Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The murmur of voices rising from the beautiful, richly clad people mingling in the dazzling ballroom is loud enough to give Tim pause for a moment as he stands poised in the entryway, holding his mom’s hand.

She glances down at him and gives his hand a squeeze, flashing a quicksilver smile that curves her rose-tinted lips at just the right angle for the watching cameras. Her dark blue eyes sparkle beneath the auburn waves of her hair, pinned in a complicated updo. “Tired already? We needn’t stay for long, darling. Your father and I just have several acquaintances we’d like to introduce you to, and—” She breaks off as an older gentleman with white hair and a ridiculously curled mustache approaches, drawing her attention.

Tim follows his parents as they expertly mingle through the crowd, greeting potential investors and showing him off as their bright, polite son and heir apparent to Drake Industries. It’s incredibly boring, or it would be if he didn’t have to focus every moment so as not to make a mistake and embarrass them.

Accidentally putting his foot in his mouth or fiddling with the collar of his expensive, tailored suit in front of someone who turns out to be important is something he’d rather avoid. His parents wouldn’t blame him, exactly, but he hates to see his father’s barely concealed wince or his mother’s tight-lipped discomfort.

They’ve put so much work into their business, and a lot of that involves schmoozing wealthy investors at events like this one. Technically, it’s meant to be a fundraiser for the Martha Wayne Foundation, which Drake Industries already donated a sizable sum to this year, but for the Drakes and others like them it’s a prime opportunity to sow the seeds for future business deals.

He sighs and resists the urge to squirm as his parents fall into a discussion about their latest archaeological project with a mixed group of bankers and their socialite spouses. It’s not that he isn’t interested, but his parents already eagerly told him these same stories the moment they got home, illustrated with actual photos and in some cases, castings of their finds. The actual artifacts are already on their way to universities and museums in the country where they were excavated, of course.

Tim gives in to the urge to glance around the room. There’s Bruce Wayne, holding court surrounded by a bevy of social-climbing beauties, male and female. His ward, Dick Grayson, is there as well, entertaining a group of bored teenagers who were obviously dragged along by their parents.

Eyeing them, Tim considers the potential benefits of slipping away and heading in that direction. Teenagers are less boring than adults and his parents are likely to approve of the influential friendships and connections he might make in that crowd.

Teenagers are also weird and kind of irritating. They waste so much time flirting with each other, it’s annoying. He has no idea how Dick stands it. He told him that once, and Dick just smiled and fluffed his hair and told him he’d understand when he’s older.

Tim scowls. Nine years old is plenty old enough to recognize when people are acting dumb.

He turns away. There’s got to be someone else here who would be more interesting to talk to. His gaze falls on a beautiful woman in a sleek black dress. She’s standing near an archway and sipping from a champagne glass, watching the room with an expression of deep amusement in her green eyes.

Brightening, he tugs his mom’s hand and waits for her to look down in inquiry before he tilts his chin.

Following his gaze, his mom smiles and waves. “Oh, Selina is here! Yes, darling, go ahead and say hello to your godmother. Come right back if she starts on a third glass of champagne or if Bruce Wayne tries to talk to her. She’s a darling, but she is not child-appropriate after her third glass or with an eligible bachelor to torment. Honestly, she’s just like a cat with a mouse when she gets a wealthy fool in her claws.”

Nodding, Tim leans up on his tiptoes and presses a kiss to his mom’s cheek. His dad absently pats him on the shoulder. “We’ll be done in just a few more minutes, sport.”

Yeah, right. They’re deep in conversation again before he’s even stepped away, the circle of archaeology enthusiasts closing up behind him the moment he steps back. They’ll be at this for hours.

At least he’ll have good company. He makes a beeline for Selina, who greets him with a smile and a warm hug. “Hello there, Timmy—I don’t understand how Janet can bring herself to keep dragging you along to these things. Some of us have to be here, but it seems so inhumane to subject a kid like you to it.” She hands him a tiny plate filled with hors d’oeuvres.

“Thanks.” Tim accepts the plate and happily picks through the offerings, selecting something small and savory to stuff into his mouth. Selina always knows the best things to eat and never includes any of the weird, yucky foods that somehow end up at these parties. The epitome of good taste is tasting bad, or something. Tim doesn’t really get it. “It’s not so bad. I’m just glad to spend time with—” He breaks off guiltily, but not fast enough.

Selina’s carefree grin fades, leaving her lovely face harsher and older-looking somehow. “They’re still traveling a lot, huh?”

He shrugs. The last thing he wants is to be the cause of another fight between his mom and her old school friend. It’s scary. They both say the meanest things to each other in the most polite, calm voices imaginable. Last time it happened was when Selina found out the Drakes left Tim home with Mrs. Mac for three whole months and ended up missing his birthday.

Tim’s dad took one look at the two ladies in the drawing room, sipping their tea and glaring daggers at each other, and backed right out of the room. He took Tim with him, rescuing him from the awful tension to go play catch in the backyard.

Tim knows they’ll still be friends, even if they fight again. He just doesn’t want it to happen. His mom doesn’t have many friends, and Selina is the only one who feels real. Maybe it’s because they knew each other when they were young, before either of them ever dreamed of going to parties like this in expensive dresses.

Maybe it’s just because they’re both kind of mean in a nice way, able to bring a roomful of stuck up idiots to their knees with a few words, and then turn around and brush Tim’s hair out of his eyes and ask about his day in the next breath.

“Some,” he says, not meeting her eyes. If he does, she’ll definitely be able to tell that he’s sad about it. His parents are going to be home for a whole month this time, and mom even made his favorite breakfast this morning. He has nothing to be upset about. “It’s fine though.” To distract Selina, who’s still eyeing him with far too sharp a gaze, he scans the crowd. “Tell me a story? Ooh, how about that guy?” He gestures with his chin toward the interesting-looking man who greeted his parents earlier, with his ornate facial hair.

Selina follows his gaze and snorts, her usual good humor apparently restored. “Oh, that’s Colonel Ansley. He’s quite a character. I’m not sure I should be telling you this one…”

He gives her a look. There’s no way she can hold back now, not after building up his curiosity like that. “Yeah?”

Chuckling, she capitulates. “Well, a few years ago…”

By the time his mom comes to collect him, at least an hour later, Tim’s stuffed full of tasty hors d’oeuvres and gossip. These galas are always so much more fun when he runs into Selina.

“Bye, thanks for the food!” Tim says, giving Selina a quick hug before stuffing his cheeks with everything left on the plate and bolting. She throws her head back and laughs, shaking her hair out of her eyes, and reaches out to ruffle his hair and tweak his nose like she always does.

As Janet rolls her eyes at his antics and gives Selina a quick hug of her own, brushing their cheeks together, he follows his dad out to wait for the valet to bring the car around. Chances are, Selina and his mom will talk for a while now, and he doesn’t want to be here if Selina decides to bring up the traveling thing again. He loves them both, but they’re scary when they have one of their polite arguments.

Sometimes he wonders why Selina doesn’t just offer to take care of him herself while the Drakes travel. Then the thought slips from his mind, chased away by her teasing laughter and blunt affection whenever he actually does see her.

Anyway, he doesn’t want to dwell on this right now. His parents are here and he plans to enjoy their time home to the full extent possible. 

A few weeks later, Tim watches through his bedroom window as the taillights of Mrs. McIlvaine’s small sedan disappear into the darkness. She doesn’t stay overnight anymore, not since he turned nine and his dad proclaimed him a big boy, plenty mature enough to be responsible for himself overnight. His mom wasn’t happy about it, but gave in when his dad gently mocked her for coddling him.

He wishes she hadn’t.

Tim sighs and buries his bare toes in the thick pile of the carpet. It feels warm and comforting, and his bedroom is just as comfortable and inviting as it always is, but somehow nothing feels right. It’s always hard for the first few days after his parents leave, the silence and emptiness of the large house oppressive instead of peaceful.

Later, once he’s used to it again, he usually kind of enjoys the time to himself. He can do his online schoolwork at whatever pace he wants, binge on any shows he’s interested in, and play computer games for hours on end. It’s great. He can even eat potato chips in his room, as long as he remembers to clean up all the empty bags before Mrs. Mac in comes to do the vacuuming.

For now, though, he feels sad and lonely. He eyes the piles of books, half-completed projects, and gadgets lying around on his desk and bookshelves, and turns away in a huff. Nothing looks appealing right now, not even his laptop. He’s been idly working on trying to bypass the security of the Gotham library so he can read whatever digital books he wants and skip the stupid pointless waitlist, but that doesn’t sound very appealing right now. The security seems way more complex than it should be for a library, anyway.

His gaze catches on his new camera, a present from his parents right before they left. Maybe it would be fun to take a few pictures. Only, what is there even to take pictures of?

He looks out the window again, his gaze drawn to the bright lights of Gotham in the distance. There are so many people in the city, a constant churn of motion as they go about their daily lives. A little thrill of excitement blooms in his chest as he imagines walking out the front door and riding his bike into the city. It won’t be that dangerous, he reasons. He knows he can make it all the way because his dad once took him on a bike ride over the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge to Sheldon Park, where they had greasy hotdogs and giant soft drinks with carbonation so strong it tickled Tim’s nose.

Of course, his mom drove out to pick them up because Tim’s legs were tired and his dad was worried about him trying to bike all the way back. Still, he’s pretty sure he can manage. He’ll take his time and rest along the way if he needs it.

Decided, Tim doesn’t waste any time putting on layers of warm, dark clothes and snagging the camera before heading downstairs to grab his keys and hop on his bicycle. What he’s doing is exciting, with an illicit thrill of doing something he knows his parents wouldn’t approve of.

He feels a little guilty, but mostly free. After all, if they wanted to be able to tell him what to do all the time, they probably should’ve stuck around.

By the time he’s over the bridge and coasting down the bike lane past Sheldon Park, Tim is starting to regret his recent choices. His lungs are burning, his legs feel like leaden lumps that might just fall off with the next pump, and the park is dark, festooned with scary shadows. He keeps hearing weird noises that might just be raccoons fighting over scraps but his imagination says are definitely terrifying monsters about to lunge out and chomp him with their long, sword-like teeth.

He’s pretty sure the ride back is going to be torture. So he just keeps going. As long as he keeps heading south along the expressway, it’s still slightly downhill, which is a relief to his aching muscles.

The streets of Robbinsville are quiet, with only a few late evening joggers and people out walking their dogs. Most of the rush hour traffic is over and what’s left isn’t enough to be scary, even though the bright lights and whoosh of cars passing his bicycle makes him tense every time.

Finally, he comes to a halt in front of the big cathedral overlooking the Bob Kane Sound, just north of the Sprang Bridge. He finds a cozy nook between a couple of shrubs in the landscaped strip separating the parking lot from the side chapel and hides his bike there. Excitement and nerves send his heart racing as he looks around, wondering what he should do next. It’s beautiful here, the views out over the sound and the river lovely where the water shows through the trees and surrounding buildings.

Tim wishes he could get a better view. After a moment, he looks up. Could he…?

As it turns out, he could. It only takes a few false starts before he manages to shimmy up a downspout, the ornate, fussy architecture of the cathedral proving very helpful along the way. He finds purchase for his hands and feet on various ledges, windows, and decorative elements before making his way onto a slightly pitched rooftop about halfway up the side of the cathedral. There are large, elegant supporting columns which arch from the rooftop back into the side of the building, and a few gargoyles crouched along the eave.

It’s a pretty comfortable place, all in all. He flops down on the rooftop and lifts his camera, then stares.

All of Gotham is spread out at his feet, the black silhouettes of the city skyline glittering with lights to the south over the slow, shimmering current of the Sprang. To the east, moonlight glimmers and dances over the surface of the waves, the sound calm and quiet tonight.

It’s so beautiful. Tim raises his camera and focuses, then takes a picture. The flash goes off and half-blinds him, and the resulting picture is pretty bad, but he takes some time experimenting with settings, gradually improving the quality of his photos.

By the time he finally gets an image he likes—one that captures the moon breaking through the clouds, both the Sprang and part of the sound framing Gotham’s skyline—the night has grown sharply colder and he’s surprised to find himself shivering, his hands stiff and chilled.

It’s definitely past time to be heading back. He scoots toward the edge of the rooftop, suddenly much more aware of how high up he is than he was when he climbed up here. Anxiety twists his belly and he swallows, looking down at the distant pavement below.

A shadow falls across it. What?

Tilting his head back, Tim tries to figure out what could be casting that shadow. It looks like a bird, maybe, or a bat, flying quickly in his direction—

Oh. Oh, wow. He looks up, and there’s Batman. The vigilante is swinging across the Sprang Bridge, using two lines to swing from one pylon to the next. Behind him, a smaller, brighter figure flutters and flips in graceful arcs.

Tim watches them in wonder, barely aware when he raises the camera to his eye and begins to click. It’s so cool. They’re both incredible, powerful and graceful in a way that doesn’t seem quite human. They catch up to their prey on the final pylon, and he realizes they’ve been chasing Catwoman. She cracks her whips at them and grins in challenge, dangling something he can’t quite make out over the smooth waters of the Sprang.

He’s watching through the camera when he sees it. Not Robin, although the back of his mind makes note of the four revolutions he completes as he flips through the air to land beside his mentor. He’ll connect the dots and realize what that means later, when he has time to think about it and recall the last person he saw perform that rare move.

No, what he sees is Catwoman, throwing her head back and tossing it like she’s flipping short, straight hair out of her eyes, despite the cowl that covers whatever her hair actually looks like. She reaches out to ruffle Robin’s hair in a very familiar manner, tweaking his nose and then chuckling as he bats at her hand, looking offended.

No way.

Tim watches, using his camera to zoom in on what he can see of her features and studying them. The huge goggles and cowl cover a lot, but from what he can see, it’s possible.

Lowering the camera, he swallows. Well, this is interesting. Very interesting.

After a moment, he starts to smile. Looks like he has something new to occupy his time.

Chapter Text

As it turns out, confirming Selina is secretly running around as Catwoman is way easier than he would have expected. All it takes is one look at Catwoman crooning to her cat one night when it follows her out onto the rooftops, and he knows for sure. That’s Isis, Selina’s cat.

His godmother is Catwoman.

Tim eases back into the shadows and then ducks into a convenient alcove when the cat burglar spins, her face pointed directly at where he was just standing. Yikes, that was close. He frowns, wondering what almost gave him away.

The answer comes to him almost immediately. His sneakers have an annoying tendency to squeak and his pale skin must shine like a beacon in the night. Well, that’s not good.

He clearly needs some better camouflage. Maybe a disguise? His mind runs through the various costumes worn by Gotham’s resident heroes and rogues. Robin’s costume is ridiculous and he immediately dismisses the idea of emulating that guy. The last thing he wants to do is draw more attention to himself.

Batman would be better. His costume seems made to blend in with the night, all dark shadows and flowing cape. But that cape… Tim watches Pixar movies, and he knows darn well capes are a terrible idea. He doesn’t want to get it snagged on a fire escape or something and end up dangling off a building.

So, no capes. That could work. He raises his gaze to the rooftop again, just in time to catch Catwoman’s lithe leap to the next building over, and oh.

