Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Set conditions. Sequence events.  

It had been a motto in the Wayne household longer than Tim had been a part of it. The Bats and the Birds were just human, after all, and needed every edge they could get.

Tim excelled at planning. His skill-set was in setting conditions and sequencing events. Jason had almost eight inches of height on Tim. Dick was far more graceful that Tim could ever hope to achieve. Damian had the advantage of being born into the lifestyle, practically emerging from the womb deadly. Tim, however, was the planner. Consequentially, Tim ended up saddled with some of the larger cases.

The 3D printed model of Gotham city stretched in front of him, approximately 20 feet by 10 feet, as Tim arranged the pieces in the corner.[1]

The model had evolved over the years. When Tim first started as Robin, it had existed as a flat lay map that he and Bruce planned over. Tim had taken the first steps to 3D print some of the most notable buildings. Currently, Damian was tasked with the responsibility for the upkeep of the model. Despite the less than stellar start to their brotherhood, Tim made it a point to compliment Damian on it every time he used it as a briefing tool.

Jason rolled into the Batcave, obnoxiously revving the engine of his custom Yamaha. Tim rolled his eyes at the sound.

Tim heard the low voices of Bruce and Dick walking down the stairs together, muttering about one of Dick's cases. He glanced down at this watch, a Wayne tech protype of the new GPS line that was in the testing and review stage. A red 1822 blinked back at him.

Good, everyone was arriving on time.

The elevator dinged and Cass, Steph, and Babs rolled into the cave. They were laughing, clearly midstory. Cass' face scrunched up like she was thinking hard. The ladies were decked out in casual dresses and jackets, looking like they had just arrived from dinner. Tim knew that they had regular meet-and-spill sessions over the dumb shit that the rest of the Batclan got up to.

Fair, Tim thought, they certainly deserved that.

Duke rolled in last, dressed in a Gotham U sweatshirt and casual sneakers. He looked like the sort of low-on-sleep college chic that used to be Tim’s everyday wear. Nowadays, Tim was lucky if he put on anything other than a suit of one type or another.

Tim had been working this case for months, tracking the shipments through South America and mapping the key figures.

Roman Sionis, the Black Mask, was a person of interest that almost every single individual in the room had a personal vendetta against. Tim suspected that Bruce had given him this case because Tim had the least history with Sionis. He also liked to think it was because Bruce thought he was the best at compartmentalization. That would be both a compliment and not.

“Alright, Timmers,” Jason drawled, “we’re all here. Let’s get this show on the road. I have other things to do tonight.”

Jason had dragged a folding table over to the side of the model and was sitting on it haphazardly. He was dressed casually in jeans, a t-shirt, and his signature red leather jacket. Bruce leaned up against the cave wall, casual in a sweater and jeans. Dick had flipped the chair he was sitting on backwards and was leaning over the metal backing.

Damian, front and center, sat poised on his chair. He had out his all-weather notebook and looked ready to consume the plan Tim was about to brief. Cass, Steph, and Babs were all talking amongst themselves. Duke had taken a seat behind Dick, his usual attentive and quiet self.

Mental roll-call complete, Tim glanced over at Bruce who inclined his head slightly to indicate that Tim could begin.

“Time now is 1827. Thank you all for being on time,” Tim started. Jason smirked at Tim’s formality. Jason's briefs were always comically short and to the point and it was a constant argument between him and Bruce.

Tim clicked through the slide deck behind him. Three pictures flashed on the screen, one young man and two young women, looking anywhere from ages seventeen to twenty-five.

“Over the last five months, three Gotham U students have passed away from a cocaine variant. Jeremy Adams, Rachel Roskey, and Elizabeth Blake were all found dead after a night of substance use with Alpha Beta Delta. After investigating the fraternity, I concluded that while rampant with underage drinking and substance use, they were not at fault. I tracked down the dealer,” Tim clicked the slide over, “a man that goes by Richy, real name Jackson Richards, former Gotham U student himself. He is a known dealer for multiple criminal units in town, including the Falcone Family, the Maroni Family, and the Ghost Dragons. Currently, he is running cocaine for Black Mask.”

Tim clicked over the slide deck.

On the screen popped up a camera shot taken by Tim, from a high angle, of Roman Sionis, moniker Black Mask. Stephanie’s face blanched, and Jason grew visibly tense. Next to him, was a headshot of a man of South American descent with slicked back black hair and sharp, dark eyes.

“Since Red Hood has stepped down from the seat as reigning crime lord, Sionis’ False Face Society has been making moves through Gotham, specifically in the University District. Sionis has forged a partnership with the Peruvian drug lord, Flores Castillo.”

Tim motioned to the man on the screen. “Not much is known about Castillo. He is located out of the Valle de los Ríos Apurímac, Ene y Mantaro,” Tim butchered the Spanish, “also called VRAEM region of Peru. His recent shipments have been mainly distributed to the Northeast American region,” Tim clicked another slide showing a map indicating the shipments leaving Peru and entering New York, Gotham, Metropolis, and Boston. “I spoke with Clark last week. We are trying to coordinate a takedown in Metropolis in the future. The laced cocaine has caused one death in Metropolis, and I have reason to believe it will likely cause many more.”

Tim grimaced before he said the next words. “I spent the last month getting testimonials from individuals who have tried the laced cocaine. They call it Powdered Death. Individuals report an out of body feeling as if they are ‘floating’ above the city, feelings of invincibility, and euphoria. Highly addictive. Every single person I talked to said they would do it again, despite the three dead. After getting my hands on some of the laced cocaine, best I can discern is that it is Lazarus water adjacent. However, none of the individuals who survived report being healed, anger episodes, or any other traditional Lazarus signs.”

Jason’s eyes were boring into Tim’s head. He stayed silent, but Tim could tell he had a million questions. They all respected the briefing format, and Tim hadn’t completed the Orientation.

Nobody said anything. Bruce looked slightly bored, as he often did outside of the cowl. Tim liked to joke to himself that it was his default look when he wasn’t putting on a mask.

Bruce and he had discussed this case extensively over the last couple of months. Nothing Tim was saying was new to him.

“Utilizing informants, I have learned that Castillo is sending a new shipment to Sionis’ operation tomorrow evening. I believe they will utilize the Gotham River to bring it up to the Dixon docks in Chinatown. Castillo favors using bodies of water, and Sionis’ operation owns two warehouses here. Additionally, the proximity to Gotham U[2] would eliminate the need for much movement of the substance once it was offloaded,” Tim summarized.

Tim indicated to the most southern warehouse of the Dixon docks on the terrain model. “Shipment exchange is expected to happen here at Dock 1. We are going to cordon off three hundred meters east at this intersection, and north below Dock 2. The south is naturally blocked off due to this being the last Dock. The docks are closed for normal working operations as it is a weekend. Sunset is expected at 1830. Weather is expected to be mild, low of 45 degrees Fahrenheit and a high of 66. Nighttime illum will be around 40%, and the docks additionally have working streetlights here, here, and here,” Tim pointed to the model, “No rain is expected.”

Tim finished, “Any questions on the Orientation?”

Tim looked around the room. Bruce had taught them all standard NATO mission brief format, OSMEAC – Orientation, Situation, Mission, Execution, Admin and Logistics, and Command Signal – starting day one of their vigilante careers.

Tim submitted his written version of the brief he was giving to Bruce two days ago. It came back with no notes or changes which Tim felt smug about.

“So, this Death Powder,” Jason started, “is connected to Lazarus water. Are we worried about LoA[3] involvement?”

“Yes,” Tim answered shortly, “I believe Castillo is in some ways connected to the LoA, but to what extent I am unsure. However, reports on all other Castillo family activity show no indication that his men are LoA trained, nor have I been able to trace the forensic accounting back to a source. This is would be a small operation for the League. It’s unlikely we will see any League assassins.”

“My grandfather will not be pleased if an operation he is backing is disrupted,” Damian added, “How much value in substance is going to be exchanged tomorrow?”

“It’s a mid-sized exchange because of the nature of the designer drug. We are looking at about a thousand kilos. Market value on the street is anywhere from $90 to $110 per ounce. From the financial investigation, I believe Sionis is paying twenty-five thousand per kilo. Total monetary exchange tomorrow is twenty-five million.”

Damian frowned, “Not insignificant, but not personal League involvement level. Your involvement will likely enrage Grandfather.”

Damian and he hadn’t spoken much about Ra’s’ bizarre, and frankly creepy, obsession with Tim. Tim suspected Damian didn’t like to think too deeply about it. Over the last few years, they developed a brotherly relationship. Ra’s both wanting Tim as his heir and/or lover, most likely disturbed Damian. It certainly disturbed Tim.

For one, Damian had spent his early years with the Bats feeling like he had to fight Tim for his place in the family. Tim was sure that Ra’s obsession over him felt like a personal affront, even if Damian had disavowed the League.

“And we’re sure that they’re going to utilize the Dixon docks? Doesn’t Sionis have buildings in Gotham Harbor?” Dick asked thoughtfully.

Tim gave Dick a flat look as if to say that you know I’ve done my homework.

Leave it to Dick to be the one to question Tim’s analysis.

“Yes. Proximity in relation to Gotham U, their primary buyers. Gotham Harbor has too many eyes. The size of the shipment wouldn’t require a larger boat, and they cleared out the warehouse that I believe the shipment is going to last week.” Tim answered, “Any other questions?”

Tim glanced at Babs. She had gotten the quick and dirty version of the brief days ago.

Steph looked like she had questions but could wait until she could pounce on Tim after the brief. Tim nodded at her. Cass looked focused on the map, probably parsing out Tim’s plan just from the placement of the Tactical Control Measures. Bruce loomed over the group, slightly smiling.

“Last call,” Tim said, “Moving forward to the Situation.”

“Alright, Situation,” Tim continued, “The exchange could happen anytime between 1800 and 2200. Castillo will most likely send one of his primary drug runners, names unknown at this time. The shipment is currently en route up the coast from Florida. Expect a six-to-eight-man team, at least four running security, a team leader, and a boat operator. The boat operator is likely to stay on the vessel during the exchange. Sionis himself will most likely be on site tonight, which means the rest of Sionis’ crew will be there as well. You have Tattoo,” Tim rolled his eyes at the ridiculous moniker, “his right-hand man and personal bodyguard. Expect an additional team of around twelve to fifteen.”

“BM,” Tim shortened Black Mask, “will likely roll up to the Dock from this road,” Tim pointed to the map and placed mini toy sedans next to the warehouse. “BM uses American small arms and American made rifles, generally the AR15 and the M4 as we all know. I am not expecting BM to have any additional firepower. Sionis himself uses twin automatic pistols. If any of us are captured, Sionis likes to use toxin filled masks.”

Steph frowned, clearly remembering her time with Sionis.

“The capabilities and limitations of the force we will see at Dock 1 are as follows. They can defend up to 100 meters due to likely rooftop snipers. They will be limited by the fact Dock 1 is shorter than the buildings to the north and east. Black Mask is capable of calling in reinforcements of up to thirty additional men, but it will take up to twenty minutes for the men to arrive from their headquarters in the Bowery. If they see us, they are likely to engage with sniper fire, but unlikely to leave the building for an engagement. Once the shipment is offloaded, I believe they will fight to maintain control of the shipment until it is clear that they are captured. I believe BM and Castillo’s forces will then attempt to flee. I do not believe they have employed any delaying tactics in depth.” Tim summarized.

Tim changed the slide, showing an image of the interior of the warehouse. It was open and medium-sized. There was a stairwell to the right, likely going to the roof. There was a large garage style door leading to the dock side. Random equipment and stacks of wood lined the floors as if long forgotten.

“BM will arrive around 1800 in two to three sedans, each with a driver. The driver will stay with the vehicle. They will enter the warehouse and post two to three men on security on the roof. Rooftop entrance is here, oriented north and east down 5th Street and up Dixon Street,” Tim pointed to the doorway on top of the 3D printed model, “They will have comms with Tattoo or Sionis inside the building. Castillo’s men will travel up the Gotham River from the south. They will likely only have one boat. Men will be posted for security inside the building at each entrance. There are two doors into the building and one Dock garage door. Expect one man on each of the doors and at least two men posted by the garage door. They will utilize the garage to bring the drugs into the warehouse.”

“For friendlies, we are using all-hands-on deck from the Bats and Birds. Duke will be covering a south patrol route during the operation and is on Quick Reaction Force standby if needed.”

Tim looked at Duke who gave him an annoyed look. Tim understood, being regulated to regular patrolling while the rest of the family was doing a large operation sucked. Tim himself had been on the other end of that decision multiple times.

Bruce himself tended to pick Tim as the odd one out. It was strategic, of course. Tim could handle himself without needing much in the way of backup. One of the worst ways to derail an ongoing operation was to have to reallocate people from the mission to handle something less important on the other side of town.

The reason that Tim choose Duke as the odd one was his ability to travel via shadow. He didn’t want to have to assign two people to handle the rest of Gotham, as was needed to properly cover the territory. Duke’s abilities to travel through shadows allowed him to cover a much larger territory and react quickly to threats. Additionally, Duke could reinforce them faster than any other individual in the family.

Tim mentally reminded himself to have a conversation with his foster brother after this to clear up any confusion.

Tim didn’t want it misconstrued that he had left out Duke for some ridiculous false reason like he thought he was less capable.[4]

Tim continued his friendly information, “Mission is deemed mid-priority with low likelihood of Meta interference. We have been working through JLA channels to arrange civilian support, but we have no official JLA attachments. However, Superman has been briefed on the operation due to the crossover with Castillo in Metropolis. He said he will be on alert if we need him,” Tim shrugged. “Batman will make the final decision if it escalates to Superman’s involvement.”  

Bruce rolled his eyes in the corner of the room, as if to say, like I would call Superman for help. It had only happened once in the history of Gotham, and that was to get a gravely injured Nightwing to Dr. Thompkins for medical attention.

“Agent A will be running Duke’s comms and covering down on the regular Gotham patrol while Babs runs mission comms and acts as a drone operator. Dr. Tompkins has been notified and is on standby.”

Everyone nodded along.

“Mission,” Tim said with finality. Damian looked poised, ready to write down Tim’s exact wording. Everyone else perked up with that keyword. “On my order, we will seize the shipment of Powdered Death in order to prevent additional deaths relating to the substance. Be prepared to follow and fix Black Mask and Castillo’s men for capture by civilian law enforcement.”

The mission statement was important. The verb of the sentence, called the tactical task, indicated the intent of the mission. In this case, it was important to seize the laced cocaine, so that Sionis and his men can be properly charged. This mission, while lower stakes in scale, was one of the early proofs of concept for vigilante cooperation with federal and state law enforcement.

Congress had recently passed a law that forced law enforcement to work with the JLA, and JLA-affiliated vigilantes, provided that they produced a Code of Conduct for Congress to ratify by early December. This mission was supposed to act as evidence for the necessity, and effectiveness, of those laws.

Seizing the substance was vital. It was Tim’s goal, more than anything else. It was Tim’s mission and therefore his call.

“For Execution. My intent is as follows: the purpose of this mission is to seize the shipment of Powdered Death. Secondarily, to capture Black Mask for prosecution. These actions take priority over the capture of Castillo's men."

That was for many reasons. Sionis’ had been captured many times, but Gotham City PD kept on ‘losing’ the evidence or Sionis’ lawyers had argued that the Bat’s interference made the evidence gathered insufficient. He was particularly slippery to actually put away.

This operation, due to the direct Federal involvement, was supposed to change that. If the FBI and DEA were involved, then supposedly Sionis wouldn't be able to escape the system. The shipment of Powdered Death was a federal issue, not a Gotham PD one.

“My method for this operation is a cordon and assault. Using JLA contacts, I have coordinated with the FBI and DEA. They are going to conduct a water capture of Castillo and BM on my call. We are going to be getting evidence of the exchange and forcing BM and Castillo to flee via the Gotham River and into FBI capture. We will wait until after the shipment is offloaded and money has been exchanged to begin our assault of the warehouse.”

“My desired end state for this operation is as follows: The Powdered Death is in the hands of the DEA and FBI, Castillo’s men and Sionis are arrested for international drug trade, and all personnel are uninjured.”

As much as Tim hated it, he didn’t trust Gotham City PD. There were more than a few of BM moles inside the organization. If Tim had notified the department, BM and the shipment would go to the wind.

“Concept of Operations,” Tim stated, moving closer to the map and standing over Dixon Docks area, “For our Scheme of Maneuver, we break into a Security, Support, and Assault Team. Our operation will start at 1500 leaving the Bat Cave. Around 1530, we will arrive at the area around Dock 1. The Security Team will post up in this alleyway and this alleyway,” Tim motioned to the map, “The Support Team will be located on the roof of the Dock 2 warehouse, and the Assault Team will be located on the roof of this building.” It was an abandoned building, slightly taller than the Dock 1 warehouse, located northeast of the building.

“At 1530 when we arrive, we will do a sweep of the area to ensure no civilian presence. As it’s a Saturday, all dock workers should be gone. There is, however, a likelihood of homeless presence. After 1530, until the operation is over, the security team is responsible for cordoning off the area from civilians, mainly down these two roads.”  

“We have three drones already in place in the warehouse, one of which is taking video and audio. I will be monitoring the feed via comm as well as Babs. Additionally, the video will be used by the FBI and DEA for prosecution. It is vital that we do not engage until criminal activity is sufficiently proven. Once I give the greenlight, the security team members will approach the vehicles under the coverage of smoke grenades, knocking out the drivers, and barricading these two exits. It is vital that the exits are blocked so that BM doesn’t attempt to escape into the city,” Tim moved little toy army men on the model to indicate the movement of the Security Team.

“Concurrently, the Support team will act as a Support by Fire, allowing the Assault to grapple onto the rooftop of the warehouse. The Support team will have two members, one will engage with a M320, shooting flash grenades and one will shoot rubber bullets at the two or three snipers located on the roof.”

The Scheme of Maneuver was supposed to be given anonymously, so that everyone paid attention to everyone else’s part, and not just their own. However, only one person used rubber bullets, so it wasn’t hard to parse out who was doing what.

It was absolutely vital that the snipers were distracted and unable to shoot at the grappling Bat team members. One good shot at the Assault team as they were flying between the abandoned building and the warehouse, and not only would they have to deal with the injuries from the bullet wound, but also the multistory fall.

“Once the Assault team has made touchdown on the roof, they will take out the snipers and enter the warehouse from the rooftop doorway. During this time, Oracle will be operating drones staged inside the building and set off smoke grenades. The Assault teams’ job once they enter the building is to cause Castillo’s men and BM to flee through the dock garage. The Support team will engage with non-lethal rounds if they try to withdraw around the building to the north. We want them to exit and use the boat to try to get away via the Gotham River. DEA and FBI forces will be staged for a water capture. Once they have entered the boat, our Mission is over and we will have a battle handover to civilian law enforcement. The Assault team is responsible for capturing any stragglers who do not get on the boat.”

Everyone in the room nodded along with Tim as he explained the plan. It was fairly straight forward, all things considered. The hardest part would be the timing of the operation. If Sionis and his men tried to flee into the city, then they would have to capture and put civilian lives at risk. That’s why it was vital for the security team to ensure they’re unable to use the doors to exit the buildings or vehicles if it came to that.

“Assigned tasks,” Tim said.

“Black Bat and Spoiler will make up the Security Team. Upon sufficient video evidence of criminal activity obtained by the drone, you will isolate the Dock 1 warehouse in order to prevent BM and Castillo’s men from fleeing into the city. Be prepared to prevent civilian interference. Be prepared to redirect BM and Castillo’s men if they attempt to flee into the city.”

Steph frowned, clearly upset about the assignment. Dick glanced over at Steph, clearly having the same thoughts as Tim. Tim internally added another person to have to talk to after the mission brief.

“Red Hood and Nightwing will make up the Support Team. As soon as the smoke grenade is popped by the Security Team, you will suppress the sniper fire in order to allow the Assault Team to grapple onto the warehouse rooftop. Be prepared to continue support fire if BM and Castillo’s men attempt to flee into the city.”

Jason nodded at him. Dick gave him a quirked smile.

“Batman, Robin, and I will comprise the Assault Team. We will clear the warehouse of BM and Castillo’s men in order to gain control of the Powdered Death and set conditions for FBI and DEA capture. We will be prepared to capture any men who do not attempt to flee on the boat.”

Tim paused, allowing the room to digest his plan.

“Coordinating Instructions,” Tim spoke once the shifting of the room had stopped, “For timeline, I expect everyone here tomorrow at 1400, ready to go by 1430. The mission will conclude approximately at 2400. MOPP[5] level is one. Gas masks will be on person. For disengagement criteria, if Castillo and BM bring more than 50 men in total, we will not engage. If the FBI and DEA are not in position, we will reorient and focus on the capture of the Powdered Death and BM and allow for Castillo to escape.”

“For civilian considerations, if more than two civilians enter the cordoned engagement area, we will allocate the support by fire to reinforce the security team. No flash bangs, rubber bullets, or non-lethal chemical attacks can be used within 50 meters of a civilian.”

That was standard, although that got dicey for them. They tried their best to keep all civilians away from Gotham’s criminals, although the line tended to blur on who was civilian and who wasn’t.

“Reallocation Criteria. For Alpha and Bravo level threats follow JLA SOP, and for Charlie Level threats, Nightwing will break away to support Duke."

“Administration and Logistics. For administration, all captured criminals will be handed over to the DEA and FBI to be read their rights. No interrogation is authorized in order to prevent spoilage of federal evidence,” with that statement, Tim looked directly at Bruce.

Bruce gave him a smirk, clearly knowing that that comment was directed at him, but damnit, Tim had had it with Bruce ruining civilian law enforcement’s ability to prosecute criminals.

“For our casualty[6] evacuation plan. The Batmobile will be staged in Dock 3.” The Wayne’s owned Dock 3, under a shell corporation. “If an injury occurs, we will first employ self-aid tactics. If it is a priority or critical injury, the closest Bat will begin aide, and the Batmobile will be called for extract. Dr. Tompkins will meet at the cave for medical care. If an injury is deemed too severe for that timeline, Batman will make the call on contacting Superman. For civilian or criminal casualties, aide will be provided by the closet Bat member once area is deemed safe. Oracle will engage civilian medical agencies for their extract and care.”

Again, this was standard practice for missions. “For logistics, everyone will wear their standard suit with gas masks available. Command and Signal Plan. For signal, we will be using comms and engage at my command. If comms go down, sequence of events will indicate engagement criteria and we will operate to the best of our training. Succession of command for this mission is me, Batman,” Bruce nodded, “then, Red Hood. If all of us go down, operation is to cease.”

For the duration of the mission, Tim was in charge. All calls relating to the mission routed through Tim. Bruce was good at not undermining their authority on their missions. However, Bruce could take back control if he so desired.

“Time on deck is now 1903, any questions?”

Tim stared at the group, expectantly.

“Team leaders?” Jason asked, clipped.  

“Black Bat for security, Red Hood for Support, and Batman for Assault if I am indisposed or unable to give commands.”

Command structure mattered in the field. There wasn’t time to second guess or argue over decisions.

Mission specific chain of command was normal. It allowed people to grow and develop their leadership skills. Tim knew Bruce tried to assign missions fairly with increasing difficulty and threat levels.

When not on a mission, the current chain of command in the field went Tim, Dick, Jason, Damian, Steph, Cass, and then Duke. There had been much protest from his older brothers when Tim had been named in the chain of command.

Tim hadn’t asked for it. In fact, Tim felt pretty angry at Bruce for awhile after that decision had been made. Bruce’s justification was that Dick was rarely in the field in Gotham and Tim had more recent experience, which was fair. Then Bruce had looked Jason directly in the eye and said that Tim was more levelheaded and followed Bruce’s no killing rule, which also fair.

Also not as true as Bruce liked to think, but Tim would not be the one to tell Bruce that.

Bruce's explanation of his decision hadn’t stopped his brothers from being utterly pissed off at Tim.

Privately, Tim had argued with Bruce about it, citing Dick’s time as Batman. Bruce had told him, Dick choose to move to Bludhaven. Dick had to deal with the consequences of his decisions, and Bruce's decision was final. Ouch, Tim did not tell Dick that. Dick and Bruce’s relationship was complicated, as was everyone and Bruce’s relationships.

Sometimes, Tim wondered what went through Bruce's mind when it came to his children and the future of his mask. Bruce wouldn't be able to keep the cowl on forever. His temporary death in the time stream had already proven that Batman was needed in Gotham.

Tim, certainty, didn't want to inherit the mantle. Dick had suffered during his time as Batman, stiffed by a legacy that wasn't his. Jason's choices as Red Hood made him a less-than-stellar candidate. It was too early to tell if Damian would be a good fit.

Regardless, Bruce kept his opinions silent. Tim hoped that Bruce would still be alive to pass along the cowl, and it wouldn't happen posthumously. Once had been enough.

Tim was snapped out of his musings by Steph’s indignant question, “Why am I not on the assault team?”

Everyone looked between Tim and Steph with bated breath. Bruce tensed against the wall, clearly getting ready to step in if necessarily.

“My decision on teams has been approved,” Tim nodded towards Bruce, “and is final.”  Tim wasn’t going to acknowledge the complaint with justification.

“Are there any other questions?” Tim asked.

There was ten seconds of silence then Jason butted in, “I think you covered it pretty well, baby bird. Now, I have to get ready for patrol.”

Tim glanced around the room and met everyone's eyes. He told them, “If anyone has any questions, tomorrow at 1400 will be your time. Otherwise, you are relieved.”

As if the spell had broken, everyone in the room moved to their respective nighttime responsibilities. Tim himself was not going on patrol. He was done for the evening. He planned on going home, taking melatonin, and crashing out until as late as possible in the morning.

Tim left the terrain model for now and went to unplug his laptop from the Batcomputer. Dick came up to him. Tim looked Dick over. Dick appeared tired as he had probably come straight from a work shift, but otherwise his usual cheerful self.

“Hey, baby bat,” Dick said, “Good mission brief.”

“Thanks,” Tim responded dryly.

“Do want to go grab a beer with me? Neither of us are on patrol or reserve tonight, and it’s been so long since we just chatted.”

Tim glanced up. That was true. Tim didn’t know Dick’s current relationship status or how his civilian job was going in Bludhaven. Tim’s immediate reaction was to search for an excuse for why not to, but Tim squashed that down strongly.

“You know, why not,” Tim said. “Give me a half hour? I need to talk to,” Tim inclined his head to Steph who was sulking putting on her Spoiler uniform.

“Of course,” Dick said with a bright smile, “I’ll be upstairs saying hi to Alfred. Grab me when you’re ready.”

“You mean raiding his cookie stash.”

“Exactly.”

Dick wandered off. Tim sighed, put his laptop in his backpack and moved towards Steph. She was putting her blonde hair up in battle braid; Tim pulled up a folding chair next to her.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she snapped.

“I know, but I feel like we need to. We can’t have this tension on the mission tomorrow,” Tim looked at his ex-girlfriend. Tim suspected that she and Cass had started a romantic relationship. She graduated from Gotham U two years ago, and was working as a paralegal for a non-profit legal firm helping the disenfranchised.

Tim should ask her if she was planning to go to law school. They had drifted apart over the last few years. Tim's time had been monopolized with Wayne Enterprises, his congressional advocacy on behalf of the JLA, and finishing two college degrees. Only one of the prior three was no longer a time-strain.

“What’s there to say?” she asked, “You made your decision and have the backing of Daddy Bats.” There was something bitter in her tone.

“And I stand by my decision. You are the best at dealing with civilians, and you and Cass work well as a team. It’s the most rational placement.”

“You just don’t want me near him,” Steph snapped.

It was true. Tim did not want Steph near Sionis for many, many reasons. She would be a liability to the mission. Steph was hot-headed and quick-witted. Tim liked that about her, but she was compromised on this matter.

Tim looked at Steph assessing, “Say what you need to,” he told her.

“You always do this,” she bite out angrily, “I’m not your girlfriend. You don’t need to protect me. I am more than capable.”

“Those are all true statements,” Tim acknowledged.

“Then, why the fuck am I on security?”

Tim heard the quiet language from someone else in the cave.

Tim sighed, “As I said, you are the best with civilians. Cass and you prefer to work as a team. Plus, I need you in that position in case BM and Castillo’s men try to flee into the city. You are vital to the mission.”

She rolled her eyes, “Put Damian on Security and move me to Assault.”

“Not on your life, you heathen,” Damian yelled from the other end of the cave.

Tim opened his mouth to respond and Bruce, in Batman costume, closed in behind them. He spoke commanding, “Spoiler, Red Robin made his decision, and I approved it. Do I need to remove you from patrol tonight to give you time to cool off?”

“No,” Steph responded quickly, “It’s fine. I’m just upset.”

“Understandable,” Bruce said, “However, we all need your head in the game tomorrow. Without maintaining exterior security of the warehouse, the entire mission will fail.”

“I know, I know,” she muttered.

Then Bruce turned and sulked away. Tim glanced after him, and returned his eyes back to Steph.

“Steph, I would say I’m sorry but I’m not. I –”

“Stand by your decision,” she cut him off, finishing his sentence, “I know. I’ll get over it tonight, just remember Tim, you can’t keep everyone out of harm’s way.”

Tim swallowed hard. That statement cut harder than she intended. No matter how well Tim planned out a mission, or how many contingencies he implemented, Tim could not control fate. Sometimes things happened outside of his control, and Tim had to accept that.

Steph turned back to the mirror and worked on the other side of her hair in a clear indication of dismissal.

Jason gave him a look as he exited the cave. Tim needed to stop by his place later that week. Despite everything, Jason and Tim understood each other in a way the rest of the Bats and Birds couldn’t.

Tim made his way to Duke’s room for the second necessary conversation of the evening. Tim knocked on Duke’s door. Duke opened it. Duke had taken off his casual wear from earlier and was just in a loose pair of sweatpants.

“Oh hey,” Duke said.

“Hi,” Tim purposefully made his voice upbeat and light, “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Shadow travel makes me the best choice for covering the entirety of Gotham for the night,” Duke acknowledged, running a hand through his hair. Duke didn’t look upset the way Steph did, but it was clear he felt a little hurt.

“It still hurts being the one left-out though,” Tim observed.

Duke looked at him funny, as if to question why Tim was validating his emotions. “It does,” Duke said quietly.

Tim then continued, “I believe you are incredibly capable and are thrilled to have you as part of the team and family.”

Duke blinked at him, looking a lot younger than he usually did. Duke then responded slowly to Tim, “That means a lot,” he mumbled, “But you’re not going to change your mind about the mission tomorrow.”

“No, I’m not.”

Just because Tim was validating Duke’s feelings didn’t mean he was going to change the mission he had been planning for months.

“Figures,” Duke shrugged, “I’m just being a moody teenager.” He smiled at Tim, disarmingly.

Tim laughed at him, “You’re twenty-years-old. You don’t get the teenage moody excuse anymore.”

“I am still sixteen in spirit,” he said.

Tim smiled at Duke, “Fair enough. I appreciate your maturity on that.”

Duke blushed, “I – thanks for speaking to me Tim.”

“What are brothers for?”

“Going out and fighting crime,” Duke jokingly.

Tim rolled his eyes at Duke and gave him a smirking smile in response.

“I have to go. See you tomorrow?” Tim asked.

“Not sure,” Duke said, “I have a study session until 4PM, I’m going to head out for patrol a little earlier than usual because of the situation down at the docks. Maybe around 1730? I’ll link up on comms to let you guys know I’m out there.”

“Fair enough, be safe tomorrow night.”

“Thanks Tim.”

Tim smiled at him one last time before walking down the stairs towards the kitchen. Dick’s boisterous voice traveled the manor.

Tim entered the kitchen. Alfred looked old. He was twenty-two years older than Bruce. Bruce had been twenty-three, younger than Tim was now, when he adopted Dick, and that had been over twenty years ago.

Alfred was pushing seventy, and Tim personally thought the man should retire. They could get cleaning and cooking services. Alfred should spend his days drinking tea and relaxing.

Bruce and Damian were the only ones that lived at the house full time anyways.

“Master Tim,” Alfred greeted him, “Will you be desiring a snack?”

“I had something to eat earlier,” Tim responded, “But thank you.” Tim had, in fact, eaten his leftover Thai food earlier.

Alfred looked at him like he didn’t believe him, and Tim felt himself flush in embarrassment.

“Dick, are you ready to go? Before Alfred tries to get me to take home three lasagnas?” Tim joked.

“I don’t know, baby bat,” Dick ruffled his hair, “Looks like you need some if you’re going to grow big and strong.”

Tim bit off the fuck off before he accidentally slipped around Alfred. Jason and Dick would never stop about the height jokes. Tim was a very respectable five foot ten, which was not short. However, Dick barely beat him out at six foot, and Jason was a goddamn giant at six foot six inches. Even Bruce’s six two frame looked small compared to Jason.

At twenty-three years old, Tim had been done growing for awhile.

“Dickiebird,” Tim had picked up Jason’s nickname for Dick, “I think you shouldn’t throw stones as someone who’s main form of nutrition is cereal. I think Alfred should be more concerned about you. Now that you’re nearing thirty, you should probably start watching what you put in your body.”

“You little rascal,” Dick playfully attacked him. “Alright, let’s go.”

Tim grabbed his motorcycle helmet as they left. “I’m going to drop my bike at my place. Meet you at Rays?”

Rays was a bar in Old Gotham, three blocks from Wayne tower. It was nicer than the hole in the walls in Chinatown or Crime Alley, but wasn’t as upscale as say, The White Socialite, a cocktail bar Tim’s business associates loved to have ‘meetings’ at.

The drive time from Wayne Manor to Wayne Enterprises tower was around thirty-five minutes if you obeyed speed laws. Tim’s apartment was a block away from Wanye Tower, which was convenient.

Tim dropped his civilian bike off in the underground garage. He debated running upstairs for a change of clothes. He hadn’t had the time going from work to the briefing so Tim had been rocking a white dress shirt with rolled up sleeves and black slacks for the better part of the evening.

He cursed himself for not thinking about changing earlier at the manor.

Tim walked the three blocks to Rays in silence. It was nice going out for drinks. The last couple of years, Tim had been swamped with responsibility and commitments. Prior to Bruce’s return from the dead, he had already established himself as the CEO of Wayne Enterprises.

Tim didn’t want to give it up. Bruce came on as a consultant, which took some pressure off Tim, but otherwise Tim kept the mantle. Bruce's time spent consulting had drastically dropped off over the last few years.

Bruce had wanted Tim to finish his high school education. Tim baulked at that. He couldn’t imagine finishing his senior year of high school after everything. When Bruce had disappeared, Tim traveled the world trying to prove Bruce as alive. Tim had bartered a deal with the LoA which led to six months of Tim training with the League. He came back and assumed the role as Wayne Enterprises CEO.

After all of that, going back to high school seemed trivial.

Tim and Bruce agreed, instead, on Tim getting a college degree. Tim had been accepted into pretty much every Ivy League. Columbia University had agreed to him doing a hybrid online and in person schedule. Tim had signed an NDA with Wayne Enterprises, mainly as top coverage against the board members protesting Tim concurrently going to school.

Tim had managed his undergraduate in Engineering and Business before moving on to complete an MBA in just over five and a half years. He had graduate from Columbia two months prior after a grueling final summer session.

The idea that he didn’t have to rush home and finish up homework still felt alien to Tim.

Ray’s neon sign loomed above the city street. As soon as Tim entered the establishment, he spotted Dick sitting at the bar, chatting up some pretty bartender.

“Timmy!” Dick exclaimed, beer in hand. “Good to see you.”

At his name, more than a few people at the bar turned their heads. There were quite a few wide eyes, and phones coming out to take sneaky photos. Great, now Tim would be trending on Twitter.

“We saw each other thirty minutes ago, Dick.”

“It’s been more than thirty minutes,” Dick said with a smile, patting the barstool next to Dick. Tim slid onto the stool.

The bartender looked at Tim, clearly thinking of the tip Tim would leave. “What can I get for you, Mr. Drake-Wayne.”

Tim didn’t know exactly when he became a celebrity, but of all of his siblings Tim had certainly inherited Bruce’s spotlight.

“Just Tim is fine,” Tim told her, “Blantons, Black Label, neat please.” It was mid-shelf bourbon, probably a hundred dollar pour at this establishment. Her eyes widened as she probably mentally counted the tips.

Dick made a face at the order. Dick had never grown out of the beer stage. Tim glanced around the room, already annoyed that this conversation would have too many eyes and ears. They should have just gone back to Tim’s penthouse.

“How are you doing, baby brother?” Dick asked, exchanging the usual bat for brother.

“I’m fine,” Tim answered automatically, “Work is normal, we have a Board of Directors meeting on Friday. New line of tech watches is expected to launch in three weeks which is exciting.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I am asking. How are you?”

They had last talked at family dinner the prior Saturday.

Tim shrugged. He didn’t really have a life outside of WE and Red Robin. His work with Teen Titans and Young Justice had ended years before but he still had contact with his former teammates. Tim knew there were some vague talks about bringing him on as a permanent JLA member. Dick himself had settled into the JLA for the last few years.

The bartender placed the bourbon in front of Tim, and Tim smiled at her in thanks.

“I’m okay,” Tim answered. “Happy to be done with school, that’s for sure.”

“Dating anyone?”

“No,” Tim responded sharply. “Are you?”

“What?” Dick answered.

“Dating anyone?”

“It’s complicated,” Dick answered, fumbling. “Kori and I are still figuring things out. I still love her,” Dick quietly admitted, “Babs and I are complicated. I don’t know where we're all headed.”

Tim patted Dick’s shoulder sympathetically.

Dick’s phone then chirped. Tim glanced down at it, seeing Babs name on the screen. It wasn’t a Bat alert then, just a regular old text message.

Dick read it, then looked at Tim big eyed. Oh dear, Tim thought to himself, complicated indeed.

“I give you permission to leave me to go see Babs,” Tim said, magnanimously.

“Tim, we just got here. I want to spend some time with my baby brother.”

“Dick, we see each other all the time,” Tim argued.

“Yeah,” Dick agreed, “But we don’t really talk.” Tim hummed in response. Dick wasn’t wrong. Tim spent a lot of time with his family, but most of it was behind a mask.

“Next week, movie night? I can try to make it out to Bludhaven?” Tim started mentally going through his schedule.

“No, no, no, you’re busier than me. Tell me the night, and I’ll come to you. It’s the least I can do after bailing on you now. You barely started your drink.”

Tim glanced down at it. Dick was right.

Dick then knocked back the rest of his beer. “I’ll pick up the tab,” Tim told him, “Go be complicated.”

Tim sighed down into his drink. Part of him was tempted to just knock it back like Dick had and leave. It was still early. His watch read 2016. It was barely 8PM and for a cape, that was early, especially on a weekend.

A smooth voice asked him, “Is this seat taken?”

Tim glanced up from his bourbon. A man, mid-twenties, maybe a touch taller than Tim, stood behind the empty seat. He had black curling hair, extremely pale skin, and scattered freckles on his face. Big blue eyes blinked at him. Tim’s response must have taken too long because the man gave him the raised eyebrows are-you-going-to-answer-me look.

It had been a long time since Tim had been hit on at a bar. Actually, Tim had probably never been hit on at a bar.

“Uh, yeah, sure, I mean, no, it’s not taken,” Tim stumbled.

The man smiled at him and smoothly slid into the seat, “Looks like you have a lot on your mind.”

“Not really,” Tim said. “Long week, actually long couple of years.”

“That’s fair,” the guy agreed. “I understand.”

Tim ran a hand through his hair, the light gel he had put on it that morning crunching slightly. The man had a very intense stare that seemed to almost peer into Tim’s soul.

“Want to dance?”

Tim blinked. He didn’t even know the guys name. Rays had dancing upstairs, which Tim had never bothered with before. Tim had only ever danced at galas, which was certainly not what this guy was asking to do.

“I don’t know how to dance,” Tim admitted.

The man leaned forward and breathily said, “I can teach you.”

Oh, Tim could feel the blush rising up his face. He suddenly felt very young and foolish. Something, arousal maybe, settled in his lower stomach.

Tim managed to stutter out, “Give me a second.” Then, in one smooth motion, finished his drink. “Ma’am,” he called out to the bartender. She immediately came over, likely Tim’s identity spurring her into action, “Can I close out?”

Disappointment flickered across her face. She was clearly hoping for that big tip.

The man waited patiently behind him. Tim’s mind started to catalogue all the reasons he shouldn’t go dancing with tall and blue eyed, chiefly, the press it would get tomorrow.

At the same time, Tim couldn’t remember the last time he did something reckless for himself.

Tim closed out, leaving the bartender a generous fifty percent tip. Tim allowed himself to be pulled up the stairwell. The music was loud, a DJ stood on a small stage in the back of the room. Tim didn’t know the song, but he didn’t expect to. There were a bunch of young twenty-year-olds grinding on each other.

Tim realized, startlingly, that he was now one of those twentysomething year olds. Tim took a long look at the man in front of him. He was wearing a jean jacket, a casual red button-up that had the top three buttons undone, and dark wash jeans. He had converse on. The man was clearly extremely fit, as he had at least Tim’s bulk if not more hidden under his jacket.

The man smiled at him. “You’re thinking too much,” he said over the music, “I think you’re cute. Let’s dance.”

Tim blinked, taken aback. The man wasn’t wrong. Tim was thinking too much. Tim always thought too much. That was kind of Tim’s thing, to think; his modus operandi, so to speak.

Ra’s called him The Detective. Bruce had once told him that he was the smartest of them all. The business world called him a genius.

Tim didn’t really turn-off the thinking part, but goddamn did those eyes make him want to.

Tim deserved something to himself, didn’t he? He just finished his damn Master degree. The operation wasn’t until 1400 tomorrow. For once, Tim had the time to not think.

“Okay,” Tim said finally, “Dance with me, pretty boy.”

The man flashed a thousand-watt smile. Tim felt his chest tighten as he was led onto the dance floor. As soon as they got out there, Tim realized, he didn’t know what to do.

The man smiled at him and they started swaying to the music. Tim relaxed as much as he could. He was Red Robin for fuck’s sake. Tim glanced around the room, watching what everyone else was doing.

People were kind of doing whatever, some just two-stepping, others more elaborate, and others more pushed together with the person they were dancing next to.

The guy then asked, “Is this okay?” and motioned to Tim’s hip.

Tim felt his face flush again. “Yeah, sure,” he answered.

The man reached out and grabbed his hips, pulling Tim into him. Their slight height difference now more apparent. They swayed a bit to the music as the man twisted him around. Tim felt himself laughing at it. Then, for the next thirty minutes, Tim just relaxed and allowed himself to enjoy the moment.

