Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It felt like there was a splinter inside of Tim’s brain. A piece of wood that got in one day, and he’d desperately tried to get out, only to dig the thing deeper into his head. Like a scared child too nervous to ask their parents for help, he just left the splinter be, until countless nights of sleeping on it pushed it right into his head. 

Tim never knew why or how he felt that way, but it was of little concern to him. Worry placed on a trivial matter was foolish, he’d learned. Something that had no reason to even be filed away into the back of his mind, taking up space. It was simply there to be forgotten the next moment. To float back into the recesses of his mind lit only by the dim flame that burned such thoughts.

He looked down at his feet, which were swinging over the edge of his bed idly. A bout of frustration rose in his stomach, and he hopped onto his feet. If he’d been taught anything in his few years working with the Court of Owls, it was that sitting idly in thought was nothing without any action behind it. What was the point of philosophy if one did not carry it out? He’d been taught the same thing by Bruce. Maybe if he’d done something, that damn demon brat wouldn’t have nearly killed him. Maybe his idol wouldn’t have bent his bones so much they still ache on bad days.

Focus. Breathe.

He took a deep breath in. And exhaled. Eyes refocused on the present reality.

Tim’s room was very dimly lit, being underground. Like most of the rooms he’d come to know, it was stone walls and floors, being carved out from the ground. Sparsely decorated. Tim was never one for decorations, and it only made his room truly embrace the grungy cave look. It bore an eerie resemblance to the Bat Cave. Perhaps that was why he kept his room free of the gaudy chandeliers and gold-framed portraits that decorated nearly every other room in the base. The most fancy thing he had in his room was a grandfather clock, which ticked rhythmically without fail every second. A constant. 

Tick

Tick

Tick.

9:45 p.m.

I should get to the main hall for that meeting. Tim thought. He walked over to the inlet that served as his closet, and pulled a plain black cloak from its hook, draping it over his shoulders and connecting it with a beautiful silver brooch of an owl, before promptly reaching for a mask that sat on a makeshift stone shelf. It was plain white, with a beak and small slits for eyes. He only wore it while he was in the base, whenever he had to go to meetings.

He was grateful for that. The mask covering his full face felt suffocating. Limiting. As highly trained as his senses were, the mask managed to make him feel as though each of those senses were stripped away from him. Though, leaving his room he was met with other people with the same masks, the same faceless faces.

Taking in the damp smell of the cave, he walked down the hallway, giving nods of acknowledgement whenever he made eye contact with another member of the Court. A respectful gesture. One of them fell into stride with him.

“Heading to the main hall?” She asked. Brown hair framed the blank face of her mask, which placed a soft muffle on her voice.

It was natural manners to not speak unless spoken to by a superior. Exceptions were made for those who held equal power.

Tim nodded, “I have a meeting. Apparently there’s a new client.”

“You’re not usually called for general client meetings and conferences. Negotiations are usually my job.”

“I know.”

“What’s special this time?” 

“I’m not sure, Clara,” Tim’s eyes narrowed under the mask, “But it must be important to involve me somehow.” Clara nodded, and the rest of the walk down the twisting corridors was silent aside from the shrill squeaking of boots and the soft clicks of heels from passersby. At the end of their walk was a large door that towered up to the ceiling, adorned with beautiful golden handles, which twisted like two snakes ready to snap, lest the wrong person pull on them. The metal was cold under Tim’s grip when he pulled it. 

It was like he was always the right person to pull on it.

Behind the doors laid a long table, ornate wooden chairs positioned across each side. Roughly half the seats already had their occupants, all of whom sat patiently, hands neatly resting on the arms of the chairs. Tim, without hesitation, took a seat near the head of the table, two seats down. Clara sat next to him. Most people would tense up at the air of complete silence in the room. For those in the Court, however, it simply brought tranquility and repose.

“Good evening,” A voice rang out once all the seats were filled. The members of the Court bowed their heads in respect to the source, the woman sitting at the head of the table. The Judge.

She was the one who led the Court. The head of the Owls. The Grandmaster. Tim recalls first meeting her in his days as Robin, having crossed paths with her and her talons. That was the first time she had offered to take him in. He had been foolish enough to decline the offer. It wasn’t until he’d been beaten to a pulp by his former allies that he realized he wasn’t wanted. Wasn’t needed . That Bruce Wayne could offer him more, but chose not to. The Court wouldn’t just offer him everything. They would give him everything.

“It is my pleasure to welcome our guests to our conference room. I am positive you will treat them with the utmost respect.” The Judge’s voice was stiff, stern. Like an office manager. “I would like all of you to give a warm welcome to Lady Shiva and her representatives from the League of Shadows.” Timothy lightly applauded with all the other members. “You may speak.”

“Thank you,” Shiva spoke. Her tone was that of the Judge’s, though with much more of a cut to it, like a hot knife through butter. “I’m eager to discuss plans with you. It is to my understanding that you wish to form an alliance between our two… groups, correct?”

“Not quite an alliance. More of a… mutually beneficial relationship.” The smile beneath the Judge’s mask could practically be heard through her voice.

“An agreement to not directly interfere with the plans of each other.” The Judge continued, “You will stay away from Gotham, and likewise, we will not make any direct deals with the League of Assassins. If they come to us with information, we will inform you immediately.”

Shiva smirked, “What makes you think you’ll be getting any deals from the League of Assassins? They’re not exactly the most friendly bunch.”

“Our head Talon, knows of many connections between Gotham City itself and the League.” The Judge motioned towards Tim with a hand.

Tim nodded, “Of course, you know of Gotham’s vigilante, Batman. His son is that of Talia Al Ghul. This boy happens to don the mask of Robin.” Tim leaned a bit closer to the table, “This makes Gotham a very… special place for the League. They have their eyes on our city, and on us. We’ve been approached by them before, which I have previously been able to successfully trace back to hidden bases in the city itself.”

Shiva raised an eyebrow.

“He’s quite the impressive young man, isn’t he?” The Judge mused playfully.

“Indeed. It seems like you’ve got your own ‘Greatest Detective’ don’t you?” Shiva laughed, “Unfortunately a few party tricks aren’t enough to convince me. In fact, if the League is so attracted to Gotham, why should we stay away? I think we should be making our base of operations here instead.”

“Clara, please inform our guests of our policies.”

Clara stood, “The Court has defended its city for centuries, and out of respect for our ancestor’s traditions and past lives, we continue to defend Gotham, to bring it up to its former greatness, and build it anew. This goal will be achieved by any means necessary, resulting in, but not limited to full exposure of your group and its bases to public media, extermination of members, alerting authorities of your details, aliases, and other identifiable information, and a complete wipe from Gotham City’s history.”

Shiva grinned, “Well, that’s what I like to hear. Someone who defends what’s theirs and fights for it. Well, you have a deal.”

The Judge bowed her head, “Thank you, Lady Shiva. We do not take our promises lightly. Rest assured, your words will be remembered by the Court as long as ours are.” She stood, and gently clapped her hands, “I dismiss this meeting.”

Everyone stood, getting out of their chairs and tucking them back in. Tim was about to leave, before a hand was put on his shoulder. His head snapped around, less in a panic, and more out of a learned reflex and his constant alertness. It was Shiva.

“You’re impressive, boy,” Shiva chuckled, “Who taught you to trace League signals like that.”

Tim shook his head, “I learned it myself.” She narrowed her eyes.

“You don’t just learn those things by yourself. You must have had some sort of mentor.”