Her costume is really similar to Batman’s, just without the cape. Huh. And she has goggles to protect her eyes instead of the weird lenses Batman and Robin use. Goggles would be a lot easier for Tim to buy online.

Not to mention, if Selina catches him running around in a version of her costume, she’ll probably be a lot easier to deal with than Batman. She’d definitely be mad, but at least he knows she cares about him and wouldn’t jump to conclusions. She might even offer to train him. Her fighting style is appealing to him for the most part, although he isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to swing his hips and somehow make idiots walk straight into walls like she does. Well, maybe she can teach him how to do that.

He doesn’t even want to imagine how scary it would be if Batman found him sneaking around in a bat costume and assumed he was up to no good, like one of the bad guys.

Tim shivers. Nope, bad idea. Catkid it is! Catboy? No, definitely not.

Eh, he’ll think of something later. Decided, he checks to make sure the skyline is empty before scooting out of his hiding place and heading back to where he stashed his bike this time. It’s getting easier and easier to cover the distance between here and home. His dad’s going to be impressed with his biking stamina next time his parents come home.

Tim has only been going out in his new suit for a few weeks when he gets spotted on the roof of the Gotham Museum. Oops. So much for the added camouflage. It isn’t too bad, though. At least it’s just Robin. If Batman were here, this would be a lot worse.

He’s pretty sure he can give Robin the slip. Especially since this is the new one, the younger, less experienced kid Batman just started taking out last month. His burnished, dark red hair distinguishes him from the original just as much as his smaller size, less polished skills, and startling tendency to curse like a sailor when he’s upset.

Actually, why is he even out on his own already? Tim’s pretty sure he isn’t supposed to be, based on the way Batman hovers over him protectively and only seems to let him come along on simple patrols in parts of town where the worst he’s likely to see are a few petty crimes.

Robin is glaring at him, feet braced and hands hovering like he’s just as ready to throw a punch as reach for his belt and let loose with a few birdarangs. “Who are you, and what the fuck are you up to?” he blusters, glaring.

Tim blinks, wondering if he actually expects him to tell the truth just like that. “Does it matter? I’m just an honest Gotham citizen, out for a walk.” He tightens his grip around the double handful of pop snappers he just dug out of his pockets. They seemed like them might come in handy when he found them in the garage, tucked away on a dusty shelf where his dad must have put them after the fourth of July festivities this summer.

Now, they seem pathetic, the little bangs they’ll create when thrown against the ground hardly enough to distract anyone, let alone one of Gotham’s actual vigilantes.

“On the goddamn roof of the Gotham museum, in that getup?” Robin looks at him like he’s crazy, which… Well, yeah, Tim can maybe see how this might look. “B didn’t mention Catwoman has minions,” he mutters under his breath.

Now that’s just offensive. “I’m not a minion!”

Robin frowns, fists slowly lowering. “You sound really young. And you’re fucking tiny. You’re not a cat burglar, you’re a kitten!”

Tim resents that. “We’re the same height!”

“Shut up—I just haven’t hit my growth spurt yet.”

“Well, neither have I!” 

Robin rests a hand on his hip, regarding him with an expression rapidly clearing from aggressive to faintly concerned. “You’re just a kid playing dress up, aren’t you? How the fuck did you even get up here?” He turns and looks around as though in search of a ladder or other means of access, and Tim takes that opportunity to duck behind one of the tilted solar panels mounted on the roof and drop to his belly. He squirms underneath as fast as he can, his breathing going shallow as he tucks himself into a space barely large enough to fit even his slim frame. He tosses his handful of pop snappers as hard as he can off to the side, where they explode with a satisfying series of bangs.

It’s the best he can do, and it seems laughably transparent. He should never have dared come here, but he knows Selina’s out of town this week and he wanted to see what it feels like to stand on the rooftop of the building where so many of Catwoman’s most impressive heists have played out.

He’s watched her tangle with Batman more than once, and last time they fought an interesting idea occurred to him during their banter. Selina was teasing Batman about the ridiculous amount of security he’s apparently set up at the museum over the years, asking how often he shows up at the museum because a pigeon landed on it, and he replied gruffly that there are size and weight limits only triggered by something larger.

Well, obviously Tim wanted to test that out. When he climbed up here, he held his breath, ready to flee, but the alarms never went off.

That shouldn’t have made him so complacent, though. Oh well.

He holds his breath, trying to be as quiet as possible as the sound of the bangs dies away.

To his amazement, Robin swears and then footsteps sound as he presumably rushes off to investigate. “Kid? What the hell, are you okay?” His voice grows more distant. “Fuck, you better not have fallen off the edge. Fireworks? God damn it, Gotham sucks. Even the fucking little kids are budding criminals…” His muttering continues, moving around in a circle as he searches for any signs of Tim. Eventually, the soft snick of his grapnel gun is followed by a whoosh and then silence.

Still hidden beneath the solar panel, Tim grins. That was actually kind of fun.

Over the next few weeks, it becomes almost a game. Tim is increasingly certain Robin is sneaking out on his own to patrol a couple of nights a week. That’s fine—Tim obviously isn’t in any position to judge someone breaking a few rules. They run into each other on a regular basis, exchange a few teasing words, Robin calls him kitten and tries to weedle details out of him about who he is and what he’s doing, and then Tim gives Robin the slip in ever more outlandish ways. So far, he’s relied heavily on distraction, trickery, and the increasing certainty that Robin’s out past his bedtime.

His favorite is the time he reconstructed a kite to match Batman’s silhouette, rigged it to a drone, and flew it overhead while he and Robin were at their biweekly rooftop rendezvous. Robin was trying for the umpteenth time to figure out what his deal is when the drone went by. As the shadow fell across them, the vigilante actually squeaked and dove for the dubious shelter of a nearby dumpster.

It was hilarious enough that Tim only felt a little bad about laughing at him.

Tonight is shaping up to be a lot less fun. Tim gulps, staring into Catwoman’s unamused eyes as she dangles him by the scruff on the apartment rooftop he was traipsing across when she got the drop on him. “So,” she says, in a voice that sounds anything but friendly, “I heard rumors about a little stray wandering around in my territory, but I thought they were exaggerated. What do you think you’re doing, kitten? Do your parents even know you’re out?”

Oh, this is not good. He’s not ready for this. If Selina finds out who he really is, there are a few ways this could go. Best case scenario, she might decide to mentor him, the way Batman teaches Robin. That would be awesome. Her skills all align with areas of interest for him—he’s enrolled himself in gymnastics and martial arts lessons, with his parents’ approval, but he’s sure Catwoman could take him a lot farther. And she’s geared toward stealth and breaking and entry, which appeal to his preference to stay in the shadows. His growing computer skills would likely be useful in her line of work, too.

Worst case scenario, she might find a way to stop him from going out at night at all. She’ll probably tell his parents, and that will mean them coming home early and maybe not being able to travel as much.

For a moment, he considers it. Having his parents home with him all the time is a dream he’s cherished from the moment he was old enough to understand that most children get to spend a lot more time with their parents than he does.

Then the crushing knowledge that Drake Industries’ survival depends on his parents’ ability to travel squashes that thought. The business might fail if they had to stay home just to look after Tim. Worse, they’d have to give up the archaeological projects they adore. He never wants to be responsible for taking all of that away from them.

“Just out for a walk,” he tries. She eyes his costume, dwelling on the ears and goggles in a pointed manner. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery? Hey, you wouldn’t happen to be interested in giving me a few tips, would you?”

She glares at him, fingers tightening where she’s clutching the back of his costume. Okay, so that’s a definite no on the training. Oh well. He wasn’t really holding out much hope on that one, anyway.

So, he triggers the trick he meant to use to slip away from Robin if they ran into each other tonight, and hopes for the best.

“What—?” Catwoman’s surprised voice breaks off as she starts coughing, her fingers releasing him as she raises a hand to cover her mouth. “What is that—” She coughs, then gags, backing away, “ungodly stench?”

Tim drops to the rooftop and takes off running, trying to suppress the near-overwhelming urge to cough. It doesn’t help at all that he also really wants to laugh right now.

He’s going to leave a really good review for the online retailer where he bought the spray bottle he just used to douse Catwoman. It was advertised as being a highly concentrated, horrible-smelling spray suitable for pranks, but he’s pretty sure the description doesn’t do it justice. That is the single worst odor he has ever encountered, and he’s occasionally had to duck into a manhole and trek through the sewers for a while to escape Robin’s determined pursuit.

By the time he wiggles his way into a convenient air duct in a disused office building, planning to hole up and hide there for an hour or two until he’s sure Catwoman is no longer in the area, he’s starting to regret using that particular method to escape her grasp. First of all, Selina’s definitely going to remember this and seek vengeance, if and when she finds out who he really is.

Second, he must’ve got some of the spray on his gloves, because the horrendous eldritch stench is following him. Ugh, he’s trapped in a tiny air duct with it.

Taking shallow breaths through his mouth, he starts to laugh silently so as not to give his position away in case Catwoman is looking for him.

He’s definitely keeping the spray bottle. This is going to be hilarious to use on Robin.

The next couple of years fall into a pattern, with Tim building up his skillset with private lessons in everything he can think of while his parents are in town and then going out to play his particular game of hide and seek with both Robin and Catwoman when his parents are traveling. He doesn’t go out every night they’re gone, of course—doing so would make it all too obvious if anyone ever decided to match up the Drakes’ travel patterns with Stray’s appearances.

At least Catwoman chose a pretty cool name to call him, settling on “stray” more often than the highly embarrassing “kitten.” Robin picked it up from her, and Tim has even heard Batman asking after him using that name.

He’s started trying his hand at a little petty theft, partly because everyone just seems to expect it based on what his costume looks like and also because there’s so much stolen stuff in this town, and none of it is in the hands of the people who really need it. Of course, he doesn’t steal anything really important or from people who don’t deserve it, and he makes sure whatever he takes goes to a good cause. Stuffing stolen cash into a donation box for the poor after he liberated it from a bunch of doped-up drug dealers who were sampling their own wares is pretty satisfying.

Robin even drops in and helps him sometimes when he uses cash from questionable sources to buy food and other supplies to distribute to the painfully numerous orphans and runaways who make the streets their home. The vigilante doesn’t even bother to harass him during those particular meetups, apparently feeling that the payoff is worth letting him slide for once.

It’s really fulfilling, and also pretty fun.

So is picking the lock to a warehouse where other, less scrupulous, thieves are storing their haul. He smiles as the lock finally clicks open, and reaches for the door.

“Not so fast,” a voice whispers right in his ear, and he tenses, triggering the extendable claws in his gloves and twisting, ready to defend himself. His hands are caught easily by stronger ones. “I’ve got you this time, little Stray,” Catwoman says, her lips stretching in a smile with just a hint of threat.

“Catwoman,” he says in the deeper, slightly hoarse voice he uses as Stray. “Are you sure you don’t want to just train me? I could make myself useful. You know by now I’m not going to stop just because you tell me to.” Every time she catches him, Catwoman tries to convince him to give up on the costumed hijinks and go home.

Sometimes he used to let her think he was being swayed by her arguments, but that doesn’t work anymore. She figured out pretty quickly that he was just using that to get her guard down so he could escape.

“You should,” she says, her voice pitched low and melancholy. “This life is no place for a kid.”

He frowns, shaking his head. “What about Robin? No one tells Batman he shouldn’t be out here.”

“Oh, I do. Batman’s just a stubborn fool who doesn’t know how to listen.” Sighing, Catwoman levels a penetrating look at him, then sets her jaw. “And I’m starting to think you’re another. Stray, I didn’t want to have to do this, but…” She transfers both his hands to one of hers and holds him tight, her free hand reaching for his goggles.

His eyes widen. Uh oh. In all the time Robin and Catwoman have been after him in what usually feels like a playful, lighthearted game, neither of them has ever really tried to get his mask off. Usually they just stick to talking and the occasional chase through the city. He has a feeling neither of them takes him very seriously.

Apparently, that just changed.

If this were Robin, Stray would just knee him in the balls and book it. That definitely won’t work here. Although… He sees a very familiar shadow racing past, just a few buildings away.

Wincing internally, he sends a heartfelt mental apology to his beloved godmother for what he’s about to do. “I’m sorry!” he squeaks, then inhales deeply and screams. “Help!” he yells as loud as he can, doing his best to sound young and terrified. “Please help! I’m being kidnapped!”

“Shut up!” Catwoman hisses, her hand drawing back from the edge of his goggles. She glances around, then sucks in a shocked breath as Batman’s boots hit the ground just a few feet away. “Damn it.” She drops him and spins to face off against Batman, who seems more confused than anything else.

“What’s in the warehouse?” he says in his deep, gravelly voice, apparently assessing the situation and dismissing Stray as a nonentity.

“Hell if I know,” she says, cocking a hip and tilting her head to send Stray an unamused look as he attempts to edge away. “This little stray was the one breaking in here, not me.”

“Stray,” Batman says, turning to nail him in place with an intent, measuring stare before seemingly dismissing him again. “Go.”

Swallowing, Stray nods before turning around and bolting, ignoring Catwoman’s displeased hiss. She’ll have to deal with Batman now, and maybe the pair of them will do something about the thieves whose warehouse he was breaking into.

Clearly he needs to be more careful in the future. If Catwoman is really serious about stopping him from going out, he has to be better. Otherwise, he might just find himself at home, declawed and hemmed in by the rules of his ordinary life.

It sounds awful. He’s had too much freedom for too long to give it up easily now.

Maybe he can convince Catwoman that he’s smart and tough enough to make it. Heck, if he’s good enough, it’s possible she’ll be willing to teach him a thing or two. He just has to make sure she never finds out who he really is.

He can pull it off. Probably.

Chapter Text

Tim wraps his arms around his mom and hugs her tight as she presses a kiss to his hair and holds him close. “Oh, darling, we’ll be back before you know it. Probably in five weeks or so. Even if our trip gets extended again, we’ll be back for your birthday.” She squeezes him close and sighs. “You’re going to be taller than me one of these days. I don’t think I’m ready.” Her soft laughter makes him smile.

“I am! I’m tired of being short.” It is something of an advantage when it comes to his ability to hide and fit through small spaces, but he would really like to be a bit taller. Robin’s been shooting up in a growth spurt he swears isn’t fueled by any kind of weird Bat-specific tech or dietary supplements, and he rubs it in every time they see each other that he’s taller than Stray now.

His thoughts scatter as big arms wrap around both of them. “Don’t worry about that, son. You’ll be tall one day, just like your old man.”

Eyeing his mom’s diminutive figure—barely breaking five feet tall with her shoes on—and his dad’s rangy, six-foot frame, Tim thinks it’s a lot more likely he’ll end up somewhere in between. Oh well. At least he’ll still be able to fit into small spaces.

“I’ll miss you guys,” he whispers, and sighs as they both hold him close.

“We’ll miss you, too,” his mom says, pressing one last kiss to his forehead as his dad ruffles his hair.

They make their way out the door, calling out last minute reminders and promises to do video calls at least once a week along with the usual daily texts and calls. Then they’re gone, and Tim’s chest tightens with a quick surge of loneliness. He wants to run after them and call them back, make them stay with him at least a few minutes longer.