Then, the music changed again and the man pulled Tim in. For a moment, Tim thought the man might kiss him. Despite the public setting, he would have allowed it. For a second, the man looked unsure of himself, as if didn’t want to overstep Tim’s boundaries.

“Want to get out of here?” Tim whispered, before he could talk himself out of the statement.

“Fuck me, yes,” the man responded, and yanked Tim towards the stairway back to the main room of Rays.

“What’s your name?” Tim asked, “Because I’ve just been calling you pretty boy in my head.”

The man gave a coy teasing smile, “Did I not introduce myself?”

“You did not," Tim responded.

“No wonder you were so confused,” he winked at Tim. Tim was still not certain if the man was purposefully withholding his name.

“That and I don’t get hit on often,” Tim admitted as they walked out of the bar.

“You’re Tim Drake-Wayne,” the man stated, voice flat, as if Tim’s name explained everything. Well, that answered the question of whether or not the man knew who Tim was. That figures, of course.  

“We can go to my place,” the man said, “It’s a two blocks to the right.” The man said, pointing in the direction of Tim’s apartment.

“I still don’t know your name,” Tim pointed out. “Wouldn’t be very smart of me to follow someone who’s name I don’t know, even if they’re attractive.”

The man looked at Tim, blue eyes unflinching. “It’s Danny,” the man, Danny, stated simply, then he flashed a bright smile. They walked along the sidewalk, Danny scanning the streets ahead.

“Go to Rays often?” Tim asked, making small talk.

“Everyone once in awhile,” Danny responded, “it was a long week of classes, and I thought I’d celebrate.”

Tim eyebrow’s furled, “You look a little old to be a college student.”

“I’m working on my PHD at Gotham U,” he said, “Mechanical Engineering.”

Smart and attractive, damn. “I’m right here,” Danny said, motioning to the building. It was a highrise, only a block and a half away from where Tim lived. It was an upperscale apartment, especially for a college student.

Danny scanned an access card to enter the building and led him to an elevator.

Tim felt his heart racing in his chest. Was he really about to do this? Was he really about to hook-up with some random stranger? Tim hadn’t had sex in almost a year and a half, not since he and Kon had called it off.

The elevator dinged, and Tim noticed that Danny lived on the top floor. Danny walked confidently to his door, and pulled a set of keys to unlock the door. Tim followed. As soon as they got through the door, Danny turned to him.

There was a different look in the man’s eyes then Tim had seen earlier. There was fire, desire. Tim felt his breath get knocked out of his chest.

“Can I kiss you?” Danny asked.

Tim nodded.

Danny quirked his mouth. “Can you give me a verbal response?”

Tim looked at the man, his body on edge as if ready to pounce on a villain. “Kiss me,” Tim demanded.

Danny did just that. He closed the distance between him and Tim, and devoured Tim’s mouth. Tim made a surprise gasp, and opened his mouth to allow Danny’s tongue in. Danny then grasped Tim’s hips pulled him up as if Tim weighed five pounds.

What the fuck, Tim thought, seriously impressed by Danny’s strength.

Danny then pushed Tim back into the door, his mouth trailing down Tim’s throat. “Fuck,” Tim groaned, “What the fuck?”

“Good?” Danny asked, “You have any idea how fucking hot you are?”

“I – no,” Tim said strangled.

“Seriously, should be illegal,” Danny growled against Tim’s throat.

“You’re not bad yourself,” Tim panted. Danny then started to unbutton Tim’s shirt, and Tim felt a wave of panic hit him. Tim hadn’t had sex with a civilian, ever. The idea of Danny seeing his scars terrified him.

What if Danny asked questions Tim didn’t have an answer to?

Danny could sense the panic and gently let Tim down to the ground.

The man looked at him, concerned, “You okay? Did I go too quick?”

“No,” Tim exclaimed, “I’m sorry. I just, uh, I have scars. Lots of them.”

“You don’t need to explain,” Danny said, “I have a lot too.”

Tim very much doubted that Danny had the sort of scars he did. Tim had multiple bullet wounds.

“Here,” Danny said, “Let’s go to the bedroom and I’ll show you mine?” Danny laughed at his own joke.

“Okay,” Tim said, allowing himself to be pulled along. Tim took a look around the apartment as they walked. It was very neat and modern. Multiple potted plants were strewn about. The living room had a sleek black leather couch with a three-panel photo of the night sky above it.

There were zero personal photos.

The bedroom was just as modern, bed adorned with a fluffy gray comforter.

Danny pulled his jacket off, showing off extremely toned arms. Arms that were also roped with white scares. Sleek lines crisscrossing, and at least two burn scares. Along his right arm was a very large, very shiny vertical scar. Suicide attempt?

Huh, maybe Danny’s scars would rival his own.

Danny started to unbutton his shirt. Tim’s suspicions from earlier were correct; Danny was jacked. The man clearly spent time at the gym. There were scars, but there were also tattoos. On his right ribs sat a line drawing of the sun and the moon, with little cartoon stars circling.

Down his left arm was something written in a language Tim didn’t recognize. On his left hip was a skyline of an unknown city.

Danny was hot.

Danny looked at him, eyes half lidded and vulnerable. “You’re beautiful,” Tim told him.

Tim reached up and began to unbutton his own shirt. He, of course, had the scar across his neck from Jason. He usually covered it at work with a tie. Tim had been tortured a few times, and his body showed it.

Danny's eyes flickered over Tim's body, clearly categorizing Tim's own scars. There was no judgment in his face, only want.

Danny led him over to the bed and dipped him down. Then, gently Danny kissed up and town his torso. Tim gasped as the man lavished his body, kissing every patch of bare skin.

“Let me,” Danny said, and Tim allowed himself to sink into the sheets. After what might have been moments, but also could have been hours, Danny reached down to the zipper on his pants.

“May I?” he asked.

“Yes,” Tim bit back, strangled. Danny then unzipped Tim’s slacks, freeing his arousal. Tim gasped as the cold air hit his cock, and Danny gently rubbed his thumb along the underside.

“Ancients,” Danny muttered. Tim didn’t have the brain power to analyze that curse.

Then, Danny leaned down, and took Tim into his mouth. Tim let out a strangled sound, as the man lavished him. Danny deftly removed Tim's slacks, until Tim was bare on the bed. Tim looked down. The view should have been illegal. Danny had half of Tim’s cock in his mouth, as his hand was gently tugging on the base.

Tim didn’t know how long he would last. It had been too long since he had sex.

“Careful,” Tim warned.

Danny then pulled off of Tim’s dick, eyes mischievous.

“May I fuck you?” the man asked.

“God, please,” Tim pleaded, and threw his head back. Tim heard the sound of Danny undoing his own pants, and Tim watched as Danny, nude, got out of bed.

“Where are you going?” Tim asked.

“Lube and condoms,” Danny answered, and Tim blushed as he realized how inexperienced he sounded.

Tim laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He was in the apartment of a man he barely knew, about to be fucked. It was so unlike him, and the absolute wrongness of it made him burn with arousal.

Tim reached down, his touch trailing down his own chest, before grasping himself in his hands. The feeling of his own rough callouses against his dick, got him moaning. Tim stroked, once, twice, before his thumb flickered over the head of his cock. Christ, he was so aroused.

“Ancients be damned,” Danny said, “Keep touching yourself, baby.”

Tim made a guttural sound of agreement.

“Can you keep touching yourself while I prep you?” Danny asked, “You just can’t get yourself off quite yet.”

“Okay,” Tim agreed, lost in the feeling. The bed dipped as Danny sidled up between Tim’s legs. Then a cold breath blew against his ass and Tim jerked in response. Danny reached up and steadied his hips. Then, a gentle tongue flicked against him.

Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn, Tim repeated, unsure if he said it out loud or in his head.  

Danny laughed against Tim, clearly amused by his reactions. Then, a single finger brushed past the first ring of muscles. Tim fluttered, trying to relax himself. The finger was covered in lube, which felt cool to his skin.

Danny gently worked it inside of Tim. Then, after a minute, a second finger joined. It grazed against Tim’s prostate, and he groaned.

Tim had all but forgotten about his own hand on his dick.

“Keep stroking yourself, baby,” Danny told him.

“Okay,” Tim breathed through the gentle motion of Danny’s fingers fucking him. He was lost in the pleasure of feeling full, while Tim ungracefully stroked himself. Danny continued to gently press his fingers outward, prepping and stretching him.

“Please, fuck me,” Tim begged.

“You’re not ready,” Danny muttered, and continued to work him open.

“I am,” Tim promised. He could take some amount of pain, but if Danny didn’t fuck him right then, Tim thought he might combust.

Danny’s clear blue eyes looked up at Tim. “Do you want me to fuck you like this or on your knees?”

“This,” Tim said, “And come kiss me please, first.”

Danny crawled up to him, devouring Tim’s mouth. They exchanged languid brushing of their tongues in a slow battle of pleasure. Tim whined at the feeling of emptiness. He wanted Danny inside of him as soon as possible.

In response to Tim's clear desire, Danny broke the kiss and moved to position himself to enter Tim. Danny lined himself up, gently pressing his cock inside of Tim. Tim arched his back to meet the intrusion.

“Fuck,” Tim groaned, as Danny bared deeper into his body until Tim couldn't discern where he ended and Danny began.

Fuck, Tim could feel every inch of Danny's sizable length. Danny stilled above him, giving Tim’s body time to adjust.

“Keep moving,” Tim demanded.

Then, as if the spell was broken, Danny rocked into him and began to fuck him. Tim rolled his head back against the pillows and desperately tried to match Danny’s pace. Tim had long since abandoned his own cock, too distracted by Danny inside of him. As if Danny had sensed this, Danny’s hand snaked down and grasped Tim’s cock in his hand, matching the rhythm of thrusting.

“Christ, don’t stop,” Tim pleaded.

“I won’t,” Danny responded, angling to kiss the corner of Tim’s mouth. They continued moving, and Tim lost himself in the feeling of Danny’s slightly cool body against him, inside him.

“I’m almost there,” Tim admitted, gasping from the pleasure.

“Come for me,” Danny instructed, and Tim felt his body tighten and fall off the edge of cliff. Moments later, Danny was grunting with his own organismic release.

They shuddered together for a moment, until Danny gently extracted himself from Tim.

Tim laid back, the comforter encompassing his body in a warm embrace. Nothing enticed him more in the world than simply breathing through his orgasmic bliss. Danny had wrecked him in ways that even Kon failed to achieve.

Fuck, Tim wanted it again.

After a moment of lying there, Danny muttered to him, “I need to go throw this away," regarding the condom. Tim blinked, still high off of the pleasure of his orgasm. Danny’s quick pivot felt abrupt and Tim struggled to focus.

“Shower?” Danny asked.

Tim turned his head to the man. “Sure.”

Tim allowed himself to be pulled out of the bed and towards the bathroom. It was a large shower, big enough for both of them to fit comfortably, with a bench far from the shower head.

Danny kissed him gently under the water, as they soaped themselves up. Tim’s head was still muddled from sex, but he could feel the rough lines of Danny’s scars underneath his hands. What had this very attractive man gone through to get these?

No.

Tim would not be a detective with Danny.

Danny hadn’t asked a single word about Tim’s scars, and Tim could give him the same courtesy.

“You okay?” Danny asked to Tim’s silence.

“Sorry,” Tim said, “Just lost in my own head. I’ve never done that before.”

Danny blinked rapidly. It was the first time Tim had seen the man the least bit off his game, “You’ve never done that before? Ancients, are you saying you’ve never – ”

“What? No!” Tim quickly cleared up that confusion, “Just that I have never had sex with someone who I just met.”

“Oh,” Danny smirked at him, “Glad to be your first then.”

Tim rolled his eyes at the man. They got out of the shower and Danny handed him a fluffy white towel.

“Stay the night?” Danny asked.

“No, I should go,” Tim quietly admitted. It was one thing to have sex with Danny. If the encounter had turned sour, Tim would have still been able to defend himself. However, falling asleep and laying unconscious next to him was a risk Tim wasn’t willing to take.

Danny looked at him with his piercing gaze. The man then just nodded and said, “Okay.”

Danny and he made their way back to the bedroom. Tim started putting back on his clothes, as Danny donned a pair of sweatpants.

“Do you want anything to drink before you leave? Coffee? Bourbon? Beer? Water?” Danny asked.

Tim blinked. He would absolutely like coffee. Damn, Bruce would utterly pissed if he knew Tim was about to agree to receiving a drink from someone he didn’t know.

“Decaf coffee would be great,” Tim answered. The man then wandered to the kitchen as Tim finished putting on his shoes. Tim took another glance around the room. There was a sleek black dresser with a couple of books sitting on top. A single framed photo of Danny and two women, one slightly older with red hair, and one about a decade younger who looked exactly like Danny.

Siblings, most likely. Tim forced himself to stop looking and left the bedroom. Danny wasn’t a case, and Tim needed to stop being a detective.

Danny was in the kitchen, prepping a French Press. Tim stuck his hands in his pockets and glanced around the open concept kitchen and living space. He focused on the three panel print above to leather couch. There was the moon in the center and scattered stars.

The living room opened to a balcony where Tim could see a high powered telescope peeking through the drapes. The apartment was clearly well designed, cohesive, and expensive. Whoever Danny was, he had the money to furnish the place, college student or not.

“How do you like your coffee?” Danny asked, behind him in the kitchen.

Tim was more than willing to be flexible on how he took his coffee. He actually liked the slightly bitter taste.

“Creamer, if you have it,” Tim answered turning back around to the man who rummaged through his fridge before pulling out vanilla creamer. He had put the coffee in a paper to-go cup like you would get at a coffee shop. Tim looked at it questioningly.

Danny shrugged, “It’s not the best for the environment, but my friends kept on stealing my to-go cups when they crash here, so I compromised.”

The way that Danny said the words friends implied a radically different definition of friends than Tim was used to. It also answered the question if his pick up of Tim was something he did regularly. Tim squashed down the feelings of jealousy; he didn't have any right to them at this point.

Danny help the coffee out to Tim, and he took a nice long sip. Perfect, Tim thought, Danny's coffee selection was exquisite.

Danny was leaned back in front of him against the kitchen island, sweats slung low exposing his scars and ink. Tim felt the urge to lick every single visible mark, but he squashed it down.

“Can I walk you back to wherever you’re going?” Danny asked, “Or give you a ride?”

Tim shook his head, “No, I live close.”

“Gotham is dangerous alone at night.”

Tim almost snorted. For one, he was a vigilante and had been for over a decade. Two, they were objectively in the least crime ridden area of all of Gotham and he was going one block.

“I’ll be fine, pretty boy,” Tim told him.

Danny’s blue eyes were unreadable. The man had clearly mastered the art of the thousand yard stare. Danny’s eyes flickered down to Tim’s neck and torso, lingering on the scar across his throat. Tim could only imagine the thoughts running through Danny’s head.

Thankfully, the man didn’t comment.

“Let me walk you to the entrance of the building, at least,” Danny compromised, then disappeared into the bedroom. He came out moments later with a t-shirt and slide-on shoes.

He opened the door, and Tim followed him out of the apartment.

“That was fun,” Danny commented.

Fun would be an odd word to describe the night. To Tim, it had been wild and intimate. Tim didn’t remember ever feeling that vulnerable, and with a stranger he had meet not even hours before.

“It was,” Tim agreed.

The elevator dinged and they stepped out into the lobby. Danny led him to the exit. Danny opened the door for him, gentlemanly. “Walk safe, or I’ll come haunt you.”

“Deal.”

“Goodnight, Tim.”

“Goodnight, Danny,” Tim uttered, as he turned and started walking down the street.

Tonight, had been a lot, but Tim felt relaxed and loose. Tim sipped on his hot coffee; his head lost in thought. He needed to sleep , eat, and focus on tomorrow’s mission.

When Tim clicked the keys into his empty apartment, he sighed. It felt good to be home, even if it was only him. The night lights of Gotham greeted him through his expansive living room windows. His piano called to Tim, seducing him to a lyrical reprieve. No, Tim needed to sleep and rest for tomorrow's mission.

Tim set the cup coffee cup down and blinked in surprise. Written in blocky script on the side of the cup was the name DANNY with a phone number.

Tim laughed. Cute.

Maybe, Tim thought, after the mission tomorrow he would text that number.

[1] I refuse to believe that Bruce Wayne doesn’t have a custom Gotham terrain model for mission briefing/debriefing.

[2] Gotham geography is a nightmare. The number of bridges in this city alone is terrifying. Additionally, Bruce’s response time to threats would be absolute shit for anything in the Somerset or Old Gotham.

[3] League of Assassins acronym. The bats would speak constantly in acronyms.

[4] I know nothing about the way that Duke Thomas fights…. Help!

[5] Refers to the level of threat for a nuclear/chemical/toxin attack.

[6] Casualty just refers to injury, not dead

Chapter Text

Hurry up and wait.

It was a phrase Alfred used at times, integrated in his vernacular from his time in the British Royal Air Force. In Tim’s opinion, the phrase applied to vigilante work. They didn’t expect Black Mask and Castillo’s men until at least sundown, but by the time Tim worked the timeline backwards, the operation consumed the entire day.

Tim cracked his eyes open to the modern light fixture hanging in his bedroom. He groaned and rolled over, regretting not setting an early alarm. Time sleeping was time wasted.

He pulled the pillow over his head. Maybe, Tim thought, if he just laid here, he wouldn’t have to face what the gossip rags wrote about him. Surely, they had pictures of him dancing with Danny.

He reached over for his phone and blinked in surprise.

Tim had algorithms set-up so that any mention of him, Bruce, and the Wayne family at large would go to a specific app on his phone. There was nothing. Well, not nothing, nothing. There had been a picture of him sitting at the bar with Dick, rating their outfits.

However, not a word about him dancing with a mysterious stranger.

Tim let out a breath of relief. That was a conversation he didn’t feel like having with Bruce.

Tim looked at the clock which showed 0900. He shook the sleep off and got dressed for a quick run. By around 1000, Tim was showered, dressed, coffee in hand, checking emails. By 1100, Tim’s conversation with the FBI confirming the plan for the evening was complete. By 1300, Tim was barreling on his motorcycle to Bristol.

Tim was the first one in the Cave, and he inhaled the silence that he knew was soon to be shattered. Tim pulled up the mission report and plan, glancing over it one last time.

“It’s a straight forward operation, but something feels off,” Tim said.

Tim didn’t need to turn around to hear the click of Bruce’s footsteps as he stalked up to the computer with Tim.

“Why do you say that?” Bruce asked him.

“It seems too simple. Neither Sionis nor Castillo are seemly tipped off about our plan. We’re working with a full crew – no one is injured, and we have no personnel gaps. The FBI has been cooperative with the Justice League. It feels eerie. Years ago, it would have just been you and a Robin, taking on all of them, no back-up, no government assistance…”

“We don’t operate like that anymore,” Bruce said, “And I, for one, am grateful for that.” 

“I am too,” Tim agreed, “But at the same time, this substance is different and clearly connected to the Lazarus Pits. What if I’m wrong and we’re going to walk in there and find Ra’s al Ghul waiting for us?”

“Which is why we’ve got the whole team involved,” Bruce responded easily, “You did the analysis and threat assessment, and it’s a correct one. I signed off on it. Don’t underestimate yourself or your intelligence.”

“Thanks, B,” Tim responded softly.

Over the last few years, Bruce has gotten better. A better father. A better leader. A better person. Maybe Bruce had softened with age. Maybe having all of his children alive, talking to him, had taught him to hold onto his family. Maybe falling through time had been the wake-up call Bruce needed to make an effort to love his family in the way that they deserved.

Maybe it was all of the above.

Regardless, Tim sometimes didn’t know how to act around the new and improved Bruce Wayne. Tim felt like he would close his eyes and be thirteen again, mother dead and father in a coma, and the only person in his life that cared about him was the man he had blackmailed into caring.

Tim remembered that Bruce Wayne, that Batman. The one with cold and calculating eyes that had Tim redoing the same techniques on the training mat until Tim fainted from exhaustion.

The Batman that lectured Tim as his bandaged his wrist after he had fucked up by reacting too slowly during patrol. Bruce coldly told Tim that night that he wasn’t good enough, that he had to be better, or he would die.

Tim remembered the days when Bruce never hugged Tim, never kissed his forehead, or ruffled his hair. That Batman ended patrols staring unblinkingly at a computer screen, expecting a young child to stay up all night working case files and still function at school. That Batman had never truly wanted Tim in his life.

Tim had spent years watching Batman and Robin through the end of a telescoping lens. He knew that Batman could be kind, caring, and affectionate. Tim had looked up to his Robin, young Jason Todd, like a priest praying at an altar. When Jason had died, he had done everything in his power not to let Batman ruin his legacy because Robin deserved better.

Tim in many ways had gotten the worst of Bruce.

Dick had the young and hopeless first-time father, too relaxed in his rules because he didn’t know better. Then, too strict as he didn’t know how to love a child growing into an adult. Jason had the Bruce settled in that wanted to do better, be a father, but was still learning.

Damian got the Bruce with years of parenting experience, who had finally decided to be a dad. Bruce now was kind, patient, and ultimately fair.

Tim got a grieving broken man, rejecting family for fear of ending up alone.

Because of that, Bruce and Tim’s relationship was different than the rest of them. Bruce knew it too. Three years ago, Bruce had gotten drunk with Tim. He had cried real tears and told him how sorry he was for how he treated Tim growing up; that he had treated Tim the worst of any of them in the Robin suit.

Dick, of course, Bruce had treated the worst as an adult. Even Tim wouldn’t argue that. Jason probably won the most-contentious title for all-around treatment.

But Tim’s time with Batman as Robin had been brutal.   

Tim had rejected the apology at first, anger welling inside of him. Bruce had made it his responsibility to forgive Bruce, just as he had done for all of Bruce’s other emotions. Tim held strong onto the reality of Bruce’s treatment and didn’t back down.

Young Tim deserved justice.

Adult Tim deserved a somewhat better relationship with his only surviving parent.

Bruce took Tim’s anger, when he did decide to present it, with acceptance.  Bruce deserved Tim’s anger. Bruce deserved all of their anger.

However, at the end of the day, Tim knew now that Bruce loved him. Tim loved Bruce. They were father and son.

Bruce must have been clued into Tim’s thoughts because he started at him intently. Bruce opened his mouth as if he was about to say something but was interrupted by Jason’s booming voice singing some Broadway musical.

“I’m not throwing away my shot, I am not throwing my shot, I’m just like my country, I’m young scrappy and hungry, and I’m –”

“Good afternoon, Jason,” Bruce said patiently, “It’s nice of you to announce your presence.”

“You know I live to please you, B.”

Bruce didn’t dignify the statement with a response but gave Tim a look, and Tim sighed and turned off the monitor.

Jason settled in front of his weapons cage. While B still wasn’t pleased by the gun usage, he had lightened up over the last few years. Jason agreed to, at least mostly, using non-lethal rounds. Bruce had, in turn, supplied Jason with pretty much any firearm his heart desired.

While there were commercial weapon systems designed for non-lethality, such as beanbag shotguns and the Arwen 37, Jason preferred other modified platforms.

Jason pulled out the M240B Medium Machine Gun and cycled through functions checks. He also pulled out two AR-15s that he leaned against the wall.  

Tim checked over his own gear. The weather was supposed to be mild that evening so he selected his mid-weather suit. Wool t-shirt and running short base layers were covered first by thin Kevlar plates that strapped around his midsection and thighs. Then, the ultra-high-molecular-weight polyethylene fiber fabric[1] that Wayne Enterprises had patented made up the exterior of his suit, with breathable panels intermixed. The fabric was functionally cut proof and moderately bulletproof.

It had been a major upgrade for all of them and had been a pet project of Tim’s over the last few years. He had been thrilled about the launch last spring, and WE had already cornered the market for the military, and hopefully soon, NASA contracts.

Black wool socks slipped underneath his boots. He gear checked his utility belt. Three smoke grenades and two flash bangs made up the pouches on the left. His gas mask had been folded tightly into the pouch sitting behind his right hip. Two tourniquets, his medical kit, and back-up comm gear, sat on his right side. Tim filled up his water bottle and slipped it into its carrier on his belt. He also grabbed an extra set of gloves and clipped them in.[2]

Always have an extra set of gloves.[3]

Finally, Tim grabbed his grapple and secured it to its position on his belt.

They were all suited up, out the door, and at the docks by 1530. Bikes stashed relative to their intended posts. They all tried to keep as low a profile as possible. Getting spotted now could blow the entire operation.

They arranged themselves in a line, each person taking a side of the north/south oriented street. Nightwing hugged the water line, searching for any civilians by the docks. Red Hood swept the warehouse side of the dockside walkway.

Batman, Robin, and Red Robin set off to do their final recon of the Dock 1 warehouse. Spoiler and Black Bat swept the Gotham side roads.

Because their uniforms were giant blinking lights during the day, Babs sent drones ahead of them, preemptively clearing the areas for their movements.

Nightwing’s comm crackled over his ear, “Fisherman on personal boat on Dock 2. Staying back. Will monitor.”

“Copy that,” Tim responded.

Oracle’s voice came in, “Left entrance to warehouse is clear. No indication of BM’s men in the building from the already staged drones.”

The three of them moved swiftly to the entrance, staking up next to the door. Even if O reported the warehouse was clear, they still followed protocol. Robin tapped his shoulder, indicating he was in position. The most dangerous position in room clearing was the point man. Batman, of course, insisted that he take point.

Tim crouched down and picked the lock. He heard the internal mechanism click. Silently, he stood up. Robin and he staged on the right side of the door away from the hinges. B staged on the left. Tim met B’s eyes and got a slight nod, indicating they were ready.

Tim turned around, twisted the knob, and kicked it open, hard. Batman button-hooked inside of the building and Tim immediately took the opposite side, tracing to the right corner. Robin followed last, entering center.

B announced, “Left clear.”

“Right clear,” Tim stated.

Robin scanned up, “Center and ceiling clear.”

They methodically started sweeping the room, searching under furniture and in closets. Tim staged two remote detonating smoke grenades and a flash bang.

They convened in the center of the warehouse. Tim had been in the warehouse when he had emplaced the drones earlier that week and had already done a preliminary recon. It was good for B and Robin to get eyes on it as well. He counted the two exits that would get barricaded, the garage door that opened to the docks, the stairwell to the roof, and all the obstacles on the ground.

“Robin, analysis,” B promoted.

Damain tutted, clearly annoyed that Bruce felt the need to test his skills after holding the Robin position for five years.

Regardless, Damian answered, “We are most vulnerable when out in the open coming down the stairs. The sideway stairs, however, mean we can grapple off them. Drones are set to drop smoke as soon as we pop the door. Since the intent is to flush out, depending on the location of the men in the warehouse, we should arrange in a line and drive them towards the garage.”

Batman hummed in response. It was the right answer, of course.

“How do you think they will react?” Tim asked.

Damian gave Tim what he presumed was a sharp look through the mask. “Castillo’s men will flee. They don’t have any experience with Gotham’s vigilantes and at that point they will have the money. BM will order his men to stand and fight.”

Tim nodded at Robin in agreement. He tapped his comms, almost in habit even if it functionally did nothing. “Batman, Robin and Red extracting. Warehouse secure of civilian presence.”

They echeloned out. As soon as they were clear of the building, Tim demanded into the comms, “Security team report.”

“Three surrounding blocks swept and clear, no civilians in cordon except for the man N had eyes on,” Spolier’s voice was clear and emotionless.

“Civilian is leaving now,” Nightwing added, “Starting his boat up.”

“Roger. Fall back to positions,” Tim ordered.

Red Robin, Batman, and Robin scaled up the building they were using to overwatch their objective. Hood and Nightwing fell back to their Support by Fire position, and the ladies split back to their respective security positions.

Now, the waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

And more waiting.

It was barely 1600, and they didn’t expect anyone until at least 1830.

Babs had moved a drone to a likely avenue of approach for BM’s vehicles. However, they still needed to do watch rotations.

Red Robin said, “I’ll take first watch, then Batman, then Robin. Time now is 1607, rotate on the hour.” Batman silently sat down, back against the midwall of the building, pulled out his phone which unfolded into a tablet, and started to, presumably, do some work.

Tim announced over comms, “Watch rotation in effect. Hundred percent security posture at 1830.”

Robin pulled a switch from his utility belt. It would be awhile.

Red scanned the street, eyes scanning avenues of approach, while his team rested. His mind wandered to the man from the night before. He felt embarrassed on principle. They had barely spoken to each other before, or after, they had sex. At the same time, it had been nice to do something not related to his vigilantism. Even Tim’s position at WE was, at his core, about funding the Wayne Family Trust and the JLA.

Tim had mixed feelings on just how much fucking money that Bruce funneled towards the JLA. On the one hand, there were other billionaires out there other than Bruce Wayne. Oliver Queen, for example, may not be on quite the same echelon, but he certainly could contribute.

On the other hand, he deeply understood Bruce’s desire to maintain control of JLA funding. Money bought influence, after all.

However, Tim was pushing to increase funds tied to the JLA contracts with the U.S. Government and United Nations to act as a peacekeeping force. His current work with the Code of Conduct would greatly increase JLA access to non-Wayne family funds.

Tim, through his work with the Wayne Foundation, had increased attorney participation on contract negotiation with governments. Further, he had insisted that the JLA go after the trademarks for the JLA to procure royalties relating to usage of their likeness.

Tim’s involvement hadn’t made him very popular with his childhood heroes, but it had created at least some income stream for the JLA that didn’t depend on the generosity of the Wayne Family.

Tim wasn’t sure that he wanted to see Danny again, but regardless, last night had proven to him that he wanted something for himself outside of this lifestyle.

Batman tapped on his shoulder. Watch shift rotation.

Tim sat down next to Damian. Damian was engrossed in his game. Tim imagined Jason reading whatever book he was in the middle of or Dick listening to a true crime podcast. He took a moment to silently apologize to Steph and Cass as, due to their disaggregated positions, they would be on security the entire time. He knew that meant Steph was likely to put him on the most shit duty as possible for the next operation.

He promised, in his head, that he would not breathe a word of complaint.

Tim leaned back against the rooftop wall and closed his eyes.

Vigilante rules, sleep when you can.

He drifted into a semi-sleep state. Next thing he knew, Damian’s boot shook him awake.

Tim took a split second to orient himself and checked his watch to confirm the 1830 time. He cleared his throat then directed, “Security posture check,” over the comms.

“Support up,” Jason’s voice immediately announced.

“Security pos one up, no civilians reported,” Cass announced.

“Security position two up, no civilians, no visual of BM’s vehicles,” Steph added.

“I tapped into the civilian cameras on all the surrounding bridges. No visual of Castillo’s men.”

Silence followed as they waited on full alert. Games and books were put away. Everyone’s eyes were trained on a different avenue of approach. The only noise over the comms were people’s breathing and shuffling. The sun fell out of the sky and dusk settled in. The Bat and Birds slid into the long shadows of the building.

B had taught them all to love the cover of the night. They all switched their lenses in their masks to night vision as the darkness settled in.[4]

“I have eyes on BM in route to Dock. ETA is 15 minutes,” Oracle told them, and they all responded in acknowledgement.

BM’s black sedans arrived on the scene. His men started to unload boxes, most likely containing the cash to pay for the Powdered Death. Tim counted off ten goons, Tattoo, and Sionis himself. Three drivers stayed behind with the vehicles.

“I have visual on Castillo’s boat,” O updated, “ETA is 30 minutes.”

The warehouse doors closed. Not five minutes later, two men took post on the roof with semi-automatic weapons. They all ducked down, out of sight.

“Take cover,” Tim stated, although they all knew the drill, “O, SITREP[5] on what’s going on inside the warehouse.”

“They’re unloading the cash onto a desk. I’ll update you on the timeline of Castillo’s men. Red Robin, routing you into the warehouse comms now.”

Then, voices started filtering into Tim’s right comm. Black Mask was giving orders on where to place the Powdered Death once it arrived. He took a mental note of the placement for later. Time otherwise passed in silence.

“Castillo’s men arrived,” O stated. Everyone tensed.

“Hold,” Red ordered, “Let the exchange happen.”

“Routing comm and video to FBI,” O added, “I’m in contact with Agent Greer. I will let you know when I have the all clear for you to engage.”

“Copy that.”

Tim waited, hearing Sionis’ false cheer in his right ear, expressing the excitement of getting the substance and how popular it had become with the college girls.

Tim gritted his teeth, remembering the students that had passed.

Money was handed over. The substance was offloaded. In total, the exchange took 48 minutes.

Tim felt tense, waiting with bated breath. Nerves tingled down to his fingertips, and he itched to jump into the fight.

Finally, O told them, “Sufficient evidence. You have been cleared hot by FBI to engage.”

Tim paused. He could hear everyone’s slow breathing over the comms waiting for his call to begin the engagement.

“Support by Fire, engage,” Tim ordered.

Then, moments later, a thunk was heard as the first rubber round impacted one of the snipers.

“Fuck,” the man groaned in pain, which Tim could hear from drone audio, “What the hell was that?” Then, a flash bang erupted on the roof.

Chaos could be heard over the comms inside the warehouse. Castillo’s men were accusing BM of double crossing them with law enforcement.

Black Bat and Spoiler synonymously with the flash bang distracting the men on the roof. They still popped smoke to obscure their ground movements further, keeping them safe from sniper fire. Within thirty seconds, Black Bat had pulled one of them men from the vehicles and had him subdued on the ground. Spoiler moved quickly to barricade the two doors.

One of the other drivers abandoned his vehicle and fled towards Gotham’s streets.

“Let him go,” Tim commanded.

Cass began work to disable the vehicles.

“Assault engaging,” Tim stated, “Hood, increase rates of fire.”

Inside the building Sionis, was ordering his men to begin loading the substance into their vehicles. Soon they would realize that the doors were barricaded.

Tim glanced at B and gave a nod. In sync, they all leapt up from their covered position. Jason and Dick were firing rapidly as the men on the rooftop fought the onslaught of rubber bullets and flash bangs. Dick had gotten better at the 320[6], that was for sure.

They landed safely on the roof, Tim snapping out his bō staff. They used the momentum of their grapple movement, to launch into an attack against the two goons. Both men were discombobulated from the flash bangs, and went down quickly.

Damian swept over their bodies, locking their hands into flex cuffs.

Without pausing, they maneuvered towards the door to the stairwell into the warehouse. They staked up and kicked it in, launching inside of the building. O had already detonated the smoke and stun grenades allowing the coverage for the assault team to enter the warehouse and decrease their vulnerability on the stairwell.  

Sometimes Tim felt he worked more on instinct than thought in combat.  

Years of training and experience allowed him to anticipate enemy moves. They spent no time on the stairway, immediately launching their grapples against the far wall swinging down to the far side against the exit doors.

“They’re demons,” a man cursed in Peruvian Spanish. Castillo’s men turned and ran through the open garage door towards the docks.

“Batman!” Sionis shouted over the chaos, “You and your little minions will pay for this. Men, kill them.”

Batman, Robin, and him engaged in the fight. Tim had switched his mask over to thermal to counteract the smoke that filled the room. Wild gunshots erupted around them but none of them hit their mark through the haze. Within sixty seconds, half of Black Mask’s men were ineffective on the floor. Sionis started to order retreat. They all fled out of the warehouse.

Robin, Batman, and Red continued to push forward, flanking the men and directing them by their presence to retreat towards the garage door.

Once they all cleared the warehouse, Tim heard Jason over comms, “They tried to flee north towards our position. Covered with prohibitory fire. They turned around and fled towards Castillo’s boat. Currently, loading onto the boat.”

Tim knew that Jason’s sentences were purposefully clipped over the comms to maximize information in the least amount of time.

Tim smirked at the description of BM and Castillo’s men’s actions. Perfect.

Nightwing added, “All men are on the boat, boat is leaving the dock now.”

The three assault team members exited the warehouse. Tim watched as the boat left the dock, motoring straight into the waiting hands of the FBI. They watched in silence as the boat drove towards the bridge, then giant spotlights lit up the harbor.

A booming voice announced over speakers that Tim could hear even from the shore, “This is the FBI. You are under arrest for trafficking illegal substances. Turn off the boat engine and prepare for boarding.”

For half a minute it seemed like BM and Castillo’s men were going to attempt to fight out of the situation. Then, Castillo’s boat light shut off in surrender. They had done it.

Then, Tim heard a sudden gasp over the comms from O. Everyone tensed, expecting orders to engage in some additional fight.

“Red Robin,” Oracle’s voice seemed surprised and shocked, which was uncommon for Babs, “You need to go into the warehouse and see this.”

Tim didn’t ask what or why. He turned back to the warehouse and ran back inside. Where there had been hundreds of kilos of cut cocaine, now sat empty. It was gone. It was all gone.

“O, what happened?” Red asked, his brain spinning. All the men had been flushed out of the warehouse. All exits had been sealed. The only way in and out should have been the garage door they were currently blocking. It was impossible. It should have been impossible.  

“I don’t know,” Oracle admitted, her voice breathy, “It just disappeared on the feed.”

--- --

Daniel Fenton’s existence changed irrevocably after his fight with Pariah Dark.

Prior to that, he had been somewhat normal, or as normal as a half ghost, half human could be. But after?

Danny could still feel the echoes of his core cracking and his soul shattering. If he recoiled into himself, Danny could trace the vestiges of what used to be his humanity. The sharp, jagged edges raw against the inside of his form. Danny hadn’t died, but he was no longer human.

It was the ultimate irony that the state of Danny’s soul was one of the few matters that his power couldn't fix, and he had tried, oh how he had tried.

From the moment that Danny had defeated the Ghost King, Danny went from half-ghost teenager living a middling life in Amity Park to becoming an ancient being, the manifestation of the cycle of life and death, an arbitrator of universal balance, the High King of the Infinite Realms, and one of, if not the, most powerful beings in existence.

He still couldn’t fix the state of his own soul.

Human souls were not designed to live forever. Ghost cores were not intended to host unimaginable power. Human minds were not born to comprehend infinity. Danny’s mind had been no different. Clockwork had whisked him away from the aftermath of the fight, as Danny had been catatonic and non-responsive.

The fucked-up part was, Danny had never been fated to be just Danny Fenton. Time was a flat circle. Pariah Dark had been one of a series of placeholders and the destined trigger for Danny to become what he had, in many ways, always been.

The fifteen-year-old woke up surrounded by the Observants. Every universe and time had acknowledged his ascension. Danny had merged with the Infinite Realms itself, and there was no being in the known existence with the power or will to deny a command given by Danny.  

The Infinite Realms was the glue that held existence together. It was the bridge between life and death, holding the access points to both the living word and kingdoms of the dead.

The Infinite Realms held every afterlife to every universe across known existence. It was the entropic mechanism that birthed new universes into existence and ate the dying ones. It was infinite. Contrary to the name, there were a finite number of resources in known existence. However, every dying universe birthed another. Every soul that faded into the ectoplasmic goo that was the tapestry of death gave energy and sparked life. It was infinite because it was a never-ending cycle.

Danny was the spinner of that tapestry.

The fifteen-year-old failing sophomore English had been fated to control the flow of cosmic energy for eternity. Danny’s humanity had been stripped from him in a much more intimate and all-encompassing way than becoming a full ghost.

One of Danny’s forms currently floated at the edge of the known existence, staring into the abyss. There was little ectoplasm this fringe to the Infinite Realms. Most beings would not be able to sustain their stay for long.

Danny summoned Fright Knight with a thought.

The ghost stepped through a portal behind him and kneeled in subservience.

“My Liege,” the ghost stated reverently.

Danny glanced over at the entity considering. Fright Knight had been born to a universe much different than Danny’s home world; a feudalist structured society well past the industrial revolution where survival was predicated on power to control others. Danny had visited that universe. It was not pleasant.

Not all ghosts had once been living, and not all living became ghosts. Fright Knight, however, had once been human.

“I have seized from a human universe a substance that mimics the effects of ghosthood. Someone is synthesizing a substance that attempts to merge the state of life and death.”

“That is concerning, my Liege,” Fright Knight acknowledged. It was concerning. Halfas were not part of the natural cycle. By all accounts, Danny, Ellie, and Vlad should not exist. They were, in fact, the only beings in the known existence that held that state. It went against the natural order and the cycle of life and death.

They were abominations.

Danny frowned, “It originates from my birth world. I fear someone is trying to create halfas, and maybe an army of halfas.”

“Your birth world,” Fright Knight echoed flatly.

Danny’s birth universe had a reputation for creating powerful beings. It was one of the few where truly superpowered beings existed.

“I am investigating on my Earth. I request that you do an investigation to discern if there are any ghosts sowing discontent and treason.”

“Are you going to inform the Council of Kings? The Observants? Your advisors?”

“Let me handle my staff and the Council. I want to keep this information between us unless I say otherwise,” Danny responded sharply. He did not want to create any tension within the Council. Furthermore, if anyone knew anything about the substance, Danny would treat them with suspicion. The less people that knew, the more valuable the information became.

“Understood, my liege. May I post invisible guards on your human form?”

“No, I have already told you –” Danny snapped.

“– you are vulnerable –” Fright Knight protested.

“– that I will not have any guards on my human form.”

“My Liege,” Fright Knight said softly, “As you always say, you are all powerful, but you are not all knowing. You cannot be alert at all times. When you are human, you are most at risk.”

“I cannot die.” Danny stated simply.

“Pariah Dark could not either and yet he was imprisoned.”

“I understand you are concerned as it is your position to be. However, my decision on this is final. I will not have guards on my human form. You must content yourself with guarding the form I maintain at the Isle of Infinity[7].”

Fright Knight stood still, as if he was considering pushing the matter further.

“You are dismissed,” Danny told him.

The Knight bowed deeply, stood up, stepped back and did an abrupt about facing movement into a portal he summoned. Danny sighed and turned back to the black abyss. In many ways, he felt the most at peace at the edge. There had been times – dark, terrible times – when Danny had considered just pushing off into it and letting his body wander.

Danny could not die, in his human or ghost form. He had tried, many times, to end his own life in the years that followed his ascension. His mind had been in shambles. He had lost his sense of self. He was under an enormous amount of pressure and had more power than most beings could even comprehend. Yet, Danny had wanted to go back to just being Danny, or alternatively, not being Danny at all.

Danny allowed the body to linger at the edge. He maintained many bodies at once. They were not all copies, truly, as there was no original. At the very least, he maintained a human form on Earth and a Ghost form on the Isle of Infinity. This was for many reasons.