Bruce Wayne, Batman. Tim could say. But he knew better than to say anything that could link him back to anything but a faceless owl mask.

“I’ve been instructed to keep that information private,” He responded coolly.

Shiva scoffed, “You’re all just as uptight as I expected. But I see no use in prying. I have a feeling that won’t get me anywhere. I must ask, though, have we… met before? You seem familiar. No need to give a name, I know I wouldn’t be able to get that out of you anyways.”

Shiva was Tim’s mentor for a while, back when he was first training. When Bruce had sent him around to train in various styles of combat. It was with Lady Shiva where he had picked up what became his signature weapon, the bo staff. Of course she recognized Tim’s speech, the way he spoke. The constantly battle-ready reflexes and posture she herself had taught him. 

But of course, that past link, positive as it may have been, was severed, just like all the rest. He was to continue denying.

“I don’t believe so.” Tim held out a hand, and Shiva shook it firmly.

“Well, then I look forward to working with you more.” Shiva pulled her hand away, and motioned for her representatives to follow her. They trailed out of the room, leaving Tim alone. 

The room seemed so much bigger when he was alone. With nobody else in it. He found comfort in it, being so small in such a big place. Tim swept his arms out beside him, as if catching rays of sun, embracing the openness of the room. Faint music down the hall grew louder in his ears, like a performer making their grand entrance in a Greek tragedy. That was what he was, after all. 

“Timothy.”

Tim’s head turned, and his face met with that of the Judge. Immediately, those feelings of pride were stripped from him, and he felt nothing but shame. It was a conceited thing to do, envisioning himself as some savior. Beneath his mask, he could feel the embarrassment creeping up his cheeks.

“Yes, Ma’am. I apologize,” Tim began.

“You are forgiven. Now, sit down, please. I need to have a conversation with you.” The Judge took a seat, and Tim took the seat directly across from her.

“I know you’re a smart boy. You must know that I didn’t summon you here just to oversee a minor meeting,” The Judge hummed, “No, no, I brought you here instead because I have another task I must ask of you.”

“Of course, anything you need,” Tim replied. His monotone and professional voice masked the slowly bubbling excitement in his chest. Getting any kind of assignment was an honor, and much more so from the Judge herself. It solidified Tim’s position. His purpose. His identity. 

His. His. His.

The Judge pulled an envelope out of her pocket, “I need your help to build something.”

Tim’s eyes lit up. He’d give anything to get his creative juices flowing again. Creativity felt like a luxury in the Court. Given out like a good mark on a report card.

“With pleasure. What is it that you need?” 

The Judge slid the piece of envelope over to Tim, and he looked at it curiously. His fingers simply picked at it eagerly, awaiting the order to open it.

“Everything you need to know is in that envelope. You may open it once you are in your room,” She said, “And with this task, you are granted special permission to leave the base whenever you see fit to collect any items necessary, make observations, or study the city. Anything that will benefit your progress of our device.”

Tim knew his smile peeked out slightly from under his mask, but he couldn’t be bothered to contain himself any further. The music down the hall swelled in a tone of great joy. Tim stood and knelt before the Judge.

“Thank you, Ma’am. I will not let you down.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he rose. She knew he would not let her down. After all, he never had before.

Not after letting down those he previously pledged allegiance to.

Her voice softened once “I know what you’re thinking. You did not let them down. They let you down. Do not let your past allies clip your wings as they once did. You are to show them with pride, grace, and humility.”

A smile crossed Tim’s lips, and he nodded, “Thank you, Ma’am. You’ve given me so much. It is only fair that I give that all back to you.”

“Of course, little bird. You are dismissed.”

With the wave of a hand, Tim was out the door, and hastily walking to his quarters. Even once the door behind him was closed, and he was safely hidden away in his quarters, he found himself resisting the childish urges of laying on his bed, kicking his feet in excitement. 

That wasn’t him anymore. 

The current version of him was sitting down at the desk looking at the envelope.

Chapter Text

Eyes fixated downwards at the envelope in his hands.

Any message by the Judge was usually opened with care, as to not rip or damage the precious paper below, and Tim was never one to have to fight the urge to tear into it like a ravenous dog. This time, however, he found himself facing that issue exactly.

Usually Tim’s hands would only shake during the first few hours of his morning coffee. Or, what used to be his morning coffee. The Court didn’t exactly have a break room underground. Nor did The Judge like Tim’s senses to be muddled up by such a drink. They had other stimulants to keep him awake if he so desired. 

This shaking, however, was not the result of a dark, plain coffee order from the local Gotham cafe. It was much more foreign to Tim. The shakes of excitement, of anticipation. 

But Tim was quick to put an end to that childish little squeal inside of him. He crushed it like it was nothing more than a mouse beneath a set of talons. It was nothing more than vermin, anyways. 

So he proceeded with opening it as he always did, gently slipping his nail under the weak adhesive seal, and effortlessly slicing through it along the diagonal flap. He’d done it enough times to know how to not get an accidental papercut on the skin under his nail, and every time, the envelope was in perfect condition. He lifted the small flap up, and slid out the paper contained in the envelope. It was pure white and clean, without as much as a crinkle or fold on the corners, aside from the deliberate creases in the middle that folded it up compactly enough to fit in the envelope. He took no hesitation in reading it.

The Ultimatum is a device that when activated, will be able to remotely connect to all devices in Gotham City, directly linking them back to the Court’s own system. This will allow The Court to remotely view, edit, and interfere with any and all information kept in databases in banks, police stations, and even political offices. It is imperative that you remain undetected while gathering any necessary supplies or information, otherwise it risks the entire mission, and higher security or detection software being placed where necessary. 

Below the message were some diagrams and suggestions of things he may need. However, Tim knew that ultimately, it was up to him to construct this device and make sure it worked flawlessly. After all, it was a great honor to have been handed such a project in the first place, one that was essentially the biggest plan the Court had ever concocted. Their ultimatum.

The construction of the device meant the success of the Court. Their regaining of control of their beloved city. His beloved city. After all, he was one of them. Tim’s past self would’ve scoffed at that. Being loyal to the enemy. 

If only his past self knew that his young teenage self was really the one being loyal to the enemy.

Tim pulled himself out of his impromptu moment of self reflection to carefully fold up the letter exactly as it had been before, tucking it back under the folds of the envelope, into the pouch. A drawer creaked open, and Tim put the letter inside of it, gently pushing the round, golden handle to close it. This was all a bit stupid to have even a moment of reflection over. He had a mission assigned and entrusted to him. What was, perhaps, the most important mission to ever even be conceived. He had to get to work immediately. And working meant getting out of the cave. 

Tim wasn’t usually a flashy person, and he put function over any kind of “fashion.” He found the whole costuming part of “superheroes” quite ridiculous. When he donned the Robin costume, he put more function into it than there ever had been. The lack of covering on the legs was horrendous, even a small cut could take him out. So of course adding even the slightest bit of covering could protect his legs, while keeping his movement fairly unrestricted. 

He did learn a few things from that Robin suit, however. Mainly how to make things more compact. To make more into less. And Tim took that knowledge with him to the court. When he helped train and create the Talons, he gave them all the tools they could ever need to survive anything. 

“Drop one of them in a jungle,” He’d told the Judge, “And they’ll be the new head of the food chain.”

So, of course he used that information for his own outfit. His belt resembled that of the one he used in his Robin days, albeit without the obnoxiously bright yellow. He traded it out for black, as to match the rest of his outfit, which was rather minimal.

