandages tied tightly around his forearms. There was a pad taped over the bullet wound on Dick's shoulder, but it wasn't under as much pressure as it should be due to all the glass shards. "How's it going?" Tim asked. Jason shook his head.

"He's lost too much blood. Having trouble staying up." Jason replied. "Get me some O negative from the blood bank."

"On it." Tim said. Tim yanked on a pair of gloves, and then ran and grabbed a bag of O negative and an IV stand with needle, dragging it over to his brother. "Here." He said.

"Sweet." Jason said. "Here." He handed the tools he'd been using to get the glass out and the tray he'd been putting the glass on to Tim. "Take these and keep working on getting the glass out while I set him up." Jason found a vein above the major cuts on Dick's arm, the one that hadn't been shot, and inserted the needle. He got the drip set up and activated it. He glanced up worriedly when Dick didn't even flinch, and saw that the teen's eyes were glazed over.

"Shit. He's gone into shock. We might need another bag if this one doesn't help."

"Do we have time for two bags?" Tim asked. "The police will try to break in here before long. Batgirl won't be able to hold them off long if they start to suspect they're looking for the Batcave."

"We'll be okay, Tim. The cave's defenses are built to withstand Superman and at least half the League at once while on lockdown. It might not be completely foolproof due to the unexplored tunnels, but it should keep the police out for a while." Jason grabbed another set of tools and started pulling glass out of Dick's leg. There wasn't much that had stuck in the cuts, so he figured he'd be able to clean and bandage it quickly and stop blood leakage from that part at least.

"If you say so." Tim said sullenly. They worked in silence for a couple minutes.

"TIM!" Damian called. Tim pulled out the shard he'd been working on, and glanced up as Jason.

"Go." Jason jerked his head towards Damian. Tim slipped the gloves off and hurried over to his little brother.

"What is it Damian?"

"Two things. One, your download is complete. Two, there's a helicopter above the house and the police are examining the elevator shaft. I think they're almost through the wood panel. Batgirl is arguing with them." He said.

"Shit." Tim muttered. He quickly checked that the flash drives were successfully encoded, setting the password to something long, complicated, and different for each drive. He disconnected the flash drives, and strung them all onto necklaces. "Here." He said, pulling the yellow and green ones over Damian's head. He pulled the other three over his head. "JASON!" He shouted.

"WHAT?" Jason shouted back. Tim ran over to poke his head into the medical center.

"I put everything from the computer onto drives. Should I delete everything on the main computer?"

"You're sure you got everything?"

"Pretty sure."

"Pretty sure?"

"Like 95%."

"Alright. Then do it. Anything you didn't get is probably better off destroyed than in the wrong hands."

"On it."

"What should I do?" Damian asked, gripping the two flash drives around his neck.

"Do you know where the Birdie Escape Tunnel is?"

"Yeah. Dick showed it to me."

"Go grab a utility belt from the gear area and as much money as you can. Pull out a flashlight. Then go to the tunnel, and get the door open. Go inside and start down the tunnel. We'll be right behind you."

Damian looked up at him hesitantly, searching his face. Apparently seeing something there that comforted him. The boy's expression turned to determined. He gave a brief nod and scurried off. Tim finished starting the deletion sequence. He also activated a sequence to destroy all classified information in the cave. Classified as in possibly able to give away the identity of other superheroes. Checking the timing and giving a nervous glance to the elevator, Tim rushed off to the weapons area where Damian was pulling on his boots. Tim knelt down beside the kid and quickly tied the laces. He quickly shoved his own boots on. Tim grabbed three grab bags, set up for an emergency like this, and shoved extra weapons and a bunch of cash into the bag. He slung one over his shoulders and held the other two in his hands. He gestured towards the tunnel, and started running towards it. Damian trotted after him, a kid-sized grab bag already slung over his shoulders along with a utility belt.

Jason met him by the tunnel, supporting a dizzy, but thankfully conscious Dick. They both had boots on. The barely teenager had already opened the door. He took two of the grab bags, giving one to Dick.

"Damian first. Then Tim. Then Dick. I'll take up the back." His brothers nodded, seeing no point in arguing. On a normal day, Dick might have, but he was in no condition to right now. Damian clicked on the flashlight, and crawled into the tunnel. Tim quickly followed. He heard Dick clumsily follow him in. The door clanged shut behind them, and he heard beeps as Jason set up an electronic lock. "Go." He hissed. The two younger boys nodded, and took off down the tunnel.