To begin with, Danny’s ascension almost made it necessary for him to split forms. The fewer forms he had, the more concentrated his power was in his bodies. It made it hard for others to be around him. A single vessel concentrated with the entire mass of his almost infinite power turned everyone around him into worshiping zombies, responding to his needs and wants as if they were orders. It also meant that Danny’s power was more responsive. A passing thought of hunger could cause a feast to appear in front of him. A passing thought of anger could end a life.

The more forms he kept, the more human Danny felt in many ways. In other ways, the more inhuman.

So, Danny kept at least kept the two forms, but over the last few years it averaged more about eight to twelve at once. Normal human consciousness couldn’t comprehend what it was like, nor had a word for it. The best example was a room with twelve TVs going at once. You could focus in on one screen and start to pick up the words coming from it and interpret the scenes. The other TVs were still going in the background.

Danny could comprehend and be attuned to every single one of his forms at once, but some actions and activities took more focus.

While Danny could keep multiple human copies, something inside of him revolted. For reasons, he generally only kept one of his forms as a human, and in that form, he tried to live as close to a normal life as possible. He rarely used his powers and hadn’t changed to a ghost in that body in years.

Danny had never admitted to anyone that he viewed his human body as the real him, and everything else as not. Jazz could probably tell him why if he ever talked to her about it.

Danny shifted his attention to his human form that was grading a project that students had turned in for the Entry Level Engineering course Danny was TA-ing for that semester. As part of his PHD at Gotham U, he taught some of the early course work.

Deep in the Infinite Realms, one of him argued with the Observants over the course of a dying universe. Another one of him bartered a treaty between two death gods. A third him spent time on an Earth that had entered a global Ice Age where people lived mostly underground.

They were like background static noise to him.

He stared down at the paper he was marking, feeling frustration with the freshman engineering student’s lack of care and effort. This body had been marking papers for over two hours and was tired.

Danny pulled out his phone and called Jazz. Jazz answered on the third ring.

“Hi Danny,” Jazz answered easily.

“Hey Jazz, how are you?”

“I’m doing fine. You never call out of the blue unless something is wrong. What’s wrong?” She asked, exasperated.

“What? I can’t ask my older sister how she is doing?”

“Danny.”

Danny hummed. Jazz had been the one to find him in the Infinite Realms almost two years after Danny had been pulled into the realms by Clockwork after his defeat of Pariah Dark. That Danny had almost lost all semblance of what it meant to be human.

Jazz had been the one to find him after his third suicide attempt in a bathtub in the shitty little apartment he had rented in San Deigo when he attended University of California, San Diego for his undergrad. Jazz had picked him up and thrown him on his feet multiple times over.

Deep down inside Danny feared that she resented all that she had done for him. She rarely, if ever, asked for anything from him in return.

“Jazz, I think I fucked up,” he admitted, “Just a little bit.”

“What did you do?” she asked, voice patient and neutral.

“Well, I know how you disapprove of my tendencies towards casual sex.”

“It’s not that I disapprove Danny. You’re an adult, as long as you’re safe, it’s your business. What I disapprove of is you replacing actual human connection with sex.”

“Anyways,” Danny skipped over that landmine of a topic. “I picked up a guy a couple of days ago, Tim Drake-Wayne.”

“As in the billionaire tech CEO?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Super cute in person. Anyways, it was easy and casual. You’ll be proud of me; I even gave him my number. I am trying to forge human connection as you have been badgering me to,” his voice got teasing at the last sentence, “but I’ve also been tracking down this drug that killed one of my students at Gotham U. It’s laced with goddamn ectoplasm.”

“That’s…” she paused on the other side of the phone, “That’s wild. What does it do? You said it’s fatal?”

“Sometimes,” Danny answered, “But most of the time it gives people the temporary experience of being a ghost. People are reporting that they can leave their body and float over the city. Best I can understand is that someone is trying to synthesize a drug to turn people into halfas. This is not good Jazz.”

“No, it’s really not,” she agreed. “I know you don’t really talk to them, but you might want to loop in Mom and Dad.”

“I’ll… think about it.”

His parents. Another landmine of a conversation Danny wanted to avoid.

“Last night I sensed a shipment coming into the city at the docks down by the University. I took the shipment.”

“Okay,” she prompted.

“The Gotham vigilantes were there: Batman and gang. They're as impressive in person as the media makes them out to be. You should have seen Red Robin with the staff, lethal, but like also not, if you know what I mean,” Danny ran his hands through his hair. He had waited until the vigilantes had left the warehouse before making the shipment invisible and phasing it into the Infinite Realms.

“Red Robin is one of the former Robins?” she asked, “I don’t really follow the Gotham vigilante gossip.”

“I believe so,” Danny responded, “And get this, his soul signature was the same as Tim's. Twenty-three-year-old billionaire tech CEO Timothy Drake-Wayne has been a vigilante since he was at the very least thirteen. Which means, like, Batman has to be Bruce Wayne?”

“I have no idea,” Jazz said, “But yeah, the logic would follow.”

“The cute guy I had sex with and gave my number to – mind you, the first person I have given my number to in years Jazz – is a goddamn superhero.”

“I fail to see how you fucked up,” Jazz said patiently.

“I don’t like to complicate things in my human life,” Danny pouted.

“No, instead you live like a ghost, no friends, no social life, all school and martial arts. The only people you talk to are Ellie and I at our Sunday meetups. You don’t even call Sam and Tucker anymore.”

“Ghosts have friends,” Danny pointed out.

“Exactly!”

“Jazz…” Danny sighed, “I am trying.”

“I know you are Danny,” she said softly, “I just worry about you. You deserve to be human. What are you concerned about regarding Tim? It sounds like you might have actually found someone that might understand the weight you’ve had on your shoulders for the last decade.”

“I don’t think anyone could understand it,” Danny told her, “Nor would I wish it on my worse enemies.”

“Let it play out,” she advised, “Complicated is okay sometimes. I want more for you Danny.”

Danny fell silent for a moment. Part of him wanted to argue and point out how many ways that could go disastrously wrong.

For one, Danny had worked hard to keep the Infinite Realms off the JLA radar. It wasn’t like there was much they could do, but Danny would be the last one to underestimate the ability of even one motivated human. And the JLA had many motivated humans and non-humans alike.

For two, Danny couldn’t imagine anyone would want to be with him if they understood the devastating breadth of his powers. How could anyone trust Danny wasn’t manipulating and controlling them? Danny was infinite power. It would hardly be a healthy relationship dynamic.

Rather than voice any of his concerns, he asked, “How’s Ellie?”

“The same as when you saw her last Sunday. Going to school. Has she told you that she’s looking at Gotham U?”

“No, she hasn’t mentioned that.”

“I think she’s still deciding if she wants to be in your shadow at school. She loves you and wants to be near you, but…”

“She is also deeply entangled in my identity and wants to establish her own. I know Jazz, we have had this conversation many, many times,” Danny said exasperated.

“I know,” Jazz said, “She’s just my baby Danny. I’ve raised her. It’s hard.” Jazz had taken in Ellie when Danny had disappeared. Jazz was such an unbelievably strong woman. At eighteen she left home, paid her way through college, and had taken in an eight-year-old. Or two-year-old, depending on how you perceived Ellie’s age.

On top of that, Jazz never stopped looking for Danny.

“You could talk to her. Tell her that I would be happy to give her a tour of the campus,” Danny offered.

“You should tell her that,” Jazz countered.

Danny and Ellie tended to yell at each other when they tried to talk about emotions. Ellie, in many ways, resented Danny. She had every right to her feelings. Danny had all but abandoned her in the beginning. Then, later, Danny had also chosen to make peace with Vlad. That was a betrayal in its own right.

Danny, in Ellie’s mind, was her father, and goddamn had Danny failed at that role.

When Jazz had found seventeen-year-old Danny in the Infinite Realms, he had been a fucked-up suicidal almost young adult with no sense of self. Hardly older brother material, much less father material.

Ten-year-old Ellie had deserved so, so much more than him.

“I miss her,” Danny said as if he hadn’t spent the entire Sunday in Metropolis with Jazz and Ellie at the art museum.

“You should tell her that too,” Jazz pointed out.

“Yeah, I should,” Danny agreed.

“Danny, unfortunately, I do have to go. I have some work to get done before Ellie gets home,” Jazz told him.

“I understand, thanks for listening, Jazz,” Danny told her.

“I love you,” Jazz said.

“Love you too, sis,” Danny responded easily. The line clicked off as the call dropped. Danny glanced around his apartment. Everything was in place. Danny felt present in the apartment. He had class in the morning and taught his kickboxing class on Tuesdays.

He liked his life. It was simple, easy. Then, why did Danny feel so alone? Why did it gnaw on his insides like a demon telling him that he would never be loved for who he was? Why did Danny stare longingly at the abyss and fight the urge to step off into it? Why was Danny so repelled by the idea of human connection, but at the same time, craved it like it was the last drop of water in the desert?

Danny focused back on his grading. Maybe Tim would call him back. Maybe he wouldn’t.

Jazz was right, though. Danny had spent so long pushing everyone in his human life away that he barely had anything. He needed to live.

Danny promised himself right then and there, that if Tim texted him back, he would respond.

[1] Supposedly this is real. Spectra Fabric is what it’s called. I cannot find videos testing the fabric.

[2] I refuse to give Tim the cross bandoliers that some of his comics costumes have. What the fuck is the point? He’s not a gunner. He doesn’t have a need for 7.62 ammo. I can’t think of anything worth adding the weight/bulk to the chest area. Full kit for them would already at least be 20-30lbs.  

[3] Hard learned field lesson. Gloves are life. They tear and they get wet. Your hands keep you being able to perform and your feet keep you being able to move. You need to protect them both. ALWAYS HAVE BACKUP GLOVES WHEN DOING ANYTHING TACTICAL.

[4] Night vision sucks. It’s hard to discern shapes, bulky on your head, and – at least the ones I’ve used – have a single distance focal point. I am hand-waving that for this universe. The bats have the most top of the line night vision known to man that can fit into the thin lens of their masks. Comics logic.

[5] Stands for Situation Report.

[6] Miniature grenade launcher.

[7] I’m adding a lot of made up lore to the Ghost Zone, so hang with me. This is essentially Danny’s seat of power.

Chapter Text

Embrace the suck.

It was a good lesson to learn as a vigilante because being a superhero was a lot of fucking work and a lot of it sucked.

Gotham vigilantes worked on a schedule, like they were high schoolers bickering over what shift they were picking up at the local ice cream shop.

Sunday night through Thursday night, they patrolled from sundown to around 0100. Obviously, time of year changed how many hours that totaled. Right now, it was around five hours as sunset settled around 2000.

The “weeknight patrols” as they were called, had three different constantly shifting patrol routes, covered by three people. Babs had designed the routes so that no single person was ever more than fifteen minutes away from another if help was needed.

Friday and Saturday night, they patrolled from sundown to around 0300 or 0400. There were only two patrol routes on these evenings, with buddy teams covering down due to the increased risk on weekend nights.

All in all, there are 23 patrol shifts that required coverage each week.

Bruce took five. Damian, on the other hand, only took three. Bruce insisted on only one weeknight patrol shift during the school year.

Where was that when I was Robin, Tim had bitterly thought to himself. But he also couldn’t feel it in him to be angry as he agreed with Bruce on this one.

Tim covered down on around four. Jason had agreed to two, had told them only during the week, I still have fucking shit to do in Crime Alley, old man.

Jason had privately told Tim that he had been kicking around changing his moniker. He had been slowly becoming known as more aligned with the heroes which Jason didn’t want connected to his crime boss activities. Which, Tim figured was fair if one cared about their crime empire, or their superhero reputation.

Spoiler, Signal, Black Bat picked up the rest, each covering down on three shifts a week.

Nightwing showed up in Gotham sometimes when they were short during the week, but he had Bludhaven to worry about. Usually, it happened when one of them was sick and needed a last minute tap-in replacement. It also usually required an in-turn payment of them taking a Bludhaven shift for Dick.

Babs was pretty fair in who got what days, and the schedule came out two Fridays in advance. Just like a high school job, there was a portal for them to fill out their availabilities each week. Tim, unfortunately, had work responsibilities that took him out of the country. Babs had to account for that almost monthly.

Of course, four evening shifts a week seemed pretty manageable.

However, that was just the beat patrols. Then came the case responsibilities. Bruce assigned them based on level of difficulty and security. Tim, of course, usually got assigned to the hard and time-consuming ones. Which was fair, considering he had been a Robin and Tim enjoyed case work.

Tim also had his own cases he didn’t tell Bruce about. Cases that, for one reason or another, Tim felt Batman’s knowledge or overwatch would hinder.

Then, there was also the sheer amount of training that being a vigilante required. Tim wasn’t graced like Jason was with a naturally fit physique. No, Tim had to fucking work at it.

During the week, Tim stayed at the Penthouse and usually woke around 0630 to workout, so matter how late he dragged his body in from patrol. Tuesday and Thursdays were cardio and Monday, Wednesday, Friday was some form of lifting. Tim tried to get a run in on the weekend as well, but was shit about following through on that one.

Sue him, sometimes Tim wanted a break.

Bruce ran training classes with Robin, Spoiler, Black Bat, and Signal which Red Robin was thankfully very exempt from. Tim had done his time, thank you very much.

That did not, however, exempt him from Monday bat family meetings at 1800 or open mat training on Tuesday and Thursdays from 1800 to 2000. Even Dick tried to show up to those.

All in all, Tim put another workweek plus into being Red Robin on top of being the CEO of a billion-dollar company. Tim ran on the tears of his business competitors and caffeine most days.

Beyond that, Tim Drake-Wayne, as a civilian, was now deeply involved in the JLA as their main non-government funding source. That has taken up increasing amounts of his time lately. 

After the absolute disaster of his main source of evidence disappearing, Tim had stayed as Red Robin to handle the FBI. Despite the extensive video evidence, the FBI was irate at the loss.

The man Tim had been conversing with as Red Robin was a short, broad man in blue bomber FBI jacket. His name was Agent Jospeh Hale, and when Agent Hale and he walked into the warehouse to see the missing cocaine, he almost blew a gasket.

“Where the fuck is it? Red Robin, you promised the security of this shipment. How are we supposed to prosecute with no physical evidence?”

Tim wanted to scream. He had no goddamn clue where the cocaine went.

“Agent Hale, I understand you are upset,” Tim said patiently.

“You should have maintained visual contact with the shipment the entire time.”

Tim remained silent. One of the benefits of being associated with Batman was that the broody, quiet, no speaking thing was expected. Tim didn’t point out that the FBI had done nothing, that Tim had handed over Castillo men and Sionis on a platter. Tim didn’t point out that the video feed should be enough to still get a prosecution, especially because it had all been obtained legally, federal warrant and all.

Tim didn’t explain that he had absolutely nothing to do with the shipment disappearing.

Instead, Tim just hm-ed in Batman fashion and held steady against the Federal Agent’s gaze.

“You fucking vigilantes. I know we shouldn’t have worked with the Justice League,” the man said, bitterly.

The reality was that the FBI didn’t have much of a choice. Federal law had dictated that agencies had a duty to cooperate with vigilantes and vigilantes had a duty to cooperate with federal agencies. The JLA was handling the investigation and prosecution of superhero and vigilante misconduct. It wasn’t a perfect system, asking them to police their own, but it was better than handing over secret identities to civilian agencies.[1]

The JLA was in the process of writing and ratifying a code of conduct. Tim, and the attorneys he had helped the JLA hire, were in the weeds with the writing process. It was a brave new world, and Tim was at the spear of it.

Many vigilantes and superheroes were grumbling about the laws. Which, a fair amount of them had a deep history with excessive use of force, murdering criminals, and their own criminal activity. One of the tensest parts of the code of conduct was the pardon that Tim was in the process of writing and selling to the government as a good idea.

Some of Tim’s passion around this pardon was selfish in nature. It would, in theory, pardon, Jason from the spree he had gone on when he first took up the Red Hood. Jason and he hadn’t talked about it outright, but Tim knew from the long stares that he would receive in the cave that Jason was tracking on what Tim was doing.

Tim really needed to talk to Jason.

The FBI agent and Tim had a stare off. Batman loomed back in the shadows of the warehouse building. The rest of the crew had departed back to the cave.

Agent Hale signed, clearly understanding that Tim was not going to be the one to break the silence first.

“I will update you on what we decide to do with this case, you know, since our main source of evidence is gone.”

“Thank you,” Tim acknowledged.

The man huffed, turned around and stalked off.

Batman walked up to Tim. “That was an unexpected end to the evening,” he said, gruffly.

Tim gave him a glare through the mask. “That’s an understatement, B.”

“Sionis will slide on this,” Bruce acknowledged.

“Looks like it.”

“I know you’ve been working on this for months. It’s not your fault Red.”

“I know,” Tim snapped, “I am well aware that I am not the one that made the cocaine magically and mysteriously disappear.”

“I am just reminding you,” Bruce said.

“I don’t need a reminder,” Tim snapped, somewhat unfairly. It wasn’t Bruce’s fault that the perfectly planned and executed mission had gone to shit at the last minute. However, Bruce wasn’t known for being fair. Tim was, after all, trained by him.

“I’m going to do the mission report at my place,” Tim told B. “We will do a debrief at the weekly sync on Monday.”

“Red,” Bruce stated, clearly intending to argue. Bruce generally wanted everyone back at the cave after a mission or patrol. Bruce liked to look everyone in the eyes to ensure they weren’t hiding an injury or were mentally okay.

Tim wasn’t up to talking to anyone, or putting up with Bruce being a good leader.  

“B, I’ll be on patrol tomorrow. Let’s cage this.”

Batman grunted, clearly understanding Tim was done with the conversation. He turned around and stalked off into the night, most likely returning to his bike to flee back to the cave. Tim sighed, kicked his boot against the ground, and resisted the urge to run his hands through his hair.

They had already done a thorough search and scan of the warehouse. There was no sign of the substance.

The FBI was still on scene doing this investigation. The people pleasing part of Tim wanted to turn around and speak to Agent Hale again, but that would be fruitless. Tim was not going to admit fault for something that was not his fault. The FBI would likely pin this failure on the Gotham vigilantes, and that was the last thing Tim needed right now where those optics.

He would run damage control tomorrow as Tim Drake-Wayne. It was time for Red Robin to leave. Tim stared across at Agent Hale, gave him a nod in greeting, and turned and followed Batman away from the warehouse.

Sunday morning hit Tim hard. He started off the day with an eight-mile run and strength workout to clear his head.

Tim called his PA[2] when it became a socially acceptable hour.

“Good morning Tim,” Rachel said, yawning, “I’ll be billing you two hours for this call.”

“Understandably so,” Tim agreed easily. They had a running joke about Rachel just billing him outrageous hours for everything asked for. In reality, she was a salaried worker that WE paid for. Tim didn’t have time for most personal tasks, and Rachel was there to make his life go smoother.

She picked up his dry cleaning, delivered his meal service, scheduled his personal appointments, kept his calendar with Tam, deconflicted family responsibilities with Wayne Enterprise responsibilities, and did pretty much everything Tim didn’t have time for anymore.

While most of her tasks didn’t relate to WE, WE paid for it because it gave Tim more time to focus on WE. Plus, Tim was in charge. He had the luxury of deciding what the business paid for.  

Tim tried to be respectful of her personal time, but sometimes Tim required tasks on Sunday. That was why she was salaried at hundred fifty grand a year.

“What’s the sitch?” she asked, playfully.

“I need you to block time off on Monday morning for me to call the JLA. I should need around an hour. Work with Tam to figure out when that fits best. Also, talk to Tam. I need to head to DC one afternoon this week to meet with JLA attorneys. Whatever evening works best with my schedule.”

“You’re supposed to go in two weeks,” she reminded him.

“Timelines have been pushed up.”

Rachel sighed. Bruce still chaired the Board of Directors,[3] so Tim had some leniency with the board. However, a lot of the other board members disliked Tim’s work with the JLA as it detracted from his time spent as CEO. The only upside for WE was that it was a huge media boost for the company.

People liked superheroes.

“Do you need me to coordinate your travel?” Rachel asked.

“No, the JLA will,” Tim said without much explanation. He would travel via the Zeta-tubes, but civilians were not allowed to know about their existence.  

“Okay, I’ll call Tam after this we will move around your schedule for the week. You just didn’t want to call her yourself.”

“Tam bullies me,” Tim pointed out, playfully.  

“And you deserve it. Have you eaten today?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Have you slept more than five hours?” Rachel asked.

Tim was silent. No, he had been unable to sleep the night before and had gotten out of bed at seven in the morning.

“You bully me too,” Tim told her. In reality, Tim paid her to bully him. That’s why he hired her.

Tim literally had paid someone to look out for his physical and mental health because god knows he wasn’t going to do it for himself. It was a smart decision. Tim clearly hadn’t thought it through though because that meant that he actually had to take care of himself.[4]

“You have melatonin in the cupboard. I would know. I stocked it.”

“Alright Rachel, this conversation is over. I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” Tim said, his voice becoming stern and professional. He could almost hear her rolling her eyes on the other side of the phone call.

“Sir yes sir,” she said sarcastically, “But seriously, I’ll let you know what Tam says and we will update your schedule. I know how you are about knowing what evenings you work in advance.”

What Tim didn’t respond with was, well yeah, Babs needs to know what days I work evenings so we can cover down on Patrol.

In reality, Babs had access to Tim’s WE calendar and was alerted to any changes that would impact the patrol schedule. Tim liked to give her a courtesy heads-up text regardless.

“Thank you, Rachel.”

“No worries. Reminder, I’m swinging by your apartment tomorrow afternoon to grab your dry cleaning and stock your fridge. If you want anything taken in, you need to lay it out for me.”

“You reminded me on Friday,” Tim said.

“And I’m doing it again. Have a good Sunday Tim.”

“You too Rach,” he said, and the line clicked off. Tim mentally checked off that to-do in his mind.

Then, before Tim could even think about his next task, his doorbell rang. Tim scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. If it was one of his brothers, they would have just come in. Bruce would have told him that he was coming before he arrived. The doorman was unlikely to let anyone else into the building…

Tim slipped a knife up his sleeve on his way to the door.

Tim opened the door with a PR smile and his body poised to attack. On the other side of the door, a man over than a head taller than him with ice-blue eyes and dark hair stood. He gave a sheepish smile to Tim. Kon, otherwise known as Conner Kent, stood on the other side of the threshold. His ex-boyfriend had showed up, unannounced.

Tim’s heart lurched into his throat which Kon no doubt could hear. Tim forced himself to appear impassive and unbothered.

“We’re you just waiting for me to finish my phone call to ring the doorbell?” Tim asked, purposefully keeping his tone light and playful.

“Hey,” Kon defended himself, “I was trying to be polite.”

“By eavesdropping,” Tim pointed out, moving aside to let Kon into the apartment.

“You were talking about drycleaning, not exactly an invasion of privacy.”

“Who knows, it could be code for something,” Tim argued.

“Now you’ve just told me that it’s a code. That wouldn’t be very effective,” Kon moved to the living room, following Tim.

They stared at each other for a second, awkwardly. It had been three months since the last time Tim had seen Kon, and it had been at a JLA meeting. Tim had been there as Timothy Drake-Wayne and Kon as Kon-el. They didn’t talk.

“Why are you, uh, here? Everything okay?” Tim asked, thinking of his former teammates.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Kon said, “I just miss you. Maybe we could go out today? Have lunch, walk around a museum, like old times.” Old times being the almost two years prior when they were dating and before they had – very publicly and humiliatingly to Tim – broken up. Then the months and months that they had a long, drawn-out, slow wind-down of trying to just be friends, until finally Tim had told Kon he needed space.

Kon had broken up with Tim, and it wasn’t fair to Tim to try to pretend everything was fine just because Kon wanted to still be friends.

It had been a hard decision for Tim to go public with the relationship. He had been a twenty-year-old CEO and the public face of Wayne Enterprises. Society had progressed, but Tim still faced a lot of online commentary and backlash.

It had made Tim’s anxiety skyrocket and being online for a year had been hell with what people were saying about him. It had been important for Kon to be public and therefore it had been important to Tim.

The breakup had been even worse from the media.

Tim frowned at Kon. They had agreed to be friends, true, but it was just hard. Tim still liked Kon as a person and it had taken a long time for feelings of love to fade.

Bruce had warned him, of course, in the beginning of the relationship. He had told him that dating a teammate was a terrible idea and the best-case scenario was that it would end in heartbreak. Tim hadn’t listened.

Kon’s face slowly fell as Tim stared without responding. Tim felt a surge of guilt.

“Uh yeah, sure, we can go to lunch,” Tim said, cursing himself not having the willpower to kick Kon out the door.

Kon’s face lit up in a bright smile.

Again, Kon had broken up with Tim.

Lunch was fine. Tim and Kon went to a small sandwich shop around the corner that Tim knew was discrete. They ordered their sandwiches and took a table in the back.

“How are you?” Kon asked.

Tim debating telling him about the mission the night before but decided against it. “Work is fine. WE is doing great. I’m sure you heard the news that WE is purchasing Movemo, the streaming service. The acquisition is going well. Our tech department is getting ready to launch a new line of smart watches. I’m busy as always.”

“I see you in the media all the time, you look good.”

Tim swallowed hard at the you look good statement.

“Thanks,” Tim said his voice even from years of training, “What about you?”

“Finished my marketing and journalism degree last fall. Pops is proud of me, wants me to apply for the Daily Planet. I’m thinking about going into more, like, new media I think? LA has some really awesome small news crews that are doing the whole independent thing. Cissie is out there, you know, she offered me a room,” Kon shrugged.

“That’s awesome,” Tim told him, genuinely. It sounded like Kon and Kent’s relationship had continued to improve, and Kon was out there doing his own thing. “That sounds like a great opportunity for you.”

“Thanks,” Kon said with an easy smile, “I’m settling into the JLA too. I still can’t believe Batman hasn’t nominated Red Robin. Everyone else is too afraid to, you know.”

Tim did know. Nightwing had been part of the JLA for years. It wouldn’t shock anyone for Red Robin to be nominated, yet for some reason, Bruce hadn’t done it.

Tim was too much of a coward to have that conversation with Bruce.

“Yeah,” Tim agreed without saying much.

“It’s weird seeing you around as Tim. I have to bite my tongue anytime anyone talks about you. They’re terrified of you. You come off as this hyper-competent shark-like person and you look so young. Someone the other day said you had Patrick Bateman vibes going on,” Kon exclaimed, half-laughing. He clearly wasn’t intending to make Tim feel bad about himself, but the words hit Tim like a bucket of cold water.

“Well that’s great,” Tim said sarcastically. It wasn’t the first time he had heard it. His public persona had a lot of attention, and Tim’s own meticulous attention to detail combined with his pleasant and calm demeanor sometimes had people calling him a psychopath.

Growing up Tim thought that maybe he had been one. Afterall, Tim had thought nothing of blackmailing Batman at eleven years old. In reality, it was just a simple case of Tim having not have been hugged enough as a child.

Kon had the good sense to look sheepish about the comment. Tim sighed.

“I wanted to tell them that you weren’t like that, but then I would have to explain how Kon-el knows Tim Drake-Wayne,” Kon explained, “Maybe next time you’re at a JLA meeting we could talk after, so that like I’ve ‘meet’ you in uniform.”

“Uh sure,” Tim said. He didn’t know why that mattered as Tim had very little intention of socially hanging with the JLA as his civilian identity.

“That way next time anyone says anything about you I can tell them to fuck off,” Kon pointed out.

“Kon, you don’t need to protect me.”

“I know, but that’s what friends do,” he said. Tim met Kon’s eyes in a long-hard stare. His heart ached. A year ago, he would have itched to reach across the table and grab the other man’s face in care. A year ago, Kon saying that he was going to tell others to fuck off in defense of Tim would have made him cry.

Tim realized he had gone too long without responding.

“Don’t get into fights with JLA members on my behalf. I am playing the bad cop on purpose,” Tim pointed out, “Because the American government and people are sick of the lack of superhero accountability. It could be much worse than a ratified code of conduct with a pardon for prior offenses.”

“I know that,” Kon said.

Tim gave Kon a flat look. He wasn’t backing down on this.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ll keep my mouth shut. But seriously, I am going to introduce myself to you after the next meeting.”

Tim rolled his eyes, “Fine, you can introduce yourself. Don’t be offended if Tim Drake-Wayne doesn’t swoon at the Superboy act.”

Kon gave Tim another thousand watt smile that transformed his whole face into a picture of happiness. Kon looked exceptionally pleased with Tim’s statement.

“Maybe I want Tim Drake-Wayne to swoon,” Kon winked at Tim.

Tim’s heart lurched, and he glared at Kon.

“Well, he won’t,” Tim promised.

“You know it’s weird when you talk about yourself in third person. Maybe you should talk to someone about it,” Kon teased, taping his foot against Tim’s leg under the table.

“Probably should,” Tim agreed, “I’m sure the civilian therapist would understand the intricacies of having two very public identities.”

Kon opened his mouth and closed his mouth, probably debating saying what Tim already knew he was thinking. The JLA had therapists on staff. Back when they were dating, Kon had been pushing hard for Tim to see one. Tim was slightly bitter about Kon having worked one of their old fighting points into this casual friend conversation.

What Kon didn’t know was that Tim had seen a therapist after they had broken up for about a year. Tim had tapered it off, but every once in a while, would schedule a session. In Tim’s personal opinion, Kon didn’t have the right to know about Tim’s personal mental health care.

Kon switched gears, clearly aware of the landmines in that conversation.

“How’s your siblings?”

The meal went on as such, they danced around topics. Kon continued to make little flirty comments, and Tim continued to react. Kon pretended to not notice.

Tim paid the bill, as he always did. They walked outside, and Kon reached out and grabbed Tim’s hand. Tim stilled. They were in public and the last thing Tim needed were rumors that he had rekindled things with his ex-boyfriend.

Tim pulled away and hurt flashed across Kon’s face.

Tim could have said a million things, but settled on, “We’re in public.”

“Okay, I was going to ask if you wanted to go walk around a park or something,” Kon trailed off.

“My place would be better.”

They walked back in relative silence. Tim could feel the anxious tension inside of him. Kon, it seemed, did this to him every time.

Back inside his apartment, Tim sat down on the chair diagonal from the couch. Tim gave Kon a flat look, “Kon, what are we doing?”

“I see your direct approach hasn’t changed,” Kon said, his voice deceptively light.

“Nor have your avoidant tendencies,” Tim responded in kind.

Kon tensed, his jaw grinding together. Tim took Kon’s silence as an invitation to continue his questioning.

“You’re trying to hold my hand, telling me that I look good. Kon, what is your purpose here?”

“I don’t know,” Kon admitted, “I saw you at the JLA meeting and you looked good. I keep thinking about how much I miss you. Don’t you ever miss seeing each other?”

“All the time,” Tim said flatly, “I literally begged you to give me another chance for months. Need I remind you that you broke up with me.”

Tim had been an emotional mess and had been willing to do practically anything to get Kon back. Kon’s reasoning had been that he had fallen out of love with Tim.

It hadn’t exactly been a surprise. The two months prior had been painful, Kon had been distant and withheld a lot of affection from Tim. That had made Tim desperate and clingy. Kon kept on insisting that they were fine despite Tim literally telling Kon that he knew they were not.

Then, Tim had called Kon on a Friday evening and said that Kon needed to figure out whether or not he wanted to be with Tim because he was feeling unloved. The next day, Kon had broken up with Tim on the very couches they were currently sitting on.

Kon had told Tim that he just didn’t love him the same way anymore.

During that conversation, Tim’s abandonment issues had been on full display.

“I want us to be friends,” Kon insisted, “And maybe, I don’t know, we can go from there. Start slow, like before we started dating.”

Tim wanted to scream. That was so deeply unfair to him. Kon had done the same thing when they had broken up, saying maybe his feelings would change again.

During the latter half of their relationship, Tim had gone through a tough season. Work had been overwhelming, Bruce and he had been tense, and – on top of that – Tim had fractured a vertebrae in his spine. It had taken Tim out of the uniform for a couple of months. The break hadn’t been that bad, but Tim had lost a lot of cardio and re-training had taken longer than he wanted.

Tim had felt helpless and useless, and a lot of his conversations with Kon revolved around those feelings. Looking back, Tim should have done a better job at not overwhelming Kon with his emotions. Tim had thought that they supported each other.

To Tim, it felt like Kon only wanted Tim when he was put together.

“No,” Tim said, “I am going to do that.”

“You don’t want to be friends?” Kon exclaimed.

“Friends don’t flirt,” Tim pointed out. It wasn’t strictly true, but the idea of Kon trying to be friends with him and flirt all the time made Tim feel ill. Especially when it was all of Kon’s terms.

“We flirted when we were just friends,” Kon protested.

“Yes, because we were interested in each other,” Tim snapped.

“Yes, but as I said, let’s start as friends and maybe we can feel out something more. I am interested Tim,” Kon’s ice blue eyes looked so full of emotion. “And I can tell you are too,” Kon said, in response to Tim’s heart that was beating out of his chest.

“Kon, how am I supposed to trust that you’re not going to fall out of love with me again? I am going to remind you that you broke up with me after two months of icing me out and telling me everything was fine,” Tim practically growled the last part. He had stood up from this chair and was facing Kon. Kon sat still on the couch, hands in his lap like a well-behaved child. Then Kon flung his hands in the air with frustration.

“And I stand by my decision at the time,” Kon exclaimed, “You were emotionally draining, Tim. I wasn’t ever enough for you. I can see that you are doing better and –”

“Get out,” Tim demanded, “Get out of my house.”

“It was our house at one point,” Kon said.

“I know, and you left me,” Tim could feel the tears that were threatening to spill out of his eyes. This whole afternoon had been painful. Tim had been doing great lately, and Kon had brought up all these feelings that Tim had pushed down.

Kon huffed, “Okay, I guess I will just leave then.” Kon got up and started to move towards the door.

Tim felt the panic well up inside of him. This wasn’t how he wanted this conversation to end.

“I, wait, don’t leave yet,” Tim sighed and Kon looked at him hopefully, “Kon, I’m sorry, I do want to be your friend. I do miss you, but our friendship has changed. I need boundaries because you really hurt me and I don’t want to go through that again.”

Kon had once been his best friend in the entire world.

“I do love you Tim, I’m sorry I stopped being in love with you,” Kon said quietly. “I mean it when I say that I miss you.”

“No more flirting with me. Just friends,” Tim told him.

“I can do that,” Kon said, “Do you want to –”

Whatever Kon was going to suggest, Tim cut him off, “Not today. Maybe next weekend.”

“Okay, I guess I’ll head out,” Kon nodded.

“See you later Kon.”

“Bye Tim,” Kon said, then awkwardly stood there like he was going for a hug. Tim stilled and didn’t move. Kon gave him a sad look and turned towards the door. Tim didn’t walk him out, just watched him walk away.

Tim heard the door click. Tim sat back on the couch, holding back his emotions for thirty seconds to allow Kon time to fly away. Once Tim was sure Kon was truly gone, Tim allowed the tears to spill out of his eyes.

He grasped his knees and pulled him into himself. He buried his head and sobbed. It was so unfair. Tim wanted to call Kon back and agree that yes, they could be friends and maybe something more. The pathetic, lonely person inside Tim that craved validation and love wanted to crumble if it meant that Tim got even a scrap of affection.

Tim felt so angry at Kon who didn’t seem to grasp how much he hurt Tim. Tim felt angry at himself for being so weak.

Tears spilled down his cheeks and Tim ugly cried, gasping for air. The last twenty-four hours had been shit. The case that he had been working on months had failed spectacularly. Then Kon bringing up all the emotions and feeling Tim had thought he had put behind him.  

After his moment of emotion, Tim pulled himself together.

Tim had work to do that Kon had interrupted. There was always work to do.

First, Tim knocked out the AAR which stood for the After Action Report. It was a standard template that they all submitted after operations. It only took an hour, and once he finished, he messaged Bruce and Barbara.

Then, Tim pulled up his case files for the Powdered Death case. What had he missed? Barring the clearly magical disappearance, who had the motive to take the substance?

Did Sionis or Castillo have some sort of fail safe to keep it out of law enforcement hands? Sionis hadn’t acted in a manner that indicated that by his behavior in the warehouse. Castillo was a wildcard that Tim didn’t know.

Would Castillo make another attempt to bring the substance into Gotham? The financial loss for both parties would be significant from last night. Tim knew it was likely both of men and their people would get off scot free from last night. A bitter part of Tim wished that civil forfeiture would keep all the cash from last night out of the hands of Castillo or Sionis.

If only Tim would be so lucky.

Tim started writing out his notes on his Batman specific electronic note pad.

Tim cursed himself. Why didn’t he drop a tracking chip into the shipment? That would make this so much easier. It would be almost impossible positively identify any future Powdered Death as from that specific shipment.

Tim pulled back up his AAR and added that suggestion to the improvement plan. Moving forward, they should always mark and tag any evidence that they were securing immediately upon seizure.

In order to prove or disprove the Castillo theory, Tim would need to visit Peru. Inherently, that made it one of the last investigative options.

This theory would be the easiest to prove or disprove. Tim would just need to put his feelers out in the rival crime syndicates. Tim, or any of the bats, could scope out the rival gangs properties. Even low life dealers would know who they got their dope from. If a rival gang stole it, they would want to turn it over fast, meaning that it should in theory be out on the streets tonight if that was the case.

If a competitor of Castillo’s had taken it, then the shipment was likely to the wind. Tim would also first need to identify who poised the biggest threat to Castillo’s operation.

The Ra’s theory seemed outlandish, but then again, Tim wouldn’t put it past Ra’s to do something just for the sake of pissing Tim off. Tim had certainly became Ra’s replacement obsession for when Bruce became too old.

Tim had a theory that Ra’s had a thing for young pretty boys. He was very glad that Damian was far, far away from his grandfather.

Tim stared down at his theory matrix. Alright, five decent-ish theories to investigate. Now, he needed to create tasks for himself. Unfortunately, a lot of the condition sets revolved around a positive identification of the Powered Death, and again, Tim didn’t know if that was possible.

There was, of course, the reality that it could be none of these theories, but this gave Tim a direction and a starting point to work off of. That also meant Tim could delegate the work at tomorrow’s Bat meeting.

Tasks:

• Look deeper into Castillo’s operation
  • Connections to magic users
  • Undercover op to Peru?
• Identify Castillo’s main rivals
  • Are they working with any of BM’s rivals in Gotham?
  • Does any of those organizations have any connections to magic
• Case out Maroni and Falcone’s current status?
  • Is there any PD on the streets?
  • Is there any PD in their warehouses?
  • Have they expanded to any magic users?
• Is Ra’s al Ghul active in Gotham right now?
  • Have Damian reach out to his mother
  • Reach out to Pru
• Are there any heroes in the JLA or connected to the JLA with motive and interest to cause any issues in Gotham?

Tim glanced down at his watch. He needed to eat something prior to patrolling. He pulled one of the premade meals that Rachel stocked out of his fridge and heated it up.

While it was in the microwave, Bruce called him.

“Hello,” Tim said easily.

“I got the AAR, thank you for getting that to me so quickly,” Bruce stated.

“Twenty-four hours is the standard window,” Tim deflected.

“Your brothers would disagree with you. Are you on patrol tonight?”

“You know I am,” Tim rolled his eyes, “Doing the Northern beat.”

“Hmn,” Bruce said, “I could come with. We could talk through some theories about the Castillo case.”

“That’s okay B, you need your rest days too.”

“I want to talk to you,” Bruce told Tim.

“If its personal, call Rachel and have her set up a lunch meeting. If it’s about last night, I did some prelim work on the Powdered Death and will task out investigative tasks tomorrow.”

“You’re deflecting. Do you not want to see me?” Bruce asked. Tim apricated B’s no nonsense, straight to the point way of communicating. That was the way that Tim communicated. Tim always knew where he stood with B because B told him.

“I do,” Tim said, “I have a rough day. Kon stopped by. I am tapped out today.”

“I can have someone cover your patrol. You can come by the manner and work on the case with me.”

Bruce was trying. Tim knew that. That offer was deeply tempting. Patrol wasn’t bad most of the time. It was exhausting, boring, and repetitive. It was also necessary.

“I…” Tim considered, “I appreciate it, but no, everyone else needs their rest time too.”

“Okay,” Bruce said, “Send me your theory matrix?”

“Doing it right now,” Tim said. The microwave dinged.

“My dinner is ready, see you tomorrow…. Dad.”

“I love you son,” Bruce said, “I am here if you ever want to talk.”

“I know,” Tim told him, and the phone line clicked off.

Thankfully, patrol that evening went fast. The weather was mild and unoffensive. The streets were quiet, even for a Sunday, and Tim had no incidents. Tim had a short conversation with Babs at the beginning of the evening about his case theories.

The bats were no alert for any sign of dealing of Powered Death that evening, but – either because it was a Sunday night – or because the Marconi and Falcone family were not the culprits for the theft of the Powered Death.

By 0130 in the morning, Tim had showered and fallen into bed.

His Monday morning routine hit hard, as it always did. Tim did his leg day routine in a Zombie-like state in his in-home gym. He blasted his music.

By 0900, Tim was in the office. Tim could, in theory, arrive earlier. However, Tim liked to give his people time to settle in and begin work before he arrived. It was not Tim’s job to do their jobs.

Both Rachel and Tam were waiting for him when Tim got in.

Rachel handed Tim over his second cup of coffee for the day. Tim took it with a yawn and a thank you.

“The JLA has already called,” Rachel said, “The FBI is pissed off because Gotham vigilantes bungled a case with them over the weekend.”

Tam, who knew about Red Robin, gave Tim a hard look. Rachel, who did not, barreled on. “I have set up a call for you at with the JLA at 10:30.”

Tam handed Tim over a tablet with his weekly schedule. Tim had already reviewed it but noticed some changes and important meetings.

The JLA call had taken up some of his office hours. His Tuesday morning Command Sync had moved back 30 minutes from normal. Rachel had scheduled his visit to DC for Wednesday afternoon, and all of his meetings for that day had shifted to others. His meeting with the Wayne Foundation director had been moved to Thursday after his Chief and Staff meeting.

The Thursday Chief and Staff meeting had a star next to it. The biweekly Board of Directors meeting was this Friday. That would likely be a contentious one.

“Why the star next to the C&S?” Tim asked.

Rachel shrugged at him, “We weren’t sure you wanted to stay overnight in DC.”

“No, I’ll be coming back Wednesday evening as normal.”

“Do you want a delayed start on Thursday to account for the later evening?”

“I think I’ll manage,” Tim said, amused.

“Anything else?” Tim asked.