A sleeveless black shirt, and some plain black cargo-like pants. He had a plain black pelerine draped over his shoulders, a hood attached at the back and that same owl brooch connecting the pieces of fabric.. Black boots with hidden mechanisms on them to help with any long falls. Black gloves with the fingers cut out, and a grappling line mechanism hidden in the wrist. 

Despite the fact that he had found annoyances in the Robin costume for leaving so much skin exposed, he found that the lack of restrictions on his arms was a welcome one. Tim felt much more confident in his ability to hide his arms, or otherwise restrict them from being a target. If an arm was shot? No big deal, he would make the wise decision to retreat. Worst case scenario, he’d learned to use both his arms and hands with equal skill.

But if his leg was shot, he couldn’t run. There was nothing he could really do. It was idiotic to leave something so vital unprotected.

His new outfit covered that. Not only were they covered with the bare minimum of having clothing covering them , but he’d made sure there was kevlar between the fabric. Enough to protect his legs without inhibiting his movement too much. He may not be as quick and mobile as an acrobat, but he was smart with each movement he made. Everything counted.

Even the domino mask he wore, which had a little owl’s beak that peaked over his nose and down, into a sharp point.

Tim allowed himself a moment to look down at himself. Admire how far he’d come. He was so much more than that sniveling, Robin-obsessed teenage boy he once had been. It was fitting that the Judge didn’t call him Tim. He wasn’t a kid. He was Timothy, a grown man. 

Despite knowing that Tim was nothing but a pathetic nickname, and child’s play, he could never shake the habit of calling himself that in his head. 

And he caught himself again, all wrapped up in his head. Being nothing but a philosopher without any action. He mentally slapped himself for falling into another pit of self-reflection so quickly, and to prevent himself from doing it a third time, he brushed himself off, put on his mask, and left his room.

The walk to the entrance gate was pleasant. Lots of nods of acknowledgement, a few “good luck” wishes. Even a handshake from a man who had once trained him when the Court had first taken him in. He said he was proud.

Tim almost smiled at that. 

It wasn’t until Clara showed up that any real emotion crossed his face. The woman was someone he had grown fond of, and someone he deeply respected.

“There’s no better person for the job besides you,” She said.

“How can you say that when you don’t even know what ‘the job’ is?” Tim mused.

“I don’t need to know, I just can tell. Though, if you want to tell, I’m always open to keeping a secret,” She joked.

Tim’s face cracked into a smile, “You know better than to be talking like that. Keep one secret when you’re not told…”

“And it’ll be death before you’re old,” Clara laughed, before holding out her hand. Tim took it and gave it a firm shake, “I’ll see you when you return, Timothy.”

“Likewise to you.”

Tim turned, and finished his trek down the hall without further conversation. Without as much as a word, or even a hand gesture, the guards opened the large stone doors, engraved with ancient words that even Tim didn’t know. Not that he ever paid mind to them, anyways. He’d given up deciphering the ancient language a year after joining himself with the Owls. It truly was something that only the Judge knew. 

Perhaps he’d know it one day once that was his position.

The cold wind of Gotham City was something Tim never knew he’d missed. Down in the caves, there were only ever drafts of it, slipping through cracks in the wall and strategic holes drilled to the surface for air. Feeling it slightly graze his skin, passing the top of his forehead was one thing, but getting a full face of it, letting it rush past and across his whole body was another. As he climbed out from the manhole in an alleyway, the breeze had rushed to greet him like an old friend. 

Hands gripped the wet cement floor, hoisting his body upwards into a crouch. He inconspicuously slid the manhole cover right back over. There was no sound aside from the gentle pitter-patter of rain on the awning above. It wasn’t as rhythmic as he’d liked. Not as unchanging as the clock in his room.

TickTickTickTickTick.

Perhaps it was like a very fast clock if he thought about it. He shook his head, hair falling out of its carefully arranged places. Getting in his own head was his greatest weakness. But if he was aware of it, he figured, then it meant he could fix it and ensure that weakness was never exploited. 

Tim stood, accidentally readjusting the manhole cover slightly with his foot. The metal scraped against concrete, and Tim inhaled sharply at the sound.

Thud.

A set of feet landed on the awning above him. Light, but helpless in being quiet against the rusty metal. Tim held his breath, staying still. But it was a bit futile, as whoever it was had clearly already heard the cover. He let himself breathe. To get oxygen into his body.

The footsteps slowly moved across the awning, and Tim’s blood went completely cold. He couldn’t get caught so early on his mission. Being seen by a citizen was less than ideal, but being caught by someone walking across roofs wasn’t a much better idea. He knelt down, and rolled onto his back underneath a trash bin. Even though it reeked of old food and dead rats, it was the only spot he could hide. He almost regretted his decision to stop holding his breath. Maybe, he thought, Gotham had cleaned out its alleyways in his absence. 

Something past him would appreciate. But current him resented, for its lack of hiding spots, especially in tight situations.

The footsteps stopped, and he heard the metal creaking. The sound of water splashing slightly as feet landed. They walked through the alley, and stopped in front of the trash bin Tim laid underneath. Black shoes. 

Tim’s breathing was soft, and quiet, compared to the slightly louder breathing of the person… the man that now occupied the alleyway as well.

Tim’s eyes had begun to adjust to the dark, things were less dark and dull. The trash can above him was green. A dark green, albeit, but green. And the man’s shoes weren’t just shoes, nor were they only black. They were boots, very durable and lightweight. Clearly those of someone who moved around a lot, who needed support and protection on both their feet and legs. 

But that wasn’t what scared him, no. The probability of going up against someone who was more prepared than the average person. What scared him, made him freeze up and his joints lock up, was the blue streak on the bottom along the soles. Even after all those years underground, he could never forget who those boots could belong to. Who donned that specific shade of blue. 

Nightwing. Dick Grayson.

Tim had just come across Nightwing, and potentially alerted him to a presence.

“No, everything’s fine,” Dick’s hushed voice spoke. Presumably into a comm. “I heard the manhole move. I don’t see anything, but I’m thinking it could be a lead on Croc.”

Pause.

“I don’t know if he went in or out. He’d had to have made a lot of noise if he came out, so I’m assuming he went in. We’ll still check around the area, though. Send Robin down here to check the area, I’ll head down in the sewers.”

The cover slipped open, and for a brief moment, Tim caught a glimpse of Dick’s face. Nothing new. Nothing different. As if Tim had never vanished. His hands balled into fists and his throat tightened. How could he not be different? Why didn’t he look worn down, weathered by the loss of a brother?

But as the manhole slipped shut again, Tim mentally punched himself for letting his brain derail yet again. His mission was what he needed to be worried about. What he needed to be putting all his energy towards. Right now, Robin was on route to his rough location, so he needed to get out of what he assumed would be the general search parameter.

Tim rolled himself out from under the garbage bin, for once relieved to breathe in the smoggy air of Gotham. He stood, and looked around. It would be preferable to stay off rooftops and out of the main streets. He knew those were the places Batman’s team had the most visual on. And he couldn’t take the sewers since Dick was down there. He really was a bit stumped for a moment.

But cogs turned in his head. There was a crunch from that little splinter. It didn’t break, but it moved itself enough to let Tim’s brain do its thing. He decided to climb the fire escape of the apartments next to him. From there, it was only a matter of quietly hopping between balconies and window sills. Too close to the building to be seen from the roof, and covered by the darkness of night from the streets. Once he’d gone down a few blocks, he rested himself on a broken traffic light, and organized his thoughts.