The urge passes quickly. He’s twelve years old and he knows better than to make things harder for them by acting like a whiny little kid. Besides, Mrs. McIlvaine will be here soon to make dinner, so it’s not like he’s really alone.

And after that…

Tim smiles as he thinks about the other reason his parents leaving doesn’t upset him as much as it might. Tonight, he can hit the streets as Stray for the first time in almost a month. It’s hard to resist the urge to sneak out while his parents are home, but they would almost certainly notice.

Being Stray doesn’t completely make up for missing his parents, but it goes a long way toward taking his mind off it.

That night, Stray heads to the jewelry store over on Moench Row, the one he remembers Robin mentioned staking out the last time they talked. It’s unlikely Robin is still working that case, but it’s a reasonable place to start to look for his friend.

He’s in luck. A quick scan of the rooftops surrounding the jewelry store doesn’t reveal anything, but when he follows up by checking on foot he almost stumbles on Robin, snugly situated in a protected alcove tucked next to a rooftop access door on the boutique across the street from the jewelry store. He’s clearly been there a while based on the sheer volume of crumpled up wrappers, paper cups, and partially eaten snacks that surround him.

He also doesn’t seem to have noticed Stray. Smirking, Stray creeps up behind him and leans forward until his mouth almost brushes against the other boy’s ear. “Boo,” he murmurs, then laughs until he can’t breathe when Robin yelps and trips over his blanket trying to jump to his feet.

“Dammit!” Robin hops on one foot, trying not to stomp on snacks as he regains his balance. “Stray, you’re such a menace, what the hell? Also, it’s good to see you. Thought you were going straight this time, you were gone so long.”

“I’m never going straight,” Stray says, only realizing the double entendre after he’s said it. He mentally shrugs. It’s true, either way. He snickers.

“Wha…?” Robin blushes, sputtering. “You’re too young to say shit like that, what the fuck? Catwoman’s a bad influence on you.”

Catwoman’s barely any kind of influence on him. They’ve arrived at an uneasy truce over the past year, the tacit understanding that she won’t unmask him as long as he doesn’t poke his nose into anything too dangerous balanced against his growing urge to do whatever he can to address the blatant injustice he sees in this city. The more he sees, the more he realizes he chose the right side. The entire system is steeped in corruption, built on a flawed foundation of crushing the unfortunate and building the wealth of a few on their tortured backs.

He has a lot of feelings about that, and plans for when he’s an adult and has full control of his trust fund. For now, all he can do is help in whatever small way is within his current abilities, and work on getting better. It’s amazing how much one twelve year old can do with an internet connection, an irresponsibly high credit card limit, and a bit of daring.

“At least my mentor doesn’t communicate in nothing but monosyllabic grunts and batarangs,” he says, reaching out and snagging a bag that turns out to contain donuts. Mmm, chocolate. He makes a happy noise and snags one, stuffing a bite in his mouth.

“She clearly doesn’t teach you any manners,” Robin grumbles, taking the bag back and clutching it. He settles back down and wraps the blanket over his legs, turning back to the jewelry store with a loud sigh.

Stray settles at his side, tugging a bit of the blanket free for himself. It’s a nice one, knitted and thick. Mr. Pennyworth probably gave it to him to make sure he’d be warm enough up here. He’s always seemed very kind and thoughtful when Tim met him at galas held at Wayne Manor, and is obviously protective of Jason. Still, it’s odd that Robin is here at all, a whole month after he started working this case.

“Have you been on this stakeout the whole time? That seems like a bit more attention than a simple smuggling front deserves. I mean, not that the blood diamond trade isn’t a special kind of awful that should definitely be investigated and stopped, but… Don’t you guys have enough to move on it by now?”

Robin hunches his shoulders and scowls. “Yeah.” His deep voice seems to have settled since the last time Stray saw him, when it was still breaking from the attic to the basement and vice versa sometimes. That, coupled with his greater height, suddenly makes the almost three-year difference between them feel wider than it ever has. He stares at the building opposite. “I don’t think B trusts me anymore.”

Stray blinks and considers that. He’s overheard more than a few tense discussions—okay, arguments—between Robin and Batman, but it always seemed to simmer down eventually. Maybe there’s more going on behind the scenes than he’s been able to pick up on during his intermittent rooftop rendezvous with his friend. “Well, that sucks,” he says, taking advantage of Robin’s distraction to snag another donut. “Tell me about it?”

He listens to Robin, hearing the anger and underlying grief in his friend’s voice as he tells him about the slow escalation of friction and mistrust leading to him being assigned to a long term stakeout. “This job’s a joke,” he says, making a dismissive gesture. “A goddamn set of good cameras would be just as good or better. B just doesn’t want me on anything important because he thinks I might fuck it up.”

Stray leans his head into the taller boy’s shoulder and shrugs. “Well, he’s kind of an idiot. Is it possible he might just be doing the overprotective thing again, like that time you got hurt and he grounded you for three weeks?”  

Robin chuckles, sounding surprised. “Damn, I forgot all about that. But no, I think this it’s worse this time. I just…” He scowls. “He thinks I’m too violent.”

Snorting, Stray turns to look at Robin so he can get the full benefit of the skeptical expression he’s wearing right now. “You’re too violent? Really? I have seen what Batman’s interrogation methods do to criminals, and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t count as non-violent by any definition.” He smiles when Robin starts to laugh, glad to have lifted his bad mood a little.

They fall silent for a while after that, gazes fixed on the jeweler’s opposite. It’s warm under the blanket and Robin—Jason—seems calmer. Stray doesn’t really need to stay here, but he has nothing better to do.

He doesn’t even notice his eyes starting to fall closed.

“Damn, guess we fell asleep.” The loud voice right above his head makes Stray jerk upright, and he winces and lets out a soft yelp as the back of his head slams into something. “Ow, fuck!”

Stray sits up more carefully, hands flying up to check his goggles and cowl are still in place, before twisting to see what he’s been sleeping on.

It’s Robin, blushing, hands raised to clutch at his nose. They stare at each other for a long moment.

Stray notes the lightening of the sky to the east that means they’ve been here for hours and he finally registers what happened. “Oh my god, we slept together!” he blurts out.

“Holy shit, don’t say it like that!” Robin tries to scowl, then winces. “I think my nose is bleeding,” he says in a thick, muffled voice.

“Sorry,” Stray says. He should really try to be extra nice to Robin for a while, considering everything he’s apparently been going through. He makes it up to him by volunteering to run down to the bakery two doors down for some hot beverages to help wake them up. Arms full of pastries as well as the to go cups of coffee and tea, he grins when he spots Robin still in the same place, busy folding the blanket with a wide yawn.

That resolution to be nice only lasts until a couple of weeks later, when he stops by that same rooftop again to visit Robin and bring him yet another armload of snacks to make up for the poor guy being stuck on the longest, most boring stakeout ever. By this point, both of them more than suspect Batman of having already captured the criminals, busted the blood diamond ring, and just left Robin here to stare at this building for hours on end for reasons of his own. Cruel, Bat-like reasons.

“Hey Robin,” Stray says as he lands. “I got chilidogs, jalapeno chips, pocky, and drinks.”

“Sweet,” Robin says. “Thanks, kitten.”

Stray is so used to the nickname, he doesn’t even roll his eyes at it anymore. He settles at Robin’s side, dumping his armload of supplies as Robin automatically lifts the blanket and tucks it in around them.

It isn’t until they’re both comfy and reaching for their snacks that Catwoman clears her throat and steps out of the shadows on the other side of the rooftop.

“Fuck!” Robin says, twitching and looking up as Stray tenses, ready to bolt if needed.

“Hey there, birdie. Picked up a stray, did you?” she says, a teasing smirk stealing over her face as she studies their positions. “Did you know about this, Bat?”

As though summoned by her words, Batman looms into view behind Catwoman.

“Shit,” Robin says, very softly. “I maybe neglected to ever mention to the big guy that you and me hang out sometimes,” he breathes, right in Stray’s ear so no one else can hear it. “He’s a suspicious asshole in general and I didn’t want him digging into you any harder than he already does anyone who shows up on the scene.”

Stray bites his lip. “Good to know.”

Batman stares at them, fists clenched and every line of his posture radiating disapproval. This is the first time he’s really seemed to pay much attention to Stray. The crimes he engages in are usually petty enough to stay off the Bat’s radar, and for good reason. He’s… really scary up close. Stray is nowhere near ready to take him on, and they all know it. “What do you want with Robin?” His voice is so deep and gravelly, Stray can almost feel his bones vibrating.

No one can blame him for panicking. “Nothing! We just hang out, and have snacks, and do rooftop chases, and I swear, I have absolutely no nefarious plans in any way related to Robin!” Damn it, that… while true, was not what he meant to say. Way to allay Batman’s suspicions.

Robin facepalms, Catwoman chokes and starts coughing with laughter, and Batman just stares at them for a long moment with narrowed eyes, and then clears his throat, looming slightly more somehow. Stray cringes.

This seems like a good moment to slip away. He sends Robin an apologetic glance, then whips his hands out from under the blanket and tosses off an array of smoke bombs, sparklers, and a glitter bomb for good measure. He beats a rapid retreat, only feeling a little—okay, a lot—guilty for throwing poor Robin under the bat-shaped bus like that. At least he holds back and doesn’t use the tasers built into his claws.

Whatever, this is Gotham. It’s every costumed person for themselves. Robin will understand. He does; although he gives him heck about being a scaredy cat for a while, he clearly doesn’t really mean it. If anything, he seems relieved Batman didn’t get a chance to dig deeper into their friendship.

Tim expects his life to go on like that indefinitely—balancing his time as Stray and his normal civilian life with his parents, hanging out with Robin, and dodging Catwoman and Batman for very different reasons. He’s got plans for making time for Stray when he’s old enough to attend the boarding school his parents have their eye on, and even college.

He has plans for everything.

Maybe that’s why it’s so shocking when it all goes wrong. It all starts with a loud, frantic-sounding knock at the front door, one afternoon while he’s sitting around on the couch falling down one of the many fascinating rabbit holes of information that pervade the web. Blinking, he closes his laptop and rises to his feet, then pads over to the door. He’s barefoot and dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, hardly appropriate attire to greet anyone, but this sounds urgent.

His heart rate starts to speed up as a gathering sense of foreboding fills him. People hardly ever come to the front door while his parents are away—the gate stops any solicitors, and no one else would bother to come here.

Just as he nears the door and starts to reach for the handle, the sound of a key turning in the lock makes him blink and reorder his thoughts. It can’t be his parents—according to the text he received a couple of hours ago, they should be on a flight right now to the third Drake Industries location they’re visiting on this particular whirlwind world tour.

So, it can only be… “Selina?” he says, just as the door opens and she bursts in.

Her appearance is disheveled, like she threw herself into a coat and shoes and drove right over after a lazy morning not unlike the one he’s been enjoying. Her expression is anything but calm and relaxed. He catches a glimpse of what looks like naked fear before it’s swept away by a crashing wave of relief when her gaze locks on him.

“Oh, thank god! I thought you might have been on the plane, too. Timmy, my god, you’re alright!” Selina surges forward and sweeps him into her arms, holding him close with a strength belied by her slender appearance. “This is the first time I’ve ever been glad they left you behind,” she chokes out.

“Selina?” he says again, arms wrapping around her on autopilot. His first thought is that she somehow figured out he’s Stray, and then his brain catches up with what she just said. “Wait, what was that about a plane?” He looks up, chest tightening in dull horror as he notices the redness around her eyes and the glimmer of unshed tears, along with the wet tracks on her cheeks of tears already shed. “Did my parents—” He breaks off, voice thick with the unthinkable conclusion everything about this situation is leading him to.

She doesn’t actually have to say it. The look on her face, grief and pain mixed with pity and protectiveness, says it all.

“I’m so sorry,” she says in a choked voice, leaning down and burying her face in his hair. She holds him while he shakes his head slowly, not able to believe it’s true. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

He doesn’t remember much after that—packing a bag, driving over to Selina’s condo, or getting settled in the guest room she says will be his from now on. All he can think about is his mom’s smile, his dad’s clumsy affection, and all the days they’ll never have together now.

It hurts. It feels like something tearing open inside his chest, an integral part of him that’s ripped through and hemorrhaging out deep inside where no one else can see. How is he supposed to just keep going when he feels like this?

“Here,” Selina says in a soft voice, holding out cupped hands as she kneels beside the bed where he’s curled in a ball trying not to think. Tim raises his head and blinks swollen eyes at her, not trusting his voice. “I was going to find him a home, but… Well. You’re staying here now, and I think you could use a friend.”

She gently lowers her hands and deposits what turns out to be a tiny, gray and black kitten, with little patches of white on her paws and chin. The tiny creature lifts her paws high, scrambling over the piled blankets, her bushy little tail raised high behind her for balance.

“Oh,” Tim breathes, pulled from the haze of grief by the surprise and sheer cuteness of the little one. “I…” He searches, and beneath the numbed shock of pain, he can already tell he’s going to love this little baby. He’s always wanted a pet, but between his mom’s allergies and his dad’s aversion to having to clean up animal poop—a chore he always insisted would fall on him, no matter what Tim promised—he never got one. “What’s her name?”

“She doesn’t have one yet. I was going to leave that to her new family, so I guess it’s up to you now.”

He doesn’t even need to think about it. He’s had a pet name picked out and ready since he was seven and first read The Speckled Band. “Holmes,” he says, tentatively reaching out to let the kitten sniff his fingers, then stroking her soft fur. 

Selina curls around him on top of the covers on the guest bed, stroking his hair out of his eyes and murmuring stories from when she and his mom went to school together. It isn’t long before the kitten settles down next to him and his own eyes start to drift shut. Selina’s hand stills on his hair and she falls silent by the time he’s almost asleep, with his eyelashes still damp and his breathing slow and steady. He feels so heavy and tired, worn out from the storm of emotions.

She tucks him in and strokes his hair once more, clearly thinking him asleep already. “Look after them, Isis,” she murmurs, and he feels a small, warm weight settle against his other side. “That plane crash was no accident, and I’m going to find out just what the hell happened.”

She walks away and turns off the light. Behind her, Tim’s eyes snap open and he stares into the darkness as he runs through mental calculations for how best to handle this new data. He needs to be part of any effort to investigate his parents’ deaths and bring anyone responsible to justice.

He’s twelve. No matter how resourceful and brave he is, there isn’t going to be much he can do on his own. Not as Tim Drake, anyway. “Thanks, Isis, but I’ve got to go now,” he whispers, edging away from the cat carefully so as not to disturb her rest.

A moment later, he’s opening the door and stepping out into the hallway. He catches Selina in her costume, slipping out the french doors onto the balcony, her goggles dangling from her wrist. “Selina!” he says, and she spins, eyes wide.

“Timmy!” She blinks, then puts on a wide smile and spins. “Like my new costume? I’m planning to wear it to a costume party next week—”

“I know you’re Catwoman,” he says softly, moving toward her slowly. “I’ve known for years.”