“Our PR department wants to schedule a one-on-one with you next week. Your social media presence has been minimal recently. They want to do some brand work with just you. Maybe some late-night show bookings,” Rachel told him.

Tim bit his lip. He hated being in the media and avoided it like the plague.

“Pencil it in,” Tim nodded.

“Tam?” Tim asked.

“All good on my end. You doing okay?” she asked, clearly about the Saturday night operation failure. Jesus, did the whole world know?

“I’m fine Tam.”

She gave Tim a flat look, clearly not believing him. Monday went fast. It appeared that Bruce had already run damage control with the JLA, which meant that the JLA was running damage control with Tim.

“Good Morning,” Tim answered the video call. Hal Jordan, of all people, and Clark Kent sat on the other end. Clark knew about his identify, but Hal did not.

“Good Morning son,” Superman said in all his bravado. Tim resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Uncle Clark.

“To what do I owe this pleasure of a call?” Tim asked, leaning back in his chair.

“There was an incident over the weekend, no one got hurt, but Gotham vigilantes attempted an arrest of Roman Sionis through the seizure of a shipment of illegal drugs which disappeared at the end of the operation. The FBI is saying that if the vigilantes had not been involved, they would have been able to make the arrest,” Clark explained.

“Where they correct?” Tim asked, flatly. “Did the vigilantes get in the way?”

“Listen here you smug little bastard,” Hal snapped at Tim. Clark’s eyes went wide, clearly not knowing how to mediate this. “I may not be Batman’s biggest fan, but Red Robin does damn good work. Not every single operation goes to plan, and it’s people like you sitting all high and mighty in your designer suit that think we should be perfect.”

Tim cocked his head at Hal in amusement. Thanks Hal, he thought sarcastically.

“If I have to run damage control with the FBI, I want to know, are they correct?”

Clark looked at Tim, clearly having lots of thoughts running through his head.

“No,” Hal said, “Batman and Red did good work. The disappearance of the drugs was a freak incident. They are doing a follow-on investigation.”

Tim nodded in agreement, “Understood, I’ll schedule a call with Evan Reeds.” Reeds was the director of the FBI and who Red Robin had gone through to route the case in the first place. Now it was Tim Drake-Wayne’s job to clean up what he had fucked up as Red Robin.

Hal looked like he wanted to argue. He hated that the JLA had allowed Tim to act as their non-hero spokesman. What Hal didn’t know was, of course, that Tim was who he was. What he did know was that Tim used the Wayne Family funding as a carrot and stick for the heroes. For that, they hated him.

“Thank you,” Clark said, “We would apricate you are running interference with the FBI.”

Tim nodded, “I will be calling a Wednesday evening JLA meeting at the Hall of Justice to go over proposed changes to the Code of Conduct. I have a meeting with the head of the Joint[5] Special Committee at around 3PM. Expect me to be at the Hall around five. I hope to receive a better turn-out this time.”

Tim made a pointed effort to not use military time when speaking as his civilian self.

“We will make an effort,” Clark told him, “Thank you Tim.”

Hal rolled his eyes on the video, but nonetheless said, “Thank you Tim.”

Tim gave him a sharp smile and said, “It’s Drake-Wayne to you. Gentlemen, I will see you on Wednesday.” Tim ended the call unceremoniously. He resisted the urge to put his head down on his desk in frustration.

He gave himself three deep breaths before getting up. Tim walked out of his office and over to Rachels. He could see through the glass that she was on the phone. She nodded her head at him in acknowledgement and Tim could read her lips asking for a hold.

She nodded at him, and he entered.

“I need you to coordinate a call with Director of the FBI, Evan Reeds, this afternoon.”

“Okay, I’ll email you the time confirmation once I get it.”

“Thank you,” Tim told her. Tim walked back to the office and stared out at the city. It seemed quiet from the birds-eye-view. The rest of the day went fast. Tim reviewed the Wayne Foundation quarterly budget. He head through Lucius’ report to him on the Movemo acquisition under the Wayne Entertainment division. Wayne Tech, one of the largest divisions of WE, was headquartered in Gotham, including the R&D department. While it wasn’t strictly part of Tim’s job, he liked to make weekly visits down to check in on the engineers.

Tim did that in the early afternoon, his watchful eye on the tech prototypes. Tim’s clear passion for it was evident and he was slowly building some camaraderie with the younger engineers. Maybe in another life that would have been Tim.

Around 1500, Rachel commed him over his office phone.

“The Director of the FBI is on the line for you,” she told him.

“Thank you,” Tim said, and clicked over to the line.

“Good Afternoon, Director Reeds. This is Tim Drake-Wayne.”

“Mr. Wayne, I would say that it’s a pleasure to meet you, but it’s not,” the man said gruffly on the other line.

“Different circumstances would have been preferred,” Tim said magnanimously, “Although one loss of a relatively small shipment of a designer drug doesn’t seem too dire.”

“Large enough to have the JLA running around with their thumbs in their asses.”

“Director Reeds, we both know that this isn’t about the loss of the shipment,” Tim told him, “So let’s cut through that. The law is the law, and the FBI is required to work with the JLA when requested.”

“No,” the man countered, “The FBI is required to work with the JLA once their Code of Conduct has been ratified and approved by the Congressional Special Committee. I worked with Red Robin based off a show of goodwill.”

Reeds had, in fact, worked with Tim based on goodwill. Tim had been trying to prove to the FBI that the vigilantes could do good, consistent work. When Tim got his hands on whomever stole that shipment, he would destroy whatever operation they were running. Tim promised that on his grave, if only from the headache he was getting.

“Red Robin and Batman did good work. I have it with authority that the entire exchange was captured over video. Is the FBI incapable of prosecuting despite ample evidence?”

“In this day and age, video evidence means nothing. Hard evidence is the only surefire way to get a prosecution. Roman Sionis and his men have been released,” Reeds told Tim. There was an edge to his voice.

Good, Tim thought, Reeds wasn’t happy about it either.

“Sionis has good attorneys,” Tim stated.

“Current opinion towards vigilantes doesn’t help,” Reeds agreed with him.

“I would like the FBI to continue to work with the JLA while Congress is approving the Code. Consider it a show of goodfaith, if not to the FBI, then to me,” Tim said.

“You are personally backing this up? Are you ready for those consequences?” Reeds asked, his voice hard to get a read on.

Tim needed to change his angle here. “Don’t mistake this request for me bowing to whatever the JLA and Superman wants. You know the Wayne family. My father is a bleeding heart and easily taken advantage of,” Tim bullshitted, “We’ve been funding the JLA for years. I am taking a more active hand on how that funding is managed.”

“Rumor out there is that the superhero community doesn’t like you very much Mr. Wayne,” Director Reeds said.

“They have had far too much leniency and inconsistency on how they were operating on U.S. soil,” Tim told him, which wasn’t untrue.

“And yet, you still continue to support them financially.”

“I do, yes,” Tim said easily.

“You are very young to be doing this,” Reeds pointed out, “How can you be sure that you’re not being taken advantage of?”

“I have six years of experience running a multi-billion dollar company,” Tim scoffed, “WE has almost doubled its net worth under my hand.”

“We know, we have files on you.” Reeds voice was bland and flat. Tim gripped the edge of his desk to settle his own nerves and frustration over the conversation.

“Then you know I run a clean ship.”

There was a pause at the other end of the line, as if Reeds was considering what to say next. Finally, the man said, “You are one to watch Tim Wayne.”

Tim couldn’t help himself, “Don’t forget the Drake.” His voice was snappy and sarcastic. Reeds laughed over the line.

“Seriously,” the man’s voice was humorous, but clearly dangerous, “You’re what? Twenty-three years old? And already one of the most powerful people on the planet. What do you want? What are your aspirations, Tim Drake-Wayne?”

That question almost knocked the air out of Tim’s lungs. Reeds clearly considered him either a threat or a potential ally, which Tim knew. However, to put it directly in front of Tim.

Tim clearly had paused too long over the phone line because Reeds followed up with, “Consider it a friendly question.”

Fine, Tim could handle direct, “Director Reeds I only want what is best for the American people.”

“You know what I think Tim? I think you are a brilliant, driven young man who has the entire world eating out of the palm of his hands. I am worried that you are throwing your lot in with superpowered people who make superpowered mistakes. You could do a lot with the type of influence you hold.”

“The JLA has saved the world many times over,” Tim pointed out.

“Yes, but do they need to get involved with relatively small shipment of a designer drug?” Reeds parroted back at him, “Think on what I have said today, Tim.”

Tim felt out maneuvered and in a corner. He wanted to lash out.

“Director Reeds, this conversation is not about me, it is about continuing the FBI partnership with the JLA,” Tim said, attempting to recover the conversation.

“Very well,” Reeds said, “The FBI will consider supporting the JLA. Consider it good will, towards you. Don’t disappoint me Drake-Wayne.”

A ridiculous part of Tim wanted to say, I won’t, but that would be juvenile. Instead, Tim returned, “The JLA appreciates your cooperation. They will be in touch.”

Reeds grunted on the other side of the line, and without even a goodbye, the line died.

Tim let out a breath he hadn’t even been aware he had been holding. He had life or death fights less intense than that conversation. At least he had good news to give the JLA, even if he would be cutting out the bulk of the conversation.

What the fuck was Tim’s life and who had given him this much responsibility?

The rest of the day moved quickly. Tam and he had a sync before stepping out the door. She had email blasted him an hour before he was to leave, and she quickly went over the ones he needed eyes on.

Rachel had cut out around 1600 to grab his dry cleaning and stock his fridge. Tim had no idea what he would do without those two ladies. Die probably.

At 1800 on the dot, Tim pulled up a folding chair in the Batcave. Everyone was there this week, except Cass who had already told them that her ballet practice would run over.

The meeting went quickly. Tim asked Jason to do the investigation on if the Marconi or Falcone Family had taken the Powdered Death. Jason easily agreed.

Damian said that he would reach out to some of his contacts in the LoA and Bruce told Tim that he would investigate the other hero or third-party meta angle. That left Tim to deal with the investigation on Castillo himself.

Tim left the cave before Buce could corner him with that conversation he wanted to have. Tuesday went by fast. His Tuesday morning Command Sync consisted of him, Lucius Fox who was his Chief Operating Officer, Kamara King his Chief Financial Officer, Tam, and Rachel. It was a standard format meaning where they went through wavetops on the WE seven day outlook, one month outlook, and six month outlook. This was usually where they planned out Tim’s trips to their international offices.

Sometimes Tim looped in his Chief Human Resources Officer or his Chief Legal Officer. Tuesday rolled into Tuesday night patrol and Tuesday night patrol rolled into Wednesday and soon enough Tim was entering the Zeta-tube to go to Washington, DC.

The Congressional Special Committee meeting went fine. The most senior member, a Senator from Iowa, was awed by Tim’s money and easy to bend. Tim wasn’t worried about getting Congress to agree as long as the JLA got their act together.

The JLA was the problem. Batman met Tim in front of the Hall of Justice as they insisted that Tim be escorted in, as if he hadn’t been there countless times as Red Robin or as if the Wayne Family Trust hadn’t fucking built the Hall of Justice.

Tim was in one of his custom-tailored suits and from his Rolex watch down to Ferragamo dress shoes, he exuded wealth.

Bruce just grunted at Tim when he saw him and said nothing else. “Greetings Batman,” Tim said cheekily, “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Bruce grunted at him. Tim’s mirth filled smile got even wider.

Bruce led him back to the conference room. Clark had delivered. It was a packed house, and Tim was the only person not in a uniform and mask. Kon saw him and gave him a bright smile. Tim bristled internally, so much for secret identities.

Clark came up to him and shook Tim’s hand. “Mr. Drake-Wayne, it’s a pleasure to have you at the Hall of Justice.”

“Thank you, Superman,” Tim said, “My father hired a great architect, didn’t he? Must have cost a lot of money.”

Clark floundered.

Batman said, in his Batman-voice, “Mr. Wayne chose to spend the money on frivolous additions. We would have been fine with a concrete bunker.”

“That does sound like him, spending money on frivolous pursuits,” Tim said.

“And you’re not your father, eh?” Hal asked.

“No, I am not, Mr. Jordan. Now, I would like to begin this meeting. Can someone call it to start?” Tim asked.

Diana, who had been silent up until that moment, except for the clear amusement on her face at Tim’s postering told him, “You have the floor Tim.”

“Thank you, Wonder Woman.” Tim couldn’t be rude to Wonder Woman. She was Wonder Woman, goddess on Earth. People shuffled around, sitting down. Tim stayed standing.

Tim looked around at the faces. There was, of course, Batman, Superman, and Wonder Women. Tim could also see Barry Allen, Oliver Queen, Dinah Drake, and Zatanna Zatara. Even fucking John Constantine had his ass sitting at the table, among others.

Then, there was the new guard. Dick sat next to Wally West and Princess Koriand'r. Kon and Kara Zor-El sat with twin Superman logos. Victor Stone and Artimis Cook sat in the back right corner.

Every single person had their eyes trained on Tim, many of them with resentment clearly evident.

“Let’s be direct. I don’t want to be here longer than I have to,” Tim told them, “Director Evan Reeds has agreed to continue the FBI’s partnership with the Justice League despite the fiasco in Gotham,” Tim nodded at Bruce who grunted, again. “I will continue to run damage control with all Federal agencies until such a time they legally cannot refuse to cooperate.”

Tim looked around the room, as many of the members shuffled. They were vigilantes at heart, they didn’t want to work with the government. What many of them refused to understand was that Tim was trying to keep them independent. Accept minimal, internal oversight, and get legal protection for what they were doing.

“We have a vested interest in getting this Code of Conduct ratified as quickly as possible. I will be testifying in front of the Congressional Special Committee, which will be televised, in approximately two months. While I understand many of you have reservations on the Code –”

“Mr. Drake-Wayne,” Barry Allen, of all people, cut him off, “While I appreciate all that you are doing, I don’t think you understand. A lot of the decisions we make are instantaneous. We don’t have the privilege to always think through what’s the best option and a lot of times the consequences of not making a decision are worse than making the wrong decision. I think a lot of us are concerned that we are leaving ourselves out there to be condemned by people who have never had to make the hard choice.”

“Flash, thank you for your input,” Tim said, “I would like to remind you that all of you choose this profession. While it is a noble calling, nobody – regardless of their powers – should be approve reproach or the law. I think you will find that we have been extremely generous in the proposed oversight on top of the blanket pardon that is being offered.”

“And what?” Hal said, “Next time the world is ending Congress is going to care if the people saving it agreed on the Code of Conduct?”

“If the saving includes the demise of a hundred thousand civilians though reckless and irresponsible actions, yes I’m sure they will have some considerations on the aftermath,” Tim said, “Although you will find that there is an escalation clause that would protect you in most instances.”

“We don’t need Congress looking over our shoulder,” Green Arrow said.

Tim liked Oliver Queen, truly. Oliver had come a long way from the man he was when he returned from Lian Yu. Tim remembered meeting Oliver when he was younger and thinking how fucking cool the man was and with his trick arrows and general badass vibes.

Regardless, Tim was no holds barred. “Respectfully,” Tim started knowing that what he was about to say absolutely not respectful, “I would think that of all the people in this room that you would have the most vested interest in this pardon considering your Starling City murder spree.”

“That was a long time ago,” Oliver bristled.

“The United States government does not have a statute of limitations on murder,” Tim said, “Unless you would like to argue that there should be one which, unfortunately, you will be lobbying Congress on your own with that one.”

Oliver’s mouth thinned, but he didn’t respond. Tim scoffed.

“Now, let me be clear, the JLA will be ratifying the Code of Conduct or the Wayne Family will be removing the funding from the JLA and I will step back from my support in front of the Congressional Special Committee,” Tim stared down the room, “If there is any actual, structured commentary on the language or content of the Code of Conduct, the floor is open.”

The next hour was tense, but Tim got some decent commentary and perspectives on the language of the Code. He made notes on his tablet and Tim could see Bruce doing the same. Any language changes would need to be run through the attorneys. The actual language of a law was vital to ensuring that execution meets intent.

Finally, the meeting was adjourned. Kon did as promised and came and introduced himself in front of the room. Tim politely told him to fuck off.

Kon rolled his eyes at Tim. Tim was not in a polite mood, and it filled Tim with unbridled anger, which he tamped down. Kon could tell that Tim was not having it and smartly left.

Batman swept out of the room, and finally it was just Tim and Clark.

Clark looked at Tim, exasperated. “You know, you don’t need to play it like that.”

Tim frowned and took a seat across from Clark. “I can’t afford to be nice, Uncle Clark. This is good for us. It will allow us to operate with legal protection. I know we have the Meta Protection Acts, which is huge, but everyone in this room is still a criminal according to US law. Do you know what the Special Committee proposed in the beginning? A new Federal Agency that would replace the JLA and criminal prosecution of everyone operating outside of it.”

“You’ve done great work son,” Clark said, “Everyone should know how much you have done for us.”

“I am going to be testifying in front of Congress about this. I don’t have the time or privilege to be nice,” Tim pointed out, “And regardless, I care little for how I am perceived if the work gets done.”

Clark gave him a long piercing look. “Sometimes I forget that you are not Bruce’s biological son. You two are so alike it’s terrifying.”

Tim privately through that the statement was not the complement that Clark intended it to be. Outwardly, Tim said, “Thank you.”

Clark gave a half smile and teased, “Where did he find you again?”

Tim gave his most shark like grin he could manage. Then he told Clark, “He didn’t find me. I found him.”

Clark fell into a fit of laughter.

Thursday passed quickly. Jason reported to him that neither prominent crime families were hiding the Powdered Death, and Tim got to scratch that theory off his list. Thursday night patrol saw Tim stopping two muggings. In between, Tim started his investigation of Castillo. Tim would need to block off time that weekend to do more in-depth research and investigation.

Tim’s Friday morning alarm hit like a heavyweight boxer. Tim debated texting Tam and Rachel that he would be in late and snoozing the alarm, but Tim was a good boy.

The Board of Directors meeting saw Tim sitting next to Bruce, as always. Bruce had his Brucie Wayne personality swinging in full force.

“I’m just so proud of Tim,” Bruce told shareholder Parker Floyd, “Did you know he’s testifying in front of Congress? How amazing is that? My little boy all grown up and doing his first Congressional testimony. Tim’s so smart. I was never that smart.”

Tim knew, rationally, that Bruce was doing it to stop the complaints in their tracts of the time Tim was spending on non-Wayne Enterprises matters. It was still fucking annoying.

“Dad,” Tim complained, “Please don’t embarrass me.”

“But what are fathers for?” he asked, delighted.

After the meeting finished, Bruce cornered Tim and Tim knew he couldn’t avoid Bruce any further. They took their lunch to an empty conference room that Tim knew was reinforced against listening devices.

Bruce’s demeanor in that moment was Brucie Wayne, but nor was it the Batman. Instead, Bruce held himself relaxed and dangerous, the type of posture that told the world that he was the powerful man in any room.

When Tim was younger, he tried his best to emulate that. Now, Tim knew that it came with a heavy cost.

“Alright Bruce,” Tim said, “What’s up?”

Bruce gave him a long look, “I wanted to check in with you, see how you’re doing.”

“Honestly,” Tim said, “A little overwhelmed and frustrated. You should have been doing this with the JLA years ago.”

Bruce inclined his head towards Tim. “You’re in a much better position with your public persona. I am proud of you Tim, I am so proud of you.”

Tim blinked. “Thanks B.”

“I know I have put so much on you. I wanted to explain something. I haven’t nominated you –”

“I don’t care,” Tim cut Bruce off, “Honestly, being part of the JLA would add conflict of interest right now more than I already have.”

“Yes, but I still feel the need to explain myself to you. I wanted to wait until you finished your Masters degree. Now, with everything going on with the JLA and Congress, you do need that impartially. Let me be clear, I believe you are eminently qualified,” Bruce told him.

Tim laughed, “Red Robin’s reputation took a hit this week.”

“It’ll recover,” Bruce told him, “Tim you are doing amazing sweetheart. I know that I pushed you hard as a child –”

“Bruce, let’s not,” Tim pleaded.

Bruce barreled on straight into brick wall despite Tim’s protest, “I know I pushed you hard as a child, and I deeply regret it. The harder I pushed, the more you succeeded, and I’m afraid that you are doing that now as an adult.”

Tim gritted his teeth. “It’s not the same thing, Bruce.”

“Tim, you work yourself into exhaustion –”

“ – and who taught me that – ”

“And are exceptionally hard on yourself. I know that I may not be the best person to –”

Tim decided that this conversation was over. “Fuck you B. I don’t want to talk about my childhood with you right now. I have had an absolutely exhausting week. Let’s be honest, you can’t change the way you treated me. I can’t change the fact that all I had wanted in the world was for a parent to love me. We are at an impasse. Good news, your training worked even if the methods were harsh.”

Bruce looked at Tim with an intense stare. “B, I have to get back to work,” Tim said, and with that, Tim got himself up and left Bruce sitting in the conference room.

Tim felt the irrational urge to have what would be his second breakdown for the week. Instead, Tim locked himself in his office for the rest of the day. Tim stayed late at the office working until the sun had set, only to drag himself back his cold apartment. Tim had Friday night off of patrol again. Maybe it was Babs way of telling Tim to get a life.

Had it only been one week since Tim had briefed his operations order for the Powdered Death mission?

Fuck, a lot had happened in seven days. A week ago, Tim had been about to fall in bed with a stranger. A stranger, the thought just hit Tim, that had given Tim his number.

A number that Tim had put into his phone and never texted.

Tim bit his lip in consideration.  

The idea of hot and heavy sex sounded really appealing to Tim at that moment. Kon, the Powered Death, Evan Reeds, Bruce, all of it was spinning around in his mind like a pinball machine on multiball mode.  

Fuck it, Tim thought.

Danny had clearly intended their first encounter to be mainly sexual. Could Tim do something like that? It was like friends with benefits without the friends part.

Tim pulled out his phone, sitting on his couch. Tim should be doing research on Castillo.

Instead, Tim’s fingers hovered over the send button. Before Tim could talk himself out of it, Tim pressed send.

Tim had sent:

I’ve had another long week and would like to blow off some steam. You available?

Tim nervously fidgeted with his fingers. He shouldn’t expect anything back, honestly. Tim had waited to long to message him in the first place. Before Tim could mentally beat himself up about it, his phone dinged.

Danny had responded.

I assume this is Tim? Give me an hour and then I will be ready. Let off steam as in meet up at the boxing gym I have keys to or at my place?

Tim paused at the text. That had been unexpected. There last encounter had been pretty cut and dry. Danny had given Tim the option of just sex or not. It had been a long time since Tim had sparred with anyone outside his family. Danny had the scars and muscles that betrayed that he knew how to fight.

That might be fun.

Tim finally responded:

Gym sounds great. Give me the address and I’ll meet you there in an hour.

Danny responded promptly with a GPS pin of a gym on the edge of the Bowery and Crime Alley. Tim flipped to another text thread and messaged Jason a courtesy text:

Heading to your neck of the wood. Meeting a friend at Old King Boxing Gym.

Jason didn’t miss a beat. Within seconds he responded.

Since when do you have friends?

Old King Boxing Gym was a staple in Crime Alley. Tim knew of the owner, a man named Sam who had been fighting longer than Tim had been alive. He was as neutral as someone could get in Gotham.

The gym had a reputation for being a safe haven for kids in Crime Alley. At least Danny had good taste in boxing gyms.

An hour later, Tim found himself parking his bike in a garage in the Bowery and walking the three extra blocks towards Crime Alley. Tim bike was less likely to get stollen that way. The air was brisk during Tim’s walk and he wasn’t sure if the air was standing up on his arms from nerves or the chill.

Not even thirty seconds after Tim walked up to the gym, did a black and green street bike turn the corner. Danny road what looked like a tricked-out Kawasaki. He pulled up into the alley next to the gym, kicking down off his bike. He pulled his helmet off and flashed Tim a roughish smile.

Tim’s stomach flipped, remembering Danny flashing him that same smile in bed. Jesus, how was Tim going to get through a training session?

“I should have offered a lift,” Danny said, opening the gym with a set of keys attached to black paracord. He rolled his bike up to the door and into the gym.

Clearly Danny had the same thoughts about his bike being stollen.

“It’s all good.”

Danny had on a white t-shirt, black sweatpants, and a reinforced denim moto jacket in a midwash. Tim followed Danny inside the gym. Danny moved around, turning on lights. The gym had plenty of equipment but a lot of it looked old and slightly run down. There was only one ring in the center of the room, but multiple other designed training areas.

“Sam gave me the key a couple of months ago,” Danny explained, “I teach a kids class on Tuesday evenings. Sam said I could use the gym whenever.”

“What type of class?” Tim asked, adjusting the bad that was on his shoulder. Tim had brought an assortment of equipment. Danny had said boxing, but Tim wasn’t sure if that meant classic boxing, Muy Tai, MMA, Savate, or more of a euphemism for another fighting style. Tim had packed his 8oz and 14oz gloves as well as his gi.

Tim still had a white belt as he had never formally belted up despite Dick and Tim training Brazilion jujitsu every other week and had for years. Dick’s flexibility made him one hell of a sparing partner for that particular marital art.

“I teach classic American boxing,” Danny answered, “But personally I’ve trained in Muy Tai, BJJ, and Aikido. I have some medieval martial training as well. I have a… mentor who trained in that.”

That got Tim’s eyebrows to raise. He was trained in swords. That was unique in this day and age. Tim needed to keep Damian away from Danny, or he would demand a spar.

“You?” Danny asked, casually.

He had an assessing look on his face. Tim realized that Danny had no reason to know that Tim had trained in anything.

“A little bit of everything,” Tim said diplomatically, “And a whole lot of nothing.” Tim didn’t mention his bō training. It was too recognizable as Red Robin’s weapon of choice. “I’ve done some Muy Tai, so we can start there. Gloves or no gloves?”

Danny smiled at him, amused, “Gloves.”

Tim dropped his sweatshirt and was just down to his black tank top and sweats. Danny had already seen all of his scars anyways. Tim had shorts on under his sweats incase he got hot. Danny himself stripped down to shorts and a t-shirt.

They started warming-up and Tim ran through a couple of dynamic stretches. Danny followed suit.

Finally, they both squared up in the ring. Danny had grabbed focus mitts and held them out for Tim. Tim started slow, throwing jabs and crosses for a few minutes breaking a light sweat.

Then, Tim said, “Your turn.” Danny handed the mitts over to Tim and they repeated it. Danny moved light on his feet. Tim could tell he was also pulling his punches.

After a few minutes, Tim said, “Let’s spar.”

They started slow. Danny’s hands were quick and he had a good block. His footwork belayed his training. Tim started to pack a little more heat behind his throws, ducking and weaving around Danny.

They did that for around ten minutes, each landing light blows. Tim felt elated. All of the week melted away and all he thought about the next punch and the next block.

Then suddenly, Danny caught one of Tim’s jabs, locked Tim’s arm out, and swept him to the floor in a takedown.

That bastard.

Tim reacted immediately, pulling Danny down with him and pulling off his gloves. Then, they were on the mat and Tim moved quickly to secure the mount position. Danny smiled at him, clearly feeling very pleased to be between Tim’s legs. Tim felt his face flush.

The movement of hesitation was all Danny needed to slip his forearm into Tim’s mount position and against his hips, hooked Tim’s heel, and slipped the position. Tim immediately moved to counter. They flowed through the jiujitsu positions until both of them were panting and red in the face. Danny, much like Tim, was extremely flexible.

Tim found himself looking at Danny’s exposed torso from his shirt that had ridden up while trying to escape an armlock. Tim suddenly felt very mischievous, stuck his tongue out, and licked Danny’s exposed stomach.

Danny’s grip faltered in shock, and Tim took the slip take mount position again. Danny’s blue eyes were clear and on fire. His pupils were blown side. What had been fun sparring suddenly feel intensely more intimate. Tim hips and groan were locked against Danny’s to keep him still and heat was beginning to pool in his stomach.

Never in all of Tim’s years of training had he felt like this.

Danny, then in one smooth motion, bucked up and pulled Tim’s legs around him so that Tim was now sitting in Danny’s lap, their foreheads pressed against each other, breathing hard.

Tim closed the gap, using his position to leverage the kiss making Danny submit to his tongue. Danny opened his mouth wide as Tim attacked with fervor and need. All the anger and frustration from the week Tim poured into the kiss.

Danny threw his head back with a groan and Tim used that to attack Danny’s neck, teeth lightly nipping at the exposed skin.

“You’re feisty tonight,” Danny muttered.

“Long week,” Tim answered between nibbles.

“Yeah?” Danny asked, “Me too, I swear Freshman students get worse every year.”

Tim pulled back and looked at Danny. Danny’s hair was disheveled and had fading red marks across his neck. While getting fucked into oblivion usually sounded great to Tim, that was not the energy he was currently feeling. Tim was itching for release after the week.

Tim had been a cornered animal, biting anyone who dared to get too close. Tim did not want to be passive in the least tonight.

“I would like to fuck you this time,” Tim told Danny. After a beat, he added, “If that’s okay.”

Danny blinked, cocked his head, then finally answered, “I would like that. But not on these mats. I admit, we don’t wash them as much as we should.”

“I need to get my bike. It’s in the Bowery, at the garage on 9^th and W street.”

Danny leaned up and gave Tim a long slow kiss, hands gripping his waist, “I’ll take you there on my bike, just let me lock up.”

For a moment, they stared at each other, neither of them wanting to break the physical contact. Finally, Tim moved off of Danny and lent a hand down to help Danny up.

Danny accepted it graciously, both standing tall in the ring. Tim leaned forward and captured Danny’s mouth in another kiss, feelings of excitement and anticipation clear in the clashing of teeth and tongue. Tim let himself just feel it.

“Let’s go,” Danny whispered to Tim.

[1] I’m imagining superhero JAGs. I feel like a comic/story about a superhero whose job it is to investigate other superheroes/vigilantes would be super interesting.

[2] I fully believe that Tim has an Executive Assistance AND a Personal Assistant. He inherited a multimillion dollar fortune from the Drakes, is currently the head of a multibillion dollar conglomerate that seemingly has its hands in every business type, AND is a well known social figure. Tam is his EA, and deals mainly with stuff relating to Wanye Enterprises and my OC will deal with more of the Tim Drake-Wayne stuff. There is no way Tim would be able to function WITHOUT both a PA and EA.

[3] I am learning some hot and fast facts about how public companies run.

[4] I think it is tragically sad and also very healing to the abandoned and neglected child that Tim was, that Tim pays someone to care about his needs.

[5] Joint Senate and House of Representatives committee called to investigate superhero and vigilante misconduct.

Chapter Text

Fire for Effect.

It was an artillery phrase used when firing indirect fire, IDF, weapons to indicate when they were on target and for the battery to send the desired round count. Tim remembered the first time he had done IDF training it had been with the League of Assassins. He had been deep in the Gobi Desert, his Earthly possessions on his back, surrounded by want-to-be Assassins.

They had borrowed the Chinese PLZ-05 which was a type of truck mounted Howitzer that sent 155MM rounds. Tim had spent three days, sweating in the desert, doing range bracketing and spotting for the weapons systems.

Tim would never forget the satisfaction of making the call to Fire for Effect and seeing the devastating fallout on the terrain. It was the call of almighty release of power, and once made, could not be recalled.

In some deep dark hidden recesses of his mind, Tim apricated the training that the League of Assassins had given him. In return for helping him with his search for Bruce, Ra’s had requested that Tim receive League training. Tim had bartered six grueling months of his life away for paltry protection and ultimately, abandonment in the face of the Council of Spiders.

Tim had been sixteen and desperate. Some bitter part of Tim knew that Ra’s, by forcing Tim to accept League training, was in fact providing that assistance requested.

Tim would never tell the bastard that. Tim had assumed that most of it would be martial arts based as Damian surely had showed up ninja trained.

Tim had been so wrong.

There had been martial arts training, but it had been minimal compared to everything else.

The league had adapted throughout the centuries. They used adult learning methods. They used modern technology and UAS[1] to accomplish missions. They taught both extremely subtle and extremely violent forms of assassination.

The training that the League gave him filled in the gaps that Bruce either missed or had refused to cover. Bruce’s aversion to killing led to solutions that included a significant amount of risk.

At the same time, Tim could see how a lot of the lessons Bruce had taught him as Robin had stemmed from Bruce’s own time in the League. 

Set conditions, and sequence events, one of Batman’s favorite training phrases, also applied when you were luring someone to their death.

The most dangerous thing that Tim had learned, is that you sometimes you didn’t even need to pull the trigger to kill someone, just set the right conditions and they would take care of themselves.

First, you needed to figure out everything about that person. Who they loved, whom they despised, and what they cared about most in the world, then you pulled the Ace out from their house of cards.

Tim remembered a case study they had gone over. The LoA had gone after a business shipping magnate in Spain. His hot beautiful younger wife had been caught cheating. The league had arranged that, of course. Then, through some tips had been dropped off with Interpol regarding some shady business dealings. They hadn’t even been false tips. Finally, the league had impersonated his physician to call him and inform him that he had stage IV cancer, and that chemo would be unlikely to work.

The man had shot himself on his yacht. Due to circumstances, the Police hadn’t even bothered to investigate.

Then, there was the non-profit leader who was known to party. The cocaine laced with fentanyl was chalked up to bad luck.

The surgeon with multiple DUIs running his car off a cliff.

Tim had, unfortunately, taken these lessons like a duck to water. Find vulnerability and exploit it.

Of course, there was also the combat training.

Tim had taken to it less so. He had been the youngest one of his cohort. At sixteen, Tim hadn’t been done growing at the time. He had struggled to keep up with the other assassins in his “training program” had been ex-military. They had taken one look at 16-year-old pretty boy Tim Drake and scoffed.

Tim’s only experience at the time with firearms had been Bruce’s gun safety classes.

Tim had a steep learning curve there. One of the men had taken Tim quickly under his wing and taught him the basics. The cycle of the infantry man, Suppress, Assess, Move, Kill or SAMK hadn’t been all too different than Bruce’s teaching for gunfire response of cover, assess, distract, reroute, engage or disengage or CAD RED.[2]

Tim remembers that first conversation with Bruce well.

Eleven year old Tim entertained himself with swinging his legs on a metal chair in the Batcave. Bruce looked at him dead in the eyes and asked, “What do you do if someone is shooting at you, Tim?”

Little Tim had bit his lip nervously and tried to think of a clever answer. “Get behind something that stops bullets?”

“That’s called seeking cover. You are correct, that is the first step. How would you go from there?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Next thing I will need you to do is think. How many are there? Who is shooting? What type of weapon are they shooting? Are they moving towards you or away from you? You understand?”

“Yes Sir.”

Bruce had never been outwardly asked to be called Sir, but Tim had been raised properly, and Bruce hadn’t stopped it. Adult Tim understood that Bruce wanted the boundaries.

“Good, now your next step is a distraction, sometime to draw their fire away from you. You can’t move if you’re going to get shot.”

Tim’s legs stopped swinging, and he nodded.

“That distraction can look like a lot of things, smoke grenade, rock through a window, remote controlled vehicle or drone, another hero, but you have to cover your next step with is rerouting and moving to a position where you can move more freely without gunfire.”

“Once you are able to move, then you need to decide if it is worth engaging or disengaging. Are civilians in harm’s way? Are we able to capture them later? Repeat the steps back to me.”

Young Tim answered, “Find cover, assess the situation, distract the gunman, reroute to safety, then engage or disengage.”

Bruce’s teaching had left a lot of room for risk of injury or death. A smoke grenade, for example, didn’t stop the bullets even if it made it harder for the gunman to see them. The League’s teaching of: someone is shooting at you so you shoot back so they have to find cover themselves and stop shooting made a lot more goddamn sense than what Batman taught.

The combat and survival training that the League had run Tim through had been brutal. One leg of the training, for example, had left him stranded in the jungles of India for seven days with eighty pounds of ineffective gear and one survival partner. They had each been given a handgun with one twenty round magazine. They had been tasked with evading the League for seven days or they would be captured and taken in for anti-interrogation training.[3]

Tim had been captured on day six and tortured for twenty-four hours. The man Tim had spent the last six days surviving with had not survived.

Nothing quite describes the trauma bond that two people develop when they are depending on the other to post security during the night so they don’t get murdered. Amarin Kun had served in the Royal Thai Armed forces before he had fled and joined the League. He had only been twenty-four when he died.

Before the time Tim was no longer a teenager, he had seen more dead bodies than days of the year. Bruce was aware of Tim’s time training with the League but it was an even more forbidden topic than Tim’s childhood.

Tim’s rumination on his time with the League of Assassins by Danny pulling off the road and into the underground parking garage of his apartment building. Tim followed on his bike. Danny swiped him in, and Tim pulled into a Guest Parking spot to the right.

Tim was going to Fire for Effect, send rounds down range, and utterly ravish Danny. He might even call for a Repeat.[4]

Tim pulled off his helmet and followed Danny to the underground elevators.

“My bike is fine here?” Tim asked.

“Yeah, management doesn’t give a fuck where you park honestly.”

Danny looked spooled up even more than he had at the training gym. He rolled a silver ring around his finger in almost a nervous twitch. It was the first time Tim had seen Danny display anything other than cool indifference or mild amusement outside of sex.

Nervous. Danny was nervous about being fucked.

Heat radiated through Tim’s body at the thought and tingled down to his toes. Tim knew, from the little he did know of Danny, that he was not the type to let others take charge. Yet, he was willing to let Tim take the lead despite the nerves.

The elevator dinged and they stepped inside.

An impulsive part of Tim wanted to push Danny hard against the metal door and consume his mouth, but the rational part of Tim knew that these elevators had cameras. Tim Drake-Wayne on camera making out in an elevator wouldn’t be the more scandalous thing a Wayne had gone, but it also wasn’t something Tim wanted to run damage control on.

Tim could behave for one short elevator ride. Danny, who was the silent type, stared at Tim intently.

Danny told him, “You’re radiating chaos right now. It’s kind of hot.”

“Am I?” Tim asked, amused.

“Utter chaos energy,” Danny said, voice rough, “Should I be worried?”

“I’ve… had a very long week. My emotions are strung out. I…” Tim didn’t know how to explain it and Danny’s crystalline blue eyes meet Tim’s without flinching.

Danny cocked his head slightly and said lightly, “Would like to use sex as an outlet. Would like to use me.”

Tim swallowed hard, shame burning through him. Yes, he would. Tim would very much like to use Danny, but at the same time, he felt shame at admitting that to the man. It wasn’t fair to Danny for Tim to –

Whatever Tim was thinking was cut off by Danny’s voice.

“Do it,” Danny told him, “Use me.”

The elevator door dinged as Tim’s breath left his body. They walked silently to Danny’s apartment and Danny let them in. As soon as the door closed, Danny turned to Tim, passive in his stance. He was letting Tim take charge.

Tim pounced, his mouth finding Danny’s as his momentum had them stumbling backwards. Danny’s back hit the side of the kitchen island counter. Tim used the hard stop as leverage to further dominate the kiss. Danny groaned and rolled his head back. Tim broke the kiss and pulled Danny’s t-shirt over his head, exposing the man’s frankly impressive build.

Tim nibbled and sucked down his chest, stopping at Danny’s nipples. Tim’s mouth latched on while his hand slipped inside of the waist band of Danny’s sweatpants.

“Ancients fuck,” Danny moaned, “Let’s take this to the bedroom.”

“No thank you,” Tim said as his hand wrapped around Danny’s cock. Danny’s breath hitched.

“Are you going to fuck me right here on the kitchen counter,” Danny teased.

“I could,” Tim said seriously, hand gently stroking down Danny’s length, as his continued assault of Danny’s exposed chest led him to the v-lips in Danny’s lower stomach. Finally, Tim was on his knees in front of Danny. He pulled down the sweatpants to expose dark charcoal boxers that Tim also removed.

Danny was completely exposed in front of Tim, his cock red and throbbing and inches away from Tim’s mouth. Tim then leaned forward and took Danny into his mouth, the other hand massaging the base of the cock.

Tim looked up at Danny who looked to be in the throws of passion, head leaned back, one hand grasping behind him for something to stabilize himself the other had a death grip on the counter.

“Fuck, fuck,” Danny repeated, “Ancients above and below. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” Danny begged.

Tim hummed against the cock, as one of his hands started to snake back across Danny’s balls and towards his ass. One finger found the spot as he gently rubbed against the rim.

“Tim, baby, Ancients, your mouth,” Danny’s said, incoherently. Tim continued to suck and swirl his tongue around the head of Danny’s cock, paying special attention to the underside.

“Turn around and put your hands against the counter,” Tim ordered, and Danny looked at him wide eyed. Danny did what he was told, and turned, bracing himself against the counter.

Tim’s tongue then found the spot he was searching for, sucking against the rim of Danny’s exposed hole. One hand kept Danny open and the other, gently caressed the underside of Danny’s balls.

His tongue gently penetrated Danny at the same time Tim gripped the base of Danny’s cock. Danny bucked, no doubt uncontrollably from the low whine that escaped his mouth. Tim continued to push his tongue gently into Danny and stroked him in a long, slow motion.

“Tim baby,” Danny panted. “If you keep doing that, I am going to come.”

Tim hummed again against Danny, and removed his mouth to tell him, “Then come, I can still fuck you.”

Danny let out a shocked exhale, “Ancients, fuck, you’re so hot. Yes, use me, Ancients.”

Tim returned to continue his mission, tongue pushing in and hand slowly ramping up the speed of his tugs on Danny. The man’s grip against the counter seemingly got tighter as Danny rocked against him with each stroke, fucking his hand.

Danny made incoherent noises, and Tim could feel Danny’s dick throbbing. Then Tim suddenly stopped. Danny let out a full-on whimper, and a self-satisfied smirk settled across Tim’s face.

“What,” Danny’s voice was bewildered, “keep going.”

“But then you’ll come,” Tim pointed out, “And I have plans for you.”

“I thought you – okay, yeah, okay,” Danny said, turning to face Tim. He looked disheveled, wrought in pleasure, and so gloriously beautiful. Tim stood up. Danny was leaning back against the island table, his knees bent, so Tim at his full height now appeared slightly taller.

Tim leaned forward and gave Danny a long, slow kiss.

“Can you find condoms and lube?” Tim asked, “And we can go to the bedroom.”

Danny stumbled towards the bathroom and Tim followed him, if only for future reference. Danny opened the top drawer in the right side of the bathroom cabinet to find a small box of condoms and a bottle of lube.

Danny turned and faced Tim. “I think you’re overdressed.”

“I’ll fix that,” Tim told him, “Go lay down.” Danny and he walked to the bedroom. Danny then climbed into the bed, leaning back against the pillows, utterly nude and shameless. Danny placed his hands behind his head in a non-verbal signal of wanting Tim to put on a show.