A base. He needed to find a base. Tim figured, though, that he already deserved a momentary break.

He looked up at Gotham’s rainy sky, and for the briefest of moments, he let his eyes shut. Just him, the familiar rain, and the city. 

“We’ll fix you up,” He spoke, out into the smoggy skies of Gotham. “Soon, the only thing kids will have to be scared of is the crash of thunder.”

Chapter Text

Finding an unoccupied building wasn’t too difficult in Gotham. After all, every district had at least two or three abandoned buildings in it. Tim figured one of those spots would be best for him to set up base. Though, he had to be quick about his search, as he only had an hour before it was 5:00am, when most of Gotham seemed to wake up for their early shifts. It was strange to think that a city so awake at night would wake up so early. 

Crime never sleeps, Bruce had told him, and neither does the city.

That sentence had been the fuel to Tim’s horrible caffeine addiction and lack of sleep. If the city never slept, why should he? After all, he was there to protect it, and what good was he if he was asleep?

Thank God the court had rescued him, and taken him out of that heinous mindset. He was grateful for that. Good rest made a good soldier. A good worker. How could he perform well if he wasn’t giving himself the rest he needed? Patrolling with an injury gained him nothing but more pain and permanent damage. 

Bruce had damaged him. The Court had fixed him.

Tim hopped onto the low roof of a nearby building. The way it nearly crumbled beneath his feet was familiar. He could identify the building as one of Jason’s old bases. An old auto-parts shop. He’d gutted the place and used to store extra weapons and medical supplies there prior to moving somewhere more secure. Tim’s face spread into a grin. 

That made it the perfect place to set up a base. In plain sight, and someone the bats wouldn’t think to look. They’d simply assume it was secure, and would have no reason to check it. Tim knew Jason had botched the security anyways. It didn’t connect to the mainframe at the Cave like it was supposed to. Tim never gave Jason a hard time about it because he respected his privacy. Sometimes, though, he’d wish the others hadn’t respected his own privacy so much.

Tim hopped off the side of the building, feet splashing in the puddle of collected rainwater. It was now only a light mist out. It tried to brush his face, but he covered it with his hand, instead making his way around the dilapidated building. It hadn’t changed at all since Tim had last seen it, save for some new graffiti. Still boarded up in the back, with dull paint that seemed to peel off in odd shapes. 

He wiggled one of the boards until it shifted, and revealed a small thumbprint sensor. Seeing as the tech wasn’t connected to the cave, he knew his fingerprint was still valid there. His assumption was proven correct when a soft green light was emitted below his finger. There was a click, as the garage door nearby opened up just a crack, enough for someone to crawl in. Tim was careful to take a peek before setting foot in there. 

Though, he didn’t know what he was checking for. Despite the darkness, he could make out what he needed to. The place was still as empty as it had been the years before. Empty and gutted. You could hardly tell someone had been there. Tim carefully slid under the door, as he’d done once before a few years ago. Though, it felt different in this costume. 

His Robin suit was tight enough to never get caught on anything, save for his cape, but he was good at managing that. However, a jarring snap back sent his head into the garage door. Tim winced, and looked back, spotting a piece of thread from his hood that had gotten caught on a jagged piece of metal on the door. His cheeks flushed a bit red and for a moment, he was glad nobody in the Court could see him. Yikes.

Once he’d fully stood, and shook the momentary embarrassment, Tim unclipped a small light from his belt, shining it around the room. The harsh light only made the building look even more brutish and barren. The light captured nothing in sight besides walls and small specks of dust fluttering around slowly like a group of butterflies.

“You never were one for decorations, were you Jason?” Tim sighed, as he inspected his new living space for the next… however long this took him.  It wasn’t pretty, but he wasn’t looking for a luxury penthouse with a pool and built-in sauna. He’d make do with what he had, it was what he’d been taught to do by everyone. His parents. Bruce. The Court. Himself. It was selfish to ask for more. Mentally, he’d already begun setting up his layout anyways.

He’d put a desk on the far wall near the boarded up windows in the front, and a sleeping bag by the garage door, so he could hear even the slightest creak of it opening. Though, as he stood by his planned spot, he wondered if perhaps the sound of rain hitting the metal of the door would annoy him too much and disrupt his sleep. Sleep was important after all, but catching a potential intruder was important, was it not?

So he spent the next hour going over the pros and cons in his head, tactically planning where he’d be letting himself rest. At around 5:40, when the sunlight began to peek through the tiny slits in the boards, he’d decided to move his sleeping bag below the front window. He figured that any people peeking through the boarded up windows may, if they had outrageously good eyesight or happened to move the boards, would see his sleeping bag. Additionally, even if he did catch an intruder by the garage, he wouldn’t be able to fend them off if he was too sleep deprived from the slamming of rain against the door. Tim’s plan wasn’t perfect, but it was satisfactory enough for him. And that was good enough for the moment.

Whilst meticulously planning, he’d tried to flip the light switch, but found it gave him no light. Tim figured it was probably some bad wires. Nothing he couldn’t fix. But the idea of “fixing up” the place made him feel like he was on some crappy reality TV show about flipping houses. Something Steph and Duke would watch on their off days.

It almost made him grin for a second, before his face dropped again. He wasn’t on some cheesy show. He was in reality. Real life. He had to focus. 

Take a deep breath in. 

And out.

— * —

“Alvin Draper?”

Tim slipped off of his seat, and walked up to the barista with a smile. He graciously took his coffee, slipping a five dollar tip to the girl on the opposing side. 

“Thank you. Have a lovely day, sir!” She chirped, before promptly turning back to her next task, whisking the money off the table. He couldn’t tell if that kindness in her voicewas genuine or if it was merely because he’d given her a hefty tip for his coffee. Tim figured it didn’t matter anyway. 

Despite how much of a sin coffee had been made out to be, Tim couldn’t help himself and he figured that, if anything, he deserved a damn drink. Alcohol was most people’s vice. Coffee was his. He made his way back to his seat, adjusting the glasses of his makeshift disguise. Thick rims, and fake lenses. He had colored contacts on behind the glass.

At the current moment, he had a map of Gotham on his table, trying to map out his route for the day. He needed to hit a few hardware and computer stores for the appropriate materials to begin crafting the Ultimatum. Not only that, but he needed to hit all of the big tech companies at night and plant bugging devices, establish links to the Court’s mainframe, and subtly integrate the Court’s software into said companies’ own mainframes. And before he could even do any of that, he had to get through their security first. 

All of this for one device. And he’d have to do it all again if his prototype didn’t work out.

 Tim put his hands on his head, dragging them over his face and under his glasses. 

“What a mess…” He muttered. 

This could all go so wrong in so many ways….

“You alright kid?” A man asked, putting a hand on the table.

Oh, no. No no no no. He knew that voice. He’d heard it not even twenty four hours ago…

Tim kept his head down, staring at the map.

“Can you hear me? Oh- Ah! ¿Hablas español?”

Tim shook his head, looking up. He had to face Dick or risk looking suspicious. So he put on his best nervous face, and looked at Dick, not quite in the eyes..

“No, no, I-I’m fine,” Tim responded sheepishly.

“Are you sure? You seem a little…”

“Lost?” Tim chimed

Dick stepped back a bit at Tim’s sudden input, “Erh- yeah, yeah. I guess…?” He scratched his head.

Tim nodded, “Uh- truth is, I’m just visiting. I’m a mechanic, my boss sent me here to pick up some parts that aren’t made anywhere else.”