She goes very still, looking at him with a frown. “Tim, you’re going through some horribly upsetting things right now and—”

“I know, and I want to help. I’ve asked you again and again for years to train me, and you’ve always said no. This time is going to be different because now I have nothing else to lose, no parents for you to tell, and you already know I’m not going to stop.” His voice breaks and he clenches his fists, looking away to hide the hot sting of tears welling up in his already aching, tender eyes. “I heard what you said about my parents, and even if you try to stop me I’ll find a way to look, I’ll—”

“Shh,” she says, slim arms wrapping around his shoulders again. She rubs his back and rocks him gently back and forth. “Stray,” she says on a long sigh, sounding sad and reluctantly amused at the same time. “Damn it. I never even considered…” She shakes her head, her grip tightening. “Fine. You can help me this time, and I’ll look after you. Only because I know if you’ve managed to get away with this all these years, you probably will find a way to endanger yourself if I try to stop you. At least if I’m there, I can make sure you’re being as safe as possible.”

He nods, sniffing, and manages a watery smile. “I knew you’d agree to train me eventually.”

“Careful,” she murmurs, “or I’ll start to remember all those times you set off stink bombs in my face or covered my entire costume in glitter so you could skitter away.”

True. Tim closes his eyes and just lets her hold him.

Chapter Text

Stray’s too busy to check in on Robin for the next few weeks, with all of his time and energy tied up in helping solve the case of his parents’ murder. By the time he and Catwoman have the criminals—a handful of dumb board members from Drake Industries who thought Janet Drake might have caught on to their embezzlement of company funds and decided murder was somehow better than being implicated—in their claws, it’s already too late for his best friend.

He just doesn’t know it yet.

Stray helps Catwoman package up the evidence and the criminals and leave it all in a neatly tied bundle on the doorstep of the Gotham City Police Department. He feels a particular satisfaction with the data he collected from DI’s servers, knowing it’ll be the key to locking these jerks away for a long, long time. One of the men tries to complain, his angry noises muffled by his gag.

Catwoman sneers at him. “You know, most cats only bring pieces of their prey to the door—a head, a torso. I wonder if I should try it. So, which would you prefer?” She runs a sharp claw slowly along the man’s neck, and a strong, acrid odor fills the air.

Wrinkling her nose, she steps back, visibly dismissing the now-gibbering criminal. “Come along, Stray, I’m sure we can find something better to sharpen your claws on.”

She takes him home after that. He has no doubt she has plans of her own tonight, mischief and mayhem she’s been putting off while trying to get justice, or at least vengeance, for her old friend. Catwoman frowns when she drops him off at the condo. “Are you going to be okay alone? I can stay a while if you need me. Want some tea or hot cocoa?”

There’s a tenderness in her tone that reminds him all over again that even with the yawning chasm of his parents’ absence, Selina’s still here for him. It’s almost enough to make him feel a little guilty for what he’s about to do. Not quite, though.

He shakes his head. “No, thanks. I’m pretty tired—I think I’ll just go to bed.” He leans into the hug she gives him, then heads to the guest room they’ve both pretty much accepted is his now. He crawls under the covers and waits. It’s possible she’ll poke her head in and check on him before she heads out again.

She doesn’t. Half an hour later, Stray is leaping across rooftops and rolling with his landings, heart pumping and muscles already aching. It’s been a while since he was out on his own. Catwoman is great, and he doesn’t even want to think about where he’d be without her right now. In a foster home, maybe, while the greedy jerks who orchestrated his parents’ deaths helped themselves to the company. It makes him want to hit something just thinking about it.

But living with Selina means his freedom is significantly curtailed. He hasn’t even had a chance to talk to Robin since everything happened. Catwoman allowed him to help bring his parents’ murderers to justice, but she still has very firm beliefs about children’s place in the vigilante and costumed criminal world. Namely, they shouldn’t have one.

Well, maybe she’ll come around. Eventually. Meanwhile, he’ll just have to get better at sneaking out. He spots his quarry and lands lightly on the rooftop next to him. “Hey there,” he says, trying to emulate Catwoman’s purr. It doesn’t seem to work very well in his voice. Dang, he really needs to ask her for those lessons on this part of her schtick. He coughs, embarrassed.

Robin spins, looking startled, then relaxes once he sees who it is. “Hey there yourself, kitten. You been sick or something? You sound like you just gargled a box of kitty litter.”

Stray rolls his eyes. “Shut up.” He thinks about telling him everything that happened, then grimaces. There’s no way he can give his friend the details without risking him connecting the dots and figuring out his identity. After all, the Drakes’ private jet crashing into the ocean was well publicized, and there’s no way the revelation that it was premeditated murder perpetrated by half the board is going to fly under the radar. “I’ve just been busy,” he says instead. “How’ve things been for you?”

“Bad,” Robin says, a frown twisting his mouth. He looks away, shoulders tense. “B… He thinks I fuckin’ flipped out and killed someone. He looks at me like I’m one step away from becoming one of the assholes we’re fighting.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Glad you showed up tonight, actually. I’m thinkin’ about leaving Gotham. Got a flight booked and everything, the redeye. Figured I’d tell you, since you’d probably notice if I quit showing up at all.” He snorts. “Not that you ever give me much warning when you pull your regular disappearing act.” 

Alarm bells start ringing faintly in the back of Stray’s mind, and he does his best to soothe them. Just because his parents got on a plane and never came back doesn’t mean it’s going to happen to Robin. There are lots of safe places Robin could conceivably go if things really are that bad at home right now—Dick Grayson would probably take him in, or any of the other heroes he’s worked with. “That’s… That’s awful. I mean, I don’t know any of the details of whatever happened, but… If you want to talk about it, I’m listening.”

At first he thinks Robin isn’t going to answer, but then he opens his mouth and it all comes pouring out. A rapist, hiding under diplomatic immunity, a woman so terrorized by the threat of repeat attacks and no recourse or defense that she took her own life, a confrontation on a balcony, and a fall. The searing betrayal of Batman’s suspicion and refusal to believe his own son.

All of it underscored by Robin’s obvious certainty that Batman only ever wanted him around as long as he was useful. Ouch.

Stray blinks. “Wait, so Batman’s really giving you a hard time over that guy? Maybe you don’t need to leave town, just switch partners. I bet Catwoman would give you a high five for allegedly killing someone like that.”

Robin snorts, then chuckles, unable to bite back a crooked grin. Stray smiles at having cheered him up, even just a bit. “Naw,” the older boy says after a minute. “Thanks for the offer, though. I got a place, maybe. At least, it’s something I gotta look into now I know about it. And if that gets me out from under B’s heel before he works himself up to kickin’ me out, all the better.” He sounds bitter but resigned.

It’s not right. Robin should never have to sound like that, especially because of Batman. Stray searches for anything he can say to make things better, but comes up empty. It doesn’t help that his own heart is still hurting. His parents weren’t perfect, but at least he never doubted that they loved him. Instead, he just bows his head and nods. “Good luck.”

He doesn’t feel right about it, not when he watches Robin swing away, head bowed and movements subdued. Not when he slips into the condo, relieved to see Catwoman isn’t back yet. He’s still worrying about it when he slides into bed.

So, he reaches for his laptop, hacks into the archaic servers for the Gotham Airport, and searches for Jason Todd under bookings. Of course, there’s nothing. He keeps trying, using variations of Jason’s name, until he hits on a “Jason Renard” traveling to Ethiopia on a flight departing later tonight.

It looks like a match. He stares at the screen, torn. There’s no reason to think Jason’s going to run into any trouble. No one’s likely to sabotage his flight, like what happened to the Drakes. He’s not even traveling under the Wayne name, so no one’s going to target him to try to squeeze money out of his family.

Of course, ordinary runaways disappear every day. Bad things happen to kids on their own, and for all his experience and skills, Jason’s only fifteen. It would be really irresponsible of Tim not to follow him and make sure he gets to wherever he’s going okay. Selina… might not notice he’s gone.

He winces. Okay, she’ll definitely notice when he doesn’t come to breakfast tomorrow morning, and she’ll be sure to give him an earful when he gets back. He’ll be gone for several days, minimum.

Tim thinks about Jason, his rough kindness and the friendship they’ve cobbled together over the years. Imagines him on his own, believing the man who should be a father to him is going to throw him away if he doesn’t leave. His heart twists and his hands are moving before he knows it, typing in his own information and booking himself as an unaccompanied minor on the same flight. He tweaks a few settings to make it look like his guardian already approved, and he’s good to go.

A few minutes later, he’s on his way to the airport, his Stray costume carefully packed away in his carryon along with a few other essentials. As expected, security is more lax for unaccompanied minors than it is for the regular passengers and he’s waved through pretty quickly.

He spots Jason on the plane, slouched a few seats over with his eyes closed and his hands shoved in his pockets, earbuds indicating he’s listening to music.

That seems like a pretty good idea. Tim follows suit, concentrating on the music and refusing to listen to the part of his mind that’s whispering this might be a mistake.

Twenty-four hours later, Stray is certain he should have thought this through better. It may not have been a mistake to follow Jason, but keeping it a secret from everyone else who could’ve helped them probably was. Too late now for regrets.

He breathes out a silent sigh of relief when the coast is finally clear. It takes less than a minute for him to wiggle his way out of his hiding place in one of the massive trucks the Joker’s henchmen have been using to move expensive medical supplies intended for the refugee camp and replace them with Joker toxin.

He doesn’t have the best understanding of what’s going on—overheard bits and pieces from henchmen, the little he was able to pick up before he lost sight of Jason, and a really disturbing snippet of monologue from the Joker are all he has to go on. At this point, it doesn’t really matter what insane plan the rogue is trying to enact.

The important thing is that madman has Robin, and they’re in that warehouse together right now.

Stray creeps around the silent truck, keeping an eye out for any stray henchmen. They all seem to have left in the other trucks, which means the one he was hiding out in is going to be the Joker’s getaway vehicle. Awesome. He takes the time to disconnect the battery to at least slow the Joker down if he tries to take Robin anywhere else.

Then he turns to the warehouse and squares his shoulders. Nothing about him is equipped for a fight with one of Gotham’s most dangerous villains, but he’ll do it. He has no choice, not when Robin is in there, probably suffering who knows what horrors. Plans spin in his mind, ways to utilize his limited resources to best effect.

None of them end up mattering.

Instead, he stares in utter horror and disbelief as the warehouse in front of him erupts in a ball of fire, the deafening sound of the explosion ringing in his ears so he can’t hear anything but the sound of his best friend’s death.

Stray stumbles forward. He might be silent. He might be screaming. It doesn’t matter. He forces himself to move, the possibility that Robin is alive dragging him closer to the burning building. The heat sends him back, so he moves around the perimeter, hoping the other side of the warehouse took less damage in the blast. There has to be a way in. There has to be a way to save Jason.

Once the other side is in sight, though, he freezes. The view over here is even worse.

There’s a door, barely visible through the roaring flames. In front of it stands the Joker, alone. He’s laughing.

The ringing in Stray’s ears fades, allowing him to hear the sound of the Joker’s loud, grating voice. It takes a moment for the words to register, but when they do…

He’s gloating. The bastard is gloating about Robin’s death.

“Buh-bye, birdie! The boy blunder is no more, and boy, do I feel great! I can’t wait to tell Batsy his little goose is cooked. HA HA HA!”

Joker is facing the flames, waving what looks like a crowbar around as he speaks. The end of it glistens in the flickering light of the fire, stained with something dark and wet. Oh, no.

No.

There’s copper blooming on his tongue where he’s bitten it, he’s clenching his jaw so hard, and the Joker is still standing there, tall and alive and laughing, and Jason is dead. He’s dead, Jason’s burning, and the Joker is still laughing.

Stray isn’t really aware he’s moving until he’s already there, close enough to touch the Joker’s back in his tacky purple suit if he wants to. And oh, he wants to.

Releasing his claws, Stray swipes at the rogue with a quiet snarl, grimacing in dark satisfaction when he feels the claws sink in.

“YEE-OUCH! What the hell…?” The Joker pivots with the crowbar raised, jerking himself free of the claws, then grins crazily when he sees who it is. “Now, what’s a little kitty cat doing here? There’s no little birds left to hunt, pussycat, but I always wondered what sound a cat makes when—”

Stray doesn’t let him finish. Robin will never have a chance to talk again, so why should his murderer have a voice? He twitches, activating the tasers in his claws, and strikes again, face twisted in a hiss of fury and pain.

As expected, the Joker clenches up and his awful voice cuts out as his body twitches and jerks with the shock. Less expected is the loud hissing sound and cloud of gas billowing out of—oh, it’s the Joker’s boutonniere. Stray’s claws must have gone right through it. The Joker starts laughing and staggers backwards, the crowbar clattering to the ground.

Stray stares at him, raised claws frozen in the air, and watches in disbelief and a haze of numb shock as the villain trips over his own feet and pitches right back into the inferno.

Holy crap.

He just blinks at the burning warehouse, but nothing changes. Robin doesn’t miraculously emerge from the flames, the Joker doesn’t come back out, and none of this was supposed to happen. He just wanted to make sure his friend was okay, and now…

Stray has no idea how long he would have stood there if a large, gauntleted hand didn’t close over his shoulder. “You killed him,” Batman growls, and he flinches.

When did Batman even get here, and why the heck couldn’t he have gotten here ten minutes sooner? Stray swallows, trying to tug himself away, and Batman’s grip tightens. There’s an edge of unhinged violence about him, an aura of threat and fury Stray has never sensed in his presence before. It scares him enough he can feel a tremble working its way through his limbs. Or maybe that’s shock.

He’s twelve years old, his parents are a month dead, and he just killed a man on the same day he lost his best friend. He thinks he’s held up pretty well, considering.

It doesn’t matter, because a moment later the hand on his shoulder is torn away. “Back off! Don’t you dare attack him for defending himself against a murderer, you self-righteous ass!” Catwoman is suddenly in front of him, claws raised and hissing. One hand hovers over her bullwhip.

Batman clearly reads the threat in her stance because he actually does back off. “But he killed—”

Catwoman turns to look at the warehouse. “And why do you think that is, hmm? What would make my little kitten do something like that?”

Batman follows her gaze, only now seeming to realize that there’s no one else visible. “Robin,” he breathes, sounding stricken. He turns to glare at Stray like all of this is his fault. Maybe it is. “Where’s Robin?”

Stray just shakes his head and looks at the burning warehouse, his lower lip wobbling. The first sob takes him by surprise and then Catwoman’s right there, holding him close and shushing him just like she did when his parents died. “Hush, kitten, you’ll be okay. Even though I should ground you until you’re thirty for this stunt. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if I didn’t run into Batman and team up while I was tracking you.”

She holds him close as Batman wraps his cape around himself and braves the burning building, Robin’s name on his lips. She tries to cover his face when Batman comes out, bearing his devastating burden in his arms. The man is staring down at his son’s face with slumped shoulders and a desolate expression on his face, like all the anger has drained out of him and left nothing behind.

Stray looks anyway, and until the day he dies he will never forget the sight of his best friend’s broken body.

He doesn’t bother to look when Batman goes back for the Joker’s.

The years continue to pass, a little dimmer and quieter than before, with three of his four most precious people gone from his life forever. Stray manages. He has to.