Hmm, Tim could do that. Tim removed his shoes first, unceremoniously kicking them off. Then he grasped the edge of his tank top, pulling it off in one smooth motion.

Danny’s eyes latched onto Tim’s torso and his tongue flicked between his teeth. Tim then stretched up, one hand snaking down his torso to grasp the waistband of his sweatpants. Tim shimmied them over his hips and stood in front of Danny, unclothed.

Danny’s hot gaze latched across Tim’s body.

“I think when known existence made you,” Danny said, “It forgot to remember that people shouldn’t be made perfect. Tim, you are gorgeous.”

Tim, who not five minutes prior had his tongue in Danny’s ass, flushed red in embarrassment. Tim usually didn’t think a lot about his body other than he needed to train it and that it was damaged from his years of Red Robin work.

Tim stepped forward towards the bed, until he was standing at the base. He then leaned forward, his knees hitting the edge and he crawled towards Danny who had not moved from his relaxed position.

Tim finally settled into a straddle of the other man, his hands bracing above Danny’s head. Danny’s silky dark hair was strewn out over the pillow like a halo. The man’s freckles stark and enchanting against the almost glowing pale skin. Danny’s dusty red lips were swollen from Tim’s earlier assault.

“I am going to fuck you now,” Tim announced.

Danny met Tim’s gaze, “Okay.”

“I want you to hold onto the headboard the entire time,” Tim said.

Danny visibly swallowed hard, and his dick twitched. “Okay,” he repeated, hands snaking up to grab the black metal of the headboard.

Tim grabbed the lube that Danny had placed on the bed aside him. Tim settled in between Danny’s legs his fingers coated in lube. Tim’s pointer finger slipped in easily, and Tim moved it in small circles, attempting to loosen up the muscles.

Danny was clearly tight. Danny said nothing as he stared down at Tim, hands still securely holding on. Tim then took his second finger, gently pushing in to settle next to the other. Danny hissed, slightly in pain.

“You okay?” Tim asked.

“Yes,” Danny said evenly, “Keep going, I will adjust.”

Tim nodded and began to scissor his finger, rolling them around trying to loosen the muscles for a larger intrusion. Tim wasn’t a god among men. He had a dick size that fell within the longer side of the standard deviation.

Regardless, Danny clearly hadn’t been on the receiving end of sex much.

Tim slowly and methodically worked Danny open. Tim’s fingers brushed over a spot and Danny sucked in a tight breath. Bingo, there it was.

Danny’s arousal had subsided, no doubt with the pain. However, when Tim pushed against that spot inside of him, Danny interest resumed. Danny arched his hips towards the intrusion in the universal sign of wanting more.

Tim gently placed a third finger against the rim of Danny’s ass.

“Hu, ahh,” Danny said, “Ancients. Please.”

Finally a third finger slide inside of Danny. Tim continued to work him open, taking his sweet time. Danny’s hands started to slip in their grip of the headboard.

Tim leaned down and gave a nip against the skin of Danny’s leg. Danny gasped and Tim told him, “Keep your hands secured.”

Danny nodded at him in response and grabbed the headboard in a hard grip. “Please baby,” Danny told him, “I’m ready. You can fuck me.”

Tim looked up at the man, “It would be my pleasure.” Danny whimpered at the loss of Tim’s fingers as Tim climbed up on top of him. Tim lined himself up against Danny and gently guided himself in. Danny’s body arched to meet the intrusion.

The feeling of warmth and compression against Tim’s cock felt otherworldly, and it took every bit of Tim’s control to maintain the slow pace. They laid there, locked together for a second as Danny adjusted. Danny finally breathed out, “Move.”

Tim did what he was told, moving his hips back slightly and rocking forward. The pace started off slow but quickly became brutal and Danny matched his thrusts with his body. Tim snaked his hands between them to grasp Danny’s cock.

Tim matched his trusts to the stokes of Danny’s cock. Danny cried out as Tim pounded against the right spot inside of Danny. Part of Tim considered slowing it down, allowing himself recovery time to control the speed of his finish.

But no, they were both too lost in the sensation. Sometime in there Danny forgot about Tim’s request to grab the headboard, and Danny’s hands found themselves in Tim’s hair.  

“I’m going to come,” Danny told him, which Tim already knew from the throbbing of Danny’s member in his hands. Danny came, cursing the ancients and Tim continued his rocking against Danny’s body.

Within thirty seconds, Tim could feel himself pushing over the edge.

“Come with me please,” Danny begged, “I can feel you.”

Then, with a grunt, Tim came inside of Danny, black spots dancing across the edge of Tim’s vision.

Tim didn’t move for a moment, Danny’s hands gently rubbing Tim’s hair in a circular motion. “You good?” Danny asked, gently.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Tim asked his voice rough and horse. He gently extracted himself from Danny and rolled the condom off.

“That was intense,” Danny acknowledged, “You were intense. I’m making sure you’re okay.”

No, yes, maybe, Tim didn’t know how to answer that. Kon and Tim had not been very good at communicating around sex. During sex, sure, they ensured the other was consenting. However, Kon had a lot of hang-ups around physical intimacy, relating to his strength as his non-human status. Tim had a lot of hang-ups around physical intimacy because he had wanted things that he never asked for, feeling that it would have been too much.

It probably would have been. Especially when in the last six months of their relationship, they had only been sexually intimate twice.

Danny hummed at Tim’s lack of response, taking it for the non-answer it was. “Let’s shower,” Danny told Tim, “Come on baby.”

Outside of sex the endearment hit Tim like a tidal wave. He flushed, embarrassed, and his stomach fluttered in nerves. Tim followed Danny to the bathroom, and much like last time, got in the shower with him.

Danny pulled Tim into a sweet, slow kiss, Danny’s hands resting on Tim’s hips. It had none of the charged urgency as earlier, and neither of them moved to take it further. Instead, it felt gentle and intimate.

“Turn around,” Danny told him, and Tim furrowed his brows in confusion. Tim did as he was told and Danny popped the shampoo bottle. Then, Danny’s fingers started combing through Tim’s hair.

Danny was washing Tim’s hair.

Tim’s heart was beating through his chest, but not from sexual arousal. Danny leaned down and kissed the nape of Tim’s neck, no doubt getting a mouthful of water and suds.

Danny then told him, “Rinse that out.”

Tim leaned under the spray head, the water pressure the right mix between firm and misting and rinsed out the shampoo. Danny behind him popped open the conditioner and repeated the process. Tim had never had anyone wash his hair before in his entire life. Tim didn’t even remember his parents bathing him, having been fostered off to nannies when Tim was exceptionally young who just told Tim to take a bath. Then, when Tim was not exceptionally young – at the mature old age of seven – the nannies had stopped, and it had just been Tim to take care of himself.

Tim very rarely thought of his parents and his younger years, the trauma of the last decade of his life far more vibrant and vitriol. His parents’ neglect had been a quiet abuse, underscoring all of Tim’s opinions about himself and his worth. However, what his parents had not done was far more persistent than what they did.  

It was not like Jason’s father who had beat his mother and put lit cigarettes on his skin, nor like Damian’s mother who had forced a six-year-old boy to murder someone.

No, Tim’s parents hadn’t been that type of abusive, but abusive, nonetheless. Tim could, in fact, speak ill of the dead. He did it all the time.

They got out of the shower, and Danny handed Tim a white towel. Danny looked at him, facial expression hopeful. “Stay the night?” he asked, “Or at least stay for a movie?”

Tim felt the deep type of exhaustion that settled in from months, no years, of non-stop work and stress. Tim didn’t know if it would even be safe for him to ride his bike. He hesitated, nonetheless.

Staying was incredibly intimate and trusting. “I would like that,” Tim said quietly.

They returned to the bedroom. Tim realized then that he hadn’t brought a change of clothing, and what he had worn there was sweety and gross from the sparring session. Danny seemed to catch onto Tim’s train of thoughts.

“Here,” Danny said, opening his drawers, “We have about the same waist size.” Danny tossed Tim boxers, black sweatpants, and a black t-shirt that had a cute little cartoon ghost logo on it.

“Thanks,” Tim told him, then added, “Sorry, I didn’t think that through.”

“Don’t apologize, I like you wearing my clothes.”

Tim swallowed, goddamnit, Danny was threatening to be the death of him. Danny had chosen to just put on sweats himself, his immaculate chest still on display.

“Would you like something to drink?” Danny asked, walking towards the kitchen. Danny reached into the fridge and pulled out a beer for himself. “I have beer, wine, whiskey, gin, vodka, I think I even have some sake in the fridge…”

“Hmmm,” Tim thought on that, “If I drink anything I am liable to fall asleep on you.” That was very true for Tim. If he needed to focus on anything, drinking would knock that out of him. Even slightly buzzed Tim suddenly became a ball of cuddles and exhaustion.

Danny gave a small smile at Tim, “That’s okay, that’s kind of the point of staying the night.”

“Okay, yeah,” Tim agreed, “What type of wine do you have.”

Danny pulled out a couple of bottles, all from California. Tim selected the Cab, it was easy drinking. Tim recognized some of the labels… they weren’t cheap. Tim slid onto one of the barstools as Danny puttered around the kitchen.  

Tim took a moment to look at Danny, not under the haze of lust. There was the long blade scar running up his right arm. His left arm was covered in a lichtenberg scar pattern. It was faint, as if it had happened a long time ago, but Danny had stubble red tattoo ink outlining the pattern. Tim wondered if Danny had been struck by lightning.

Danny slid a knife underneath the foil and pulled it off in one smooth motion. He searched around the kitchen, pulling out a silver corkscrew.

“You’re a wine drinker,” Tim stated.

“Hardly,” Danny answered, “I did my undergrad at UC San Diego. I had a couple of friends drag me upstate for a couple of wine tours. I like good wine, but I don’t know good wine if that makes any sense. Whenever I see a decent bottle from California at the liquor store, I buy it now, you know, for solidarity. Once a Californian, always a Californian.”

That was probably the longest sentence Tim had gotten from the man about his past, or anything personal. Which, Tim didn’t exactly share much either.

“What skyline is your tattoo?” Tim asked, partly making conversation, partly from curiosity. While the scars were off limits in Tim’s mind for now, the tattoos were intended to be seen in some fashion.

“Amity Park, Illinois,” Danny answered easily, “I was raised there. I left when I was eighteen and have rarely been back, but it’ll always be home.”

“I understand,” Tim said, “Gotham is like that for me. I don’t know if I could ever leave though.”

“Your parents are from here?” Danny asked.

“My mother grew up in Gotham. My father moved here when he married my mother after college,” Tim answered, “Unless you’re talking about Bruce. The Wayne family is a Gotham institution in their own right.”

Danny pulled out a wine glass from his cupboard. It was large, round, and bulbous and certainly not a Cabernet Sauvignon glass. Tim’s parents had been wine enthusiasts, and Tim had been raised to know the difference.

Tim said nothing and accepted the glass graciously.

Danny looked at Tim as he slid the wine across the island, “I would ask about your parents, but I don’t want to talk about mine, so…”

Tim gave a wry smile, “I won’t ask,” Tim said, “But I don’t mind. My mother died when I was thirteen, and my father when I was fifteen. They were not good parents. Neglectful, and when they did pay attention, demanding. Bruce is better, but he also struggles.”

“I’m sorry,” Danny said, “Neglectful is a good way to describe mine as well. I haven’t spoken to them in three years, and before that, only on occasion. I ran away when I was fifteen.”

That described some of the scars, for sure, if Danny had been living on the streets. That fact that Danny was currently doing a PHD program showed resilience.

“You said something about a movie,” Tim said, deflecting. Tim hadn’t actually sat down and watched a TV show or movie in god knows how long. Even once and awhile, Stephanie dragged him to the theaters. Tim didn’t have time for, nor prioritized, movies and television. Beyond that, Tim’s lack of attention span and need to always be productive prohibited him from actually enjoying anything he did watch.

Kon had hated that. When they tried to watch a show and Tim itched to grab his phone. If Tim was going to waste time, he would rather it not be watching mindless reality television.

Now, Tim was fatigued, mentally and physically, and watching something and cuddling into Danny’s very strong arms, sounded nice, even if Tim was likely to fall asleep.

Danny grabbed a blanket from a basket in the corner of the room and pulled Tim into his arms on the couch. Danny’s skin was slightly cold to the touch, but Tim ran hot, so it was nice. Danny turned on the TV and pulled up the steaming services.

“What do you want to watch?” Danny asked Tim, wrapping his arm around him. Tim hummed and took another sip of his wine.

“Whatever,” Tim told him, “Seriously whatever. I don’t even know what’s come out recently.”

Danny kissed the top of Tim’s head which was tucked into his arms. “Okay baby.”

Tim took another sip of his wine, enjoying the feeling of warmth and relaxation washing over him. In that moment, away from WE, Red Robin, his apartment that contained his work, and Wayne Manor that contained his other work, Tim felt at ease. There was nothing he could do at that moment. Tim was here, sleepy, and being held in the arms of another.

Danny put on some sort of alien movie, and before Tim knew it, he was slipping into the realm of sleep. Half lucid, Tim could hear Danny’s soft voice telling him, “Baby, let’s move to the bedroom.”

Tim hummed in agreement, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. Danny’s bed felt soft and his comforter the perfect amount of cool. Tim curled up into Danny who was stroking his hair.

“Go to sleep, baby,” Danny told him, as darkness overtook his senses.

Tim, however, was not blessed with a blissful sleep. His dreams were violent.

Tim was fourteen years old, in his old Robin suit in a half-destroyed downtown city. There was a bomb, a rather large one, that had been placed and left by the villain of the week. They had not figured out how to defuse it and were out of time.

Tim’s mind ran through the solutions, but only one of them seemed viable.  

The choice lay in front of Tim in stark black and white, the life of his teammate or the lives of countless civilians. If Tim had been in the position to choose himself as the cost, if it was his life on the line, Tim wouldn't have hesitated. 

Impulse was hesitating. At sixteen years old, Tim didn't blame him for not wanting to die.

Sometimes there wasn't plan B. Sometimes there was no alternative. Tim felt cold wash over his body as the reality of his pending decision settled into his bones. His mind floated into the air and Tim's own voice was unrecognizable as he told Impulse, "Impulse I order you to run that bomb five clicks over the sea, now."

Impulse said with a small voice, "Yes Sir," and with a flash of movement, was gone. The seconds clicked by. Comms were silent as the reality of Tim's decision settled over his teammates.

Vitriol anger at the situation bubbled up through Tim at the unfairness of life. Maybe Impulse would be able to outrun the blast radius, maybe he wouldn’t. Regardless, it had been Tim’s order, Tim’s decision as leader, that had sent one of their own towards probable death.

What had happened was that the bomb had been a dud. The team had laughed it off, clapping Impulse on the back for his selfless decision. No one had said anything to Tim, other than long glances. 

Except for Kon, Kon had taken Tim aside and yelled at him about the incident, calling Tim heartless and calculating. 

In his dream, that had not happened. Instead, dream Tim watched as the bomb erupted in a mushroom cloud, dark ash reigning over the sky. Tim had sent a child to his death in order to avoid the deaths of countless civilians.

Then, his friends faces and voices became blobs in the sky, accusing Tim of killing them, that they were expendable. 

Tim's conversation he had with Bruce about the situation entered the dream. Bruce's words about how leaders will be forced to make hard decisions came out of Tim's own mouth in defense of his actions. 

Then, Tim was thirteen, almost fourteen, in Titans tower. Jason had just slit Tim's throat. Tim could feel the blood pooling in his trachea and the panic hit him as the heavy liquid seeped into his lungs. Tim drowned in his own blood, realizing that he wouldn't even get any last words.

Tim would die there. A child that wanted so much and received so little, forsaken by his heroes; his body strewn out on the floor of the tower like an ancient sacrifice to the gods. Tim had felt at peace in that moment, accepting of his death.

Tim had not died that evening.

Then, Tim was eleven, putting on the Robin, so proud and honored. It had been his first month as the hero that a man had died in his arms. Colin Lycan was shot in the chest while being mugged in the Financial District of Old Gotham. Tim had tried to apply a sucking chest seal. It hadn’t mattered. The man had perished before paramedics had arrived, blood covering Tim’s suit. In Tim’s dream, the man had risen up like a Zombie, scrambling towards Tim.

The scene changed; Tim was twenty. There had been a hurricane in Eastern Europe. Global tensions had prohibited the Justice League for getting to the survivors, as the American backed JLA entering the area had been considered a threat of war against the other power.

The Wayne Foundation had lobbied Congress and the UN to get peacekeeping organizations into the region. Tim had worked tirelessly for two weeks, setting up the global supply chain, rerouting shipping vessels in favor of aide and assistance. By the time Tim had gotten the greenlight to enter the region it had been eighteen days.

The bodies of dead children littered the streets, perishing from lack of drinkable water and food. Tim could have prevented it, if only he had pushed harder, if only he had cut the red tape, if only he had… if only he had… if only he had…if only… if only… if… if…

-----

Danny didn’t really sleep. He could, in theory, if he pulled in all of his forms, turned human, and laid down for rest.

However, that sounded like an outrageously dangerous and bad idea. But Ancients, there we’re times Danny wanted nothing more than to do that. Such as now, when Danny had the gorgeous Tim Drake-Wayne snug in his arms. The idea of turning it all off, quieting his mind, sounded so blissful. To simply be present was a gift most humans did not apricate.

Instead, Danny’s sleeping form lay on Earth, and his focus shifted towards another form at the Isle of Infinity. He was in conversation with Pandora, who had become a trusted advisor.

“The tensions between the Land of A’Aru[5] and Kingdom of Fir are rising. Fir’s power drains as the mortal realms forget his name. He is courting the unassigned.[6]”

“Many of Osiris’ souls are fading,” Danny acknowledged. Power and greed persisted even for the dead. “A’Aru is getting smaller because of it.”

“He will call on you to put a stop to it,” Pandora said, “At the upcoming Counsel assembly.”

“No doubt, but I will not. Soul fading is part of the natural cycle. We have a universe on the edge of formation on the outer edge of the Infinite Realms. If I put a stop of the fading of souls it will hold off time. Clockwork would be displeased.”

“Osiris is worried that he too will fade,” she said, “You would sacrifice a being older than your Earth for the birth of a new universe?” Pandora’s eyes were questioning and reproachful.

“Osiris will not fade for some time. He has the power to sustain himself, even on the strength of his own belief,” Danny pointed out, “And even then, that will be after the formation and destruction of many universes. Who is to say that the beings there do not worship a God in his likeness?”

Pandora said nothing for many moments until she finally looked at Danny critically. “You have become a strong ruler. I caution you to remember that beings make desperate decisions when they believe their existence or power is on the line.”

“And Osiris believes both is, yes I am aware Pandora,” Danny sighed, “Plain speak with me. Are you asking me to withhold souls from fading?”

The being before him bobbed in the air. She radiated a conflicting mixture of emotions, loyalty and fear. Danny had long since come to terms with the fear that beings held for him. It had been truly painful in the beginning when Danny had realized that most of his staff feared him. It had faded over time, when Danny’s personality proved to be just and kind. However, it would never truly go away.

Danny was absolute power, and there wasn’t a single creature in existence that did not fear that on some level.

Danny was an empath by nature of being a ghost. Before the crown, Danny had been very weak with the ability, picking up on just stronger emotions and barely able to decipher them. After taking the throne, emotions became another sense for Danny in same way that noise was for him. It was another variable to interpret the thoughts and feelings of the creatures around him. However, the stronger the ghost, the more they were able to control what they projected.

Pandora was incredibly strong, but she cared little to control her projection.

She looked to the right of Danny, “Osiris is a good friend of mind. The idea of him fading pains me.”

“Fading is part of the natural order,” Danny said, gently, “And if I make allowances for one, I must make allowances for others. Where do I draw that line? Do I base it on power? Influence? My opinions of them?” Danny scoffed at the thought.

Her grief hit Daniel like a tidal wave. Danny sighed, shifting his form into legs, sitting down onto the chair behind him. Pandora mirrored his example, and they sat down on the same level.

“Pandora,” Danny told her, “You are very dear to me. I will consider working the balance to ensure that Osiris does not fade, for now.”

She radiated thankful and relieved, stated, “Thank you, My Liege, for your mercy and kindness.”

“Do not thank me,” Danny waved off, “Anyways – ”

Then Danny’s whole form flinched, in fact every form he held across existence flinched. His human body had been unexpectedly jolted awake.

“My Liege,” Pandora gasped out and reached to steady him.

“Peace Pandora,” Danny told her, “I am fine. Just had a jolt.”

Her face was contorted in confusion and concern, but Danny waved her off in favor of continuing the conversation.

At the same time, Danny shifted his mental focus to his human form and got his bearings from suddenly being woken. Tim was in bed next to him, trashing about violently. He was muttering words too jumbled for Danny to understand.

Earlier, when Tim had met Danny at the gym, he had been a tight knit of anxiety and stress. They had worked through some of that on the mats, stress turning to lust. Something about the young man captivated Danny.

Danny didn’t do relationships. Most normal humans couldn’t comprehend the stress and responsibility that Danny held, especially the ones in Danny’s human age bracket. He could, in theory, get companionship with a ghost. However, most ghosts had lost what it meant to be alive and human. Danny also hesitated in taking any ghostly being into his bed. The dead could not deny him, which led to far too many consent issues for Danny to ever desire that.

Danny had, in fact, looked up Tim Drake-Wayne after sleeping him with the prior Friday. What Danny had found had been impressive, even without the added context of Tim’s vigilante career. At seventeen Tim had taken over one of the largest corporations on planet Earth, while balancing multiple degrees. His conduct in public beguiled a maturity above his years, as Tim always exuded a sense of calm and control.

The Wayne Foundation’s open to the public finances showed a commitment to philanthropic work that went beyond cursory giving. Tim’s hands were all over the decisions being made.

Then, there was Red Robin, which the internet knew far less about. Danny did the math, and Tim became a vigilante at eleven-years-old.

Also, the last time Danny had allowed someone to fuck him was almost six years ago, when Danny had been nineteen and exploring his sexuality. As an empath, Danny found pleasure from others pleasure. He enjoyed taking someone apart to their base desires, and the echoing feeling of want. Danny, for all he tried to turn off what he was, exuded power. For most humans that translated in wanting Danny to fuck them, not the other way around. Danny also found it difficult to be vulnerable, physically or emotionally. He shared very little about himself with the world.  

Tim did not back down to Danny’s power. Despite the years of martial training Danny had done in his human form, there was no doubt in Danny’s mind that Tim could dominate him in hand-to-hand combat, all things being equal with powers.

Tim had controlled the sexual encounter earlier, given pleasure for all the talk of taking it. Tim had Danny underneath him, pliant and open, and ancients had it been hot. Tim had no idea how incredibly attractive he was, body sculpted as if Michelangelo himself had carved the marble. Tim’s haircut, no doubt from a barber that charged more per hour than Danny made in a week, was the right amount of tousled and styled.

His blue eyes were deep and complex and expertly hid every emotion in his body.

He was fire in human form, and Danny was Prometheus, touching what he probably shouldn’t touch, and taking what he shouldn’t take. Because when Tim realized what Danny was, it would rightfully all be over.

The man, clearly experiencing some sort of nightmare or flashback, looked young and vulnerable, limbs everywhere in Danny’s bed.

“Tim, Tim baby,” Danny gentle shook the man, “Tim.”

Tim’s eyes flew wide, clearly muddled at where he was, because the next thing Danny knew, Tim had flipped him over, had Danny’s hands pinned to the sheets.

Danny lightly joked, “Are we going for a round two?”

First, shock colored Tim’s face, then realization at where he was. Waves of guilt erupted off the man.  

As if the spell was broken, Tim immediately exclaimed, “Oh god, I'm so sorry, just let me get my sluff and –” Tim leapt off the bed, backwards, stumbling over himself.

Danny cut Tim’s ridiculous rambling off. For one, Danny could take care of himself. For two, Tim clearly had reacted based off of instinct at Danny waking him up.

“Are you okay?” Danny asked the younger man, sitting up in the bed.

 “I – what? Are you okay. Danny, I'm so sorry I could have –”

“But you didn't,” Danny shut down that line of thinking, “Tim, look at me, you’re okay. We’re okay. Get back into bed please.”

For a moment it looked like Tim was going to flee, like a deer in a sniper scope. Then, he hunched his shoulders forward and deflated.

“I’m sorry,” Tim said.

“Don’t be,” Danny told him, “I have my fair share of nightmares.”

Tim looked up at him with tears in his eyes. Whatever he had been seeing in his dreams must have been horrific.

“Come here,” Danny told him, and Tim bit his lip and nodded, climbing back into the bed. Danny held out his arms and pulled Tim into a hug.

Tim started to cry softly, and Danny gently rocked them. Danny felt the urge to cry himself, the feelings of pain and loneliness that Tim was projecting. Instead, Danny let the man cry, holding tight.

Tim’s tears subsided as he pulled back, “I’m so sorry,” Tim repeated.

“Stop apologizing,” Danny told him, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Tim looked down at his hands, and gently shook his head, then he looked up at Danny. “I can’t really,” Tim told him. Danny wasn’t supposed to know about Tim being a vigilante. Danny understood on such a deep level to have such a large part of yourself stop you from being able to connect with the world.

Danny wondered who was the last person that Tim was able to truly be himself. Danny wondered who the last person was who Danny was able to be himself with.

“Describe it vaguely?” Danny asked.

“I’ve failed,” Tim said finally, “I’ve failed, again and again and again. Danny,” Tim said looking at him straight in the eyes, “People die when I fail.”

Danny swallowed hard. What he didn’t tell Tim was, people die anyways. Danny did understand though, he remembered the stress of being the Amity Park hero and having the well-being of an entire town on his shoulders.

“You can only do your best,” Danny told Tim, pulling out a quote from Jazz, “That is the only thing the world can ask of you.”

“What is my best isn’t good enough?” Tim asked.

“Tim Drake-Wayne,” Danny told him, “You are literally of the most accomplished men in the world, at twenty-three years old. If your best isn’t good enough, then I don’t know who’s is.”

An adorable red blush spread across Tim’s face, and Danny felt a sense of accomplishment.

“That’s not fair,” Tim said, “My parents –”

“Were neglectful bastards, yes. It seems you succeed in spite of them, not because of them.”

Tim blinked, then said, “Thank you.”

Danny glanced over at the clock. It was five in the morning. They likely would not be getting back to sleep. “May I make you coffee and breakfast?” Danny asked.

“Yes please.”

Danny got to work in the kitchen. After living on his own, and years of not being able to eat home cooked meals due to his parents’ atrocious cooking habits, Danny found like he liked being in the kitchen. It felt very normal and grounding.

First, Danny started the kettle for the French press.

Then, Danny got to sautéing mushrooms and onions, and combining them into an omelet with eggs, cheese, and cubed ham. Tim sat at the counter, watching Danny with his large blue eyes. His hands were tucked into the sweatshirt Danny had given him earlier, and his chin was tucked on top of his crossed arms.

“When did you learn to fight?” Tim asked him.

“My mother was a black belt in karate,” Danny answered, “But I started to get interested as a late teenager. In college, I traveled during summer breaks to different countries to train. I did some MMA fighting out in California when I was doing my undergrad.”

Tim made an appraising sound, “You’re very good.”

“You’re better,” Danny acknowledged, and Tim’s eyes flew wide.

“No,” Tim protested, “That’s not true.”

Danny laughed at Tim. Tim had clearly fought practically for over a decade. He could wipe the floor with anyone that Danny had faced in a professional ring, if only because Tim understood how to fight to win and survive.

Tim was also, probably, only used to having sparing partners who were lifelong vigilantes.

“Tim don’t bullshit me,” Danny told him. “Anyways, that means that I have a training partner. Sorry, you’re stuck with me now, you shouldn’t have shown me that you could fight,” Danny teased, slightly hopefully.

“You want to see me again?” Tim asked, voice betraying amazement, “Even after this morning?”

The selfish part of Danny did. Danny could take every moment he could get with Tim until it was gone.

They ate their breakfast, and Tim told him that he should probably get going. Danny tried not to let the disappointment hit him.

“What are you doing next Friday?” Tim asked Danny, “Since it seems to be our night.”

“What would you like to do?” Danny asked.

“You could come over to my place?” Tim half-asked, “We could order take-out and watch movies?”

“That sounds great,” Danny agreed, “On two conditions.”

“Okay?”

“One, how about I make a meal instead. I’ll bring the ingredients. Two, you agree to go somewhere with me on Saturday morning, make a proper day out of it.”

Tim leaned against the door. He nodded at Danny, his face considering. “Agreed. I’ll text you my address this week.”

Danny gave the brightest smile he could manage, and Tim returned it. They stared at each other for a moment, Tim leaning towards the door. Suddenly, Tim darted forward, stealing a kiss from Danny.

Oh no, that wouldn’t do, Danny thought and returned the kiss with fervor. Danny had agreed to let Tim fuck him last night, but it was the morning. Instead, Danny fought for dominance in the kiss, mouth opening and tongue battling Tim’s.

They crashed against the wall, and Danny pinned Tim there enjoying the way that the man’s frame was boxed in by his own.

Tim looked up at Danny through long lashes, “I think we should put this on pause,” Tim told him, “Have to give you something to look forward to after all.”

Tim then slipped underneath Danny’s arm in a smooth motion, laughing delighted. Danny felt bemused.

After Tim left, Danny sat in his apartment feeling slightly hopeful for the first time in a long while. Jazz was right, Danny deserved to live.

Saturday evening rolled around. Danny made himself a ghost form and found himself floating over the criminal headquarters of the man who had distributed the ectoplasm laced drugs. The man had been released from whatever prison or jail he had been in the week prior. Danny wanted more information about who he had gotten the shipment from, and if they were planning another.

The drug had taken Danny by surprise, only coming on his radar when his student had died. Afterall, Danny was all-powerful, not all-knowing.

In a twist that was both surprising, and completely not, Tim, decked out in his Red Robin costume, was watching the building through binoculars.

Danny flew up behind him. On one hand, it would be completely reckless to introduce himself as Tim was very observant and intelligent. On the other, Red Robin was clearly running point on this case for the vigilantes.

Danny needed the information on who was making this stuff and how it got to Gotham. These were not low stakes. Danny needed to end whatever plan that this person had before it escalated to getting the Counsel of Kings involved. An army of halfas could be devastating.

“Boo,” Danny said.

Tim flinched initially, but within a fraction of a second had recovered and was holding his staff towards Danny in warning. Danny knew he shouldn’t be surprised by Tim’s reaction time, but he was.

“Who are you?” Tim demanded, voice powerful.

Danny cocked his head. Danny knew he was pretty unrecognizable in his ghost form. Over the years, more of the inhuman parts had bleed through. His ears were pointed, and teeth were fangs. Danny even thought his jaw was sharper in this form.

His white hair floated above his head as if gravity didn’t apply to him, because it didn’t.

Danny had long since ditched the hazmat suit and now wore something more akin to medieval, if styled in the twenty-first century. A long-sleeved black tunic with ties on the neck and white embroidery along the sleeves was tucked into black trousers. He had a leather belt across his waist, holding his sword that had been a gift from Pandora. Danny wore basic black boots that were more combat style than medieval inspired.  

Danny hid the ring of rage and crown of fire but was more than capable of summoning them if he desired.

Tim’s eyes were hidden by the mask, but Danny could see his head moving as he catalogued Danny’s appearance. Danny was floating inches off the ground.

Danny answered Tim’s question simply, “You can call me Phantom.”

“What are you doing here?” Tim asked sharply.

“Same as you, I could imagine,” Danny told him, “I’m investigating the laced drug that whoever this fellow is –”

“Black Mask, Roman Sionis,” Tim supplied.

“Sionis is importing into Gotham.”

“Hmph,” Tim said, “Batman doesn’t allow metas in Gotham. Leave the investigation to us.”

“I have a personal interest in the case,” Danny said. “It’s connected to my kind.”

“And what kind is that?”

“The dead kind, ghosts,” Danny told him and went invisible. Tim immediately turned around, searching for Danny. Danny found the whole thing humorous, and kind of adorable.

Danny allowed himself to become visible again.

“Why should I believe you?” Tim asked.

Danny shrugged, “You don’t have to believe me. Truth doesn’t require belief to be the truth.”

“And how is the substance connected to ghosts?” Tim dropped his staff, clearly satisfied to some extent that Danny wasn’t going to immediately attack him.

“The drug is laced with something called ectoplasm. It is the building block for the afterlife and honestly existence, and what all ghosts are made from. I have reason to believe there are nefarious reasons for the distribution of the drug.”

“You think it’s an experiment?” Tim asked, catching on quickly.

“I know it is an experiment; the question is for what purpose.” Danny answered.

Tim crossed his hands over his chest, posture leaning forward threateningly, “So you are trying to figure out who took the shipment?”

“Oh,” Danny grinned at Tim, “I took it. No questions there.”

“You motherfucker!” Tim burst out, “Do you have any idea how much trouble you have caused?” Tim radiated anger and frustration.

Oh my, Danny thought, was this why Tim had been in such a mood last night? Part of Danny felt guilty at the thought that he had stressed Tim to such an extent. Another part of Danny felt even more guilty because the thought of stressing Tim out again if only to get the same sexual reaction briefly crossed his mind.

“I was not aware that I caused any trouble,” Danny told him, “But I will not apologize. The substance is not for humans, and I would be remiss if I allowed it to stay on Earth.”

“You have no idea,” Tim gritted out, “How much I want to strangle you right now.”

“Hot,” Danny teased.

Tim growled, actually growled, in frustration. “You almost caused the end of negotiations –” Then whatever Tim was going to say, he stopped abruptly. He took a few calming breaths and leveled a flat look at Danny. “I fail to see how any information provided in this conversation negates that metas are not allowed in Gotham.”

“Work with me to find the supplier,” Danny said, “And why they are synthesizing it, and I will tell you some of what I know.”

Tim was silent, clearly considering the offer. “I need to discuss with my team.”

“No,” Danny said sharply, “You are the only person who can know about me. I don’t want Batman sticking his nose in things he shouldn’t.”

“You came to me,” Tim said, “Not the other way around. Why should I agree to any of your demands.”

“Because I will disappear again and only get in the way of your investigation. Working together would be beneficial for both parties.”

“Hmm. Fine,” Tim huffed, “I agree to this, for now.”

“So, what are you doing?” Danny asked, clasping his hands together.

“I have a drone inside the building. I am currently listening into his argument with the supplier, Castillo.”

“Why listen in,” Danny said, “When you could watch?”

With that statement, Danny reached and grasped Tim, making them both invisible. Tim’s whole body flinched, and he let out a visible gasp.

Danny felt himself grin in amusement.  

[1] Unmanned Aircraft Systems, could refer to small drones all the way up to unmanned fighter systems.

[2] Totally made up acronym/procedure, but I would eat my own socks if Batman didn’t have something like this.

[3] Think army SERE training but worse. I’ve never done SERE training myself – and fuck do I not want to – but it is also very, very important to me that Tim has shared in the pain and misery that is field training. There is something particularly miserable about putting back on wet socks and boots – because its raining and putting on dry socks would be a waist of resources – at 0200 in the morning to stand a two hour security shift with shitty nods and getting poured on the entire time. It’s a universal bonding experience.

[4] I couldn’t help myself with the Artillery jokes. Sorry not sorry.

[5] Also called the Field of Reeds. It’s the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian religion… gods in this are real, kind of. They are manifestations of belief and energy, when those fade to the balance, they do as well.

[6] Ghosts and souls who do not live in one of the lands of the dead.

Chapter Text

No plan survives first contact with the enemy.

Well, the actual phrase was from Helmuth von Moltke, when he wrote in 1871 that “No plan of operations extends with any certainty beyond the first encounter with the main enemy forces.”

It was an unfortunately a statement that seemed to hold true not just in tactical operations, but in life. Tim had intended to hook up with Danny the night prior, let off steam promptly get back to his life and responsibilities. What Tim hadn’t been intending to do was plan a follow-on date the upcoming weekend.

What Tim hadn’t intended to do was let emotions get involved.

It was still early when Tim entered his apartment. After his breakdown that morning, he had all but run away from the all too accommodating man. His head was still swimming with the images from his dreams.

Tim had been in the vigilante-slash-superhero game for over twelve years, and he had racked up the trauma. Sometimes he wondered if he should retire, but – no – Tim couldn’t do that. He would likely only hang up the suit when he was dead.

It was a sad reality for all of them.

Tim’s Batman trained senses immediately registered that something was off the second he walked into the apartment.

“Those are not your clothes,” Jason told him, sitting up from his couch where it looked like he had been dozing.

Tim rolled his eyes at his brother. “Jason,” Tim’s said exasperated, “What the fuck are you doing here.”

“After your message to me last night, I thought hmm, maybe I’ll swing by after my patrol and see how Timberly’s date went –”

“ – it wasn’t a date –” Tim boldly lied.

“ – and to my surprise and elation, you weren’t here at four in the morning.”

“And if I was, were you just going to wake me up?” Tim gave Jason a flat look.

Jason shrugged, “Honestly, it was closer than my safehouse. Plus your couch is comfortable –”

“ – yeah because it costs more than you’ve ever made in your life–” Tim muttered under his breath.

“And you have every streaming service known to man. Honestly, when was the last time you even watched television?”

Tim ignored the question. “So, the intent was to sleep on my couch regardless.”

Jason pouted, “Do I need an excuse to visit my favorite brother?”

“Well Damian is likely at Wayne manner so...”

“Ahh, Timberella, you know you're my favorite.”

Tim sighed and sat down next to Jason on the couch. The man looked rough in the morning light. Jason had clearly taken a shower after he stopped by, evidenced by the clean t-shirt and sweats he was wearing. Tim had a stash of clothing that fit everyone in his spare bedroom.

Honestly, Jason could have just crashed in there rather than Tim’s extremely expensive Italian leather couch.

Jason had a faint bruise on his exposed forearm and deep bags under his eyes. Tim wondered if he was sleeping well.

Tim hummed, “You're just saying that over the guilt that you tried to kill me.”

Jason smirked at him, “Hardly much of a try, you're still here aren't you.”

Tim replied flatly, “That's more of a commentary of your skills than of your murderous intent.”

Tim leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes. Maybe if Jason left, Tim could get a nap in. Tim didn’t have the brain power yet to think through his tasks for the week, and the second he actually started his day, he would need to.

“Who is he anyways?” Jason asked lightly. While the tone was playful, red flags went up in Tim’s mind. Tim kept his eyes closed.

“I'm not talking to you about this. You're staying away from him.” Tim ordered.

“No promises, Timberella.”

“Seriously Jason.”

“Nah, as you said, it’s my guilt after almost killing you. I’m forever in your debt. Therefore, I get to vet your dating partners, especially after the disaster of the last one…”

Tim’s eyes snapped open, and he stared down Jason. “Kon’s not a disaster. We just wanted different things.”

“Sure,” Jason agreed easily, “That’s what you tell the family, but I know better. If I remember correctly, I was the one you drank your sorrows away with. If he wasn’t Superman’s fucking son. Even then,” Jason said, voice with an edge to it.

“Jason, seriously, please stay out of my love life.”

Tim and Jason looked at each other for a moment. Jason had clearly been in the gym a lot recently, as he had somehow added even more bulk to his frame.

Jason then asked Tim, softly, “Does he make you happy?”

Tim scoffed. While the evening with Danny had been a lot of things – exciting, emotional, intimate, intense – Tim didn’t have enough of a sample size to answer that question. “I barely know him to be honest.”

Jason wiggled his eyebrows, “Oh so it's that type of thing.”

“Yes Jay, it's that that type of thing.”

Jason smirked at Tim. “Who knew you would be following after Dickie.”

Tim didn’t dignify that statement with a response.

“Why did you come by anyways?” Tim changed the topic of conversation, “It couldn’t have just been to harass me about my barely existent dating life.”

“So do admit you are dating,” Jason teased, but then continued, “I wanted to talk to you about the case you're working. Word on the street is that Sionis is pissed. The cocaine just vanished and no one is the wiser. I have it on authority that he has a call with the supplier tonight.”

Tim nodded, “Thank you. I’ll handle that from here.”

Jason shrugged, “Let me know if you need any help. I always have your six.”

“I know.”

Tim did know. Over the last five years, Jason had routinely and consistently pulled through for Tim. Tim had, himself, even gone on a couple of Outlaw missions with Jason when Tim’s skillset was needed. They had each other’s back.

They also liked to bitch about Bruce’s subpar parenting.

“Congrats on the Masters by the way,” Jason made conversation.

Tim shrugged. His graduation from his Master’s program seemed ages ago, even if it hadn’t even been a month.

“You told me that at brunch, two weeks ago,” Tim pointed out.

“Yeah, but I feel like no one tells you that enough. I know you worked really hard for that.” Jason, for all his rough-and-tough persona, was a nerdly scholastic child at heart.

“Thank Jay,” Tim acknowledged, “have you thought about my offer?”

“Yes, I've thought about it,” Jason said flatly.

Tim had been trying to convince Jason to allow Tim to go through the process of legally bringing Jason back to life. It would probably mean Jason giving up his Crime Alley empire, but Jason had been slowly cutting back on his criminal activity over the years.

It would be a big deal, and a big change.

It would also mean that Jason could do something with his life outside of the suit.

“And?”

“If you get the pardon through, I'll do it,” Tim sucked in a shocked breath, but didn’t dare acknowledge Jason’s statement for fear he would rescind. Jason continued, “You know what's fucked up Timmers, you're literally working to pardon me from my attempted murder of you.”

“You've done worse things than that. I vaguely remember a bag of heads.”

Jason tilted his head towards Tim. Jason rubbed his fingers together in a nervous tick. If Bruce were here, he would probably point it out.

Jason then told him seriously, “No Tim, I haven't. Attempting to kill you is the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life. I slit your throat.”

“Well, I’m still breathing,” Tim shrugged, downplaying the impact the words had on Tim. When Tim had been a stalkerish child, he would have done just about anything to be acknowledged by Jason. Jason was his hero, his archetype of what it meant to be Robin.

Then, when Jason died, Tim had lived in his looming shadow. Bruce accidentally called him Jason in his grief more than once. Alfred’s distance at a new child in the house. Tim feeling that because he wasn’t Jason, he wasn’t good enough at Robin.

Even Tim’s relationship with Dick was defined by Dick’s feelings that he had failed Jason as a brother.

Then, when Jason had returned, it had shattered Tim’s soul that even Jason didn’t think Tim was good enough to be Robin. Of course, it was far more complicated than that – Tim knew that even at the thirteen-year-old he had been when Jason had brutalized him.