“Oh,” Dick blinked, before laughing “I would’ve thought you were a Gotham local.”

Tim internally winced. Suspicion in his carefully crafted disguise and story wasn’t exactly ideal. Especially not from anyone associated with Bruce.

“What makes you think that?” He questioned, laughing along.

“You look about as worn down as the rest of us. You’ve got that signature Gotham look in your eyes,” Dick mused.

“Oh, well, I was born here. It’s just been too long for me to remember anything.”

“Ah, that makes sense. You never really can get rid of Gotham, eh?”

Tim smiled, nodding a bit, “..Yeah.” His gaze went down to the map. 

Who’s to say that even if they rebuilt Gotham, they’d be able to get rid of what made the city Gotham in the first place? Was this all a futile mission? A lost quest, doomed from the start? Something that was destined to go wrong from the first step? Nothing but-

“So, do you need help getting specific parts? I know this place pretty well.” Dick interjected, cutting off Tim’s train of thought like a brick wall, suddenly appearing in front of the conductor. Like the damn Titanic hitting an iceberg. 

“Oh, uh- no.”

“Really?” Dick cocked an eyebrow, “You’re looking at the map like it’s giving you a headache just thinking about it. Come on, let me give you a hand. I promise I don’t bite.” 

Dick reached out a hand, and grinned That cocky grin that somehow had as much warmth as a smile, and felt so welcoming. For a moment, it felt like time stopped. Like it was just him and Dick in a void with nobody else. 

If he wanted his plans to go the right way, he had to go under the radar as much as he could. Even if that meant interacting with former…  family.

Tim stood, nodding as he swiped his map off the table, rolling it up, and grabbing his coffee with the other. Seeing as there was no free hand for him to take, Dick’s hand fell to his side.

“I first need to get a few blank flash drives with good storage on them. Know where I can find some?” Tim asked.

Dick immediately nodded, “I know exactly the place. I go there all the time.”

“Where is it?”

“Just a few blocks from here,” Dick replied, holding the door open for Tim as they walked out. Tim nodded in thanks, following Dick down the streets. 

“So, what do you do for a living?”

“I help manage my dad’s business. Or, well, I guess he’s my adopted dad,” Dick shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets.

Of course Bruce would hand the business over to the golden boy. That rat was probably waiting for Tim to vanish or die so he could have an excuse to spoil him rotten. 

“That’s good,” He said, through gritted teeth, taking a sip of coffee to hide the frown his mouth tried to form. “Always nice to keep the family business going”

Dick glanced off to the side, “Sure is.”

They took a turn around a building, and it was at that moment Tim realized exactly where they were going. It was a store that he had introduced Dick to. An unsuspecting computer and electronic parts store tucked away on a street corner, run by an older woman that Tim had grown to be close friends with. He’d visited the place ever since he was a young child, getting parts to enhance his family computer, and replacing components of his old rinky dink camera. 

They went through the front doors, and Tim swore the place still smelled the same as it had years ago. That strange, cardboard-y smell emanating from the packages that were stacked behind the counter. He walked as slowly as he could, soaking in the sight of the place. It was like blurry images in his mind were becoming unblurred, keys fitting into locks…

“Cool place, right?”

Tim nodded, “Mhm…”

Dick walked up to the older lady, Eunice, he recalled. Eunice looked back at Dick.

“Oh, Richard! What can I help you with today?”

Dick chuckled a bit, “I don’t need anything today. I’m just here for a friend.”

Tim looked at Eunice, and he knew that woman could read him like a damn book, even with the contacts and glasses attempting to mask his real eyes. 

So he stayed strong.

“Hello. I’m Al. I need a few blank flash drives?” Tim asked politely, smiling. He swore she looked at him twice before nodding. 

“Of course, dear. I’ll get that for you right now.”

Chapter Text

It was mental anguish . He was unsure whether it was the process of his brain lifting fog from old memories taking up his entire brain capacity, or the sharp pains of that splinter digging into his brain every time he did as much as acknowledge Dick. Hardly any information was exchanged aside from empty smalltalk as they waited for Eunice to return from the back storage room.

He placed his hands in his pockets to hide the way his fingers twitched and balled into fists every single time Dick tried to make conversation. That man could never see when to stop, he recalled. Always talking. Always taking up the attention of the whole damn room somehow. God forbid he wasn’t in the spotlight. Tim figured he’d gotten that from his circus days. He was already sweating enough being in a place he’d been to so often before he’d… changed courses. Though, Tim had prepared himself for that nervousness. But adding Dick into the equation made things complicated. So, so much more complicated.

“What’s this project you’re working on?” Dick asked.

For a moment, Tim thought. With any ordinary citizen, “classified” would be a satisfying  enough answer. Mysterious, but understandable. With Dick? He would put his nose where it didn’t belong. Rightfully so, Tim could admit. Aside from his natural curiosity, all of the Bats were obligated to know what was going on in Gotham. And a classified project that they had no idea about? That wasn’t going to fly.

“My boss needs me to build him a new computer. I need some flash drives to store some of the old files,” Tim replied.

Dick laughed, “Seems a bit archaic.” Tim glanced off to the side, a tad bit embarrassed. It was pretty old-school and perhaps suspicious since it couldn’t be tracked.  “Let me guess, he told you to get them because he doesn’t know how to transfer files otherwise.”

Tim looked back, grinning at the explanation Dick was feeding him, “Yep. He’s really… Old-fashioned, I guess. I tried to tell him otherwise, but I’d rather not get fired for ‘speaking back’ to my boss.”

Dick shook his head with a chuckle, “Believe me, I’ve been there. Plenty of times. But sometimes you gotta push a bit more, and they’ll give in. And if they don’t, it’s their loss.”

Tim’s expression dropped a little, and he nodded, “Yeah…”

Before he even had time to internally process Dick’s words, or his own reaction to them, a cheery voice echoed through the back hall, into the main room.

“Alright, I’ve got it!” Eunice called. Soon enough, she approached, sliding a pack of flash drives across the counter. Tim looked at them intently, scanning the box and making sure it  checked off all the boxes in his mental list he’d made. He looked up.

“This is perfect. Thank you,” Tim said, a smile returning to his face. He fished a twenty out of his pocket, and placed a five in the tip jar.

“Oh, aren’t you a sweetheart? Thank you so much,” Eunice smiled, her old, wrinkly eyes squinting. 

“Of course. I’ll always support a local business,” Tim replied, taking the plastic pack, and waving, “I’ll definitely come back in here if I need anything else. It was lovely to… meet you.”

Eunice waved back, “Stay safe out there, sweetheart!”

As Tim walked out, he sighed with relief. Only for that relief to be swiftly knocked out of him once he heard Dick’s footsteps approaching behind him.

“Alright, where to next?” Dick asked, looking down at Tim. He turned his face away.

“Actually, I think I’m going to head home –to my hotel– for now. I need to make myself some lunch,” Tim replied.

“Oh, of course. Need me to lead you there?”

“No, there’s a bus stop out front so I can just take it there. I’ll be fine.”

Dick’s smile faltered a bit, “Are you sure? The buses can get a bit rough sometimes.”

“I’m fine.” 

His voice must have been rougher than he’d intended, because Dick resigned without much of a fight. 

“Got it. Well, it was nice meeting you.”

Tim looked down at his feet, “Pleasure meeting you too.”