Catwoman almost claws Batman’s eyes out the one time the man tries to propose Stray face charges for what happened. She practically beats him over the head with law books until he admits that what happened with the Joker was self defense, and his actual death was clearly an accident. It takes a while, but eventually Batman seems to reconcile himself to just watching, waiting for Stray to step out of line again.

Whatever. There’s a reason Batman hasn’t been Stray’s favorite hero for years. He does just fine for himself, continuing the robbing from the rich, giving to the poor ventures he started back when he was just a child. Only, as the years pass and his skills grow, he finds he can do more, make more of a difference. Better hacking skills leads to improved access to financial records and digital communications, which leads him to the fascinating world of blackmail.

Stray realizes pretty quickly that bad people continue to do bad things unless you give them a persuasive reason not to. Blackmail, it turns out, is pretty damn convincing for most people. He’s no hero. He’s never claimed to be.

He’s not ashamed of what he is. And when some random thug in a red helmet accosts him while he’s slipping out the window of the corporation that’s trying to buy up a whole block in Coventry to replace the existing affordable housing with luxury condos, he’s ready to defend himself.

The only thing that stops his new, six-inch claws from tearing right through that leather jacket is the man’s raised hands, empty in what looks like a show of peace. He hesitates, staring, then nods when the man indicates he wants to remove his helmet. He fumbles at it for a moment before tugging it off, the sound of soft laughter following.

As his face is revealed, along with a crooked grin Stray knows in his bones under a domino mask so familiar it hurts, Stray swallows and tenses. “Who the hell are you?” He’s dead. Stray knows he’s dead.

“Oh, kitten,” the guy says in a deep, resonant voice, crooked grin widening. “You sure grew up pretty. Nice claws, by the way.” His grin slips a bit, a more serious expression on his handsome face. “I hear I got you to thank for taking out the Joker, after I… well. Fuck, kitten, I hate to think of you facing him, in danger, but god damn am I glad he’s gone. So, thank you. Just… thank you, so damn much.”

It’s Jason. Somehow, it is. Amidst all the questions and impossibilities, what strikes him the most is that moment is how damn tall the other man grew up to be. He has to be about a foot taller than Tim now, damn his gigantic genes. Then his heart aches, because Jason never got to finish growing up. So how…? Stray shakes his head, blinking as the vision under the goggles starts to blur. “What? How are you…?”

Jason clears his throat and glances at the window Stray just crawled out of. “Maybe we should talk about this somewhere else? Like, farther away from the scene of this B&E?”

Stray snorts and reaches for his bullwhip. “Fine,” he says. “You know where.” He cracks the whip and it wraps around one of the ornate architectural details that adorn damn near every building in Gotham, then swings out.

Behind him, Jason follows quietly for a while, then starts to laugh under his breath as they approach their destination. “That goddamn endless stakeout,” he says when they finally land on the building he spent so much time on, back when he was fifteen and hurting with Batman’s loss of trust. “Fuck this place, man.”

“I don’t know,” Stray says, glancing around. “I kind grew to like it after a while. We had some good memories here. I mean, this is the first place we slept together.”

“That it is,” Jason says with a surprised-sounding laugh. “Good times. You’re still a little shit, aren’t you?” His voice sounds fond and sad. He looks at him for a moment before slowly sitting down with a quiet sigh. Stray sinks down beside him, not quite touching. It’s been over four years, after all.

“So,” Stray says, biting his lip as he considers his options. “You are aware Batman’s following you, right?”

“What?” Jason looks around with a scowl. “Goddamnit old man, what part of get lost don’t you understand? You’re such a fucking stalker, holy shit.” He runs a hand through his hair, grumbling under his breath as Batman materializes out of the shadows. “Well? You gonna rip into me for my morals again, or what?”

That sounds like there’s a deeper story here, something besides Jason somehow surviving that explosion or being brought back, or hell, hopping over from an alternate universe because his world was eaten by zombies or something. If, after all of this, tragically losing his son and then somehow, miraculously getting a second chance with him, Batman is still prioritizing his own self-righteous moralizing over Jason’s mental health and needs, then Stray is just about done. He is not going to allow this man to hurt his friend or drive him away, not now that he finally has him back.

Batman just stares at them, looking almost shaken. “You two… before you died?” He’s never looked quite this blend of horrified and uncomfortable before. Oh, hey, he must’ve overheard that joke about sleeping together. Heh.

Jason frowns. “Huh?”

Stray smirks, reaching over to run his hand up Jason’s thick arm. “Oh, yes,” he says in the purr he’s perfected over his years of working with Catwoman. “Rooftop rendezvous run in the family,” he says with a wink. “And we were actually just about to renew our… acquaintance before you interrupted. So, if you don’t mind…?”

Batman and Jason both stare at him, matching expressions of appalled horror on their faces, and Stray twists the knife. “Or if you’d rather watch…” He reaches for the neckline of his costume and starts to tug it down with a sultry smirk.

He and Jason both stare as Batman flees in the opposite direction. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the old bastard move that fast,” Jason says, sounding stunned.

Stray has, but he’s not going to bring that up right now. Instead, he snickers and lets go of his costume, then stretches. “I have a feeling you’ve got quite a story to tell. Want me to go down and grab us some snacks?”

Jason’s answering grin is grateful, and so achingly familiar it makes his heart twist with a sweet pain. “Yeah,” he says, leaning back with a sigh to look up at the few stars, peeking out between the clouds. “That sounds pretty damn good, kitten.”

Chapter Text

One minute, Tim is pulling on his goggles to complete his Stray costume, finalizing his mental to-do list for when he hits the streets tonight, and idly wondering if he’ll run into Red Hood again. Every night for the last week, the crime lord has intercepted him somewhere, holding a cup of Stray’s favorite coffee blend and awkwardly claiming he just happened to buy two.

As if Stray doesn’t know damn well Jason hates coffee. Dork. Maybe tonight will finally be the night one of them makes a move and asks the other out for real. The past two years of meeting up on rooftops and hanging out have been a balm after the time they spent apart, and he thinks maybe his friend is finally healed enough to think about more than reclaiming himself and his life. He blushes faintly in anticipation, and that’s the moment the damn portal opens right in the middle of the living room and sucks him through into a different world.

His first thought as he lands—on his feet, because what kind of cat would he be if he didn’t?—is that this is no ordinary kidnapping. Sure, he’s obviously in some kind of supervillain base, with the requisite wall of computers, abundant weapons stashes, and villain theme. His gaze travels over a chessboard at a nearby table and he raises an interested eyebrow at the tiny, exquisitely crafted figurines representing Gotham’s villains and heroes. He’ll have to check those out more closely a little later. There’s also a huge pile of snow mounded off to one side, for some reason. It doesn’t quite seem to fit the theme, a fact he lodges away to puzzle over later.

For now, he tilts his head and rests a hand on one hip, examining the three people who are standing around in front of a complicated bit of tech that probably has more than a little to do with the portal that brought him here.

The two people with visible faces look exactly like him, with maybe a few years difference one way or the other. The one in the parka looks younger than his own eighteen years while the one in the suit looks the way he imagines his own face might a few more years down the road. The creepy clown one is harder to gauge, but he has some very familiar fluffy black hair falling over that eerily smiling bone-white mask. He’s about the same height as the guy in the parka, so Stray figures he’ll assume those two are roughly the same age for now.

Stray decides to go with his instinct on this one. “So,” he drawls, dragging his eyes up and down their bodies in a lingering way that makes the one in the fluffy parka straighten, a flush on his cheeks. Aw, how cute. “Is someone trying to collect the whole set?”

The one in the dark, well-tailored suit gives him a practiced smile. “Something like that,” he says in a smooth voice. “I assure you, each of you will be returned to your native universes in a few hours, once you have assisted me with a certain… task. If you wouldn’t be averse to waiting a short time until everyone’s here, I would really prefer not to have to repeat myself.”

Stray blinks at him, trying not to be creeped out by the way the guy in the smiling clown mask is slowly, slowly tipping his head to one side. Part of him half-expects the guy’s head to eventually make it full circle, like a horror movie. Brr.

The guy in the parka just smiles at him, bright blue eyes alight with an expression of innocent curiosity Stray isn’t sure he’s worn on his own face since that night at the circus.

Right, then. They all seem relatively benign so far, so his best bet is playing along until he has time to observe them and figure out the lay of the land. He still has a lot to learn about them besides the obvious facts that the guy in the suit is the leader and the other two are almost certainly guests in this universe as well.

“Sure,” he says, wondering who else they’re waiting for. At that moment, the device they’re all gathered around makes a soft whirring noise.

“Ah, our next guest,” the guy in the suit says, sounding pleased. He taps a few buttons.

The volume rises until it’s nearly deafening, and a portal forms before them, vivid swirls of bluish light radiating out from a blinding center. Stray eyes it, wondering what kind of theme the next alternate version of them will have going on. He’s kind of hoping for something hilarious, like Condiment Man.

It’s not Condiment Man. Instead, the next Tim who tumbles out of a portal is dressed in shades of green, leaves and vines twined around him so it’s hard to tell how much of his costume is actually formed of living plants. Okay, that’s kind of cool. So is the way the guy lands, his raised hands clutching a proliferation of vines, each studded with buds that are visibly swelling before their eyes.

Well, this is interesting.

Stray takes a sensible step back and readies his bullwhip, noting with interest the way the guy in the parka pulls out a very familiar-looking gun and holds it ready. Frost is bad for plants, so that could be a damn good strategy. The suit just pulls out what looks like a chess piece and rolls in in his fingers. Stray would bet good money on that thing being a lot less innocent than it looks. Scary clown guy doesn’t twitch a muscle, and somehow that’s the most threatening reaction of all.

They’re a fascinating group, all around.

He sees the moment their newest addition recognizes them, his eyes widening as he realizes he’s been dumped into a room filled with alternate versions of himself. He looks about Stray’s age and he’s the newest arrival, which means he is unlikely to have a strong allegiance to any of them. That makes him the most appealing potential ally in the room.

Stray smirks. “Our host says he wants to wait until all of us are here to tell us what’s going on,” he says, gesturing smoothly to the suit before stepping forward with a winning smile. He swings his hips just like his kitty mama taught him and revels in the stunned flush on the plant guy’s pale cheeks.

“What?” the plant guy says in a flat voice, blinking fast like he can’t quite compute.

“I see there’s a chess board over here,” Stray says, calculating his odds before reaching out and stroking the plant guy’s shoulder. He doesn’t get a burst of pollen to the face, so he figures he guessed right. Hmm, more muscle packed on there than he has, but maybe that makes sense. He has to stay lithe and trim to pull off Selina’s fighting style. This guy looks more like a plant-assisted brawler. “Care for a game?”

“Hell no,” the plant guy says, still eyeing all of them suspiciously, but he doesn’t shake off Stray’s hand. Interesting. That’s as good as confirmation of his growing theory that the Poison Ivy in this guy’s universe is close with their Catwoman, just like in his universe. It makes him feel even more comfortable with the plant guy than with the others, and he’s willing to bet the plant guy feels the same way because he doesn’t complain as Stray tugs him over to the chessboard.

Sweet.

The board’s already set up. To his amusement, it’s arranged rogues versus heroes, and Batman is the queen. There are a number of pieces he doesn’t recognize mixed in on the rogues’ side. On further examination, the king looks pretty familiar—that piece is wearing a suit that bears a heavy resemblance to their host. Very interesting. “I’ll take this side,” he says, spinning the board so he has the rogues and gesturing for the plant guy to make the first move.

Huffing, the other man does so, choosing to move the tiny pawn painted like a traffic light with a bright grin on its tiny, carved face. “I’m only playing because I think it’s hilarious that the Robins are all pawns, and their leveled-up versions are in the back row as actual power players.” His hand travels to hover over the Red Hood as he speaks, seemingly unaware of the way his fingers are all but caressing the piece. Hmm, good to know.

“I was more amused by the fact that Batman’s the white queen and Alfred’s the king, but I suppose that’s fun, too,” Stray says, raising an eyebrow as he stretches out a foot and gently caresses his opponent’s leg. “Our host seems to have a sense of humor.” He inches his toes higher.

“You’re a damn menace,” the guy sputters, his face turning red as he twitches away and glares at him. It’s an excellent opportunity to initiate the Queen’s gambit, moving one of the pieces he doesn’t recognize forward to test his opponent. By the way the plant guy is still red as a tomato and refusing to look him in the eye, he’s pretty sure all he needs to do is keep flirting to win this game.

Well, that’s one way to pass the time. Stray smirks.

He keeps an eye on the others, of course, noting when the guy in the parka fades back to sit atop the huge pile of snow, explaining that little mystery. He must have reacted poorly when he was first brought over. Their host busies himself at the controls of the portal device, splitting his attention between his work and running interference so the terrifying clown guy stops trying to throw grinning balls of utmost horror at all of them. The first time one goes flying by Stray’s head, he reflexively bats at it, smacking it right into his unfortunate companion’s face.

“What the fuck?” the plant guy complains, catching it and then tossing it away in alarm when it begins hissing ominously.

“Sorry, it’s my natural cat-like reflexes,” Stray apologizes, running his foot up the inside of the other’s calf in apology and then making his next move—another piece he doesn’t recognize, this one a rook—and tightening his trap.

It’s more fun than an involuntary relocation to an alternate universe has any right to be. By the time the suit brings over another Tim, this one in an unfamiliar costume with goggles suggestive of puzzle pieces, Stray has his poor, flustered opponent in checkmate.

“That was just a warmup,” the plant guy blusters, cheeks flaming.

“Fair enough.” Stray replaces the pieces on the board and spins it. “I like to switch,” he says by way of explanation with a filthy grin that sends his companion sputtering again. He moves a pawn, smirking when his opponent reflexively responds with the same gambit as earlier. He leans forward and licks his lips, caressing the chess piece shaped like Nightwing in a smooth up-and-down motion, his fingers lingering far longer than necessary to move the piece. The poor plant guy twitches back slightly, blushing and eyeing him with a wary expression. He takes advantage of the distraction and uses Nightwing to take out Penguin, snickering when his opponent finally drags his eyes back to the board and scowls. “Playing with you is fun,” he purrs.

“You’re a goddamn nightmare. I didn’t even know our face could do that,” the plant guy mutters, burying his face in his hands. “I’m never going to be able to unsee this, you know. Think about the weird dreams I’m going to be having for weeks after this!”

“Oh, I am,” Stray purrs. He registers the new guy prowling around the computer and wishes him luck. It probably wouldn’t be a bad thing for at least one of them to have access to the computer mainframe, just in case their host turns out to be more evil than he seems. Stray glances at the suit, who is currently standing there with a long-suffering expression as he catches ball after ball thrown by the creepy clown guy. He doesn’t seem very evil right now.

Stray’s just turned around to tease the plant guy again when the suit speaks in a gently scolding tone. “I know you just want to play catch, but these guys just met you! They might find it threatening.”

The plant guy raises his head to look at them, the flush fading from his cheeks as his expression sharpens. “So, is this all of us? I think it’s about time you start explaining what’s going on. We need more than you just telling us it’s for a good cause.”