“And I am eternally grateful for that,” Jason said, sincerely.

Tim bit the inside of his mouth. Not many people told Tim that they were happy he was alive. Tim felt the urge to deflect.

“The pardon is hardly just for you,” Tim pointed out, “Need I remind you – and remember our pact to never tell B about this – that I blew up every single League of Assassin base across the planet. I am not naive enough to think that people did not die.”

Jason rolled his eyes, “Boo-hoo, it’s not like anyone is going to cry over some assassins.”

“Jason, they were people’s children.” What Tim didn’t say was that after training with the League for six months, he knew very intimately the people he killed. They were Tim’s friends that he had ultimately pulled the remote detonator on.

Tim had never put a bullet through someone’s head, but he might as well have. At least it would have been more honorable.

Additionally, Ra’s al Ghul had sent Tim a roster, not two weeks after the incident, of the pain and devastation that Tim caused, complete with pictures. The fucked-up thing was, Ra’s had been delighted by Tim’s move to cripple the League, especially at the cost of the Batman-approved moral code.

“So were the people they assassinated,” Jason snapped, “I thought you got over this years ago.”

“I told you drunk,” Tim responded, “And I never should have.”

“Yes, you told me, and no one else. B still thinks you’re his golden-child, the goodiest-two-shoes-to-goodie, the darling rule-following Robin. Wouldn’t want to lose that reputation.”

“I do not,” Tim answered honestly, “I am fine with B never knowing.”

Jason huffed, “Hypocrite.”

Tim rolled his eyes and leaned back into the couch again. So much for getting more sleep. He may as well make himself another cup of coffee and begin his day.

“Coffee?” Tim asked Jason.

“Fuck yes, give me the good expensive stuff.”

Tim got up from the couch and Jason followed him into the kitchen. The day progressed from there. Jason joined Tim for a workout in his home gym. Jason left mid-morning and Tim worked on WE matters, reviewing his PR team’s pre-meeting email.

They wanted to do more press for Tim and bulk up his social media presence. There were words being thrown out like “day in the life” and “get ready with me.” There were questions on what Tim liked to do as a hobby.

Wayne Enterprises wanted to make Tim more palatable for the general public, less austere and lofty. The notes said for Tim to lean into his “tech nerd” persona and “LBTQ identity.” Guess it was no longer enough for Tim to be the young CEO, now he needed to be relatable.

Tim huffed. He would need to run all this by Bruce before the meeting with the PR team.

Guess no time like the present.

Tim shoot B a text:

You available right now?

Bruce responded almost instantaneously:

Yes, I can come to you.

That would save Tim the trip to the manor. It wasn’t that he was against going to the Wayne Manor, just that it was an hour round trip, and Tim didn’t feel like taking that time.

Tim told B:

At the Nest. :)

Hopefully, the old fashioned emoticon would convey that Tim was not trying to make this an argumentative conversation.  

Bruce knocked on his door about forty-five minutes later. He was dressed casually, in black denim jeans and t-shirt with a jean jacket. He held a bag from Tim’s favorite deli down the road.

“You resorted to bribery, I see,” Tim pointed out.

“Peace offering,” Bruce acknowledged.

“It’s accepted,” Tim said, and led them towards his dining room table, grabbing napkins on the way over.

They sat down and pulled out their sandwiches. Tim mulled over the words he wanted to say in his head. After last night with Danny, Tim was feeling a lot less anxious and pissed off. The week prior had really been ratcheting.

When Bruce had cornered him yesterday, Tim hadn’t been in a good mental place. Tim had said some things that, while he didn’t regret, also weren’t reflective of how he entirely felt.

Tim looked up at Bruce who was watching Tim intently, with his Batman-obervation face. Sometimes Tim wondered if Bruce could read his mind. Then, however, Tim went and lied boldly to Batman’s face and remembered that Bruce could not.

Tim broke the ice first after they both finished their sandwiches. “I wanted to apologize B,” Tim said, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you yesterday.”

“Hazard of being a father is your children tend to say some harsh truths,” Bruce said with a wry smile. “You have every right to snap at me for the rest of your life.”

“When the fuck did you get so emotionally mature,” Tim muttered.

 “I think after you grew up,” Bruce said dryly.

“That’s true,” Tim laughed, “Poor Damian would have been the best adjusted off all of us bat-kids if it weren’t for his mother.”

Bruce’s eyes darkened in the reminder of his youngest’s child’s other parent. Then Bruce responded to Tim flatly, “I think he still might be.”

Tim responded with a fake protest of, “Hey, not fair.”

“The truth isn’t fair,” Bruce responded in a classic Batman one-liner fashion.

Tim looked across the table at his father. In many ways, Tim still felt like a child chasing after parental love. The good thing was, was that Tim had it now. Tim didn’t have to chase it because Bruce gave it freely. Tim didn’t need to reject it either out of some solidarity with his childhood.

Tim and Bruce didn’t need to martyr themselves on what could have been when the only thing they could do was the now.

Bruce thought back to the conversation yesterday and what Bruce had been trying to say to him. “You’re worried about me,” Tim acknowledged.

“Last week was rough,” Bruce said, “I could see it in your face.”

“Only because you know me really well,” Tim pointed out.

“That’s true,” Bruce said, “I love you Tim. We all love you. We’re all so proud of what you have accomplished. I just wanted to remind you that there is more to life than being a vigilante.”

“Hypocrite,” Tim parroted Jason’s words from earlier.

“I know I am not the best role model in that regard – ” Which no, Bruce was certainly not.

“I am seeing someone,” Tim blurted out.

Bruce blinked, taken aback. “Oh?”

“Yeah, it’s new so like I’m not going to give details, but I like him B. I really like him,” Tim said softly.

“And he’s the reason for your change of mood this morning?” Bruce asked.

“Yep,” Tim popped, “Didn’t tell him why I was upset over the last week, but he’s the reason I’m in a better mood today.”

“Good,” Bruce acknowledged. Tim braced himself waiting for the cautionary words of be careful and protect your identity. Tim waited for Bruce’s questioning on Danny’s identity.

After a few seconds when nothing came, Tim scrunched his eyebrows and looked questioningly at Bruce.

“You said you didn’t want to give details,” Bruce told him, amused.

“And you are just going to accept that?” Tim asked.

Bruce gave a light smile, “You’re an adult. I trust you more than any of my children to use appropriate caution. I value your happiness and will respect your privacy.”

Tim could almost hear Jason’s wow, what the fuck B or Dick’s where was that attitude when I was twenty-three.

Instead Tim felt a sense of warmth, and also guilt over the fact that Tim hadn’t really used much in the way of caution in vetting Danny. Hell, Tim didn’t even know Danny’s last name.

Fuck.

Tim really needed to change that immediately after Bruce left.

Especially since it really wasn’t completely casual anymore. Their lifestyle made it too much of a risk not to investigate to some level. Nothing too… invasive, just cursory.

“I imagine you didn’t invite me over here just for this conversation,” Bruce said.

Tim grimaced, “Wayne Enterprises wants me to be more palatable. The PR team has written up a strategy that includes social media and talk-show appearances.”

“Hmm,” Bruce hummed, “And you’re worried that giving away personal information could lead to suspicion.”

Tim nodded, “They’re asking about hobbies and want me to film day-to-day activities. I don’t really do much other than workout and work.”

“You could just tell the PR team no. It’s hardly the first time they’ve received a no from a Wayne.”

Tim grimaced again. He could tell the PR team no, that was true. However, there was some truth in the fact that Tim needed to better the optics on his civilian identity. Tim was about to go in front of Congress as the civilian spokesperson for the JLA.

What the public thought of Tim mattered much more than just the CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Not to discount, that public opinion of him as CEO was also important. The big business cult of personality culture was much more pronounced in the social media era than it was for Bruce.

People’s opinions of Tim impacted their stock prices. Tim had a vested interest in ensuring that WE thrived beyond just it’s relation to Batman and company. Tim did good work through the Wayne Foundation and had been slowly raising the salary floor on their entry level workers making the whole industry more competitive.

Tim cared about these things.

Bruce interpreted Tim’s silence, “You believe there is value in you improving the optics around your civilian persona.”

“Yes,” Tim said, “The PR team is right. I’ve been doing the aloof and professional thing.”

“Not a bad persona,” Bruce pointed out, “Much better than the one that I went with.”

“Yes, because you wanted to make yours radically different than Batman.”

“Hm,” Bruce said, “I think you should just be yourself.”

“What?” Tim balked.

“You come off as serious and intelligent as Red Robin, a force to be reckoned with. My son is also serious and intelligent. He also has a dry sense of humor, is incredibly kind, has a passion for photography and technology, can play the piano beautifully, and has a strong relationship with his brothers. There is no reason for you to be anything other than what you are. I don’t want you to be,” Bruce did not hesitate with the admission.

That was baffling to Tim. For years they had talked about the need to be careful with their civilian identity, to curate something for the world to see, so that people didn’t discover who they were. Tim had expected to talk shop with Bruce, preparing a personality for the world.

Instead, Bruce was saying just be yourself.

“What?” Tim repeated.

Bruce laughed at him, full of mirth and joy. “Tim, I know it’s different than what I’ve said in the past –

“ – radically, completely –”

“But this family has enough of allowing our after dark personas to rule how we live. I was serious earlier. You deserve a life outside of Red Robin. I don’t want you to be like me and give up your identity – your personality – for this. It’s not like we haven’t been fighting allegations against our identities for the last decade. It’s a running Tumblr meme.”

“You know what Tumblr is?” Tim asked, faintly.

“I’ve parented at least,” Bruce paused doing the mental math, “Seven teenagers. Yes, I know what that cesspool of a website is.”

“You’re serious,” Tim asked, not believing Bruce.

“Yes son, I am serious.”

“You don’t think this is going to bite us,” Tim said.

Bruce raised his eyebrows at Tim’s continued questioning, “I am not telling you to go shirtless and show the world your bullet wounds, but it wouldn’t kill you to make a few videos with your brothers or playing piano.”

“I haven’t played the piano in months,” Tim admitted, staring at the grand piano he had in the living room corner. Tim had a gorgeous custom Steinway piano that he had personally gone and designed in their New York studio. It had been one of Tim’s bigger splurges as an adult.

It had dark, almost black wood, with red detailing and silver embellishments. The seat from the piano overlooked the large windows of his apartment into the open Gotham skyline.

Growing up Tim hated the weekly piano lessons his parents had forced on him, especially when he saw his piano teacher more than he had them. Tim hadn’t chosen to play the piano. His mother had decided that it was a skill for her to parade around at parties, that her lovely son could play.

When his mother died, Tim had felt relieved he never had to touch another set of keys again. Years and multiple dead parents later, Tim sat back down at the piano in Wayne Manor. Playing became soothing. Tim didn’t have to think about anything else while playing other than moving his hands to the right spot.

Tim was, by no means, an expert pianist, but he could hold his own.

“Good excuse then,” Bruce told him.

“Are you sure about this, actually sure,” Tim repeated, just for his own sanity.

“Yes Tim,” Bruce told him, his voice still amused.

Tim bit his lip. Alright, now he just needed to figure out what being himself meant before the meeting with the PR team next week. That conversation was dead, so Tim switched topics.

“Sionis has a call with Castillo this evening. Jason sent me the information. I am going to steak it out.”

Bruce nodded.

“Someone needs to head down to Peru,” Bruce said, “And do some undercover work.”

“Yeah,” Tim clicked his teeth thinking, “It needs to happen fast. I’m tempted to go midweek, but it’s an eight-hour flight if I take commercial or a six-hour flight if I take the jet. I would like to go personally, but I think Tam and Rachel would kill me if I took two days off this week.”

“I’m sure WE would survive for two days without your attendance. What about next weekend?”

Tim felt the blush rising on his face, “I have a prior engagement.”

“Hmmp,” Bruce made his amused sound, “Understood.”

“Let me listen into the call tonight and we can reconvene,” Tim told Bruce.

“It’s your case,” Bruce acknowledged, “You let me know how Batman can help.”

Bruce eventually left, probably to bother one of his other children. Tim suited up in the later afternoon and found himself on a building overlooking Sionis’ headquarters. Babs had navigated a small drone inside the building and they were on comms listening in.

Tim heard Sionis’ conversation with his enforcer, Tattoo, a codename that Tim thought was really fucking stupid. What was it with Gotham’s villains and picking the dumbest codenames?

O’s voice told him in Tim’s ear, “Drone emplaced without notice.”

Tim smirked at that. Babs had gotten scary good at flying the small devices, and Tim didn’t know what they did before her.

Tim heard Tattoo’s voice first, “I don’t think the Bats know where it is either.”

That was both unbelievably frustrating but also comforting. Tim had not been the only one bamboozled.

There was shuffling on the other end of the comms. Sionis responded, “Batman and his group of wack-a-mole heroes are no concern of mine. They’re trying to play nice with the Feds. Even Red Hood had been defanged recently. I would have gotten out of jail regardless.”

Tim grimaced at that. Sionis was most likely blustering to his men, but Tim had watched far too many people escape justice once the criminal system got their hands on them.

Tim was so focused on waiting to Tattoo’s response that he almost jumped out of his skin when a voice behind him said, “Boo.”

Tim reacted immediately, turning around prepared for a fight. Before him, hovering off the ground was some sort of meta. The man had white floating hair and acidic green eyes that glowed faintly. Tim would also bet money that the person was semi-permeable as the evening light seemed to almost filter through his form. While the creature in front of him was clearly not human, with pointed ears, sharp teeth, and skin devoid of color, if Tim had to put a human age on him, he would say mid-twenties.  

“Who are you?” Tim demanded.

Babs in his ear told Tim, “Looping the others in on this audio, Batman and Red Hood. Batman’s ETA is fifteen minutes. Red Hood is on further stand-by instructions.”

Tim made no outward show of acknowledgement of Bab’s words.

The creature cocked his head to the side and looked at Tim as if he were a specimen to be dissected. Tim was sure that his gaze reflected the same energy. The being had on a mix of modern and historically inspired clothing that floated in the air as if gravity didn’t apply to the fabric. There was a pronounced sword on the man’s hip.

The being answered him, “You can call me Phantom.”

“Cross referencing the name across all databases right now,” Babs told him.

Seconds later Batman added to the comms, “Get him talking.”

Tim almost rolled his eyes at Bruce. Figures.

“What are you doing here?” Tim asked as neutral as he could.

“Same as you, I could imagine,” Phantom answered, “I’m investigating the laced drug that whoever this fellow is –”

“Black Mask, Roman Sionis,” Tim provided on instinct.

“Sionis is importing into Gotham.”

Babs talked in Tim’s ear, “Phantom is a small hero from a midwestern town. Only active for a few years and then disappeared for almost a decade. JL Dark would probably know more information.”

“I don’t like it. I don’t want him here,” Bruce added.

Tim filed that information away. “Hmph, Batman doesn’t allow metas in Gotham. Leave the investigation to us.”

“I have a personal interest in the case,” the being told Tim. “It’s connected to my kind.”

“And what kind is that?” Tim asked.

“The dead kind, ghosts,” Phantom said, then disappeared in front of Tim. Tim could feel his eyes widen in surprise underneath his mask and instinctively he moved to scan the area around him for the presence of the being, the so-called Ghost.

“Deadman doesn’t have control over his invisibility. It doesn’t fit the profile,” Bruce told Tim.

“Unless he is more powerful than Deadman,” Babs interjected.

Phantom blinked back into view in front of Tim. Tim asked the being suspiciously, “Why should I believe you?”

The creature shrugged which felt like a very human gesture on a very inhuman form, “You don’t have to believe me. Truth doesn’t require belief to be the truth.” That felt like a very Batman-esque response. Bruce grunted over the comms, clearly expressing the same thoughts.

Tim decided to change tactics, “And how is the substance connected to ghosts?” Hostility was clearly not working.

The being floated there for a moment, clearly considering his response. Phantom then said, “The drug is laced with something called ectoplasm. It is the building block for the afterlife and honestly existence, and what all ghosts are made from. I have reason to believe there are nefarious reasons for the distribution of the drug.”

“The building block for existence,” Jason interrupted for the first time, “Is he talking about Pit water?”

Tim’s brain spun, “You think it’s an experiment?”

“I know it is an experiment; the question is for what purpose.” Phantom answered.

That got Tim thinking. While it had crossed Tim’s mind that there had to be some higher purpose to lacing a drug with something related to the Lazurus Pit, Tim didn’t have all the pieces. It seemed that it wasn’t just a designer drug with interesting new side effects, or a batch of Coca plants that had been grown on land seeped with Lazurus water.

The meta in front of them thought that this was intentional and was clearly working with a lot more of the pieces.

Tim crossed his hands over his chest and leaned towards Phantom, “So you are trying to figure out who took the shipment?”

“Oh,” Phantom said, radiating amusement, “I took it. No questions there.”

In an uncharacteristic burst of impulsivity, he blurted out, “You motherfucker! Do you have any idea how much trouble you have caused?”

“Red Robin, calm yourself,” Batman ordered.

The ghost looked at him amused, bobbing in the air. It seemed that he found Tim’s response to his statement funny. “I was not aware that I caused any trouble. But I will not apologize. The substance is not for humans, and I would be remiss if I allowed it to stay on Earth.”

That was… fair, if the situation was how Phantom described.

Regardless, Tim was peeved. Had it been yesterday, Tim wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from flat out attacking the creature in front of him. Instead, Tim snapped, “You have no idea how much I want to strangle you right now.”

Batman sighed on the other end of the comms.

Phantom gave him a smirk and said, “Hot,” which pissed Tim off even more. How fucking demeaning.

Tim felt himself growl at the creature and informed him that, “You almost caused the end of negotiations –”

“Red Robin,” Bruce snapped, which yeah, Tim had started to cross the line. Tim forced himself through a breathing exercise.

Oracle told Tim, “Batman’s ETA is 8 minutes. Keep the ghost talking.”

Tim told the creature in front of him, “I fail to see how any information provided in this conversation negates that metas are not allowed in Gotham.”

“Work with me to find the supplier,” the ghost let his body touch the ground, which gave him a much more human feel, “And why they are synthesizing it, and I will tell you some of what I know.”

Tim narrowed his eyes at the creature.

“Well,” Red Hood chimed in, “He doesn’t appear hostile. I don’t know, B, this might be a special case where working with the meta is the right answer.”

“I don’t like it,” Batman said, “He already admitted to taking the cocaine.”

Tim told Phantom, “I need to discuss with my team.”

“No,” the being told Tim decisively, “You are the only person who can know about me. I don’t want Batman sticking his nose in things he shouldn’t.”

Well, too fucking late.

Babs interjected, “He clearly can’t tell that you’re on comms.” There comms were easy to miss, nude and easily slipped in their ear. Tim’s hair also curled around his ears. He could take super hearing away from the meta’s abilities.

Bruce was silent on the other end.

“You came to me,” Tim said, “Not the other way around. Why should I agree to any of your demands.”

“Because I will disappear again and only get in the way of your investigation,” Phantom told Tim. “Working together would be beneficial for both parties.”

Well, Tim lied to Batman, he could lie to a random meta. Tim pretended to mull over it. “Hmm. Fine,” Tim gave a slightly exaggerated huff, “I agree to this, for now.”

Tim chose to play along for now. Bruce made a noise at the other end of the comm that he understood Tim’s decision, but also didn’t fully agree to it. Oh well, it was Tim’s case at the end of the day.

Phantom seemed almost excited at Tim’s agreement. The being before him clasped his hands together in the approximation of an excitable toddler. “So, what are you doing?”

“I have a drone inside the building. I am currently listening into his argument with the supplier, Castillo,” Tim said, as he might as well double down in case Phantom caught site of the comms gear.

“Why listen in,” Danny said, “When you could watch?”

Tim’s brain tried to catch up with the implications of the statement. The creature reached out, touching Tim before he could react. A cold shock ran through Tim’s body at the touch, radiating from the region of his arm Phantom made contact with. It felt as if the ghost had sent an icicle through his arm, splintering into crystalline patterns through his skin.  

The touch of death, Tim’s mind supplied.

Tim gasped, which everyone heard over the comms. Three voices called out, “Red Robin?” at one.

The creature had made them invisible and – not weightless – but something similar. It was a disconcerting feeling. Tim had, in fact, been to space many times with Young Justice. He knew weightlessness and being in a gravity free environment, but this was different. It was more like God had chucked gravity out the window as a natural law.

Then, the ghost was pulling Tim down and forward towards the building, towards Sionis.

There was chaos over the comms. Phantom and Tim phased through the wall, into Black Mask’s criminal base of operations. Tim turned towards Phantom, who gave him a smirk.

Looking at the ghost, Tim’s eyes were seeing double. His brain tried to process the duality of the ghost’s clear invisibility and whatever power that the creature was sharing to loop Tim into that state. He both could and couldn’t see Phantom.

Phantom raised the hand that wasn’t holding onto Tim to his lips and made the universal quiet signal. Tim gritted his teeth, frustrated that he had no choice in this matter.

At the same time, Tim’s ever-present curiosity strummed inside of him. Tim had been given the gift of spying on his mark without being seen or apparent risk of capture. What Tim could do – would do – with such a power.

His siblings already teased him about his stalkerish tendences.

What a power, Tim thought jealously. Although, he assumed it had come at the cost of death.

Sionis was on the phone, alone in his office. Sionis, clearly for Tim and Phantom’s benefit, had the phone on speaker.

Castillo spoke with a lightly accented English.

“You lost my shipment. Why should I resupply you? I am already at a monetary loss.”

Sionis spoke carefully, “This drug is the new Gotham craze. I have the demand. If you provide us a replacement shipment, I will –”

“Red Robin,” Bruce asked, his voice coming in static and choppy over the comm, “How are you inside the building right now? We have no visual. Report.”

Tim could not, for many reasons, do as Bruce asked.

Castillo scoffed, “Replacement shipment? You lost the Powered Death to your vigilantes.”

“Yet,” Sionis said sharply, “My sources tell me that they do not know where the shipment went. It seems to me that it is likely an issue on your end that caused the disappearance.”

Phantom rolled his eyes next to Tim.

Castillo was silent on the other end of the line. Sionis took that as an admission, “Further,” the Gotham crime lord continued, “The fact that you even took this call indicates to me that you want this shipment in Gotham. Why?”

Castillo snapped, “You are not to question. Be grateful that we –”

“We?” Tim mouthed.

“ – are willing to overlook this incident.”

“Luckily,” Sionis said, “I care little for whatever reason you have for pushing this designer drug. But, as I’ve said, there is demand.”

“We will get another shipment out by next weekend,” Castillo told Sionis gruffly, “You are lucky that my partner wants Powdered Death in Gotham more than he cares for the loss of profit. If you were dealing with just me –”

Sionis cut off Castillo, “Call me when you have the shipment details.” Sionis hung up on Castillo and stared angerly forward.

The ghost then pulled them forward, through the building and onto a rooftop opposite to where Tim had occupied earlier.

They stared at each other for a moment. Phantom said slowly, “You said the person on the other side of the line was the supplier, Castillo?”

No, Tim was not going to just freely give away any more information. Tim then told the being, “Alright, this is how it’s going to work. You tell me everything that you know, and I will share the information I have on the supplier, since you clearly know nothing.”

Bab’s voice came over the comms, “I have visual on Red Robin. He is on the roof of a building West of BM’s operation.”

Phantom rolled his eyes at Tim. “I’m pretty sure I can find that information out fairly easily. You’ve already given me a name.”

“But how much time will you waste?” Tim countered.

Tim tapped morse code into the pressure pad in the thigh of his suit. It was a contingency for when they couldn’t talk, for situations exactly like this.

Tim sent: “-.. -. .” or “DNE,” standing for Do Not Engage.

If Batman stepped in, Tim would lose Phantom and his chance at the intel.

Bruce huffed, but said, “Very well.”

“How about this,” Phantom counter, “I’ll give you a piece of information and then you give me a piece of information. That way it’s fair.”

“You start,” Tim told him.

“The cocaine, Powdered Death as they are calling it, mimics the effects of dying. It gives the taker temporary ghost powers.”

That was one step further than what Tim had thought the drug did.

“So, you are saying that gives people actual out of body experiences?”

“Yes,” Phantom said simply.

“Why?” Tim asked, “For what reason.”

“Uh, uh, uh, my turn. Where can I find Castillo?” Phantom cut directly to the large question.

“I’m not telling you that now,” Tim scoffed, “You’ll have no incentive to give me more information. Here is my first offer of information. Black Mask, Roman Sionis, is a Gotham crime lord. He has been selling the Powdered Death to local college students. There have been three deaths so far.”

Phantom pulled his legs up and was then hovering criss-cross in the air. He hummed, “I knew about the deaths. The three students passed over into the Realms over the last few months.”

Tim wanted to ask, what are the realms? He felt at a knowledge deficit with the being in front of him, which was not a feeling Tim was fond of.

“What is the purpose of the drug?” Tim asked, back to his earlier line of questioning.

Phantom’s acidic green eyes seemed to bore through Tim’s soul. They didn’t flinch as he answered. “I believe someone – or something – is trying to control the nature of death. Most souls pass onto their respective afterlives without any issues. Why souls become ghosts is…” the being paused as if considering his wording, “not known to many.”

Tim would bet money that Phantom knew, which was interesting. That implied that Phantom had more knowledge that other ghosts did. How? Power?

“This drug,” Phantom continued, “I believe is an experiment on that nature.”

“Someone is trying to create ghosts,” Tim stated.

Tim had almost forgot that he was still linked to comms until Jason’s voice bitched, “Of course, because regular murder wasn’t good enough.”

“That’s the gist, yes,” Phantom told him. Tim got the feeling that that was not the gist, and Phantom was leaving a lot of information out.

The inhuman ghost narrowed his eyes at Tim. “Alright, your turn.”

“Castillo is from Peru,” Tim bartered, “Let me know why you’re the one investigating this and I’ll give you a region.”

The being gave him a smirk. “I live in Gotham,” Tim blinked at that, “The case has come to my attention, and I am trying to solve it before other… parties become involved.”

“Other parties?” Tim prompted. They leveled with each other for a moment, Tim challenging the ghost for the information. The ghost sighed dramatically, as if it was a great imposition to provide the information.

“There are beings, ghosts that hold more sway and power over the… let’s call it the realm of the dead for now. An army of ghosts – especially from this Earth –” Phantom added the last statement under his breath, “could be a threat to their power. Certain powers will push to take prohibitory steps against this Earth. Or, this Earth could end up as a battle ground between many powerful entities.”

Fuck. Bad. This was outrageously bad. What the fuck had they stumbled onto to? This went far, far, far beyond the scope of a missing designer drug. Tim had no clue how the situation seemed to spiral out of hand in the last ten minutes so badly.  

Interdimensional superbeings using Earth as a battle ground?

Fuck.

Batman immediately jumped in over comms, “I’m calling an emergency JLA meeting at the Watchtowoer. I’m flagging everyone. This case just became top priority. Red Robin, permission to move in.” It was phased less like a question and more like an order.

Tim tapped in Morse code: -.

No. Batman was not going to move in.

“How are you connected to these powerful entities?” Tim asked.

Phantom tutted, “It’s my turn. I’ve already given you more information than we agreed upon.”

Tim narrowed his eyes at the creature, taking a moment to reevaluate. Everything about him seemed designed to be on the edge of humanoid. The ghost has displayed only moderate powers, but Tim got the hunch that he could do a lot more.

Tim stayed silent.

“You’re not going to tell me where exactly, are you?” Phantom huffed, “Figures.” Phantom reached up and ran a black gloved hand through his white hair. It was a startling human gesture from the being. The being dropped his feet to the ground, out of the criss-cross position and began to walk in a pacing motion.

Again, very human in nature.

Then, Phantom turned sharply to Tim and asked, “How do you feel about a trip to Peru?”  

Tim lightly bit the inside of his mouth, brain processing. Batman added into the comms, “I would like to get an assessment from Constitine of the situation before we add unknown entities to this investigation, especially considering the stakes. Tell him you’ll consider it and get a way to contact him.”

Tim answered slowly, “I intent to travel there this week.” Although, the JLA and Justice League Dark would likely attempt to take over custody of the case. Considering the scope and scale, it was only fair. Tim would not give it up without a fight, he was invested now. Tam and Rachel would just have to deal with Tim missing some work.

“If you gave me a way to contact you – ”

“Now,” Phantom interrupted impatiently.

“… what?”

“How do you feel about a trip to Peru, now.”

Tim’s eyes widened under his mask. Jason bit back a laugh over comms.

Batman’s voice became dangerous over the comms, “Red Robin, don’t you dare.”

Tim gave Phantom an assessing look, “You can teleport?”

The creature gave a huffing laugh, “Something like that. Are you game?”

Tim felt the fire, excitement of the situation run through him. It would be a stupidly dangerous decision, akin to getting into the white van of a stranger. Yet, if what this being was saying was true, Tim couldn’t let this opportunity pass.

“Yes,” Tim said decisively, “Take me to Peru.”

Phantom gave a wide, inhuman grin that stretched too far across his face. “I thought you’d never ask.” Then, Phantom turned and ripped a glowing green hole into reality. Phantom turned and walked through the rip.

 “Red Robin, do not –”

The comms cut off as Tim stepped into the portal following the creature.

No plan survives first contact with the enemy. What had been a simple steakout operation had turned into something far greater. Tim wasn’t sure if Phantom was the enemy or not, but he was certainly stepping off the line of departure into enemy territory. What he did know was that he didn’t have a plan.

Who needed one of those anyways?

Chapter Text

Tim had crossed the Line of Departure.

In tactical planning, the line of departure was the last position where one could freely coordinate attack details outside of enemy territory. Prior to crossing the LOD, planning and communication could happen.

Once it’s crossed, you are in designated enemy territory, the attack has started.

Tim had definitely crossed the LOD and he had not done his pre-combat coordination.

Whatever the portal was, it completely shorted the comms Tim was wearing. Tim was now alone and unafraid, with an unknown meta of unknown power set in a country Tim had never been to before. Tim was a goddamn idiot.

“Where are we?” Tim asked, glancing around. They were in a city with Spanish style architecture, Peru self-evidently, but Tim didn’t know where in Peru the meta had taken them. Both of them were also dressed very flashy, with Tim in his Red Robin costume and the meta’s glowing pale skin and hair. They did not appear to be invisible, and the locals were giving them the side-eye.

“You didn’t tell me where to go, so I choose the capitol, Lima,” the meta shrugged as if portaling them halfway around the globe was no big deal. It probably wasn’t for him.

“If I tell you where exactly, are you going to leave me stranded here?” Tim asked, pointedly.

“Ancients, you’re a suspicious, untrusting motherfucker, aren’t you?”

Ancients, there was that word that Danny had used. Ice trickled down his spine.

No, Tim didn’t want to believe it. The cute boy that he had just met couldn’t be connected to the strange happenings in Gotham. That just wouldn’t be fair.

“Comes with the job,” Tim said, flatly, turning off the internal freakout.

Before Tim could process all those emotions, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Hmm, so portaling had shorted the comms but not his phone, good to know. The buzz was loud, and they could both hear it. Bruce must have been desperate to get ahold of Tim.

Tim pulled the emergency phone out of his war belt. The meta gave Tim a flat look, narrowed his eyes at Tim and then glanced at Tim’s ears.

“You were on comms the whole time, weren’t you?” Phantom asked. His posture showed irritation and annoyance, but not anger, which was a good sign.

Tim answered directly, “Yes.”

The meta stared at the phone, “Go on then, answer it.” Phantom stood back and crossed his arms over his chest. The so-called ghosts’ feet were planted directly on the ground. If it weren’t for the translucent skin and glowing eyes, Tim wouldn’t have been able to tell that he was anything other than human.

“B,” Tim answered, irritated.

“Red Robin,” Batman’s gruff voice said over the phone.

“You didn’t need to use the emergency phone. I would have contacted you,” the addition of more discrete methods of contact was left unsaid.

“You went off grid after stepping into an unknown portal,” Bruce told him. He sounded exasperated and exhausted over the phone. No doubt, Bruce’s reaction of panic had been immediate when Tim had lost contact with everyone. B had gotten better at allowing his children leniency and independence, but that didn’t mean he didn’t constantly worry after them.

“Yes, and now I am in Peru.”

“Where?”

“Lima,” Tim answered, clipped.

“That’s a long way from Castillo’s base of operations,” Bruce stated mildly.

“We were working on it,” Tim said, “Before you interrupted.”

Batman was silent at the other end of the line. Tim returned silence for silence. Tim was sure that Bruce was already coordinating a JLA and JLD joint meeting. Bruce could demand that Tim somehow figure his way back to America. Bruce could say a lot of things at the moment.

Instead, B demanded, “Keep me informed of any updates.”

“Will do,” Tim answered, direct and succinct. Tim was in it now, there was no going back.   

“And RR,” Bruce added, his voice a touch more Bruce than Batman, “Keep yourself alive.”

Tim rolled his eyes at his father’s dramatics. “You too B.”

When Tim looked at Phantom after he hung up the phone, there was something different about the meta. Until that moment, the creature had given off waves of powerful, but playful, energy.

But now?

Now, the creatures’ skin had gotten more inhumanly pale with almost a blue tint to it. He gave off a soft luminescence that almost seemed to bend the light around him. His green eyes were sharp, deeply inhuman, and stared at him like a predator.

Tim could feel himself freezing over with the shift in power, as something creeped up his spine. Tim knew in that instant that his instincts had been right earlier. The man in front of him was playing at a human form, giving a facsimile of mortality to appease Tim’s human mind.

Phantom was a dangerous predator, and currently he was staring at Tim as if he was the prey.

“The Justice League knows about me,” Phantom’s voice was deathly calm and even.

“Not currently, but they will, yes,” Tim acquiesced. 

“Hmm,” the being hummed, “I wanted to avoid that.” For a moment, Tim thought that Phantom was going to attack him. Then, the energy between them changed. Phantom seemed to make an internal decision. He looked at Tim and gave a sharp smile, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Tim blanched. That was the second time the being had made an illusion to his physical appearance. Was he flirting with Tim? Did he expect Tim to respond? What would his reaction to rejection be?

Tim didn’t want to offend the dangerous predator currently flirting with him, especially when he was trapped in a foreign country.

Tim’s mind spun as he tried to sort out the most neutral, non-offensive response without playing into the predator’s flirting.

The being then looked straight through Tim and said monotone, “I am making you uncomfortable and uneasy. I apologize. That was not my intention.” Phantom then shifted his body weight away from Tim, his face going blank and emotionless.

“No,” Tim protested on instinct.

The being gave a half smile, almost sad, “I am an empath. I can taste your fear and unease at my statement.”

“Oh,” Tim said. He was used to Kon reading his body language – the beat of Tim’s heart, his skin temperature, his breathing – as a way of reading him. That was already invasive and difficult to deal with. This being in front of Tim could simply read Tim’s emotions. There was no hiding through controlling his breathing or heartrate.

Tim considered his words carefully, hoping that honesty would stave off offense, “You have… an unknown amount of power and were making a pass at me after I am now… alone with you in another country. I was simply weighing my responses.”

“Again, I apologize. I, of all people, should know better. That was not my intention to put you in an unequal position. I will be the upmost professional from now on,” the words were clipped and polite, and Phantom nodded at Tim.

Tim swallowed hard. That statement should make Tim more comfortable, instead it just made Tim feel sad. Clearly Phantom was used to people rejecting him for his nature. Tim’s friendships with his teammates and other non-humans made Tim intimately familiar with those feelings.

“You don’t need to be professional,” Tim blurted out and then started rambling, “I mean, I’m seeing someone – I think? – so I’m not going to, like, reciprocate the flirting, but please just be yourself. I was just caught off guard.”

The creature blinked at him with large, owl eyes, and cocked his head. With a much more expressive half-smile he asked, “You think you’re seeing someone?”

“I – it’s new – we haven’t really talked about it. I barely know him,” Tim huffed, “I don’t know why I’m explaining this to you.”

“As I said,” Phantom teased, “You’re cute.”

Tim rolled his eyes, but felt weirdly pleased that Tim hadn’t destroyed whatever building camaraderie the two had built that evening. Tim had also, accidentally, managed to sidestep the whole issue with the Justice League. No doubt, it will come up again.

The streetlights flickered around them as the dusk settled further into evening. In their conversation, Tim had lost thread that they were currently located in Lima, Peru, on their way to investigate Flores Castillo.

Was it really only that morning that Tim had woken up in bed with Danny after a PTSD episode?

Tim then made a decision, and stated directly to Phantom, “Flores Castillo is based out of the Valle de los Ríos Apurímac, Ene y Mantaro also called VRAEM region of Peru. He has a villa along the Apurimac River on the Parque Nacional Otishi side. I don’t know how to be more specific, but I can point it out on a map.”

“Visualize it,” Phantom told him.

“You can portal to just from me thinking of it?” Tim asked, faintly. That was… terrifying. Could Phantom read Tim’s mind, pull things from his mind? The feeling of horror from earlier was almost back.

Phantom smirked at Tim and raised his eyebrows at him. Tim closed his eyes and visualized the satellite images he had spent hours reviewing. Tim could see the faint green glow of the portal through his eyelids.

Tim opened his eyes to look at the portal, and hesitantly asked, “What if I visualized wrong?”

“You didn’t,” Phantom said confidently, “Regardless no harm will come to us.” Tim had a very strong feeling of fear from the idea that Tim had incorrectly visualized, and that reality would fold on them as soon as they stepped through the portal, collapsing like a trash compactor with Tim inside of it.

“No harm with come to you,” Phantom repeated with promise, then grabbed Tim’s hand, leading him into the portal. Tim allowed himself to be pulled forward through the glowing green haze and out into the Eastern Peruvian jungles of the VRAEM region.

Castillo’s operation was not like the ones you saw in the movies. There wasn’t a grand villa on a chateau overlooking the sea. This was not a flashy League of Assassin base. These were metal and wooden shacks lodged between patches of coca plant. One house adorned the property, a midsized hacienda that Castillo and his family inhabited. Most of the workers were locals, forced into slave wage labor from lack of alternatives and the prevalence of violence.

The Shining Path[1] was the reigning criminal operation – which Castillo himself allied with – and they clashed with Peruvian security forces leaving thousands of dead in the crossfire.

This region was the type of tragedy that Tim wanted the Wayne Foundation to reach, not people who called themselves Mr. Freeze. He wanted to help children who had no options other than to enter the drug trade. Make no mistake, the people born in this region of Peru were capable of incredible feats of human resilience, but they were still victims of circumstance.

Tim had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth and the world at his fingertips. Sure, his parents had been abusive and neglectful, but Tim had options and access that so many people would, literally, die for, or kill for.

Tim could see a makeshift fence in the jungle, strung together with wooden planks and barbed wire. From their vantage, Tim could count at least three different guards around the property armed with small automatic weapons and thirty round clips.

Tim’s brain started to spin. Due to the low light and unexpected nature of their recon mission, Tim and Phantom would be able to get close without tripping off the guards. They would be able to get cover and –

Wait.

Tim stopped his mind.

Phantom was literally able to make both of them intangible and invisible and walk them straight through the base.

What the fuck?

That was so outrageously fucking unfair. Tim also, suddenly, felt very obsolete. Pride, however, would not stop Tim from doing the rational course of action.

“You’re going to make us invisible and intangible and fly us up to that house,” Tim pointed to the small Spanish style hacienda on the hill.

“Yep,” Phantom popped the word. No wonder the meta seemed slightly oblivious when he didn’t have to consider the myriad of complications and concerns that were constantly running through Tim’s mind. The variables were a lot simpler when machine gun bullets went right through you.

Again, fuck you very much Phantom.[2]

Tim looked at Phantom expectantly. The being reached out, grabbed Tim and transferred his power much as he did earlier than evening. The weightless feeling still took Tim by surprise, but Tim was able to stifle his gasp. 

They leisurely flew up to the house. Once inside, Phantom dropped them onto the floor. He shifted his hand down to hold Tim’s. Tim felt himself blushing. It was obviously the easiest way for them to maintain contact, but something about it felt very intimate.

Danny, Tim thought, Danny. Not confusing, extremely powerful extradimensional beings that were probably much, much older than they appeared… and dead. Even if they flirted with Tim.

They walked through the house searching for voices. Tim’s ears prickled as he heard the voice from earlier. Bingo, Castillo was in the property.

Phantom and Tim phased into the room. Castillo was sitting down, sipping on what looked – and smelled – like high end tequila. He was chatting in Spanish to another one of his men.

“Tu hija, está creciendo, ¿no?” Tim cringed; the conversation clearly had nothing to do with the Powdered Death. Castillo was asking if the man’s daughter was getting older.

Phantom cocked his head to the side, eyes sharp. They had to decide if they wanted to stay invisible or break that and question Castillo. Tim voted for the latter.

Then, without warning, a portal opened up in front of them, much like Phantom. Phantom’s eyes were trained on it, suspicious and discerning. What stepped through was nothing like Tim had ever seen before and sent a shockwave of paralyzing fear down Tim’s spine.

Tim seized up, and Phantom used his other hand to haul Tim upright, staring at him concerned. Tim breathed through the feeling, like he did with Scarecrow’s fear toxin. This was much the same, designed to inhibit and debilitate.

The creature was a nightmare amalgamation of a man and jackal, with a canine head and long pointed ears. Patches of bluish human skin stitched together with black fur. Beedy green eyes stared out from the dog-head, and tattered white and tan robes hung loosely off his figure.

The two other humans in the room immediately fell to their knees, probably seized from the same waves of paralyzing fear that the being was projecting.

“Lord Anubis,” Castillo said reverently through heavy breathing, “I was not expecting you tonight.”

Tim’s parents’ archeological teachings leapt into Tim’s head. The Egyptian jackal god, the Egyptian guide to the underworld was in front of him. A literal ancient god that seemed to share some of the powers with the ghost beside him.

Tim felt faint.

Tim glanced over at Phantom who looked irate. The duality of their invisibility sharing hit Tim again. Tim could see Phantom’s eyes glowing like an after-effect image.

The other – Ghost? Being? God? Ancient? – did not seem to notice Phantom’s presence. Tim wondered if that was because of Phantom’s lack of power or because of his power. Both options were concerning. There was no doubt in Tim’s mind that the creature in front of them was a god.

What did that make Phantom?

“My master directed me to stop by,” the jackal god said, “How quickly will the new batch be ready?”

“Tomorrow,” Castillo promised.

“And shipped to Gotham?”

“By next weekend, my Lord,” Castillo said reverently, “May I ask why Gotham is so important?”