It took Tim about twenty minutes to calm himself down once he got back into his base. Once he’d checked every corner of the dark building, he sank onto the floor with his back pressed against the ice cold wall. Nothing but a soft sigh escaped him, as he tilted his head down and closed his eyes. How foolish he was, getting all worked up over one person! His enemy, nonetheless! Dick wasn’t his family anymore, so what was bothering him so much about such a minor interaction?

“Disappointed,” He mumbled, “She would be disappointed. My biggest mission yet, and I’ve already let my nerves start to show.” 

Tim raised his head again, letting it fall back against the wall. Some primal urge told him to bash his head against the wall until he couldn’t feel it anymore, but he knew he was better than that. In fact, the thought gave him the much needed motivation to stand himself up, and get to work.

Tim was many things, but he wasn’t a being of self-destruction. In his time with the Court, he’d learned how many horrible habits his supposed family had brought onto him. Overexerting himself. Punishing himself for the smallest of failures. Taking on tasks that he wasn’t quite ready for. Blindly obeying a leader whom he knew nothing about. All wretched things that he’d learn to overcome. Now, he budgeted his time and energy. He turned his failures into motivation to continue and create. He improved his analytical skills and learned to read people as though he were a computer. He would be a leader. It was his destiny.

But destiny was nothing without action. Nothing was anything without action. So, in a move that any other person would consider to be something that could only take place in the mind of a madman, Tim began to plan his break-ins. While he knew he would inevitably have to hit Wayne-Tech for the bigger pieces of information and tech needed for the Ultimatum, Tim was unsure of how to approach. Or more specifically, when.

Obviously, he was a bit rusty in terms of breaking into big tech buildings. While, of course, he had experience and had been sent on small excursions during his training, it had been a while since that training was truly put to the test. With this train of thought, it was obvious that Tim should hit the smaller places first, as they had less security. He could easily work his way up to bigger companies and eventually Wayne-Tech, since he’d have slowly familiarized himself with recent security systems, and gotten himself back in the groove of things.

On the other hand, hitting Wayne-Tech first would be the smarter idea in terms of how the Bats operated. If they noticed a large amount of companies getting stolen from, they would naturally up their own security at Wayne-Tech, and Tim wasn’t an idiot. He knew that it would be nearly impossible to even get near the building undetected at that rate. He’d been the one to design the security systems that way. So, if he hit Wayne-Tech first, that would be the easiest it was going to get, and everything else would be a piece of cake. 

But if he messed up at all, that would be it for him. He knew he would get caught and he knew it wouldn’t be good. Tim knew exactly the kind of technology and information they kept in that building, and he knew damn well just how far the Bats would go to protect it. He’d been there once before. 

That was where it all had happened. Where that runt had tried to usurp him. Pushed him off of the building to “steal his glory.” Quite literally and figuratively, it had been the breaking point. The only thing saving him from death was his leg getting caught on the fire escape as he’d fallen. Nobody helped him. He’d had to help himself and tend to his own injuries. All they wanted to do was talk to Damian, surround him, and cheer for him. He was the big hero. 

Not Tim, who had found the hacker that snuck into the building. Not Tim, who had created the technology that detected the hacker. Not Tim, who created and installed the program that kept the information locked away. But Damian, who pushed Tim through a window off the top floor. 

Tim had to get a new pencil to mark Wayne Tower as the last place in his mission, as the other one lay snapped in half.

—

It was a cool sixty degrees when Tim decided to set out to complete the first part of his mission. Since he figured it best not to procrastinate, Tim had set out that same night to go down to one of the tech labs at Gotham University, and download files off of their main database. While his main intention was to find information he could use as blackmail, his side goal was to check out the radio station and figure out some information on how he could connect the Ultimatum to smaller stations.

Gotham University’s security guards hadn’t changed their routes in over thirty years, since before Tim was even born. It was awful, and even after Bruce’s funding towards their security department, the head was just too horribly lazy to actually put that money towards ensuring security was tight. So naturally, Tim simply avoided the paths that the guards took to get on campus, and waited until there was a sizable gap in the guards’ paths to sneak into the lab through a window. Just as he’d hoped, the leftmost window still had a broken lock. Gotham never really did change.

Tim’s footsteps were silent as he crept past the servers. He saw a few labeled “radio” that he was tempted to take another look at, but he decided to simply check them out after he accomplished his main goal, which sat in the corner of the room.

The whole process was like a kindergarten class. He booted the computer on, and reached into one of his deeper pockets to fish out a small device. He opened it up, and connected it directly to the main computer with a cable. He pressed the small buttons on the device to select the password cracker. Although Tim did have many of the passwords he needed stored and written down, it was easier to simply use the password cracker on something that he knew didn’t have anything too complicated. It was about a second or two quicker than if he’d typed it out for himself. Time always mattered. It always ticked away.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Tim stuck one of the USB drives into the computer, quick to download everything he could onto it. It didn’t matter what he got. He’d look through it all later and find all the good stuff he could use. It only took a minute before he pulled out the drive, powered off the computer, and walked back, leaving the area completely undisturbed. 

As he walked back, he did stop by the servers with the “radio” label on them, but came to the conclusion that they didn’t quite have anything he needed. All the information stored there was probably on the main computer that he’d just swiped all the information from. He could look over it when he looked through the drive. 

In fact, he concluded, he’d need to return here eventually. Since the radio station was independent from Gotham’s main radio tower, he’d simply need to create a program to connect to the Ultimatum, put it on another USB drive, and then stick the drive into the tower’s main system to install the program into it. Even though Tim was sure there was an easier way with less risk involved, it was foolproof and he knew it would work, so he decided to stick with that plan.

Tim left the campus in silence, as though he’d never been there. He’d hardly displaced a single blade of grass.

Chapter Text

Ask anyone in a technology related field and they will tell you the same thing. 

Sifting through information can be absolute hell. 

Though, the key word there is can . For some people, doing such a monotonous task isn’t all that bad. Tim falls into the latter category. It almost has a rhythm to it, the way his eyes dart across the screen. Left, right, down. Left, right, down. Left, right, down. Up until he found something that broke the rhythm. And unlike any kind of rhythm game, a break in the rhythm was a good thing. It meant something had been found.

For others, though, such a rhythm was more than just an annoyance and source of boredom. It was pure torture. For proof of that end of the spectrum, Tim recalled any time the other bats were put on such a task. 

Dick would groan in annoyance, and hand the work over to Tim, stating that he was going to train or go on patrol instead. Tim pinned that on his upbringing in the circus. Always on the move. Finding more thrill and satisfaction in physical movement. He didn’t seem to find thrill in monotony unless it was physical or showy.

Jason wasn’t too annoyed. He was a tad better at computer work, and despite the rough upbringing on the streets, had been a bright student according to Bruce. Though, Jason was never asked to do anything, because impulsivity was a trait of his. He didn’t need to be asked to do anything besides stop. And god forbid he had to do anything more than once. A very one and done person.

Steph… Tim knew she did plenty of work on the computer. But not out of any actual passion. Just a deep-seated desire for recognition. Recognition that Tim thought she rightfully deserved. She worked hard. That was one of her greatest traits. Something he admired.

And Damian. Damian was spoiled. Never had to do anything besides be told not to kill anyone. Something that little demon never followed in his entire life. That made Tim angrier than anything. Being given such a simple command, and never following it.

Tim was a follower, of course. He’d always been. It was, after all, the greatest thing he could be. A leader was of course appreciated by many followers, but a devoted follower was appreciated by the leader themselves. The only leader Tim needed was the Judge. A leader who enabled and assisted in the growth of his skills. A skill that paid off.