Well, it seems playtime is over for now. Oh well. It was an entertaining way to pass the time. Stray rises smoothly to his feet, exaggerating the roll of his hips just to make his companion stare. They approach their host as the others all converge as well, clearly ready to hear the reason they’re all here instead of cozy back in their home universes.

“Right,” the guy in the suit says, sweeping his gaze over all of them. “Everyone’s all here, so let’s get started with introductions.” Beginning to his right, he begins to list off names, gesturing toward each of them as he speaks. “This is Jack Frost—ice themed, obviously. Over there is Stray, who styles himself after catwoman. Nightshade, specializes in plant-based toxins. Puzzle, in the theme of the riddler but more playful and a lot smarter. And of course, Pierrot, whose theme is self explanatory. Oh yes, and you may call me Chessmaster.” He finishes with a slight bow, then flashes a disarming smile.

“I’m sure you’re all wondering why I brought you here tonight. You see, tomorrow is a very special anniversary for someone quite dear to me, and I believe together you can help…”  As he opens his mouth to continue, the door swings open and a loud, jovial voice interrupts.

“Hey boss, you got the files for the—” The mouthwatering blond man who just stepped through the door stares, his deep blue eyes widening with a faint expression of horror as his gaze flicks from one to the other of them before settling on Chessmaster. “Boss, please tell me you didn’t bring multiple versions of you…”

“Okay,” Chessmaster says, sounding fiendishly amused. “I won’t.”

Rook meeting Chessmaster, Nightshade, Jack Frost, and Pierrot. Art by Aldebaran26 (tumblr).

Well, that’s too good an opportunity to miss. “Hey there,” Stray purrs, cocking a hip and raising an eyebrow as he drags his gaze up and down the newcomer, lingering on all the interesting bits. And oh, there are a lot of them. “Grant Wilson, is that you?” He turns to Chessmaster. “You’re working with Ravager? Or…?” He didn’t see Ravager on the chessboard, and surely he would be there if Chessmaster works with him regularly.

“He’s called Rook, here, and he works for me,” Chessmaster says smoothly.

Ah. That matches up with one of the unfamiliar pieces on the board, then. It makes him wonder who all of the other unknown pieces might be. What an interesting universe.

Jack Frost looks curious. “Wait, so what about Deathstro—” He breaks off when Chessmaster shakes his head.

“He doesn’t know,” Chessmaster mouths, head turned so only his alternate selves can see.

“Deathstroke?” Rook brightens. “Good guy, great mentor. Not like my deadbeat old man,” he scowls.

Oh, wow. That’s… kind of messed up. Does he not know his dad and Deathstroke are the same person?

“Uh,” Jack Frost says, clearly not sure how to react to any of this.

All of them stare at Chessmaster. “I can’t bring myself to tell him,” he mouths with a helpless shrug.

Well, when in Rome… Stray promptly dismisses it from his mind.

Rook shakes his head. “Anyway, that’s seriously not the most important thing right now.” He swallows, his gaze trailing over all of them again. He stares at Pierrot for a long moment and then looks away, shuddering, because that’s the only appropriate reaction to seeing Pierrot for the first time. Or the second time. Or any time, really. “Do I even want to know why, boss?” he asks, voice muffled and longsuffering.

Chessmaster huffs. “I was about to explain everything to them when you walked in.” He turns back to the assembled group. “Now, as I was saying, tomorrow is a very important day for my queen. The Red Hood has a tendency to be very unhappy on this particular day, and I think you can help me cheer him up—”

“Wait, isn’t tomorrow the anniversary of when he…?” Rook trails off, looking away with a faint grimace.

“When he what?” Jack Frost asks, an expression of innocent curiosity in his bright blue eyes. Man, Stray never realized how well the whole innocence thing plays. It almost makes him regret going the other route. Almost.

“You know,” Rook says. “When the Joker took Robin and killed him. Before he came back and became the Red Hood.”

Stray blinks, the stench of smoke in his nostrils and the taste of blood on his tongue. He blinks, and he’s back. Shit. Even years later, all it takes is a single reference and it’s like he’s there again.

“Oh,” Jack Frost whispers, a note of sadness in his voice that makes Stray wonder how that tragedy played out in his world, and in all of the others’.

“My Jason has trouble on that day, too,” Stray says, breathing through it. From the corner of his eye, he sees Puzzle nod, his fists clenched at his sides. Pierrot doesn’t move, but his breath hitches. Nightshade looks sad and worried, and Stray kind of wants to flirt with him again to get that look off his face. He manages to hold back, but it’s an effort.

Chessmaster nods. “I’ll make sure to get you all back home in time to be there for your Jasons. I just need you here tonight… Now, actually,” he says as he glances at the time. “It’s almost midnight.” He sighs, a grim look crossing his face as his mouth tightens. “And I know exactly where my queen will be.” He turns and walks toward the exit. “You coming?”

Rook frowns but steps aside as they all file past him. “Hey boss,” he says after a moment, “good luck.”

“Thanks,” Chessmaster says, a teasing note creeping into his voice. “Say hi to Nightwing for me.” He gives him a saucy wink.

Blushing, Rook shakes his head. “Yeah, whatever. At least I don’t bring five copies of myself along on my dates. Why do you have to make everything so weird?”

Chessmaster tilts his head. “Do you think Nightwing would like it if I brought over a few other versions of you…?”

“No!” Rook says, sounding appalled at the thought. “Quit trying to help. Get out of here, Jason needs you.”

Stray follows the others through the door and down a hall, then out a heavily secured access door which opens directly into a landscaped garden. He recognizes it immediately as the Drake estate, which makes sense. Of course some of the other versions of himself still live there and use it as a base. He hasn’t been back in years—not since he agreed to auction the place off rather than leave it empty—but he supposes some of the others didn’t have someone like Selina to give them a home. His heart twists at the thought and his gaze drifts to the ones who don’t seem to have a mentor’s influence in their costumes. Pierrot, Puzzle, and Chessmaster… Were they all alone after their parents died? Hell, maybe they never lost them in the first place, who knows?  

He hears Jack Frost ask, “We’re not taking cars?”

“No,” Chessmaster answers in a quiet, subdued voice, his eyes fixed on some distant point only he can see. “We don’t need to go into Gotham for this. He’ll be close.”

They walk along the old gravel path. Stray falls into step next to Nightshade, their shoulders bumping together in a companionable way.

“Why do you keep doing that, anyway?” Nightshade says, voice gruff and edged with what Stray thinks might be a defensive note.

“What?” Stray says, “this?” He runs a teasing hand over the small of Nightshade’s back, making him jump.

“Yes, that!” It’s too dark to see, but his face is probably bright red right now. So responsive, it’s great.

Stray snickers. “Because of your reactions, pretty much. I mean, you remind me of Ivy, and she and Selina are close so it makes you feel safe, but also, you react a lot like my Jason. It makes it more fun to play with you.”

“You’re an asshole,” Nightshade says, crossing his arms with a huff. Right as Stray thinks he’s going to have to apologize, he relents. “But yeah, whatever. You remind me of Catwoman, too, but a hell of a lot more handsy. I’m pretty sure I’m off limits to her, since she knew me when I was just a kid.” He rolls his shoulders. “Play away. If you go too far, you’ll know it.” He smirks, and Stray gulps, remembering the pollen he has literally up his sleeves.

“Noted,” he says, then brushes their shoulders together again. He wishes he could bring this guy home to meet Catwoman and their Ivy—they’d definitely get a kick out of it. 

His attention wanders back to the general conversation when he hears Jack Frost innocently asking their host something that might have a very interesting answer. “Are you and Jason actually dating?” Stray and Nightshade turn to hear the reply.

“Not yet,” Chessmaster says. “I’m still courting him.”

“I’m doing something like that with my Jason, too,” says Puzzle, looking cheerful. “He’s good at solving my puzzles, even if he did think I was a stalker at first.” He seems oddly happy with the object of his affections thinking he’s a stalker. Well, to each his own.

“I just gave my Jason flowers and toxic plants until he figured out I liked him.” Nightshade chuckles, shaking his head at Puzzle. “So you took pictures too, huh?”

“I think we all did,” Jack Frost says, and all of them nod.

“That seems to be one constant across most universes,” Chessmaster says. He should know. He’s probably seen quite a bit through that multiverse tech of his. If anyone has earned the title of stalker, it’s him.

Stray glances around, wondering if there’s a deeper connection among the Tims he selected to bring over. It seems likely. “Is being interested in Jason also a constant for us? I’m not actually dating mine, but we’ve had an on-again, off-again flirting, occasionally sleeping-together thing for years and it’s pretty obvious we’re headed that way eventually.” He ignores the wide-eyed stares, smirking internally at the reactions. It’s gotten so much easier to say things like that without a blush over the years. No one would ever guess how inexperienced he actually is.

“What about you two?” He turns to Pierrot and Jack Frost to forestall anyone asking him awkward questions. “You guys are the only ones who haven’t said yet.”

“I, uh, like him,” Jack Frost says, blushing adorably. “But I’m pretty sure he just thinks of me as a kid still.” He looks at their quietest companion. “Pierrot?”

Pierrot tilts his head and then lowers it, hiding his mask as his shoulders tense. It’s more emotion than Stray has seen him express, and his brow puckers in concern. A faint sense that there must be something wrong with the version of them who chose to hide behind a mask like that solidifies, and he abruptly wonders what happened to make him this way.

Chessmaster clears his throat. “If you don’t mind me telling them…?” He looks at Pierrot, only proceeding once he receives a nod. “Just before I brought Pierrot over, I watched him lower his mask and offer his Robin one of his smiling balls. Robin looked at him like he’d just been clubbed over the head, and enjoyed the experience.”

Pierrot stops walking and tugs his mask down, revealing a version of his own face so sad and tired that it tugs at his heartstrings. He looks fragile, broken in a way the rest of them don’t. “Ever since the first time he saw me without a mask, he’s always trying to get me to take it off.” He shrugs, sliding the mask back on as though to shield himself again. “He’s the only one who ever really tried to see behind it.”

Oh, geez. Stray’s suspicion that this particular Tim doesn’t have anyone to take care of him crystallizes into a certainty, and the sight of his stunned posture when Jack Frost steps up and hugs him makes Stray want to head over to Pierrot’s universe and beat someone up. Maybe a lot of someones. How long has it been since anyone gave this poor guy a simple hug?

Jack Frost clearly has a purer heart than he does. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, gentle and sure as he hugs the trembling body in his arms.

Stray swallows, a lump in his throat and stinging eyes that he’ll deny if anyone asks. He steps forward and wraps his arms around them both, wishing he could do more. A gaping chasm seems to open up at his feet as he wonders how much he’s taken for granted in his life that the boy he’s holding never even got a taste of. He clearly doesn’t have a mentor to love and care for him.

Did his parents hold him like this, once? Did anyone?

“He’s had it the roughest of us, hasn’t he?” He looks away from Jack Frost’s pained gaze and rubs his cheek against Pierrot’s, lightly, the way Isis does when she’s trying to make him feel better.

It isn’t long before Pierrot sniffs and tugs away from them. He resumes walking down the trail and the rest of them fall in line, quieter now. Nightshade’s the one who bumps their arms together this time, and Stray is grateful for the silent show of comfort.

Eventually they reach the high rock wall marking the property boundary, shrouded in darkness and overgrown with clinging vines. “Through here,” Chessmaster whispers, leaning forward and opening the hidden gate that was always padlocked and rusted shut in Stray’s memory.

They step through, and it only takes Stray a moment to realize they’re in a graveyard. The Waynes really are too much. Private graveyards, really? Even the Drakes weren’t too good for the Gotham Cemetery.

His thoughts stumble and fall silent when he sees the Red Hood, kneeling over one of the graves with his broad shoulders bowed and shaking. Stray’s heart twists and he wants to run forward and do anything he can to comfort his friend. The only thing that stops him is Nightshade’s iron grip on his wrist and the knowledge that this isn’t his universe, isn’t his Jason.

Jason’s not okay. The pile of cigarette butts to one side and the half-empty glass bottle to the other tell their own story, and it hurts. Stray’s Jason never drinks, says it reminds him too much of his deadbeat dad, and he’s working to quit smoking.

Is he doing this, too? If Stray had managed to go out like he planned tonight, would he have searched in vain for his friend because Jason is crying alone on his own damn grave?

Oh, god.

He should have thought of this. Red Hood’s been back for two years now, and Stray absolutely should have considered the ramifications of the anniversary of his death before the actual date arrived. What was he doing on this date last year? Oh, right, he was out of town helping Selina on an op. Yikes.

He’s been a shitty friend, and he didn’t even know it.

His attention is pulled back to the here and now when Chessmaster hisses under his breath. “We should have gotten here sooner,” he mutters, sounding about as guilty and worried as Stray feels. “I…”

“Who’s there?” Red Hood says, spinning in place and raising the bottle defensively. His voice sounds rough and Stray winces. When the big man spots them, he doesn’t lower the bottle, although his grip tightens. “Chessmaster?” he says. “And…” He shakes his head, reaching up to pull off the helmet and blink at them like he doesn’t quite believe his eyes. “What the fuck?” Well, that’s a reasonable reaction, considering.

He has a white lock of hair over his forehead just like Stray’s Jason, but the rest of his hair looks dark. Really dark, with no visible traces of red. Stray can’t drag his gaze away from it. Does this Jason have black hair?

“Hi,” Chessmaster says with an awkward little wave. “I was worried about you.”

Red Hood scowls. “Did they send you here? Tell ‘em I’m not gonna do anything dumb. I don’t need any of you assholes checking up on me—”

Stray winces. Apparently, this Jason has just as fraught a relationship with Bruce as his does. Briefly, he wonders who killed the Joker here, and if Bruce blamed them for it.

“No one sent me,” Chessmaster says, taking a small step closer. “I just want to make sure you’re okay, and I thought meeting these guys might cheer you up a little.”

Red Hood blinks and then looks past him, focusing on the assembled group. “Yeah, about that… Are all of these guys, like, alternate versions of you?” They nod, and a worried crease forms in his brow. “Is this a cloning thing, or a multiverse thing, or what?”

“Multiverse,” Stray says with what he hopes is a somewhat reassuring smile. It’s probably flirtatious. That’s hard to turn off sometimes, especially when he’s looking at Jason’s gorgeous face.

Red Hood scrubs his face and sighs, shaking his head slowly. He sets the bottle on the ground and looks back at Chessmaster. “Y’know, normally I’d be all over fighting six different versions of you at the same time—hell, I’d also pay good money to see all of you troll the hell outta B—but tonight…” He trails off, shaking his head again, and looks at the tombstone like he’s seeing something else altogether. Something worse. His shoulders droop and he looks at the ground, breath coming in a shudder. “I think it’s best if I just stay on my own tonight.”

Like hell. None of them are leaving him here alone, not like this.

Chessmaster takes another step toward him. “We’re not here to fight, and we already trolled Bruce.”

“Wait, I missed out on trolling Bruce?” Nightshade whispers in his ear. “That’s not fair!” Stray shrugs—he wasn’t here for that part, either.

Chessmaster just looks at Red Hood. “I brought them here because I want to show you how much I care, how much all of us care about you. How much losing you hurt us, and how grateful we are to have you back.”  He clears his throat. “I just thought it might help.”