The being crackled, as in, the form it presented seemed to shatter and rebuilt in front of Tim’s eyes. The acidic green of what Phantom had called ectoplasm earlier than evening seeped out of the cracks and permeated the room.

Castillo gasped and wrenched backwards, tripping over himself onto the floor.

“My Lord, I apologize for the questions. I’ve overstepped… please forgive –”

“How dare you question after we have promised you eternal afterlife,” Anubis voice was disembodied and bounced around the room, seemingly originating from different spaces at each syllable of the sentence. The words sounded as if they had been run through a cheese grater then sent over an old-fashioned radio.

Phantom grimaced next to Tim. The ghost turned to Tim and narrowed his eyes, as if making a decision. Tim knew better than to speak out loud and break the protection they had from their invisibility.

Phantom, however, showed no such concern. “I think it’s time for you to leave,” he said softly to Tim. Lord Anubis’ beady green eyes trained on Phantom’s voice in a smooth rapid moment.

The room seemed to hold still for a moment.

Then, in one smooth motion, Phantom opened a portal beside Tim and then swiftly pushed Tim through it. Tim fell backward, reaching out to grasp Phantom’s wrist. His fingers slid through the intangible form as Tim stumbled through the portal.

In an instant, Tim ass hit hard concrete, and Tim’s training kicked in. He ducked his shoulder into a backwards roll, springing to his feet. However, where a glowing green portal should have been, now showed the Gotham nigh skyline.

Fuck.

-----

Danny knew the moment that the petty lacky of Osirus showed up, that Tim needed to leave. The jackal-headed ghost was a nuisance that Danny had only interacted with a handful of times, but he was powerful enough that he would require Danny to step into King mode.

Danny did not want Tim around for that. Danny could have sent him back to Gotham the moment Tim visualized the location of Castillo’s base. However, Danny would feel guilty about using Tim simply for information.

(Danny could have just pulled the information from Tim or Roman Sionis’ minds by force earlier. Danny could have expanded and simply scanned the earth for the homing beacon of the ectoplasm. Hell, Danny could have rewritten the reality of this Earth entirely, erasing the entire Darwinian evolution and ancestry of the coca plant, rewriting the events of the last few months, as well as the course of that Earth’s history.)

The last one Danny wouldn’t actually do, it would cause too many branching variables. Danny would likely have to get Clockwork involved, and Danny did not want to do that.

The Ancient of time was irritating enough on his own.

Tim reacted quickly to Danny pushing him through the portal, reaching out to grab at Danny, but it was futile. Danny closed the portal behind Tim with a flourish and turned back to the scene in front of him and allowed himself to flex.

Danny called power to this form as he unraveled the constraints of a human caricature.

His hands turned to claws, the Ring of Rage visible and pulsating with demanding energy and emotions. His exterior glowed and his clothing transformed into a dark cloak of the blackholes of universal creation and destruction.

The Crown of Fire now floated above his head, sparking little stars drawing gravity in and out of their orbit.

Anubis radiated fear, clearly knowing that he had been caught.

He shuttered backwards, his form wavering in the presence of Danny’s power. The jackal-headed ghost then got his wits about him to fall into a deep bow. The ghost knew that he had been caught, and his continued existence depended on the goodwill of Danny.

Danny wasn't feeling very charitable at the moment. 

Reality flickered around him, eating itself and spitting back fractal mirages. The two humans in the room rocked back and forth on their knees, catatonic, their brains cooking under the unperceivable images in front of them. Danny was not for the mortal mind, hell, his true form was hardly for the ghost mind. 

Danny may be a kind, fair, and just ruler, but he was still the most powerful being in existence.

Existence bowed to him. He was the creator and the destroyer. He was the arbitrator of balance, and the final decision maker of known existence. 

There wasn't anything greater than Danny, and there never would be. For all their scheming and posturing, Anubis and Osiris would never have succeeded in whatever plan they were making. Danny was unkillable, unbeatable, and irrefutable.

Anubis was a middling ghost, with middling powers and clearly delusions of grandeur. He had also never experienced Danny's raw form.

Danny was sure he had created a large-scale blackout from his energy spike, but he couldn't find it in him to care. 

"My Lord, I should never have dared defy you will. I was ordered, you see. Please do not end me," the ghost whimpered.

"You have displeased me," Danny told him. "Your plans are dangerous and treasonous. Do you know how you could have upset the balance? Do not lie to me, your existence depends on your answers."

Anubis clawed at his own skin, the realm seeping through him. His status as a fairer of souls for Osiris gave him the ability to traverse into the living realm at will. It was a powerful ability that made Anubis a rather special ghost, all things considered.

Fissures cracked against Anubis skin. Danny put pressure on those cracks and Anubis whimpered, likely from the pain. He was experiencing a rather harsh reminder of his own impertinence.

"Answer me," Danny demanded.

"Lord Osiris wanted your attention,” The being pleaded out, “You were not responding to Osiris’ pleas. We thought that if you noticed what we could do –”

“That I would feel threatened?” Danny asked with a stiff laugh. Halfas were, inherently, against the balance. Few beings existed outside the natural cycle and were not subject to fading. Across all universes, Danny’s home Earth was the only one to produce not one, but three of them.

Some parts of Danny, the overconfident parts, assumed that Clockwork would step in if another being came close to being created in their likeness. Vlad was necessary to set Danny’s parents off on a path, and Danny was necessary because he was fated to become the Ancient of Balance.

Ellie was, Danny assumed, the spare to put it harshly. Fate created Ellie as Danny’s right hand. They hadn’t settled into that, and most likely wouldn’t for many years, but Danny knew it in his soul that Ellie had her fated place.

In some sick way, they were a lineage. Danny was not all-knowing. Clockwork was all-knowing. Fate was possibly all knowing. Danny had met the Ancient of Fate twice, a whispering creature cloaked in black standing at the edge of his vision. Fate hardly spoke, but their presence needed no explanation.

Regardless, the only beings outside of the Balance were the Ancients and Halfas.

The idea that other ghosts wanted to create beings like Vlad, Danny, and Ellie was humorous. The little concoction they had created wouldn’t even come close. Further, unless every single being of Danny’s caliber decided that it was the correct for the flow of the known existence, they would not succeed.  

Getting his attention was right.

"You thought that angering me was the solution,” Danny continued harshly, “Coming onto my Earth and what, poking me for my attention.”

"What other choice do we have?" the ghost asked him. 

"Have I not been a just ruler? Have I not shown mercy?" Danny spat out angrily, "I was going to allow your continued health, but I am sorely rethinking that when you and your master have shown your affinity for going behind my back."

"Please, I beg you -"

"Silence, I am dragging you to Walker. You will wait there until I have apprehended your master. You both will be tried for crimes against the realm and balance. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, My Lord."

Danny sighed; his nerves were frayed from having to present in his current form. Danny didn’t like to embody it for long. As the King, Danny forgot what it was to be human. As the King, it would be too easy to unspool and never condense again. 

With reality at his fingertips, everything felt unsteady. What was life if Danny could change it with a thought? Who were his friends if Danny could bend their perception and will? Was Danny really living or was this a simulation created by himself.

Reality was, at the end of the day, and extension of him. 

Danny grounded himself, pulling back in, shedding off his powers. The world dulled around him as he went from everything, the closest universe, to just this universe, to this Earth, to this continent, to the room, to finally just his form. He became Phantom again in shape and nature.

The two humans in the room jerked backwards, as they came back into their senses. Danny focused on their emotions, proof that sentience, free will, existed.

Their fear reminded Danny that while he was the most powerful being to exist, he was not the only one. 

Exerting his will on others was the line Danny was unwilling to cross. Because then, reality would just be of his own making. He would be truly alone.

Danny terrified himself. It was the reason, at the end of the day, Danny had tried to end himself so many times. No creature, no being, should have access to as much power as he did. 

There was no one and no way to stop him. 

The jackal-headed ghost seemed to let out tension as Danny turned back into a more simplistic form. The humans in the room radiated fear in waves as they glanced between the two of them, clearly unsure of what to do. 

Danny turned to the leader, Castillo. 

"You will not be producing any more of the bastardized drug," Danny said, "I have half a mind to order you to stop producing cocaine entirely, but I do not get involved in mortal affairs."

"Yes..." the man said shakily, clearly not knowing how to address him. 

"Although, I will suggest you repent for the pain you have caused others. Your soul is tainted with death. Your afterlife will be unpleasant and mad," Danny told him coolly.

"Who - what are you?" the man asked next to Castillo.

"I am the destroyer of worlds and the bringer of life. The Ancient of Balance. The arbitrator of the universe and the King of your so-called Gods," Danny looked directly at Anubis as he spoke, "And I believe it's time I reminded some beings of that. Anubis, come along. Men, be mindful of your soul. You only have one of them and they are fragile things."

-----

Bruce was the best father in the world, Tim decided, as he handed Tim a coffee as soon as he entered the cave.

“Red Robin,” B said, “It’s good to have you back.”

“I was barely gone an hour,” Tim told him, “The others aren’t even done with patrol.”

“I am glad your impromptu trip was so short,” Batman said in classic fashion, talking around what he was trying to say. “Jason is as well.”

Tim sighed and sat down in one of the chairs around the computer set up. “I am not getting out of the lecture about this later, am I?”

“No.”

“Even though nothing went wrong,” Tim pointed out.

“It could have.”

Never mind, Tim was rescinding his earlier thought.

Tim glanced over at the clock on the wall. It showed 2215. Tim turned his eyes back on Batman who was typing into the computer.

“JLA meeting is set for fifteen minutes from now at the Watchtower,” Batman told him, “You are coming. Brief the relevant details now.”

Tim turned to B, who looked the amount of tired a man with six to seven children should look.

Bruce wanted the five w’s of information: who, what, when, where, why.

“Phantom claims to be a ghost, not a meta human,” Tim told Bruce in a direct, clipped tone “Although I have no evidence of this, I believe his form is… dumbed down… so to speak, to be more palatable to the human mind. Just a hunch. He displays human characteristics and emotions or fakes them well. He is capable of flight, invisibility, intangibility, transference of the former powers, and portal opening and opening at the very least. He also disclosed he was an empath and can in quotes, taste, emotions. Additionally, when we were in Lima he asked me to visualize the location of Castillo’s base and he was able to portal us there just from that.”

Tim paused, allowing Bruce to digest what Tim had told him.

Bruce asked, “He read your mind? Like J’onn?”

“I’m unsure,” Tim answered, “Regardless, it’s clearly not a passive ability as he wasn’t using it outside of that moment.”

“But he is capable of it,” Bruce said.

“Unsure at this time.”

“Continue,” Batman prompted.

“Phantom and I portaled to Castillo’s base. He used his transfer ability to spy on Castillo. After we arrived, another portal opened up. Another being stepped through. He had similar inhuman characteristics that Phantom did, but more pronounced. Instead of a human head, he had a jackal head stitched onto his body like Frankenstein creature from hell. Castillo called him Lord Anubis,” Tim looked directly into Bruce’s eye as he told him, “B, the creature in front of me was a god.”

Bruce’s jaw moved, as he clearly grinded his teeth together.

“Phantom then told me – ‘I think it’s time for you to leave’ – and shoved me into a portal back to Gotham. I am unsure if it was out of a desire to protect me or prevent me from seeing anything further,” Tim finished.

Bruce sighed. Tim got the feeling that if he didn’t have the cowl on, he would be rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Finish your coffee,” B told him, “I have a feeling this is going to be a long evening.”

Tim sipped down his coffee. He mentally counted how many cups he had that day. Four. However, all of them had been some derivative of classic coffee, so not all together an outrageous caffeine intake.

Tim had long since given up drinking the caffeine heavy canned cold brews after he had found himself drinking three to four a day for months sometime last year.[3] 

Regular coffee was much more reasonable.

Bruce and him took the Zeta tube up to the Watchtower. They were not the first of the heroes to arrive, which was good.

"Power outages are being reported across the entire Sothern hemisphere. I assume that it has something to do with why you called this emergency meeting," Superman said directly to Batman in way of a greeting.

"Unclear," Bruce said, then added, "But likely."

Tim frowned, that must have been a recent development because they hadn't gotten that alert in the cave. Phantom's portaling powers had shown interference with the comms but nothing to that large of an extent. To wipe out power across half of the globe was monumental.

Tim was suddenly reminded of the fact that he had been in the presence of a god not an hour earlier.

They followed Clark to the meeting room. Tim assessed the turnout. The big three were there, along with Hal Jordan, Barry Allen, Oliver Queen, Dinah Drake, Zatanna Zatara, and John Constantine. A small showing. Bruce clearly hadn’t called anyone beyond the old guard and core group, as well as their magic experts.

Tim wondered if Deadman was also there, invisible.

Tim hoped so.

Diana, the calming voice of reason as always, politely greeted them, “Good Evening, Batman, Red Robin. Should we be prepping for battle?”

“Not at this time,” Bruce answered. He glanced around the room. Everyone sat down as Bruce took the head of the table. Tim waited until everyone was seated to take the most junior seat on the right side.

Maybe one day Tim would have a designed spot at the table, but it would not be today.

Across from Tim, Hal grumbled something about the time of the night under his breath.

Once everyone was settled and starting at Batman, Bruce spoke. “Red Robin has been leading an investigation into the disappearance of an altered cocaine substance that been distributed throughout the Northeastern United States over the last couple of months. Approximately two hours ago, Red Robin encountered a meta claiming to be a ghost also looking into the disappearance of the substance. If appearances are correct, he is approximately mid to late twenties, around six-foot tall, white hair, pale skin, and iridescent green eyes. He claims his name to be Phantom.”

Tim’s eyes were trained on Constantine and Zatanna. Zatanna was as hard to read as ever, her lips pursed at Bruce’s words. Tim couldn’t tell if that was because of the situation or if she knew something.

Constantine, on the other hand, was an open book. His eyes flew wide open, and his hands twitched in stress.

Batman paused for the group to process. Then he continued, “Phantom displayed a range of meta abilities including density shifting, intangibility, invisibility, flight, portal creation, as well as possibly mind reading. After meeting Phantom, Red Robin followed him through a portal to Peru. There, they tracked down the distributor of the cocaine. Phantom claims that the substance is part of a nefarious plot to create ghosts.”

Constantine sucked in a sharp gasp. Wonder Woman tilted her head in a considering manner.

“In Peru, Phantom and Red Robin encountered another entity. This entity took the appearance of the Egyptian God Anubis and appeared to have a similar power set as Phantom. Phantom forced Red Robin to return to Gotham through a portal. Both metas’ locations are currently unknown.”

Superman looked at Batman, his face showing concern. “So right after Red Robin was… forcibly returned from Peru, half of the globe experienced a power outage.”

“Yes,” Bruce answered succinctly.

Tim decided to speak-up, “It does not appear that the god Anubis was successful, yet, in his quest to create a so-called ghost army. He referred to a Master this evening, which implies some form of hierarchy and more powerful beings. The god was able to have a physiological effect where he made all humans experience debilitating fear, similar to a fear toxin.”

There was heavy weight to the room. Another powerful being with ill intentions towards Earth and its inhabitants, ‘god’ or not.

“Are these creatures ghosts?” Batman asked pointedly towards Constantine.

“Yes… and no,” Constantine said, then sunk down into his chair and reached his hand out as if he was looking for a glass of something to take the edge off. He retracted his hand and then ran it through his hair. With a huff, Constantine finally sat up.  

“To cut to the chase…” began Constantine, “ghosts, spirits, and ghouls, as they prefer to refer to themselves, are merely entities hailing from what is known as the Infinite Realms. Imagine it as the adhesive that binds the very fabric of reality. Visualize each universe as a room, each of which opens onto a corridor that links it to other rooms. The Infinite Realms constitutes that corridor, which also contains all conceivable afterlives. Essentially, virtually every living entity finds its way there, in one fashion or another. Yet, it is worth noting that not every entity from the Infinite Realms was once living; plenty of creatures originated from the Realms themselves.”

Tim swallowed hard. This was knowledge that felt very relevant to the protection of Earth. The fact that Constantine hadn’t felt the need to share it before this moment was frustrating. It was also terrifying that the afterlife was real.

Prior to this exact moment, Tim had considered himself a staunch atheist. His family was a hodge podge of religious affiliation which each of them having their own personal relationship with death and the afterlife.

Tim had questions. So many questions, but they were hardly the most pressing concern now. Tim glanced around the room. Queen looked as if he was having a similar thought spiral as Tim. Barry Allen had his brows scrunched together in a thinking expression. Dinah was leaned back and calm, although she was slightly tapping one of her fingers against the conference table in a nervous twitch.

“This Phantom,” Batman asked, “Is a Realms creature?”

“Most likely,” Constantine said, “Most of the dead that were once human pass on and do not return.”

Zatanna then stated, “We do not interfere with beings from the Infinite Realms. Most of them are beyond the scope and scale of what we can handle.”

“Respectfully,” Superman cut in, “We hardly have a choice if what Phantom claims is true.”

Hal Jordan snapped, “We don’t get a damn choice here you British bastard.” Tim could always count on Hal to cut to the chase, for better or worse.

Zatanna and Constantine glance at each other, having a silent conversation with their facial expressions.

“Bloody hell, fine,” Constantine snapped, “We will bring in Danny. As big blue said, we hardly have an alternative.”

It took every once of Tim’s self-control to not full-body flinch. The earlier specific curse word combined with the name made it no longer a coincidence. Ice tingled out to the tips of Tim’s extremities as anxiety and disappointment settled in Tim’s gut.

“And who is Danny?” Wonder Woman asked, rounding out the same as if it were far more foreign and unusual.

“The ghost boy,” Constatine explained without explaining.

Zatanna rolled her eyes, “He’s hardly a boy anymore.”

“If he was even human to begin with,” Constantine huffed.

“You just don’t like him because he calls you Voldemort,” Zatanna teased.

Danny, in Tim’s limited experience, spoke directly without mincing words. Tim could imagine Danny calling Constantine Voldemort and almost smiled at the thought.

Batman, however, had no patience for their bantering. “Explain,” he growled.

Constantine rolled his eyes.

“Approximately seven or eight years ago, a young bloke with the moniker of Danny Nightengale started appearing whenever the Justice League Dark was dispatched to solve a ghost problem. No matter how remote a location, Nightengale would invariably materialize. No record of how he got there, either, the fucker. He would seemingly emerge from the shadows and command the ghost to desist. He was barely more than a kid back then. And an asshole one at that.”

Constantine’s British accent came through strong on his pronunciation of asshole.

“Why wasn’t he reported to the Justice League?” Batman demanded.

Constantine gave a lazy shrug, “JLD rarely reports everything as it is. As I stated, Danny gave us nothing to go on. Not even sure if it’s his real name. We’re not even sure if he’s human –”

“–he’s grown, so most likely–” Zatanna interjected.

“What are his powers?” Batman asked.

“That’s the thing, we’re in the dark. Nightengale would pretty much glare the ghost into submission. Batman, I know you like to get your questions answered at all times, be we don’t have any. Whoever, whatever, Daniel Nightengale is, he’s powerful. As I said, we don’t fuck with Realms creatures.”

Constantine sat back, as if that was explanation enough. He continued, “I assure you that Danny is already aware of the Anubis and has it well in hand.”

Batman sat in silence. Tim stared at his father, wondering what was spinning through his mind. No one dared speak. Clark looked considering, as if he believed Constantine. Although, Tim knew Clark well enough that he was a trust, but verify, type of man.

Wonder Woman sat next to Bruce with extreme poise, but clearly waiting for Batman’s direction.

“Can you contact him?” Batman asked, finally.

Tim’s heart leapt to his throat. This would be the moment of truth. If cute-PHD-student-Danny was also powerful-ghost-boy-Danny, Tim didn’t know how he would react.

Zatanna and Constantine exchanged looks.

Zatanna said after a beat, “We have his phone number.”

Well, Tim thought, that’s what he gets for vetting his dates.

It was clearly a Robin problem.

-----

Just because Danny had ascended to King, did not mean that suddenly all his former rogues liked him. Case in point, Danny was certain that Walker hated his guts.

Walker’s hatred for Danny bordered on obsession.

Obsession.

Danny despised that word. Plenty of humans in multiple universes used that word to describe ghosts. Obsession felt crude and derisive, with negative mindless connotations.

Obsession reminded Danny of the so-called scientific papers his parents wrote about ghosts filled with factual inaccuracies and gross mischaracterization and generalization. Obsession reminded Danny of the now-defunct Ghost Investigation Ward that had plagued Amity Park when he was a budding teenage hero, threatening to dissect him.

Ghosts were emotive creatures, hence their natural empathic abilities. They were not, however, mindless creatures driven by mindless prerogatives.

Maybe it was splitting hairs, maybe it was Danny's desire to cling to his humanity, but rather than obsession, Danny chose the word Purpose.

Ghosts had purposes, fueled by strong emotions, that allowed them to cling to sentience in the harsh environment of the Infinite Realms. Without purpose, emotions were meaningless. Without purpose, souls eroded to Time and Fate.

Despite Walker’s hatred for Danny, he would not undermine his rule of law. Danny had worked tirelessly over the last decade to create some semblance of a working legal system. Walker had taken to it like a duck to water, imbued with purpose.  

At the moment, Danny only ran four forms as he had pulled in all others. His human body in Gotham City, the low-powered Phantom form taking the wayward minor ghost to Walker, another similar powered form speaking with Clockwork, and finally a much more condensed version of himself on a mission to apprehend Osiris with Skulker and Fright Knight.

Danny snickered to himself as his mind leapt to the 1980s horror movie. Danny bit his tongue every time he spoke with the ghost, holding off the Fright Night, fffoorr rrreeeaall, in the exaggerated accent.

Danny got great amusement out of imagining the dangerous terrifying creature sitting on Danny’s couch in his human apartment in Gotham City watching a cheesy horror film. Maybe one day.

Skulker, Fright Knight, and Phantom Danny circled up on the other side of the Infinite Realms.

“Thank you for including me on the hunt,” Skulker’s mechanized suit gave a harsh grin. The small creature inside the large suit had stopped referring to him as ‘welp’ after Danny had taken the throne but had also refused to greet him with proper titles.

Danny couldn’t find it in himself to care. Skulker had become somewhat of a bounty hunter for the Crown, again, much like Walker, finding purpose.

Danny nodded at the ghost, Fright Knight said nothing. Fright Knight and Skulker tolerated each other for Danny’s sake, but that was the extent of their friendliness.

“Osiris has fled his Kingdom in the Infinite Realms,” Danny told them, “He will most likely seek sanctuary on Earth that have a history of worshiping so-called gods like him. That leaves eight possible universes, plus my home Earth. I find it unlikely that he has taken refuge there.”

“He sought your attention then fled,” Fright Knight somehow scoffed despite his form consisting only of a suit of armor. “What a coward. My Liege, we will apprehend and punish him to the fullest extent.”

“He will be tried before the Observants[4] with a jury of his peers. I will have no derision on my handling of this matter,” Danny stated, “I want to be clear.”

“No skinning and keeping the pelt?” Skulker asked.

“There will be no peeling, fleecing, or otherwise flaying of our target, to be clear,” Danny stared directly at Skulker, “This is an order.”

For a moment, Danny thought the hunter-ghost would argue. The being stared directly back at him for a beat, before bowing his head in submission.

“Yes, my lord,” he said, somehow making the last two words sound like an insult.

“Have you consulted with Lord Clockwork on his location?” Fright Knight asked Danny.

“Yes,” Danny responded, “I am – currently.”

The third Danny, if they were to be numbered, was standing in the tallest tower on the Isle of Infinity. Danny avoided Clockwork like his existence depended on it.

Danny’s relationship with the Ancient of Time was much like his relationship with his parents, bitter and hallow. Danny resented Clockwork for the meddling that the being had done with his soul. Clockwork had decided that it was more important for Danny to become the Ancient of Balance than it was for him to be happy or content.

In some weird, twisted way, the longer Danny held the position of the Ancient of Balance, the more he understood the decision. That didn’t mean that Danny didn’t resent that the decision had been stollen from him.

“Young Daniel, it is always a pleasure when you devise to visit,” the Ancient of Time said as soon as Danny stepped into his room in the tower. The clock tower, of course, loomed over the castle, like an ever-watchful eye.

It was full of time keeping devices of all shapes and sizes, originating across the multitude of universes. Danny was sure that there were items contained in the room from plants that had long since died and given its souls to the Balance. The final proof of that world’s once existence relegated to being shoved in the corner of a hoarder-collector’s nest.  

Danny cut directly to the point, uninterested in pleasantries with the being.

“I don’t understand Osiris’ actions. If he wanted my attention, he could have requested an audience. If he wanted to create an army of Halfas, he shouldn’t have sent his experiment to my damn city,” Danny stated to Clockwork. The thought had been nagging at his mind of why. Danny knew that their experiment would fail, but he assumed that Osiris had to have some degree of confidence in it.

Why alert Danny, especially when it hadn’t been on his radar?

Clockwork’s form shifted in front of Danny like a b-movie horror villain. His transition from elder to youth was shaky and jarring, like his skin sagged in unnatural ways as his interior shrunk and his shell lagged to catch-up.

The childlike Ancient smiled at Danny. In a sing-song voice the being told him, “Your assumption is, is that beings are rational. Ghosts are emotional creatures, dear boy,” Clockwork shifted again, bones sticking almost through blue flesh as he grew rapidly, finally settling on the image of an old man. “And emotional creatures make decisions with their heart and not mind.”

Clockwork grinned at him; too many teeth contained in a smile that cut into a sharp face. Danny couldn’t tell you why the being chose to present with bones and flesh. He smelled of death and decay, constantly cycling between a youthful visage and one moment away from fading to the Balance.

A clear, glass-like panel opened in the being’s chest, exposing a grandfather clock instead of a heart. Beedy, pure red eyes were shadowed underneath luxurious velvet purple cloak. The being’s staff never floated far from his side, radiating power.

Danny scoffed at Clockwork’s statement. “Osiris doesn’t have a heart. He’s a cold bastard that would sacrifice dead children’s souls to the Balance if he would exist longer. I don’t accept your assessment.”

“Yet,” Clockwork tilted his head, childlike innocence in an elder form, “You came asking for it.”

“Clearly a mistake,” Danny snapped.

Danny turned to leave, his patience thin with the other Ancient.

“Wait,” Clockwork called out as Danny was a step from the door.

Danny frowned in annoyance. “What?” he asked, only half-turning back to the man.

“I see that you have meet someone.” Danny’s metaphorical blood ran cold. If he wasn’t in ghost form, he was certain his heart would have skipped a beat.

Danny turned fully around to face the other endlessly powering creature. Danny was stuck with this being for the rest of eternity.

“Excuse me,” Danny said, his voice flat.

Clockwork matched Danny’s age in that moment, mirroring him in stance. The being swayed back and forth, as if he himself was the hand of a grandfather clock. Clockwork said nothing in response, just stared carefully at Danny.

Danny gritted his teeth, “Who is he to me?”

Clockwork gave a soft smile, “I don’t think you want me to tell you.”

Despite Danny’s natural affinity towards ice, he could feel his skin heat up in anger. “Then why would you bring it up.”

The being hummed and turned his attention towards a deconstructed alarm clock. Danny wanted to rage at the being and demand answers. He knew, unfortunately, that Clockwork was done with the conversation.

Clockwork sat outside of Danny’s influence, much like how Danny’s powers – in many ways – were untouchable to the other Ancient.

Concurrently, of course, the fourth Danny lay in bed in Gotham City. This Danny was certainly the one most content, gentle sleep encasing his body.

Sleep that was suddenly interrupted by the ringing of his phone. Danny blearily sat up in bed, blinking the grogginess away from his vision.

He focused his eyes on the home screen caller-ID.

John Constantine read up at him like a taunt. Of course, the annoying British man would reach out. Danny should have expected it.  

Danny frowned. He had gone to great lengths to threaten and subtly nudge the JLA away from revealing his existence to the rest of the Justice League. Until his interaction with Tim as Red Robin, he had been careful to only present as a low-powered human.

Well, Danny certainly had a track record of making bad decisions when cute-people become involved.

For a moment he considered letting the call screen and go to voicemail. It was – Danny glanced at the clock – almost one in the morning. It would be unfair to expect him to answer his phone at such an indecent time of the night.

It would just be avoiding the inevitable, however. Danny frowned, considered how he would play this, and then swiped his phone to answer.

“Hello,” he said.

A very British, but familiar voice answered, “Ah, Danny, glad of you to answer my call. You’re on speaker phone with the Justice League. They have questions.”

Danny grimaced.

[1] The guerrilla group that controls the VRAEM region of Peru. This story is trying to be grounded in realism, not comic books. :)

[2] Tim is TRIPPING over his combat training no longer being relevant hahahaha. It is, but Tim just needs to learn to adapt it.

[3] Anyone who is in the armed forces knows how stupid people are with their caffeine intake. I swear to god, there are monster energy drink vending machines every corner you turn…. Yes, let’s give young adults super early work times, have them pull 24 hour shifts regularly, AND have them operate heavy machinery and firearms…. Not even talking about the rampant nicotine addiction. I like my daily cup of coffee, thank you very much, but that’s it.

[4] I intent to style the Observants like supreme court justices… kind of. More on the IR government structure later!

Chapter Text

Operational Security, shortened to OPSEC, was one of the most vital non-fighting skills in a vigilante’s tool set. It ensured the maintenance of a secret identity, as well as the myriads of other security factors that heroes had to consider.

While the JLA was currently loosely defined in its relationship with both the United Sates Government and the United Nations and therefore nothing they did was technically classified – although one of the subsections of the soon to be ratified Code of Conduct was likely going to change that – they still handled matters which shouldn’t be public knowledge. OPSEC was important, whether it came to controlling what type of messaging programs they used to communicate, the strict adherence to code-names in the field and over devices, the social media ban against sharing identifying information about other heroes, and, finally, carefully monitoring your own words around civilians.

While Tim had not explicitly broken OPSEC with his situationship with Danny, he hadn’t gone to great lengths to ensure it.

And Tim, well, he wasn’t quite ready to fess up to Bruce about that yet.

Tim watched as Constantine selected the contact on his phone for Danny Nightengale. Would it be the same Danny?

Tim knew he would find out momentarily, but he couldn’t stop the anxiety that popped into his stomach. Tim carefully schooled his body language and reactions. While Batman was not looking at Tim for his reactions, if Tim were too obvious Bruce would know.

The person on the other side of the line answered with a curt, “Hello.”

It sounded like Danny’s voice, but one word was too soon to tell. Tim stopped himself from swallowing hard.

Constantine told the other person in his flippant manner, “Ah, Danny, glad of you to answer my call. You’re on speaker phone with the Justice League. They have questions.”

There was a moment of silence at the other end of the line. For a moment, Tim wondered if Danny had hung up. Then, there was a relenting sigh. The person responded, chipper, “Hi Voldemort, kind of you to call me at one in the morning.”

It was Tim’s Danny. He had taken on a much snarkier effect than he used with Tim, but undoubtedly the same voice.

Fuck.

Tim was so caught up in the revelation that – “You’re in the Eastern Standard time zone,” Bruce observed. Which, because it was the same Danny that Tim had fucked twice, Tim already knew what time zone he lived in. Hell, Tim knew the exact bed that Danny slept in and had likely answered the call from.

However, the slip in information should have registered in Tim’s brain.

He had to focus, compartmentalize the personal dynamic, and treat this phone call like the interrogation that it was.

“Yep,” Danny popped his p, again acting more juvenile than he had with Tim, “And it’s a very rude time of night to call.”

“There was an emergency,” Bruce said, gruff.

“I’m aware,” Danny responded, then continued, “It’s been handled.”

“How?” Batman growled.

“Phantom, a ghostly acquaintance of mine, has dragged the ghost Anubis back to the Infinite Realms. He will not be bothering this Earth anymore.”

This Earth, Danny had said. While Tim knew of the existence of alternative universes because of his position as Red Robin, it was a fact that was tightly controlled by civilians. It was not a slip of the tongue. He had spoken the phrase with a sense of familiarity.

Tim wasn’t sure what that fact meant, but he filed away the information for later.

“Do you have proof of this?” Superman asked, “We are concerned at the power and scale of this God, and the threat of a ghost army.”

“Phantom was overreacting when he said that earlier,” Danny scoffed. Tim noted again, the information that Danny clearly had some form of contact with Phantom after he had shoved Tim through the portal. There was no other way for him to have known that Phantom was the one who had said that.

The stray part of Tim’s brain, still launched onto the idea of the hot-hookup, noted that if Danny and he were to get over this, Tim would need to provide Danny with OPSEC training. So. Fucking. Much. OPSEC training.

Danny clearly wasn’t trying to give up information, but every time he opened his mouth, he gave away important facts.

“Can we speak with Phantom about it?” Wonder Woman asked, voice sounding kind and concerned. Diana always managed to make her questions sound so much softer. In Tim’s personal opinion, Diana made a great good-cop in the dynamic.

Constantine, on the other hand, shook his head in reflex as soon as Diana asked the question. Constantine, it appeared, wanted nothing to do with the ghost. Tim remembered the uncanny feeling he had experienced earlier that evening – which was now yesterday – that Phantom had only been playing at appearing human in nature.

Now that Tim was away from the ghost, he wasn’t sure he wanted to interact with him again.

“No,” Danny responded firmly.

“Why?” Batman grunted.

Danny scoffed on the other side of the line, “Because he has more important things to handle.”

“Like?” Batman questioned.

“Taking Anubis to jail for one,” Danny said cheerily.

Hal Jordon, of course, had to call attention to Danny’s slip of information. “There is a ghost jail?” Hal asked, his voice filled with utter bewilderment. Which, well, a jail was shocking. A jail implied to many factors, a functioning government – maybe? – a judicial system – even a corrupt one? – and some sort of legal system.

What did Anubis do that warranted sending him to jail? Was it simply being on Earth? Was it creating the ectoplasm laced substance? Was it some other law that Tim couldn’t comprehend as a human?

Also, why did Phantom have the authority to take a ghost to jail? And not only any ghost, but a god ghost. Was Phantom more powerful than Anubis.

Was Phantom a god?

Silence settled on the other end of the line, as if Danny had finally realized how much information he had given away.

Finally, he responded, “It’s not my place to say.”

“Well, tough luck kid, you already did,” Hal responded. Batman, underneath the cowl, shoot a death glare over at Hal.

Batman nodded at Diana, clearly understanding that they needed a nicer voice for questioning. Daina, completely in tune with Bruce after working with him for two decades stepped around to grab the phone.

“Danny,” she said calmly, “This is Wonder Woman –”

“–I assumed as much –”

“We apricate your cooperation with us thus far. We are not trying to interrogate you, but you must understand that from my colleagues and I’s perspective, we have been protecting Earth for many, many years, and have been caught completely unaware by the significant threat that a being like Anubis could pose. We know very little about ghosts – their culture, what drives them, who leads them – and would like to fill in those knowledge gaps. If you say that the threat has been neutralized, then we can trust you –”

Tim rolled his eyes, trust an unknown was not like the JLA, but he understood Diana was trying to have Danny trust them.

“–but we would like to understand more so that moving forward we are not in this situation.” Diana’s voice was polished and smooth. She gave off warm honey and breezy afternoon days.

Tim privately thought that Batman and Superman always got the dangerous bad wrap. But Diana. Diana was terrifying. Natural physical abilities aside, she could sweet talk a king into giving up a throne, and in this case – hopefully – convince Danny to provide them with more information.

Diana gave Danny a moment to process her words. Finally, he responded, “I’ll think on it. I’ll let Constantine know if I decide to work with you guys.”

Work with, again, another phrase that indicated a mindset, an expectation, of Danny’s place.

Batman could tell that Danny was close to ending the call, so he growled, “Any information provided now –”

Danny cut Bruce off, “I am ending this phone call. Anubis is gone and won’t be back. Phantom has it handled. I will text Constantine when, if, I decide to share information.”

What Danny lacked in OPSEC, he certainly made up for with daring. Not many would be able to tell Batman the equivalent of fuck off, it’s not your information.

“Do not hang up,” Batman demanded.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Danny asked petulantly.

“I could just track you down to your residence,” Batman growled. Tim tensed at the thought of Bruce stalking Danny.

“I’ll have a cup of coffee sitting out for you,” Danny deadpanned, ending the phone call. The Justice League stared at each other for a moment. There was silence across the room as they all stared at the phone, unsure of what to do.

Then Batman started barking orders in a strict voice, “Flash, I need you to coordinate with Red Robin for the location of Castillo’s base of operations and ensure that Nightengale was not lying and that the ghosts are gone front Earth. Provided that Anubis is nowhere to be found, we will give the all-clear for people to retire for the evening. We will reconvene on Tuesday evening at the Watchtower to review what we know about ghosts. Constatine, you with Deadman’s knowledge, will put together a brief about all that is known about ghosts. From there, we will develop our PIRs[1]. I will work on tracking down Danny Nightengale’s identity and location. For now, all information about this situation will be limited to the people currently in this room.”

Bruce looked around, “Any questions?”

Yeah, Tim had a lot of questions, but none that could be answered by the people in that room.

While Tim shouldn’t feel a sense of betrayal – and he didn’t – that Danny hadn’t told him any of this because, well, Tim was hiding his own secrets. However, Tim would be lying if Danny hadn’t shifted in his mind from a romantic interest to a suspect.

A romantic interest that is a suspect? A suspect that is a romantic interest?

Neither Danny nor Phantom had shown any hostility or threat behavior, but the ship had long since sailed to assume that he was an innocent civilian.

The scars should have been an indicator, Tim thought, no fucking civilian had those scars.

-----

Danny stared down at his phone. The conversation with the Justice League had been… frustrating. While Tim, as Red Robin, hadn’t said anything at the other end of the line, Danny was certain that he was there. Call it a hunch.

He understood, of course, the JLA’s perspective. Unknown threat, unknown power scale, combined with their sense of duty that everything that is a threat to this Earth is their problem.

Danny had wondered, when he was a teenager, why the JLA hadn’t interfered in Amity Park. Later, he understood that it had been Clockwork’s interference. Lots of things had been Clockwork’s interference, to be honest.

The Ancient of Time had done everything in his power to ensure that Danny ended up on the throne. For good reasons, of course, but it felt like as soon as Clockwork was certain Danny was stable, he washed his hands to his tinkering with time.

Suddenly becoming a King at fifteen-years-old, had been an adjustment. Beyond the sheer enormity of his new powers, he hadn’t been raised to rule. Danny hadn’t paid much attention in his government class. Danny hadn’t led anything in his life other than maybe Team Phantom.

Sometimes he still felt like he was in his adjustment period.

The Infinite Realms’ government had been a disaster when Danny took power. The Observants had clung to power outside of their preview. The Counsel of Kings hadn’t met in the equivalent of centuries. There were not any active, ongoing wars in the Realms, thank all the Ancients, but tensions between Death Gods were high.

The Ancients themselves were shuffled to the wind. Clockwork was not a being designed to rule; his powers made it hard for him to focus on any one period. The Ancient of Fate had designed to allow humanity and ghosts their free-will, something Danny deeply agreed with, but ultimately was a recluse, impossible to track down.

Fate found you, not the other way around.

The Ancient of Space, as in physical distance between objects and molecules, lived in a bizarre mirror realm where time dilated, and size and speed were relative. Danny had only visited once, before realizing that that was not an experience he wanted to repeat.

The Ancient of Movement, inertia, speed, however you wanted to say it, lived in a living physical universe. They were one of the few ghosts who choose to live among mortals. They lived as a God of that world. It was an ice and water planet where the living beings had adapted to both the cold and the water.

In the end, the Ancients were utterly unhelpful, too caught up in Infinity to care.

Time, Balance, Space, Movement, and Fate, and Danny ruled even them.

After a year, Danny called for a Council[2] of Kings and started settling disputes. He painstakingly redid the legal system of the Infinite Realms. Danny had no standing army, although some of the Death gods. Danny did not feel threatened by that fact.

Currency and fiscal policy were also a mess that Danny had yet to untangle. Some ghosts used local currency, issued by Kings. Some used a barter system. Most ghosts had no need for a job. Ghosts didn’t eat or sleep, which negated the basic human hierarchy of needs.

One of Danny’s ghost forms portaled to the Castle of Princess Dorathea. Danny needed a friend.

As soon as he arrived, every ghost in his proximity immediately bowed. Danny’s power, his position, was like a glowing green sign. Regardless of if a ghost had met him before, they knew who and what he was.

“Rise please,” Danny commanded. The souls living in Dora’s kingdom shuffled back to their normal tasks and routines.

Danny chose to walk upon the cobbled path of the medieval castle. The dead souls that ended up in this Kingdom were the ones who lived in a feudal society that did not believe in a god or religious set. To them, the power of the crown was the closest thing to divine, hence why the Dorathea was in the position she held in the afterlife.

There was power in belief, more than Danny could quantify.

It felt good to stretch his legs in his ghost form. He liked the silence of the Castle walls. He felt at peace here, unthreatened.

Dorathea was in the banquet hall, discussing a plan for a party. Her face lit up when she spotted Danny, radiating friendly love and excitement.

“My King!” she greeted, “What a great pleasure to have you here.”

“Dora,” he said, “It’s lovely to see you.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. She directed her attendant away. They locked their elbows and fell into step as they exited the dining hall. Dora led them to her beautiful library, large windows radiating the faint green glow of the Infinite Realms, fracturing through stained glass.

They settled into two large high-backed chairs.

“My King,” she said, “What brings you for a visit. Have I forgotten a Council meeting?”

“No, there will be one coming up later in this month,[3] but that is not why I am here,” Danny said, relaxing back into the chair.

She smiled at him kindly, “I heard about King Osiris. I didn’t want to say anything, if you did not wish to speak of it.”

“News travels fast in the Realms,” Danny remarked.

“What can we say, the dead are gossips,” she said, conspiratorially.

They were, despite the utter vastness of the Infinite Realms, news traveled – literally – faster than the speed of light.

Danny looked at the Princess intently. Despite her position of power, she had chosen not to take on the moniker of Queen. However, a ruler by a different name is still a ruler.

“You were raised for this,” Danny stated, “Have known since you were human born, that you would hold power over others. What am I doing wrong?”

He adjusted her blonde hair, taking a moment to consider Danny’s question. “Nothing,” she said finally, “Because there is no template for ruling. You are a King, you are everyone’s King, regardless of how you choose to lead. However, if you are seeking my advice…”

“I am,” Danny affirmed.

“Then I recommend that you think of yourself less of a King, and more as a guide, a mentor. Use influence more than force. The others are looking for guidance and lateral limits. Your job is to make the other Kings better so that everyone is better off in the in the Realms.”