On the screen, Tim noticed something in the security framework. A few internal comments in the code, which would seem minor to the eyes of most people. But to Tim, it was something much more.

A list of keys, to access other systems that used the same framework. It was stupid, really. Any hacker who learned how to hack into the university’s framework would now know exactly what other systems they could hack into, and they had the access keys to get into highly guarded information.

“Hah!” Tim laughed a bit, reading through the list. While most of the list contained companies that would be of little use to his current mission, one did, in fact catch his eye, with a familiar name.

“Sionis,” He tapped his finger on the edge of his laptop. “Sionis Entertainment.”

Tim grinned. The company of the “newly reformed” Roman Sionis. A company that Tim would bet some serious money was actually just a front for some sort of drug ring or otherwise. 

Not that it made the company any less interesting. Despite the chance for nefarious links, it had quite a lot of big, public impacts too. It spanned many channels that were watched daily by most citizens of Gotham, and often had some pretty big show premieres. Their schedule was even online, meaning that Tim would hardly have to go through any effort to hijack their channels at the perfect time, to ensure a court message was heard by the largest number of people. 

It wasn’t even the best part of it. The amount of links the company had to other companies meant that if he got into their system, sending court-related messages to other companies would be a breeze. They would have the entirety of the entertainment industry in Gotham under the control of the Court. 

A few hours into his deep dive into the company, Tim determined that it would be best to investigate the building in the morning, just as a refresher on the exterior layout. He’d visited the building once or twice prior to his induction into the Court and looked at a few blueprints he could find online, but a physical visit would solidify things a bit more. 

For once, Tim got himself a good few hours of sleep.

—

It was around seven when Tim woke up. Late for him, but he gave himself some levity since he couldn’t look at the building until noon, when the streets were more crowded. Up until eleven, Tim spent time going to local tech stores and beginning work on the basic framework of the Ultimatum. It was tough, since he’d decided that it wasn’t just one small device, but multiple. They were designed to be small chips inserted discreetly into openings in the main consoles of major companies, allowing Court access to all files, and complete control over their systems. Perhaps it was more of a virus, but that was the best way for the device to work. No magic freeze ray that made the user helpless without it. It was an unstoppable virus.

But once eleven hit, Tim got his disguise as “Alvin” on, and headed outside, slipping under the half-open garage door in his base. He took the bus downtown, and walked along the sidewalk until he reached a building with a sign so bright, it even seemed to glow in the sunlight. It read “Sionis Entertainment” in bold, red letters that ran down the side of the building. 

Standing in front of the building would disrupt the flow of people walking along the sidewalk, so Tim opted to peel away from the main flow, and duck into an alley on the side of the building. For a place run by a “former” criminal, it was quite clean. It didn’t reek of dead bodies nor were any remnants of drugs scattered about. It was a good place for Tim to stand and analyze the building.

The first thing Tim noticed was that there was, in fact, not twenty three stories to the building like his memory and the internet blueprints had told him. The space at the top that was supposed to be empty space before the rooftop, did in fact have a door on the side of it for the fire exit. Perhaps it was empty at one point, but it was most certainly not empty now. He took note of the additional detail that the ground below him didn’t quite feel right. Like it was hollow not too far down.

So of course, the conclusion Tim came to was that there had been at least a handful of illegal and undocumented remodels done to the building. It threw a wrench in Tim’s plans, but he decided that all he needed was a bit more caution.

And he did exert caution that night when the clock hit 11pm. In his Court outfit, he scaled the side of the building, not even daring to touch the inside until he got to the twenty fourth floor. Usually, he would have just taken the fire exit, but when he stepped on the ladder, the first rung fell off due to the rust. One would ask why he didn’t go inside either, but by keeping out on the interior, he avoided the vast majority of the security systems. All that was required of him was some lockpicking skills on the door, and he was in. 

The twenty fourth floor was exactly as Tim predicted. The main terminals were up against the wall, casting a green hue on the rest of the room. Despite the strange feeling in his stomach, Tim scanned the room, and stalked over to the terminal without a sound. His fingers rested gently on the keys, and his eyes flicked up to the screen.

It was almost too easy, getting past the security. Within ten minutes, Tim had access to every email, every password, and every detail of Sionis Entertainment. He took out a flash drive and stuck it into one of the openings on the terminal to begin the data download. He looked up at the screen, which flickered multiple colors, before finally settling on a black background and a green progress bar. It took a few seconds before he could even see the first line of pixels to show the beginning of the download process. He was going to be here for a little while.

Tim looked out at the rest of the room, hesitant to leave his comfortable spot by the computer. While his mask provided him a bit of night vision, things were still a bit hard to see across the room. Curiosity was a good trait to have, but it came with its faults. Which included a complete dismissal of Tim’s previous hesitation in favor of exploring the room for anything useful or interesting.

And shockingly, there was little of actual use. For a secret room that contained hidden terminals, Tim was surprised to mostly find old circuit boards (with nothing on them, mind you), empty boxes, and pieces of scrap metal. Tim almost considered taking something, but with the budget he’d been given by the Court, it would be nothing short of disrespect to use something he could practically find at a junkyard. While Tim found it humorous that Sionis seemed to be potentially running the technology of his company entirely on junkyard scrap metal, he knew that the man wasn’t actually dumb enough to do such a thing. After all, the Black Mask had a chokehold on Gotham’s drug trade for the longest time. There was at least something in his brain.

Which made Tim wonder, where was he actually keeping all of his good supplies? Judging by the empty boxes and occasional pieces of actually good supplies, Tim figured that at some point, all of the best supplies were, in fact, being kept here. But for whatever reason, they had been moved. It left Tim to ponder, why? Had Sionis, somehow, figured out about his plans? 

Tim quickly dismissed that idea. He’d only just come up with it about twenty four hours ago, and all of his research had been done on a secure computer that he had been SURE was unable to be tracked. So, what else could be getting Sionis to move all of his supplies? Tim didn’t have to wait long for an answer.

The door that led to the building’s exit creaked open, and Tim’s head whipped around. The masked eyes of his domino met with the red slits of a metallic red helmet. 

Shit.

There was a click and a loud bang. Tim’s body moved fast enough to only feel the air of a bullet whizzing by his side. Not even any negotiation, just shooting first, and talking later.

So, Tim played by the same rules. He ducked behind the largest piece of scrap he could find, and grabbed a shuriken that was hidden in his belt. It was small and compartmentalized, but the four curved blades unfurled themselves when it was thrown, a perfect shot into the leg of Jason Todd. 

But of course, that wasn’t going to be enough to stop him. Even if it did pierce slightly through Jason’s leg armor, it wasn’t nearly enough to take him out. Tim was smart, but Jason was strong. Even if a man of strength sometimes had to lay his sword down at the feet of a wise man, now was not the occasion. Timothy Drake was a wise man, and a strong man, but he was not equipped with the right skillset to properly take on Jason Todd.

Another few shots were fired, as Jason approached closer to Tim’s spot. When Jason was close enough, Tim leaped, arms wrapping around his neck, and foot kicking the gun out of his hand. Hands reached up in an attempt to grab at and throw him, but a few well-placed kicks to his arms kept hands away. Tim turned Jason slightly, just so Tim could get a look at the download progress. 

Halfway. 

Another halfway, and he’d be able to get away.

Before he could glance back down at Jason and refocus, Tim was suddenly looking at the ceiling, and his entire body ached. 