Red Hood stares at them, waiting.

Stray glances at Chessmaster, who gestures at him as though signaling him to speak. Oh. Oh. Well, that’s one way to do it. Hopefully, this works. He takes a deep breath and begins. “My Jason was… Well. He was always my best friend, even times when we found ourselves on opposite sides of the law. Losing him was…” He closes his eyes, trying to fight back the memory of that time, and he doesn’t quite manage it. When he opens them again, they’re wet and he’s gritting his teeth against the smell of smoke, the copper on his tongue.

“I didn’t know he was ever coming back. I thought he was gone forever, and—” He stops talking because his throat closes up, and he swallows, trying to find his voice again. “It may have been an accident, but I have never once regretted killing the Joker. My only regret is, I wasn’t fast enough to save Jason.”

Nightshade brushes his fingers along his arm in silent comfort before clearing his throat to speak. “Jason never died in my universe. He came really close, but Batman got there in time because Jason used some of the plant toxins I gave him to slow the Joker down. Part of me wanted to make Joker into fertilizer for my plants after that—” He scowls, hands clenching into tight fists, then forcibly relaxes. “But he’s too toxic, even for me. I wouldn’t expose my plants to him.” He shrugs, a tiny smile on his lips. “So instead, I designed some spores that sent him into a permanent coma. This way, Jason never needs to be afraid of him again.”

Awesome. Stray knew he liked this one for a reason.

Red Hood just stares at them, his gloved hands trembling.

“The Joker in my universe disappeared,” Puzzle says in far too bright a voice. “No one’s ever managed to find any of the clues I left, not even Batman, so I doubt he’ll ever be found.” His smile completely changes on the next words, predatory in a way Stray hadn’t expected from this particular Tim. “I killed him, and I’d do it again a hundred times for Jason.”

Pierrot just nods and whispers, “Me too,” before tilting his mask toward Jack Frost.

“I saved my Jason,” Jack Frost says, which…

What? The most innocuous of them actually managed to do what all the others couldn’t?

“Wait, so your Joker’s still alive?” Stray asks, not quite believing it.

Jack Frost shakes his head. “Oh, no—Mr. Fries definitely killed him, even if no one’s able to prove it,” he says. “I’m pretty sure he was worried the Joker would come after me or Jason again, so he decided to take care of things.”

Well, that’s reasonable. No wonder this Tim has managed to retain something of his innocence—Jason’s death and killing the Joker seems to be a line for them that, once crossed, sends them sliding down the slippery slope into greater darkness.

Red Hood stares at them all for a long moment before turning to Chessmaster and shaking his head slowly. “I mean, this is great and all, that all these other versions of you kicked the Joker’s ass for their Jasons, but it’s not—” His voice breaks off and he looks away, face twisting in naked pain. He speaks to the ground when he mumbles, “No one ever did any of that for me, here.”

Chessmaster sucks in a breath, every muscle in his body going tense. He pulls off his mask and lets it fall to the ground. “Jason,” he whispers, sounding so hurt Stray winces. “I thought… I honestly thought you realized.”

Red Hood looks at him with a frown. “Realized what?”

Chessmaster steps forward and reaches out, his gloved hand settling on Red Hood’s chest over his heart. “My queen, did you truly believe I would do nothing to avenge you? Of course I punished the one who took you away—I swept him off the board and he’s never coming back. I—”

A wounded noise from the Red Hood cuts him off and he looks at the other man in alarm. “My queen,” he says, eyes wide with worry. “I thought you knew. I’m sorry. I meant for tonight to be a gift, a demonstration of how loved you are, not to upset you more—”

“Shut up,” Red Hood says in a voice rough with emotion, finally raising his hand to close it over the one resting on his chest. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you offed the goddamn Joker? I been having nightmares for years about that shithead comin’ back for me.”

“I truly believed you were aware of what I had done. I didn’t tell you outright because I am used to working in secret, and I did not wish to put you in the position of having to choose between me and Batman’s ideals. But I thought…” Chessmaster lowers his gaze and shakes his head slowly. “I thought you knew he was dead.”

Red Hood draws in a shuddering breath, their linked hands on his chest rising together with every inhalation. “Nope,” he says, then gives a crooked grin and lifts Chessmaster’s hand to his lips. “Best fuckin’ deathday present I ever had.”

Chessmaster’s face lights up and the lines of tension melt from his body. “Oh,” he says softly. “I’m glad.”

The two of them lean in, closer and closer until—

Right before it looks like they’re about to kiss, Chessmaster gently pushes Red Hood back because he’s a damn tease, apparently. “Wait, how much did you have to drink before we got here, anyway? I’m not kissing you unless I’m sure you actually want it.”

Red Hood looks at him with a baffled expression, which clears after a moment. He starts to chuckle. “What, this?” He nudges the amber bottle on the ground with his toe, tipping it. “It’s not liquor—I hate alcohol, reminds me too much of Willis. Naw,” he grins, “this is just tea. Alfred gives me a thermos of it every year when I come out here.”

Nightshade raises an eyebrow. “So, why the amber bottle?” After a moment, he begins to smirk. “Bruce?” he guesses, beginning to laugh. “Geez, you’re such a jerk.” He sounds admiring. Stray really wishes he could spend more time with this guy, he seems like so much fun.

Nodding, Red Hood grins like the bastard he is. “Fuck yeah. I swap it into the liquor bottle because I know Bruce watches over me when I’m out here and I can’t miss an opportunity to give the creepy ol’ bastard hell.” He sounds less angry than Stray’s Jason does when he talks about his former mentor. Interesting.

“That’s mean,” a soft voice says, and Stray turns to look at Pierrot, who’s peeking out at Red Hood from behind his mask. “I like it.”

Red Hood blinks at him, flushes faintly, and then clears his throat. He blinks again. “Wow,” he says, sounding stunned. Damn, go Pierrot. “I fucking hate clowns, but I’ll make an exception for you. You actually make the whole scary clown shit work somehow. Apparently I find every goddamn version of you hot.” He blushes harder. “Shit, I said that out loud.”

He’s so ridiculously cute. “Yep,” Stray says, snickering. He can’t resist adding, “It’s okay—we’re all friends here.” He winks, then gives a little shimmy as he purrs, “Maybe more than friends.”

Red Hood stares at him in what might be dazed bewilderment, then turns to Chessmaster to complain. “I’m not even sure I’m dating you yet—I don’t think I’m ready for a moresome with you and your alternate selves, no matter how badass and hot they all are.” Aw, too bad. Although Stray should probably do something about his own Jason before hitting on any from other universes.

Chessmaster’s breath catches and he tips his face up with a breathtaking smile more genuine than any he’s worn so far. “My queen, does this mean you accept my courting gesture?”

“What the…?” Red Hood sighs and bends down to brush his cheek against Chessmaster’s, a helpless grin stealing over his face. “You’re such a weirdo. Fuck, yes, of course. I absolutely accept your goddamn over the top courting gesture.”

When they finally kiss, Red Hood’s trembling hands cupping Chessmaster’s cheeks like he’s fragile and precious and definitely wouldn’t kill anyone who ever raised a hand against his beloved queen, Stray’s plans for when he gets home fall into place.

He’s absolutely going to go home and get himself some of that, too. Stray watches as the kiss deepens and hands start to migrate, wondering how far they’re planning to go. It seems like an unusual choice of location for a first time—Jason’s grave is right there, after all. Then again, they’re adults who can make their own choices. He raises an approving eyebrow as Jason growls softly and lifts Chessmaster into the air, a move Chessmaster seems to greatly appreciate.

Chessmaster has just locked his arms and legs around his queen, who seems to be looking for a convenient tree to press him up against, when Nightshade tugs on Stray’s arm. “Come on, we’re heading back. I think our work here is done and these guys need a little, uh, privacy.”

Stray doesn’t move. “I mean, it would be rude to leave while they’re putting on such a great show…”

Nightshade rolls his eyes and grabs his collar, then starts tugging him back toward the path. “How did you turn into such a pervert? It can’t just be Catwoman’s influence. Come on.”

“Fine, but only because I want to go home and try to put the moves on my own Jason now.” Stray turns and starts moving along the path, following the others.

Nightshade blinks, looking puzzled. “But don’t you guys already have a friend-with-benefits thing going? You said you slept together before.”

Stray blushes. Damn, he hates it when someone calls his bluff, but he doesn’t actually want to lie to his alternate self. “Uh, so when I said we sleep together sometimes? What I actually meant was we fell asleep next to each other on a stakeout once and I’ve been using that to tease him mercilessly for years.”

“Dude.”

He snickers. “You should’ve seen Batman’s face the first time I casually mentioned sleeping with Robin, it was hilarious.” It really was.

It doesn’t take long for Puzzle to get the multiverse tech set up to send them home. What does take forever is the number of times the guy seems to consider it necessary to check his work. Also, the unexpected appearance of Mr. Freeze, who comes bursting out of a portal of his own because Jack Frost apparently took a little too long to come home.

It’s sweet. It’s even sweeter when Mr. Freeze takes their picture together.

Villainous Meeting. Chessmaster posing for a picture with Jack Frost, Nightshade, Stray, Pierrot, and Puzzle. Art by Aldebaran26 (tumblr).

(Chessmaster found out later about them taking a picture without him and made Jack Frost send him a copy so he could edit himself in).

Mr. Freeze invites them all to come visit sometime, something which is apparently an actual possibility with the little gadgets Puzzle found in Chessmaster’s base that should allow them to find each other again. Stray relaxes a little after that, the knowledge that this isn’t really goodbye easing the pain he feels when first Jack Frost, then Pierrot disappears into a swirling blue portal.

Then it’s his turn. He gives Puzzle a salute, then pulls Nightshade into a quick hug. “I want you to come,” he says in a voice dripping with innuendo, then adds, a beat too late, “for a visit.”

Nightshade blushes, of course. “You’re a little brat. Of course I will.” He hugs him back, and Stray winks before he steps into the portal.

This has been fun, but he has a best friend to track down and comfort. For now, he just wants to make sure his Jason is okay.

Chapter Text

Stray moves through the darkened grounds on silent feet, finding his way as much by rote memory as by sight. It’s late and the clouds are thicker here than they were in the other Gotham, without even a glimmer of starlight breaking through.

It’s strange being back on the former Drake estate after all these years. The current owner has several homes around the world and apparently spends little time here, which is convenient for his purposes. Not that he’d let himself get caught—he’s better than that, as well he should be after all the blood, sweat, and tears he and Selina have put into making him strong—but he’s glad to have one less thing to worry about right now.  

As he darts along the gravel path, he wonders why he never thought about how Jason might feel about the anniversary of his death. Even as he wonders, the rush of blood in his ears and acrid burn of remembered smoke in his nostrils reminds him why he doesn’t spend much time pondering anything to do with Jason’s death.

He may not have been the one who died, but a part of him never walked away that night.

So, maybe he can forgive himself for missing whatever signs Jason may or may not have dropped over the past few weeks, and at this time last year. At least he’s here now, ready to try and give him whatever support he needs to get through this.

Honestly, if he had even considered it, he would have thought Jason was probably going to just dive deep into the criminal underground and let loose by beating on some of the worst scum—traffickers, people who push hard drugs to kids, the kind of people Red Hood doesn’t give second chances to. His anger and pain tend to have a body count.

The rock wall finally comes into sight, and he doesn’t bother sticking his hand into the tangle of vines and running the risk of getting bitten by the dozens of black widow spiders his imagination assures him live in there. The lock is probably rusted solid by now, anyway. Instead, he just takes hold of a double handful of vines and launches himself up, scrambling over the wall with more grace than he ever could have managed before his years training with Selina.

He drops down to land in a crouch on the other side, the thick grass soft and cushy beneath his feet. The little cemetery looks exactly like the one in the other universe, a handful of polished stones surrounded by large trees with drooping branches that hang almost to the ground. It’s quiet and peaceful, its secrets hidden in silent graves.

Well, except for one. Stray’s lips tighten as his gaze falls on a familiar sight. It’s even more heartbreaking now that it’s his Jason knelt beside his own grave, mourning something he can never get back. “Oh, Jay,” he whispers, chest tightening at the thought of his friend coming out here like this, alone but for his pain.

For the second time tonight, he steps into the cemetery and approaches a grieving Jason Todd.

Red Hood’s helmet whips around to face him the moment he steps into the clearing, his body tense and ready. He relaxes as soon as he sees who it is, sighing and beckoning him over. “I shoulda guessed you’d find me,” he says. “Fair warning, I ain’t gonna be good company. Not tonight.”

Stray gives him a tentative smile and sinks down to sit at his side. “You’re always good company, even when you’re being an asshole.”

“Thanks, I think.” Red Hood snorts. He rocks back so he’s sitting directly on the grass and stretches his legs out in front of him, hissing slightly like they’re protesting the movement. Stray wonders how long he’s been kneeling here and squashes down the flare of guilt. “You’re such a little shit.”

“What? I said you’re good company!”

“You called me an asshole, you dick.” After a moment of staring at him pointedly, Red Hood seems to remember that the helmet renders his glares ineffective. He pulls it off and sets it down, sending a mock glare at Stray.

Stray’s lips quirk with the effort of holding back a line about his dick and Red Hood’s asshole, along with a peal of highly inappropriate laughter. “I could make a sex joke right now but I’m refraining because you’re in a delicate state.”

“A sex—?” Red Hood breaks off and blushes, a dark stain visible on his cheeks even in the gloom. “Fuck, you’re a goddamn menace. The mouth on you…” His gaze slides over and locks onto the mouth in question before moving to meet his eyes. He reaches up and runs shaky fingers through his hair, which Stray is pleased to see is the correct hue of gorgeous, dark red. “If you came here to distract me from shit, you’re doing a damn good job.”

“Good.” Stray leans close, bumping their shoulders together. He looks away as he thinks about the other Jason. He can’t stop remembering the loneliness in his voice as his grief overflowed and spilled out in bitter words. “Hey, do you…” His tongue feels thick and awkward, unable to form the words that will reassure his friend and give him what he needs. He tries again. “Is distraction what you want right now? I just… I want to help. What do you need?”

“You,” Red Hood says, then just about chokes on his own tongue trying to walk it back. “Fuck, that wasn’t what I mean to say. I meant, you’re doing fine.”

Stray isn’t going to analyze that too much right now. “Insulting banter and inappropriate jokes it is. Okay,” he says, nudging their shoulders together again and snickering when Red Hood gives him a dirty look. “I’m glad you don’t mind my being here. I was really worried when I realized what day it is and where you were.”

Red Hood takes a deep breath and slowly releases it, tilting his head to stare at the sky. His breath only shudders a little and he doesn’t seem to have been crying, which is already better than the state the other Red Hood was in. “Naw, I’m okay, I think. I just… had to come here, I guess. I needed somewhere to think and try to figure out my shit, and I didn’t want to be anywhere I might end up hurting someone.”

Stray nods, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. “Makes sense. Figured anything out?”

“Yeah. You…” He swallows. “You know, I didn’t find out you were the one who killed the Joker until I came back and got into the Batcomputer?”