Jason had just leaned back and let his entire body weight fall back onto Tim, effectively knocking the wind out of him and pinning him to the floor. His view of the ceiling was partially obscured by a red mask and the barrel of a gun.

“Care to tell me what you’re doing up here?” Jason asked.

Tim, of course, didn’t supply an answer. As Jason took in another breath, and tried to speak, Tim kicked his leg directly into his stomach, where he knew the armor had a weaker spot. Jason stumbled backwards, and gasped for air, giving Tim just enough time to roll out of the way and get to his feet. Jason laughed.

“Not one for words? That’s fine. Neither am I.” 

Another loud bang, and Tim lept to the side. He’d just have to outlast Jason or tire him out until the data was done downloading. Which shouldn’t be too hard. Tim had sparred with Jason often, he knew most of his tricks. Every time Jason shot, it was a close call. But Tim knew he was just fast enough to dodge or find some way to shield himself. Quick thinking came in handy in a gunfight. Especially one where you didn’t have a gun.

Jason got slower as Tim moved, weaving in and out of gunshots, but being careful not to close the distance between the two of them. Even in a lethargic state, Jason could pack a punch that would leave Tim vulnerable for just a few seconds too long. Not to mention, the closer he was, the easier it would be to aim, and the more damage would be done, despite the lesser amount of penetration from the bullet.

Though, his maneuvers only lasted him so long. After a while, there was little space behind him to keep moving, and Jason was closing in.

“I’m gonna have a lot of explaining to do if I accidentally kill you. Don’t make this hard,” Jason spoke. Tim’s eyes focused on the trigger. 

If he moved at the perfect time, he could duck down, flip back, and kick the gun out of Jason’s hands, and use his back as leverage to jump off of. It would temporarily disable Jason and put space between them again. The gears turning in Tim’s brain must have been loud or something, because Jason was staring at him with suspicion. 

“What the hell are you–”

Tim made his move. A duck, roll, and kick sent the gun sliding across the floor. He sprung up, feet landing on Jason’s shoulders for a brief moment, before he was up in the air once more, and then on the ground. He landed, and stood again in enough time to watch Jason fumble around to get up and grab his gun. Seeing how disoriented Jason was, he almost considered going in for another attack to further disable him, when suddenly, there was a shrill dinging noise behind him. The data had finished installing.

He whipped his body around, dashed for the console, and pulled the flash drive from it. But the item didn’t remain in Tim’s hand for long, as a click and a bang rattled through the room, causing a ringing in Tim’s ears. The sudden pain in his shoulder made his fingers unclench, dropping the flash drive onto the floor. As he turned once more, a hand instinctively flew to his pained shoulder.

“I’m usually a good sport, but even I get tired of games sometimes.” Jason approached Tim, gun aimed squarely at his head. Tim examined his options of escape. While he could make a run for it, no doubt, he needed a straight line since his right arm was now out of commission with that bullet lodged in it. Jason’s body blocked the exit to the fire escape, making the easiest and quickest option unavailable.

Jason approached in a manner that Tim could only describe as condescending, “When it comes to jail, I’m easy, I promise. I’ve been where you are, just tell me who’s got you under their thumb.”

Whatever pot of anger that had been heating up inside of Tim finally boiled over. 

“Under someone’s thumb?” Tim laughed, “No, I think you’re mistaken. I’m not the one under the control of an egomaniac, I think you’ll find that you fit that image a bit better.” He swiftly grabbed the flash drive from the floor, and made a beeline for the only other exit, which led to the hallway of the building. A few shots were fired behind him, which narrowly missed. But a miss was a miss, and Tim carried on down the hall. A quick pull on the door to the roof access proved it was locked, and he instead had to opt for the winding stairs going down. He could hear Jason’s boots thumping against the hallway, giving him a rough idea of how much time he had to get the hell out of there. 

There wasn’t much of it.

After making his way down one flight of stairs, the effort proved to be fruitless, as Jason, that absolute psychopath of a man, simply jumped down, landing right behind Tim. Tim spun around and moved backwards. It was stupid to try to outrun Jason in a building he probably knew far better than Tim. Despite the horrible odds, Tim had to come up with some other plan. 

An idea struck him. It wasn’t a full escape plot, but it was a temporary idea to deal with that gun problem.

Putting a bit more space between himself and Jason, Tim took a dagger that was attached to his belt, body automatically adjusting itself into a fighting stance. Jason lowered his gun immediately. Tim grinned. 

Jason was raised on the streets of Gotham. Of course, common etiquette was that you didn’t fight in a knife fight with a damn gun.

“You really don’t want this, man. You’ve got better chances with the gun,” Jason replied, holstering his weapon. 

But Tim made the first move, a rush and quick jab to Jason’s stomach. As Jason recoiled in pain, Tim moved back again, looking around the room for any chance to escape. The whole floor was covered in office space and windows that went from the floor to the ceiling. He could maybe break a window, and shoot a grapple line from the right angle-

Jason charged at him, and Tim once again had to move, hardly managing to dodge the punch aimed for his head. Tim couldn’t take a hit or dish out a truly effective hit, but he could keep dodging for as long as possible. And without a gun in the picture, it would be easier. He just had to get to the window. Yet, every time he got near enough to a window to break it, Jason would somehow manage to put himself in the perfect position where Tim would have to move further away from the window to dodge in time. He almost thought he wouldn’t have time to get to the window before he himself got tired out. 

The mental fatigue was what really got him. Tim got himself stuck in a particularly tough corner. The only thing he figured he could do was flip to get himself over Jason and away. A standard jump just couldn’t do it. Jason could grab his leg if he did. Doing a flip would be hell on his arm, but he’d done more impressive moves in worse pain during his Court training. 

So as Jason got closer, Tim ducked under the punch, and flipped over Jason, using all of his arm strength. But naturally, his injured arm didn’t provide the strength needed to properly push his body, and he ended up tumbling onto the ground, sliding across the floor until his head collided with glass. 

It shattered around him, and all he could see was the sky and his reflection in a million tiny shards, scattered about. A million pieces, and a million reflections. A memory came to mind. When he’d taken down Ra’s Al Ghul, and Dick had rescued him from falling to his death. All because he simply didn’t want the blood of his adopted brother on his hands. A robbery of Tim getting to die the heroic death that every hero before him was destined for. 

But there was no Dick Grayson here to save him. 

His hand grasped the ledge. Tim looked down, twenty three stories above the city streets. A drop below would splatter him across the floor and oncoming traffic would smear his remains across Gotham’s streets. He looked up again, face to face with Jason and his panicked voice. 

“Grab my hand!” He yelled, one hand gripped tightly on the secure frame of the window, and the other extended just far enough for Tim to get a firm grasp on with his free hand. 

He looked down at his free hand, which still held the flash drive in it, and then back at Jason’s hand. 

“Come on, I don’t have wings or shit, I can’t help you if you fall!” Jason practically screamed. 

He looked down at the flash drive again, and then slightly lower down at his wrist, at his grappling hook. And whatever Jason said next, Tim couldn’t hear. He’d let go. 

Wind blew through his hair and whizzed past him so fast it nearly deafened him. Almost too close to the ground for comfort, he deployed his grappling line, swinging himself high enough to land safely on a nearby building without completely ruining his legs and ankles. He thanked his development on his boots for softening falls for that.

Tim cast one last look at the red speck standing at the window on the twenty-third floor, before escaping down into Gotham’s alleyways, hidden from sight.