“Oh,” Stray says, blinking. He hadn’t really thought about what, exactly, Red Hood might know.

“All the papers just said Joker got blown up in his own explosion. It was only when I dug into B’s file I saw your part in it. You know, he’s got a six point threat assessment worked up for you? And a fuckin’ contingency plan with your name on it.”

“That’s… flattering?” Stray makes a face. “I mean, also kind of terrifying. Why are you telling me this? Now I’ll have nightmares.”

Red Hood rumbles a laugh. “It means he respects you. Well, and that he fully intends to take you down if you ever go full megalomaniac.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, before I got sidetracked by B’s paranoia and devastating level of dedication to stalking people, I was trying to say, you’re the reason I’m okay.”

He pauses for a moment to steady his breathing, fingers drumming on his thigh when he speaks again. “If it hadn’t been for what you did, I think the Joker would still be around. And if that asshole had still been alive when I came outta the Pit—fuck.” He scrubs a hand over his face, letting out a shaky laugh. “I wasn’t right, kitten. I was so messed up and scared and angry when I came back, one more thing would’ve pushed me over my limit. The Joker being alive? Would’ve done it. And if that happened, I have no idea if I ever woulda made it back.”

“It was an accident,” Stray’s mouth says without his consent. He winces. “I mean, I don’t regret it or anything, but I had no idea he’d end up stumbling his way back into the fire. I just… I wanted to make him hurt, to just shut up.” He hunches his shoulders, pulling his knees in closer so his voice is muffled. “He kept talking about hurting you—” His voice thickens and ends on a rasp as his throat tightens, the smoke in his nostrils and copper on his tongue stealing anything else he might say.

“Aw, dammit, kitten…” Red Hood reaches for him and pulls him right up against his broad, warm chest. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry I put you through that.”

“None of it was your fault,” Stray whispers fiercely, face hot. He blinks fast to try to clear his eyes. The goggles he wears as part of his costume do have a few drawbacks, and the inability to wipe away tears is one of them. Sniffing, he reaches up and shoves them off, dropping them blindly to the side where a soft clunk tells him they probably fell on Red Hood’s helmet.

He sniffs again, letting his hands creep around Red Hood’s waist as his friend holds him close. “I’m supposed to be the one comforting you,” he protests, clinging tighter.

Red Hood rumbles another of his wonderful, deep laughs. “Yeah, no. I’m pretty sure this kinda thing is supposed to go both ways.”

Stray tries, but he’s in no shape to resist. “You like it both ways, huh? Well, good thing I’m… flexible.”

“Goddamnit, you little shit…!” Red Hood breaks into helpless laughter, shaking his head. Something presses against the top of Stray’s head and he wonders if that was a kiss or just Red Hood’s chin resting there for a moment.

“I can’t help it, I’m made this way. You’re the one who hangs out with me.”

“I know. I bring this on myself, it sucks.” That was definitely a kiss.

“I suck, if you like that kind of thing,” Stray blurts out, then blushes, burying his face in Red Hood’s chest. “I’d apologize but we both know I’ll say the same thing again next chance I have, no regrets.”

“Oh, I know. I figured that out when you straight up told B we slept together, you little asshole.”

Snickering, Stray lifts his head. “It’s not like it was a lie! You didn’t even try to deny it, either. That was hilarious.”

“Ha ha. Wasn’t so funny when he pinned me down a few weeks later in an alley to give me the damn talk! I thought he was finally going to arrest me, but the fuckin’ safe sex slideshow he whipped up instead was almost worse. He projected it on the damn alley wall, the bastard.” 

Stray winces, then shrugs. “Better you than me.”

“Such an asshole.” Red Hood’s voice sounds so caring as he faces him, his hand rising and hovering over his own domino. “I…” He swallows, and Stray’s gaze is drawn to watch the muscles working in his throat. “Fuck, I wish I could see your damn eyes better. The cowl gets in the way. I got something I wanna say to you, and I can never fuckin’ tell if you’re being serious.”

“I… okay.” Stray reaches up, hands hesitating, then slides off his cowl.

Red Hood stares at him, his mouth falling open. “Tim, I…” He winces. “Fuck, sorry, was this supposed to be a big identity reveal? Damn it, I shoulda pretended I didn’t know who you are.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “I know damn well you’ve known who I am since the day I moved in with Selina. Of course you guys were aware of Catwoman’s identity, which compromised mine from the moment you saw the connection between our civilian identities.”

Red Hood’s hand hovers over his domino, hesitating, and Tim frowns until he realizes the problem. This time, he rolls his eyes so hard it actually hurts. “Oh my god, really? We’re actually at Wayne Manor beside your grave that has your actual name on it, so it seems like if you were going to worry about me knowing who you are, the moment’s passed. I’ve known who Batman is since I was nine, by the way, and figured you out the second you showed up in the scaly panties—you don’t need to angst about that.” He snorts. “Well, maybe the panties. I mean, I know I would be feeling a lot of regret if I ever wore those—”

Red Hood is laughing again, surprise and pleasure on his handsome face as he finally peels off his domino. “Shut up, I wasn’t sure! B’s always been squirrely about admitting how much Selina knows, because he’s a damn controlling bastard.” He looks at Tim, teal eyes soft and happy, and raises a hand to brush some hair out of his face, fingers curling around his cheek.

“What did you want to ask me?” Tim says, voice a whisper of possibilities.

“This,” Jason says as he leans forward. He hesitates right before their lips touch, gaze hesitant.

“That’s not a question,” Tim says, because he really is a little shit. Then he grins. “But the answer is yes.” He tilts his face and Jason leans in and then they’re kissing, and it’s everything he imagined and more. He shifts and manages to get a leg over Jason’s lap, making a soft noise of pleasure at the easier angle. This way, their faces are at just the right height to press their lips together. He groans softly at the feel of Jason under him as Jason’s hand slips down his lower back while the other hand slides back into his hair.

When they finally separate, panting, it’s only to pull a few inches apart and stare at each other with matching grins. “I can’t fuckin’ believe this is happening right now,” Jason says in a wondering voice, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the corner of Tim’s mouth.

“I can,” Tim says. “I mean, it has been years since we first slept together, obviously this has been coming on for a long time—”

Jason kisses him again, cutting off whatever else he was going to say, and Tim is perfectly happy with that.

It’s a while before they take another break. Tim leans on Jason’s chest, eyes half closed as Jason runs his fingers through his hair and strokes his back.

Jason takes a deep breath, his big chest lifting and falling under Tim’s cheek. It feels nice. “So, how’d you figure out I was gonna be here, anyway? I thought I managed to act pretty normal last time we saw each other. What gave me away?”

Tim shakes his head. “I didn’t, actually. I mean, I didn’t notice anything strange.”

“Then how’d you know where to come lookin’ for me?”

It would be really nice to just keep relaxing and making out. Telling Jason he was snatched into another universe for hours probably isn’t conducive to that. He considers for a long moment, then sighs. This whole relationship thing will probably work out a heck of a lot better if they’re honest with each from the start.

“Well, it all started when a portal opened up in my condo earlier tonight and dumped me into another universe…”

Chapter Text

A faint chime rouses Tim from the brink of sleep and he hisses softly, hoping it will stop. He’s comfy and he wants to just stay here in his perfect envelope of warmth and safety.

No such luck. After a moment, the noise repeats. He reaches out, pawing blindly at the nightstand until his hand closes on the little chess piece souvenir he brought back from Chessmaster’s universe. He blinks, the heaviness behind his eyes and in his limbs telling him he definitely hasn’t had enough sleep yet. The strong arm slung around his waist and warm breath on his throat make him sigh, arching his back as a shirtless, sleep-warm Jason nuzzles at him. “Whazzit?”

Glaring at the gadget, he wonders not for the first time if it was really such a good idea to let Puzzle tinker with it last time he came to visit. Now it’s also a communicator with text and image messaging capacity, and the others are having way too much fun sending each other memes at all hours. He’ll admit that there’s a certain level of fascination in the ways memes reflect or diverge across universes, but this is ridiculous.

Sighing, Tim gently tugs himself free from Jason’s embrace and sits up before clicking the button to project the latest message onto the wall. It might be something important. Maybe one of the others needs help, or—

Nope. It’s just another stupid photo text from Nightshade. Why are there so many cacti that look like penises in his universe? Oh yeah. Because he keeps growing them. Dork.

“Fuck, that shit’s hilarious,” Jason says, sitting up with a yawn, then starts to snicker. “Think he could hook me up with one of those? I could give it to B as a Christmas present.”

“Not if you’re going to tell him to sit on it,” Tim says, making a face. “That’s just awkward for everyone.”

Jason huffs and looks away with an expression he would never admit is a pout. It’s really damn cute. Tim snickers and texts Nightshade back, asking him to grow one of those for them as a gag gift for Bruce. Then all of the others start chiming in, asking for one too, and he mutes the damn thing so he can get back to sleep.

He starts to lean back, sighing in anticipation of relaxing back into the soft bedding, then jerks upright when he feels something small and warm and definitely not part of the bed. Turning, he stares at Holmes, who blinks up at him with calm, golden eyes. “How did you even get in here?” he grumbles as he glances over at the other side of the bed. Sure enough, Isis is there, stretching languidly to fill the entirety of the warm spot left when Jason sat up. “Damn it.”

Jason just twists to look at the cats who have taken over their bed, and shrugs. “Fuck it, I knew what I was getting into when I chose you, kitten,” he says, then groans. “There isn’t even enough room for me to just lie on my back and have you on top of me. I will never understand how the hell those little shits manage to take up every inch of a king-sized bed. We’re not getting the bed back tonight, are we?”

“Nope,” he says, easing to the edge of the bed and standing with a wide yawn. His muscles twinge and he reaches up, stretching every muscle individually before ambling over to where he sees a patch of sunlight on the rug by the window. By the angle of the light, it’s probably early afternoon. Their sleep schedule is so screwed. Sighing, he flops down on the carpet and stretches out on his belly, already relaxing again at the sensation of warmth where the sunlight touches his body.

“What the fuck?” Jason says, sounding infinitely fond and amused. “Things like this are why I did that thing with the laser pointer the other night. I’m trying to figure out if you actually are a damn cat.”

“Shut up,” Tim says, turning his face to hide his blush. He hadn’t slept in like two days, a heist of his own leading right into Catwoman needing backup unexpectedly and then both of them teaming up to help the vigilantes fight off the latest crisis. It’s not his fault he was sleep deprived enough to be curious about the little circle of red light darting around the room.

Although, he probably didn’t need to actually physically chase it while his boyfriend snickered and took videos to send to the other Tims. Asshole.

“Your communicator’s blowing up,” Jason says, picking it up off the nightstand and bringing it over. “You should answer, tell ‘em to grow the cactus really big. After all, Bruce is such a gigantic asshole he probably needs a huge—”

“Oh my god, please stop talking about Bruce’s asshole in our bedroom.” He grumbles under his breath but reaches out a hand to accept the chess piece, then projects the latest messages on the wall in front of him. There are a few more choice images of plants that look like dicks—apparently Nightshade is now offering the others a choice of genitalia-resembling flora. Awesome. They’ve conquered the multiverse, established communication across an infinite number of alternate universes, and they’re using it to swap dick jokes.

Stay classy, Tims.

He perks up when the next message comes in, a burst of photos he quickly realizes must be from Jack Frost’s recent visit to Pierrot’s universe. An alarming number of them seem to depict a series of pranks against that universe’s Batman. The one that catches his eye, though, is a picture of Dr. Fries standing with an arm wrapped around Pierrot and another around Jack Frost, neither of them in costume. All of them look radiant, happiness and care shining through their expressions. Dr. Fries is looking down tenderly at the teens, whose faces are turned to him like flowers toward the sun.

It’s a weird simile, considering Mr. Freeze’s icy theme, but that’s what it looks like. Remembering the way Dr. Fries came to another universe to save his kid, and the open emotion the man showed, Tim thinks maybe it doesn’t matter how cold he is on the outside. His heart is warm and caring, and that’s what matters.

He tilts his head, looking at the pictures of the others having fun together, and wonders if he should reconsider his own plans for next week. It’ll be his turn to visit Pierrot in the loose rotation the rest of them set up after Puzzle worked out the communicators and they established a consensus that Pierrot’s life is fucked up and he shouldn’t have to be alone again. Maybe Selina would want to come with him when he goes to visit Pierrot.

“Come back to bed, kitten,” Jason says, interrupting his thoughts.

Tim looks up, surprised. “Huh? What about the cats?”

“I may have fed them a little early to get them outta our hair,” his boyfriend replies, looking only a little bit guilty. “And I locked the door this time. I don’t know which of ‘em knows how to jump up and open fuckin’ doorknobs, but one of them definitely does.”

“I think it’s a team effort,” Tim admits after a moment’s reflection, then sits up with a soft groan. He tosses his chess piece to Jason, who sets it back on the table before collapsing on the bed with a much louder groan.

“With Mama Cat out on a job and the demon twins occupied, maybe we can actually do more than sleep,” Jason says, a hint of suggestion in his voice that isn’t matched by the way his eyes are already closed as he sprawls bonelessly across the bed.

Tim snickers. “You’ve been up even longer than I have—don’t think I don’t know about the little rescue mission you ran when Nightwing got nabbed by those rogues over in Blüdhaven two days ago. Not to mention you were right there with me defending Gotham from the stupid robots afterward. There’s no way you’d be able to do anything more than sleep right now.”

“Is that a challenge?” Jason’s voice sounds sleepy and his breathing is evening out as he relaxes again. “Cause I’m up for it.” He cracks open one eye and looks down at himself, squinting. “Well, I could be if you wanted.”

Laughing, Tim crawls into bed and fits himself against his boyfriend’s side, sliding a leg over his hips and pillowing his head on his broad chest as Jason wraps a big, beefy arm around him. “Maybe later. Let’s try to actually get some sleep first.” The chest under him rises and falls at even intervals and Jason doesn’t answer. He muffles a snicker at the realization he’s already asleep.

Reaching down, he grabs the blankets and tugs them up to cover them, then nestles back into Jason’s side. He closes his eyes and smiles at the way Jason’s arm tightens around him, like even in his sleep he wants to hold onto Tim.

A soft rattle draws his attention to the door, and his eyes widen as the knob rattles again, shaking and jerking a few times before it opens.

What the heck?

Isis struts into the room, Holmes padding softly at her heels. Both of them leap onto the bed and eye the humans there as though considering ways to expel the interlopers and reclaim the warm spot.

Tim narrows his eyes at them. “Just try me,” he whispers, stretching out so as to claim more of the bed. Isis lifts her nose and pads daintily over to the pillow, where she curls up near Jason’s head. Holmes just spreads her body over the foot of the bed, somehow lengthening herself until she seems twice as long as usual as though answering Tim’s challenge.

Jason chuckles, his chest moving under Tim in a way that makes him smile. “Now I know why you’re such a damn menace. You learned it from these assholes.” He throws a fond glance over to the cats, who choose that moment to stretch out as though to take up even more room on the bed.

Tim just hums in agreement, stretching and sighing before relaxing bonelessly on top of his boyfriend. His life is deliciously good and he intends to enjoy it.