Danny considered her words, “How? I’m not even a full ghost. Ancients, I’ve only lived twenty-five years. Most beings I have command over are so old that they no longer know their age or even remember their lives before becoming ghosts.”

“Danny,” she said gently, “It doesn’t matter if you believe yourself to be worthy. You have to rise to your position. The beings of the Realms deserve that.”

The Princess was right, of course, as she generally was. There was no going back. Danny became King. Danny ascended to the Ancient of Balance. Regardless of his personal feelings around it, he had an unfathomable amount of responsibility.

“I know,” he said solemnly.

“And,” she added, “Most Realms beings do not remember what it’s like to be living. You will always embody both. You are the Balance. Your perspective is what these beings need.”

Sometimes Danny wondered if he was really, actually living. Only a small fraction of himself stayed in the human realm, and he very rarely engaged much as human Danny. It would be so easy to just not change back. Who would really miss him?

Tim was the first real connection Danny had made in years, and even that was tenuous at best.

He changed the topic, “Osiris fled to one of the living words and is hiding his power.”

She looked at him for a moment, “No one can hide from your power, my King.”

Yes, but such a feat, scanning all the living worlds would require Danny to pull in completely. He wasn’t ready for that.

Danny gave a rueful smile, “I’m going to track him down the old-fashioned way.”

Dora gave a bright, light laugh, “If you insist my King.”

-----

When Tim was fifteen years old, sometime between Jason attacking him at Titans Tower and Bruce disappearing into the sands of time, Dick had pulled him aside. They had gotten donuts one Saturday morning and were sitting on a park bench.

Dick had done a lot of that during that era of Tim’s life, showing up as an older brother, especially before Damian had entered the picture. Tim munched on his donut, babbling to Dick about school most likely.

Then, suddenly, Dick looked at Tim very intently. “I am going to say something,” he had told him, “And I just want you to listen. This is a lesson you need to learn if you’re going to survive in this business. This will sound harsh, but it’s the truth.”

Tim swallowed and nodded at Dick.

Dick continued, “Being a vigilante is never going to love you back. It doesn't owe you anything, no matter how many years, how many sacrifices you give to this mission. You choose this life.” 

Tim protested at the time, “I know that.”

“No,” Dick responded sharply, “Tim, let me speak. Being a vigilante is not a job, a calling, that is going to give back to you. It only takes. It takes your time, your money, your body, your mental state, your faith in humanity, your belief in goodness, and I know it's hard, but you need to come to terms with that.” 

“I choose this,” Tim said softly, with only the resolved confidence that a teenager could have.

“Exactly,” Dick responded, “and I am validating that choice. It's an extremely noble choice made by an extremely noble person.” 

Tim didn’t understand at the time why Dick saying these things to Tim. He thought that maybe Dick was trying to get him to quit, so Tim said in protest, “I am not going to quit.”

“I'm not asking you to quit,” Dick said, “I would never ask you to quit. I'm telling you to love Tim too. Vigilantism will always take ruthlessly. Make sure that there is something for Tim in there when you stumble back from patrol.” 

Years later this conversation would make a lot more sense to Tim. The way that being a vigilante could cannibalize the rest of your life; the way that everything else around it could seem meaningless and worthless; the way that you could get lost in a profession that took from you until there was nothing left to take.

“What happens when, if,” Dick corrected himself, “it's gone one day. Who is Tim then?”

Dick had undoubtedly seen it with Barbara and other heroes. When so much of ones’ sense of identity was built on a profession that required peak physical and mental fitness, what if one couldn’t perform to that level.

When Tim fractured his spine many, many years after that conversation, Tim thought of what Dick was trying to do at the time. Who was Tim if not Robin, then Red Robin? Who was Tim if not the mission?

Tim thought of that conversation again as he stood on the roof of a building, in a low-profile gray version of his suit, designed to blend into the bland color of Gotham’s skyscrapers.

When he had gotten back from the JLA meeting, Tim had showered and attempted to rest. After thirty minutes of staring numbly at the ceiling, Tim had grabbed his laptop.

It was easy, of course, to find Danny’s faculty picture. The PHD story was true at the very least; Danny hadn’t been faking that. Tim half expected the name Danny Nightengale to stare back at him. Instead, beneath his picture read Daniel Masters.

From there, hacking the school was easy. O had backdoors with how many Gotham U students were either victims or involved with the Gotham rogues.

From there, Tim discovered that Masters wasn’t even Danny’s legal last name, just his professional one. No, his actual last name was Fenton. The school, of course, had Danny’s birth date and social security number which tracked him down to Amity Park, Illinois.

Research into that town was, well, wild. The tourist website, which looked like it had been build ten-years-ago on the shittiest free website builder, complete with bright green cursive font and large oval buttons for a navigation menu, claimed that it was “The most haunted town in America.”

Tim would have called bullshit on that if it hadn’t been for the last twenty-four hours. For the most part, it seemed gimmicky. However, the further back the news articles took him, the more real it appeared. Then, about ten years ago, the news articles started to appear very real. Phantom, or what was seemingly a younger version of Phantom – did ghosts age? – was reported to be battling a myriad of ghosts.

For a period of about a year and a half, the local Amity Park paper reported a constant barrage of ghost attacks. Surprisingly, no one had died, which is why the Justice League had most likely not gotten involved.

Phantom was both a hero and villain, depending on the reporter’s writing. Drs. Fenton and Fenton, who appeared to be Danny’s parents, were constantly quoted. They were self-styled as ghost hunters and used some rather caustic language to describe the ghosts. Their violent intentions appeared horrifying in black and white, claiming to want to dissect sentient creatures, regardless of their status as a hero or villain.

Despite Tim’s apprehension of Phantom, it was clear that the being was sentient and capable of real emotion. The Drs were prejudiced against ghosts, that much was clear. Pictures of them also showed them armed to the teeth with foreign looking weapons.

Possibly mad scientists, possibly villains in the making, Tim noted. That was not necessarily a knock for or against Danny; Steph was a great example of the fact that one’s parents don’t dictate your life path.

Vlad Masters, the founder and current CEO of VLAD Co., had been the mayor of the town during this period. Minimal research showed that Danny was his godson. Now that, Tim felt a little betrayed over.

That was, in fact, information that Danny should have disclosed to Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises. If Danny had strong tied to VLAD Co., as the current professional name indicated, that was something that Tim needed to know.

Danny himself was not mentioned in any of the local papers. Tim’s research took him through the night. After five hours at it, reading through the Fenton’s published papers on a now defunct website, Tim started to feel restless.

He crawled out of bed in the rising morning light, turned off all his comm and tracking equipment, and grabbed his best telephoto lens camera system. Tim had an outrageous amount of money at his fingertips, which he rarely spent on himself. For one, Tim rarely had the time to make spending money worthwhile, or the time to even spend the money.

However, cameras, beautiful state-of-the-art cameras, Tim would spend outrageously on and not feel a single ounce of guilt.

Tim had a range of body systems and lenses, some of them WE in house. Tim pushed their camera line, and they created amazing operating systems on their camera bodies, but Tim didn’t limit himself.

So, Tim lied in the prone, on a roof, starting through a midweight mirrorless camera body with a heavy telephoto glass observing Danny. Danny was, well, doing a whole hell of a lot of nothing.

He had gotten up rather late, at exactly 1013 in the morning and made himself coffee and breakfast. From there, he plopped down on his couch and worked on grading papers for his PHD program. He hadn’t called anyone or made any contact with ghosts.

Danny was having a normal, lazy Sunday morning.

“Boo,” a voice said behind him. Tim recognized it immediately, leaping to his feet, letting the camera tether to his body, hanging from the corded strapping harness system.

Phantom.

Tim glared at the ghost. How did he know where Tim was? Was he able to track him?

“What are you doing?” Phantom asked.

Tim narrowed his eyes underneath the mask. What he was doing hardly needed an explanation.

“Observing,” Tim said, clipped. “Danny said you were busy.”

“Well, not right now,” the being said with a quirky grin, “Especially when Batman was supposed to show up for his cup of coffee.”

“You’re guarding Danny,” Tim surmised.  

“Something like that,” the being agreed. “Should Danny expect Batman over soon?”

Tim’s mind raced. How could he explain that Batman didn’t know about Danny? Because how would Red Robin know about him then? Because Red Robin wasn’t Tim Drake-Wayne who knew Danny Nightengale-Masters-Fenton.

“We are just observing at this time,” Tim stated.

The ghost tilted his head and crossed his arms. “Seems unlike Batman.”

Tim stayed silent, neither confirming nor denying the creature’s assessment. The being then laughed, “Well, alright stalker, I’ll leave you to your… observing.”

Tim failed to stop the flush from hitting his cheeks. He hated the stalker accusations because, well, they hit too close to home. Tim had stalked Batman and Robin as a child, and clearly, he was currently doing the same to Danny.

It felt a lot worse to stalk someone you had sex with.

If Tim hadn’t been flustered from being caught, he would have protested the ghost’s departure. However, just as Tim’s brain caught up to him, Phantom’s form blinked away, either invisible or gone by other means.

Tim spent the next two hours watching Danny, guilt and shame pooling in his stomach. Not once did Phantom appear in the house. Danny worked on his grading the entire time.

Tim stumbled back to his apartment and forced some food into his body and checked his phone while he was eating.

First, he checked the app that contained their patrolling schedule. Tim was on for Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and next Sunday evening. Tim shot Barabra a message over the app letting her know that someone would have to cover his Tuesday meeting as he had a JLA meeting as Red Robin.

Tim would probably need to head out on Wednesday afternoon again to meet with the JLA as Tim Drake-Wayne. That meant the only free evening he had that week was Friday, which he had his date with Danny.

Tim hadn’t canceled it yet, he would see how he felt on Thursday. On the one hand, meeting up with Danny was stupid with his clear connection to beings that the Justice League didn’t understand. On the other hand, Danny appeared to be friendly to the JLA and hadn’t done anything inherently wrong.

Tim hadn’t disclosed his identity as Red Robin. It was hardly Danny’s fault that Tim assumed he was a civilian.  

Tim could use the date to gain more information from Danny; treat it as an undercover operation. That idea made Tim feel underhand, but it was a valid option.  

There was one missed call from Dick. Tim’s phone also had a text from Dick on their secure messaging app. Barbara had coded the app to appear like a normal game unless you knew where to enter the password. From there their messages were end-to-end encrypted and automatically deleted after twenty-four hours unless achieved under another passcode.

His family had messaged him, a lot.

Dick’s message read: Hey babybird, heard from B that you got kidnapped last night. You doing okay?

Tim shot back: I would hardly call it kidnapping if I went willingly.

Damian messaged Tim as well. Father said you were kidnapped. I am glad that you are back safe. I look forward to hearing the details at tomorrow’s meeting.

Tim gave a wry smile at that. Damian and he had come far. Tim would get back to the message.  

Jason messaged to him: Checking in.  

Tim wrote back: Want to come over tonight and eat pizza?

Just as Tim finished sending the message to Jason, a Dick’s caller ID came up again. Tim sighed but then answered.

“Babybird,” Dick sung, “You answered.”

“Well,” Tim said, “I assumed you were going to call until I picked up.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Tim sighed, and told him, “I asked Jason if he wanted to come over for pizza tonight. I guess you can be invited too.”

“Make it early so I can get back from patrol?” Dick asked.

“Sure, how does 1700 sound?” Tim said easily. He had a million other things to do, but they were his brothers, and it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to get his mind off of everything.

“Great,” Dick said chipper.

“I’ll message Damian,” Tim added, “He’s got patrol tonight as well.” Tim did just that as he spoke the words to Dick.

Jason responded with: Time?

Tim wrote back: 1700, whole Robin affair

Jason sent back a simple: Cool

Tim was distracted by his messages that he almost missed Dick’s question. “Have you slept?”

“Uh, no,” Tim answered.

“Why don’t you take a nap before we come over. I’ll pick up Damian and pizza,” Dick told him.

Tim rolled his eyes even though Dick couldn’t see it. “Are you mothering me.”

“Somebody has to,” Dick told him.

“Alright mother,” Tim said, “I’ll nap.” Tim would absolutely not nap, but what Dick didn’t know didn’t hurt him.

“You’re liar,” Dick accused.

“The best,” Tim snapped back.

“You’re an adult, I guess,” Dick said, exasperated. “See you tonight.”

“Goodbye Dick.”

Tim hung up the phone and spent the afternoon reviewing his WE schedule. The week was a mess, absolute shit show of meetings. Tim messaged Tam and Rachel about Wednesday evening, requesting it to be blocked off again for a JLA meeting. He added for them to block off his late Wednesday afternoon-slash-evening through the Congressional hearing.

He would need to call the JLA lawyers to see if they had updated the Code of Conduct based off last Wednesday’s meeting yet. If not, they needed to get that to him ASAP so he could review it. Tim texted Rachel to make that call.

While his budding relationship with Danny and the weird ghost problem was a concern, Tim still had other responsibilities. He had done his nervous stalking, gotten it out of his system.

He had to focus on the rest of his life. Jason arrived early, at 1630, with a six-pack of Mexican beer and liter bottle of soda.

“You good?” he asked when he walked through the door.

“Enough,” Tim told him. Jason flittered around the kitchen, clearing surfaces and cleaning dishes that Tim had ignored. Tim had this argument enough with Jason to know it was futile to protest. They talked around the subject, ignoring the events of yesterday for now.

Dick showed up at 1700 on the dot with Damian and three boxes of pizza, and Tim hadn’t expected anything different.

“It’s good to see you alive and well, Drake,” Damian said with something akin to fondness in his voice, “Father was extremely worried.”

Tim rolled his eyes, “B was overreacting. I didn’t get kidnapped.”

Jason added from behind him, “I was on the comms. He really didn’t get kidnapped. He went willingly.”

“Thank you, Jason,” Tim said, dragging out the thank you.

“Oh, don’t thank me,” Jason replied, “That is not a statement in your favor. It was a dumb move. You’re not usually that reckless.”

“Uh,” Dick protested, “Have you meet Tim? Yes, he is. He is completely reckless and impulsive. He jumped off a building to escape Ra’s al Ghul with no fucking parachute.”

“You caught me,” Tim pointed out.

“Barely! By sheer, dumb luck.”

“Drake is contradictory in nature, extremely impulsive when its suites him, but also a meticulous planner. I, for one, don’t think it’s a bad personality trait. It’s biased for action when necessary, and careful planning when time allows,” Damian interjected, sitting down next to Tim in the kitchen.

The teenage Robin was dressed sharp as always, in a button down and pressed khakis. His littlest brother was growing up.

“Ah shucks Dami,” Tim said, “That was too nice. What do you want? You angling for me to take one of your patrols?”

“No,” the kid said sharply, “I state facts, sometimes those facts are complimentary and sometimes they are not. For example, Drake also neglects his sleep and health when stressed which compromises his decision making.”

“Okay fine, fuck you little demon,” Tim said, his voice conveying fondness. They distributed the pizza and sat down to eat. Damian had his vegan pizza, which Tim wasn’t the biggest fan. Tim munched on the meetlovers.[4]

They sat around the living room discussing their lives.

“Father wants me to go to college,” Damian announced, with a huff.

“Aww, littlest-bird, I think you would be the first. Wait, am I the only one here who’s graduated high school?” Dicked asked, his face contorting in what could only be described as horror. Considering Dick’s hatred at being trapped in a classroom.

“No fair,” Tim responded, “I have a damn Masters.”

“I died Dickiebird,” Jason said, “I have a valid excuse.”

“I am currently in high school, Grayson,” Damain said, carefully enunciating the word in for extra emphasis, “But as Drake pointed out, he has a degree. I wouldn’t be the first.”

“To be fair though,” Tim protested, “I mainly got mine through online and evening classes. You would be the first one to do school full-time. B will be thrilled.”

“I’m not sure if I want to do it,” Damian admitted, “How am I supposed to be Robin if I am not even in the city?”

They all understood that sentiment; the gravitational hold they had to Gotham. Fear of living because of the responsibilities of their masks. Fear that when they came back, they wouldn’t have their place.

Jason, surprisingly, was the first one to speak up. “Fuck that,” he said, “For one, you’re Robin regardless of where you are. B will take them from you over all of our dead bodies. Robin isn’t tied to Batman, we all agree on that. For two, I would have loved to go to college at your age. If it’s something you want, do it. You only live once – at least, most of us – and you have to live for you, not the mask. For three, there has to be a compromise in here. There are plenty of close by schools, good ones at that.”

“Don’t go to Gotham U, please,” Tim added. While the school wasn’t terrible, it also wasn’t good. It was one of the WE Gotham initiatives to improve the University in order to bring in more talent to Gotham. Tim wanted other people to go to Gotham U, but not his very intelligent younger brother.

Another thing that should have tripped Tim off that Danny wasn’t normal, he choose Gotham U to do his PHD.

Dick rolled his eyes and told Damian, “Bruce went to Princeton, that’s pretty close. Tim went to Columbia. There is NYU and Seaton Hall in the New York area. Harvard, Cornell, and Brown are all close enough. We have a private jet, or we could get you a standing Friday night seat on a commuter plane. There are options. But beyond that, Jason is right.”

“Tell ‘em Dickie,” Jason snarked.

“You can’t let being a vigilante control your life,” Dick said to Damian, in the way that only Dick could, earnestly and with utter conviction.  

Damian huffed, “I’ll think about it.”

They call got their second round of pizza. Jason popped a beer. Tim motioned for him to hand one over. He wasn’t a QRF[5] for tonight’s patrol.

“What about you Dick,” Tim asked, “Anything new in your life?”

Dick leaned back into the couch. Dick had been a vigilante for over two decades, lead multiple international, hell intergalactic, superhero teams. He had been inducted into the Justice League and had a stellar reputation as a leader, strategist, and teammate.

Dick’s personal life was also a mess. He was truly a do as I say, and not as I do type of person.

“I don’t know,” Dick said, “They offered me a position with a narcotics unit at work. It would mean working a lot of nights, so I turned it down. It hadn’t made a lot of friends at the Department. Honestly, I’ve been kicking around quitting. Not that I don’t believe in what I’m doing, but I’m burnt out right now.”

“You need a partner,” Jason stated, “A whole city to yourself isn’t sustainable. Nightwing can’t be on every night, and cover Gotham.”

“You’re not Batman,” Tim added, “You don’t have to do the whole no metas thing. What about Wally? He would be down to cover some of your shifts. I don’t know where you and Kori are at…”

Dick shrugged, “Neither do I, to be honest.”

Damian frowned as if in thought, “What did you say earlier, Grayson, you can’t let being a vigilante control your life? Why not focus on your personal life? Father can afford it. Commit to a relationship, settle down – you’d be a great father.”

Dick blinked, a blush spreading across his face. “Is a sixteen-year-old giving me life advice?”

“I think so Dickiebird,” Jason said, “And I think he’s right. You need to settle down.” Jason gave a wicked smile at that. Damian hadn’t been around for Dick’s younger years, the strings of meaningless relationships that were – even from an outside perspective – driven by physical desire.

Maybe Dick had grown out of it, maybe he hadn’t, regardless he had become more discrete.

“Well,” Dick snapped back at Jason, “Why don’t we start talking about your personal life and your career aspirations.”

“No, no, no,” Jason protested, “White flag. Truce, no more talk of this.”

They all laughed. The evening progressed and 1930 rolled around. Tim could see Dick checking his watch. Dick and Damian headed out for evening patrol leaving just Jason and him with the rest of the pack of beer.

As soon as Dick closed the door, Jason turned to Tim.

“Alright, spill, what the fuck is going on with you?” he asked.

For a moment, Tim thought about shrugging off the question, denying that anything was up. But talking about stuff was good, and anyways, Jason and he already had a mutually assured destruction pact.

Tim frowned, trying to figure out the best way to explain everything.

“So, you heard some of the comms with Phantom,” Tim started.

“Yeah. Obviously.”

“Phantom and I went to Castillo’s operating base. He’s involved with a ghost that is a Death god of some sort. Jason,” Tim said, not realizing until this exact moment how much this had been bothering him, “The afterlife is real. At least, some sort of afterlife is real. It’s fucking tripping me out. What do I believe in? I refuse to pray. And the Death God was an Egyptian god. Egyptian gods are real.”

Jason blinked a couple of times, “Okay, yeah, that’s trippy. Give me a moment to process.”

“The afterlife is real,” Tim repeated. He then hesitated staring at Jason. He knew what he was about to ask was sensitive. “Jason, uh…”

Tim had long since stopped worrying that Jason’s pit madness would consume him when Tim asked a hard question, but Tim wasn’t also rude.

“Do I remember after I died?” Jason finished for him, “No Timmers, I don’t remember the six months I was dead. I’m not sure if that’s a product of me coming back to life or if I was gone when I was dead.”

Tim shook his head, “I don’t know.”

“Plato’s Allegory of a Cave Tim-tims. You’re out of it. You can’t go back in it,” Jason commented, “Fuck, I might be out of it now too.”

Tim blinked at Jason, “What the fuck does that mean?”

Jason frowned, “Metaphor for enlightenment? No? Okay. What did they teach you at that fancy high school?”

“I didn’t graduate high school; we’ve been over this. Anyways, you went to the same high school I did,” Tim pointed out.

“I died at the end of my sophomore year when I was fifteen.”

“Well, I dropped out when I was sixteen,” Tim rebuffed.

“In your senior year, you nerd, since you skipped two grades. Clearly, you didn’t learn anything from English class. You know how I know that? Plato’s Allegory of a Cave is part of the Advanced Freshman English curriculum, which I know you took.”

Tim rolled his eyes and bit his lip. He considered for a moment, before adding, “That isn’t everything.”

“Okay,” Jason said, voice free of judgement.

“We did the JLA debrief; Constantine called a ghost expert. Give a guess who the expert is,” Tim prompted him.

Jason narrowed his eyes and gave Tim a considering look. “The guy you hooked up with.”

“How did you…” Jason raised his eyebrows which prompted Tim to say, “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. That is how it works for us because of course the random civilian I hooked up with twice would be connected to the new case I am working on. You know Jay, I tried to do the reasonable mature thing and not stalk the guy. Clearly, I fucked up.”

“What’s his name?” Jason asked, “And don’t lie to me because I will track him down.”

“If I agree to telling you, will you leave him alone?”

“Fuck no.”

“We have a date on Friday,” Tim admitted. “I haven’t decided if I’m canceling yet.”

“One second,” Jason said, getting up off the couch, “Where is your good stuff? We need to get drunk. I’m staying the night.” Tim followed Jason to the kitchen.

“No,” Tim protested, “Jason, I have work in the morning and a full ass week. I can’t afford to get drunk tonight.”

“Not like drunk-drunk, but tipsy. Come on baby brother, live a little,” Jason told him. Despite Jason’s question, he knew exactly where the so-called good stuff was hidden. He grabbed a bottle of Gin and pulled a couple of cans of ginger ale from the cabinet.

“If I put any alcohol in my body, I am going to crash,” Tim said, “I didn’t sleep last night.”

Jason shrugged, “You’re doing nothing to convince me otherwise.” Jason dispensed two cups of ice from the fridge into tall glasses, poured generous amounts of gin into them, and topped off with the ginger ale.

He handed one of them over to Tim.

They sat down at the kitchen island. Tim took a long sip.

“So,” Jason said, “I ask again, what’s his name.”

“Uh, Danny is his first name, full name Daniel. Not sure what he would consider to be his last name. He didn’t actually give me one,” Tim muttered the last statement bitterly, “He was born Fenton, professionally goes by Masters, and gave Constantine the last name of Nightengale.”

“So, Danny multiple last names,” Jason surmised, “And why do you like him?”

“Fuck I don’t know Jay,” Tim admitted, “First time was like a hookup, nothing more. Then last week I was all stressed out – fuck!” Tim exclaimed, realizing something.

“What?”

“He knows Phantom. It’s heavily implied that they work together,” Tim told Jason, “Phantom was the reason I was all stressed out because of the fuckin’ cocaine. That bastard was part of the reason I was stressed.”

“Not a point in his favor,” Jason told him.

“But I don’t know. This last time was really nice. Being around him, it’s like the world slows down. I don’t get that a lot. He’s physically affectionate with me in a lot of unspoken ways. I woke up from a nightmare and he didn’t press for answers. He makes an excellent breakfast.”

“Alright, points to Danny. But you could get that with literally anyone Timmers. I’m not going to say don’t see him, but…”

“I know, I know.”

They moved back to the living room. Tim should be reviewing his schedule for tomorrow at WE. Tim should be preparing for tomorrow night’s sync with the batcrew. Tim should be doing more research into Amity Park.

Instead, he took another long sip of his drink. They talked for a moment and before Tim knew it, Jason handed him another full glass. Tim had passed into the tipsy category. This was when he started to babble about nonsense.

“Should we have invited Duke? I just thought about it. He’ll feel excluded when he realizes he wasn’t invited. I feel bad now. Jjjaaayy, I feel bad. Why do I feel bad?” Tim asked staring down at his drink.

“You’re overthinking it.”

“And what about Cass? And Steph?” Tim added, “Cass is never going to forgive me.”

“You’re her favorite. I think you’re fine. Plus, it’s not your responsibility to manage everyone’s emotions,” Jason said sagely.

“I know that,” Tim protested, despite him definitely not knowing that lesson, “But, like, my anxiety kicks my ass, Jay. You know I wake up in the middle of the night thinking about this shit.”

“Again,” Jason’s voice was exasperated, “you’re overthinking.”

“That’s kind of my thing though.”

“Timmy-boy, we know that.”

Tim then turned to Jason and said in the type of serious voice that only someone with alcohol in their system could use, “I don’t know how to turn it off.”

Jason met his eyes, “Wish I could help you there. I just shut everyone else out.”

Tim responded, “Not me.”

“Nah, not you. But like everyone else.” Jason paused, taking a long sip of his own drink. They both sunk back into the couch.

“Why?” Tim asked.  

“Why you? Or why do I shut people out?”

Tim considered for a moment. Tim knew why Jason and he had the relationship they had. It started with Jason feeling guilty, then morphed into an alliance, and finally, it’s at the ride-or-die brother stage. Tim didn’t judge Jason and Jason didn’t judge Tim.

“Why do you shut people out?”

Jason let out a long slow breath. Finally, he answered, “Because sometimes I feel like I’m still dead if I’m not legally resurrected. Like getting killed in Ethiopia is something to be ashamed of and I have to live with the consequences. I shouldn’t get a pass for some of the stuff I’ve done. I don’t deserve a happy civilian life.”

“That’s bullshit,” Tim reacted immediately.

“It’s really not.”

Tim looked over at Jason. Tim could tell, even in his intoxicated state, that Jason truly believed that he would be repenting for the things that he had gone for the rest of his life. At the same time, Tim was certain Jason would not take any of it back. Well, maybe other than Jason’s attack on Titan’s Tower and Tim. That one, Tim was pretty sure Jason wished he could change.

Arguing with Jason would get them nowhere. Well, and, Tim understood the weight Jason was under. There were actions Tim had taken that he felt he could never repent or repay.

Nothing anyone else said or did would change that.

Somethings don’t deserve forgiveness. People who thought otherwise didn’t lead the life they did.

So, Tim told Jason the truth, “You’re right actually. It’s wild you’re going to get away with the number of violent murders you’ve committed.”

Jason took it exactly how Tim expected and responded with humor, “I fucking know. What the fuck? It’s like life keeps giving me respawns. I came back from the dead. Now I get to start over if I want to.”

“You’re going to, right? We’ve already talked about this.”

“Yeah, I’ll probably have to drop the Red Hood moniker if I want to completely cut ties. I’ll never give up on the alley, but maybe I can do it in a more legal way. You gonna let me take over some philanthropy work for Wayne Foundation? The Gotham, what do they call it, division?”

“Close enough,” Tim shrugged. “And fuck yeah, less responsibility for me. Yay.”

“How do you deal with it all? That stress? The responsibility?”

“No clue. Honestly, I feel like half the time I am just putting my stress aside on one thing to stress over something else. Like if not Phantom, then Danny, if not Danny, then the JLA and Congress negotiations. And that doesn’t even begin to cover the billion-dollar-conglomerate I run. I think I have a supply chain meeting this week. Yuck. I barely glanced at that email and that looks like a mess. One of our manufacturing contractors was caught with a sub-contractor breaking like a million international laws. I need to approve the next quarter fiscal goals. And the new streaming service that WE just purchased is really underwater. It’ll be a profit drain, but we we’re the only media corporation not to have one. Streaming services are not profitable when media production is so expensive. We are probably going to have to go to an add program which people just hate because then what’s the point of paying for a streaming service. And I get it! As a consumer I would also be pissed.”

“Jesus,” Jason said, “Take a breath there.”

Tim sucked in a large breath. He could continue to rant for the next hour, honestly.

“Here,” Jason said, handing Tim a drink, “Have another.”

Those were famous last words, of course, because Tim woke up to his 0600 alarm with a pounding headache. The light was fire. He laid staring up at the celling, a million excuses running through his brain for why he could skip work today.

Tim dragged his ass out of bed and straight to where Jason had crashed on the couch.

“Wake up,” he told him, “We’re working out. If I have to suffer, you do too.”

Jason just groaned in response.

[1] Priority Intelligence/Information Requirements (PIRs)

[2] Lol, I realized this chapter that I was using the wrong spelling of council (counsel). I will have to go back and change that.

[3] In order to not create a headache for me, Clockwork works on a human 24 hour cycle of time and someone keeps time fairly relative across all universes. I am going to hand-wave this one.

[4] Doesn’t Tim have a canon pizza order? I don’t remember/can’t find it. Is it pineapple? (if so wtf Tim)

[5] Quick reaction force as in on standby.

Chapter Text

A good mission statement had three components, a who, a what, and a why. It also usually included a when, but that pertained to more tactical scenarios.

When Tim had taken the reigns at Wayne Enterprises at seventeen, he had realized rapidly that the conglomerate had been… aimless. It was functioning perfectly fine, hitting all of its quarterly and yearly profit goals.

Bruce hadn’t been that hands-off, and Lucius had kept the business operational.

At the same time, WE felt like a black hole that had gotten so large that it was collapsing in onto itself. Tim had done a site survey the second year he was in charge. He had flown around the globe and talked to his most junior hires. He asked them what they thought the purpose of what they were doing was.

Most of them had no idea.

That was such a foreign concept to Tim, to spend your time doing your job that lacked a purpose. Not shockingly, if human beings didn’t have buy-in, they would just do the bare minimum required of them. That was what WE felt like when Tim took charge; the bare minimum to survive as a business.

So, Tim had workshopped it with his chief officers. He had brought in outsiders and interviewed people at every level of his business.  

Ultimately, he settled on a mission statement: Utilize all assets, personnel, and systems to innovate and revolutionize technology in order to advance global progress towards Earth’s security, stability, and harmony.

Tim had created a who, what, and why. Who? All of the people he employed. What? Innovate and revolutionize technology. Why? To advance global progress towards Earth’s security, stability, and harmony.

The why was important part.[1] Why work for Wayne Enterprises when there were so many different tech companies? Why buy consumer products from WE? Why should law makers support WE?

Now WE had a clear and defined purpose that consumers could get behind.

The second step Tim had taken when he had gained control of Wayne Enterprises was simplifying and reorganizing the business.

Now the international conglomerate had its hands in everything: areospace, consumer technology, biotech, alternative energy, entertainment, military technology and equipment, ect. Pretty much if anti-trust laws didn’t ban them from expanding, they had expanded into it. The structure of WE had been confusing as hell. WE had internal divisions and other businesses that fell under the conglomerate category. The structure and responsiveness of different arms of the business had been lackluster.

Tim had tried to streamline and untangle a lot of that, making the structure of the business straight forward and responsive. Tim wanted to be able to tell one of his chief officers that this is what he wanted done, and for it to come to fruition.

Lofty goals for such a large business.  

It was the vigilante in him that needed clear cut roles, responsibilities, and delegation of authority. Who had the power to make what decisions? As a leader, Tim liked to reserve power, and the authority to delegate said power.

It ensured that Tim was in control of his business, no matter how large it got. Wayne Enterprises was his baby, and Tim was raising it as best as he could.

Unfortunately, sometimes that meant you had to kill your babies. Tim had created the why, and he had reorganized. Then, he had to do personnel management. It had been incredibly unpopular at the time, but Tim had gone through his entire leadership suite and personally interviewed and vetted every single person to ensure that they also believed in the why. It was a controversial decision that resulted in Tim letting go of men and women that had worked for WE for decades.

The board had not been happy about it. Even Lucius had looked at Tim with raised eyebrows.

Tim, however, believed in its necessity. Tim wasn’t looking for yes men and women, but he was looking for people who believed in an ethos. The sort of moral commonality that bound them together and ensured ethical business practices.

The final major change Tim had enacted in WE was to develop an onboarding and continued education program for its people. Every single person hired in a leadership position at WE, regardless of where they were going to be working, flew to Gotham for a two week long seminar. It was an up front cost that paid dividends for the culture, identity, and common language of his business. Tim made sure that he got in front of every single class of men and women going through the program.

The first week was focused on common leadership strategies, the structure of WE, the culture of WE, and how to handle complex decision making. The second week, the new hires broke off into small groups based off their division and went through individualized onboarding around their more specific job.

At certain promotion levels or hires, Tim ensured that there were annual seminars. They staggered throughout the year based off the position in the company. It was important to get individuals at each level together across the business to increase cooperation, improve efficiency, and cross train. Tim wanted to build capable leaders to make capable decisions at their appropriate level.

Five years in as CEO, and Tim fully believed it was working.

At first, the novelty of a literal child taking over the leadership position of a billion-dollar business had turned heads. Now, five years later, Tim was turning heads because of the success he had as said leader.

At seventeen, Tim had been given a position that controled more power than rulers of small countries. His yearly total budget, around seventy-five billion dollars, was greater than about half of the world’s countries’ gross domestic products.

However, at seven o’clock on Monday morning, Tim was not thinking about WE’s mission statement. Tim was hardly thinking about anything.

Tim had thrown on the top t-shirt in his stack of gym attire. Seven years ago, when the JLA was supporting a HA/DR[2] operation, Tim had been gifted a unit shirt for his help as Red Robin. The phrase that was printed on it, pain is weakness leaving the body, was written across Tim’s back. The Marines supporting the humanitarian mission had worked with Red Robin, pulling dead bodies out of rubble. The shirt was slightly small, very tattered, but it was comfortable.

Wearing it reminded Tim of the human factor of what he did.  

Tim donned that T-shirt in morning for his workout with Jason. On the one hand, Tim wanted to claim that the person that had given him the shirt had never worked out with a hangover. On the other, it had been a Marine Corps unit so Tim knew that claim would be patently false.

There was something leaving Tim’s body as he worked out, and it certainly wasn’t pain or weakness. Maybe his will to live?

Before Tim stepped out the door for work, Jason looked at Tim critically. Tim immediately knew what he was thinking. Jason said, “Now you can accuse me of being a hypocrite, but you are going to tell B about Danny, right? It’s a pretty big security risk.”

Tim had already come to the conclusion during the workout that he would have no other choice.

“Yeah, I kind of have to. It’s a matter of global security as well as our identities. My embarrassment over the situation and feelings don’t outweigh that,” Tim said with a sigh.

Jason gave him a wry grin, “You could just tell Bruce you figured out who he was without saying how you did it. You could come up with a believable excuse. You’re an excellent liar.”

Tim levied Jason a flat look.

“Yeah yeah, you’re right, that’s a stupid idea,” Jason said. “You’re a better man than me Timberbelle.”

Timberbelle? “That was a terrible one, even for you Jason,” Tim told him.

“I’m hung over as fuck,” Jason drew out the u sound in the word, “I’m sorry my brain isn’t working.”

Tim grunted. His brain also wasn’t working. Tim thought for a moment before he announced, “I’ll type up an incident report at lunch. In no way will I be having this conversation with Bruce to his face.”

Jason snickered at him, “You coward.”

“I’m just following proper procedure.”

“B has nothing to talk about anyways,” Jason pointed out, “Considering he pursued a romantic entanglement with Talia al Ghul and Selina Kyle fully knowing their identities and allegiances. At worst, Danny is a foreign agent who targeted you. He slept with you the night before the cocaine bust, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Tim said bitterly.

“Ha,” Jason intoned, “Tonight’s meeting will be fun. Anyways, Tim-tim, I am going back to bed and you need to go to do your big boy job.”

“Never call it that again.”

Tim strolled in a little late to the office, a giant coffee container in hand. As per Monday routine, Rachel and Tam greeted him. Tim sat behind his desk and the ladies at the two chairs facing him. Tim had the schedule pulled up on his computer, but was obstinately not looking at it.

“You look like hell,” Rachel told him.

Tim frowned. He didn’t think he looked that bad. He had gotten a workout, food, and coffee in him. He was practically functional at this point.

“My brother came by last night,” Tim offered as an explanation. There were a couple of times Rachel had attributed after-patrol exhaustion as a hangover. While part of Tim hated the notion of that reputation, it was hard to explain away.

Rachel’s brow scrunched up as she processed his statement, “Dick got you drunk?”

Tim was still out of it, he just barely caught himself from saying no, the other brother. Jason was still dead legally, Duke was twenty, and Damian was sixteen. That correction wouldn’t have gone over well.

Tim glanced at Tam who had a light smirk on her face. She knew exactly which brother had caused Tim’s state.

“I’m have some personal stuff to handle at lunch. Make sure that time is uninterrupted.”

“I forget you’re only twenty-three. You never act it,” Rachel commented on Tim’s state.

Tim rolled his eyes, “What are you, thirty-one? You’re the same age as Dick. Practically ancient.”

“Hey,” she protested, “I know how to have fun. I just relegate it to Friday and Saturday nights. Yes, I am the same age as your brother, who is very attractive by the way. I wouldn’t mind an introduction, even if he’s complicit in the delinquency of minors.”

Tim rolled his eyes, again. “Careful, I sign your checks.”

“No,” she told him, “For one, HR signs my checks. Two, who even gets checks anymore. I have a direct deposit Tim, as does the majority of your company. You should know this.”

Tim squinted his eyes at her, “You’re sassy this morning. Why?”

“Your schedule is a fucking mess this week and you asked me to clear off Wednesday, again.” Tim felt heavy at those words. He knew his schedule was a mess because every Tuesday morning at their Command sync, they did a one week, one month, and six-month schedule review. The minutia always changed and usually by the end of the current week, the next week got that much fuller.

“I second that, Tim, we both understand you have other responsibilities,” Tam said sharply at the word other. Of course, Tam knew of Red Robin, and Rachel did not, “but there are some fires that need handling at WE.”

“The Wednesday JLA meeting will stand for the foreseeable future,” Tim said firmly, “WE will have to survive around that. Alright, hit me, what’s the week looking like? What changed in my schedule?”

“Lucious is coming by at ten for a meeting about the supply chain issues that happened this weekend,” Tam said, “Depending on your decision on how to handle the matter, we have a meeting right after lunch with your IndoPa[3] Division Head, CPO, CCO, CLO, and CMO[4], as well as key leaders in each Division.”

“I know I don’t need to ask you, but can you put together name placards for that?” Tim asked Tam. While he knew all of his Division Heads and Chiefs by name, WE had an absurd number of employees.

“Already done,” she responded, “From there you will go directly into the meeting with the CMO and the Marketing Team. We’ve allocated two people to handle your personal accounts. Do you even know how to get into your own Instagram?”

Tim rolled his eyes, “Yes Tam.”

“Well, you haven’t posted in six months.”

“I have better things to do,” Tim told her.

“Like getting drunk with J –” she stuttered, “Dick.”

Tim frowned at the ladies. The Wayne Family ultimately owned controlling interest in the company. The Board of Directors, for one, couldn’t fire him without Bruce’s approval. For two, Tim was allowed a life. Hell, he wanted every single person in his company to have some form of a functioning life.

Tim was allowed, thank you very much, to hang out with his brothers for one night.

Work-life balance was part of his company’s guidance letter. Maybe Tim should update the employee guidance letter? It had been a while since he had stepped in front of everyone in this building. He employed over one hundred fifty thousand people worldwide, not including his contract workers.

“Next week, schedule out a two-hour block to go over my guidance letter. I think it is time it gets updated,” Tim told Tam. While it was only mid-October, it was a good time to start thinking about next year’s goals. They usually had a Board of Directors session in early November to hammer those out.

She nodded at him. “We have your Tuesday morning Command Sync. Quarterly budget meeting that morning. Tuesday afternoon is relatively open, but I have that blocked off as your working time.”

“Tuesday I will need to leave by 5PM on the dot,” Tim added, “So give me a thirty-minute buffer at the end of the day if there are any last minute adds.”

Tam frowned at him again, not pleased.

“Wednesday morning you have a breakfast meeting with the JLA attorneys at 7:00AM, sorry that’s when it worked into your schedule. Rachel will have donuts and coffee. You will roll straight into follow-on meeting with Marketing, focused on talk-show appearances –”

Tim slammed his head down on the desk at that and groaned. Now, that sounded like his nightmare.

“You will roll then directly into an integration and leadership strategy meeting with Movemo – just wavetops. Lucious is doing a hard reorganization and onboarding on Thursday and Friday. As we talked about months ago, HR is working to eliminate redundancy by moving people into other roles based on their experience, but there will be an adjustment period. We expect there to be individuals who choose to leave.”

“We’re offering a basic severance package for individuals who don’t want to shift roles,” Tim stated, more confirming than anything else.

“Yes, HR has been working on it. Do you want to read or review the package?”

“No, no,” Tim waved it off, “If you looked it over and think it’s good, then it’s good. But that is a lot for Wednesday morning,” Tim said, looking at the back-to-back blocks on the schedule, “Can we move anything to Tuesday or Thursday? I don’t want to feel rushed getting to the JLA meeting and I need time to go over the updates to the Code of Conduct after the attorney’s leave.”

“I can try,” Tam said, but her tone implied it was unlikely to happen.

“Morning C&S meeting on Thursday,” Tam continued, “Rolling into the afternoon, you will be attending the memorial for the college student that died at Gotham U; the one the Wayne Foundation was funding the scholarship of. You won’t be speaking, but you will be in attendance along a lot of the city’s officials. I can pull this from your schedule if you’ve changed your mind about attending.”

“No,” Tim shook his head, “Keep it.”

“You agreed to lunch with the Major prior to that,” Rachel interjected. “Reservations are set for the Italian place by City Hall at noon at the dot. You have a driver scheduled.”

Tim frowned. He preferred to take him bike everywhere – much more discrete and allowed for easy escape if a rouge showed up. However, it wasn’t professional for Tim to roll up on his bike. Meh.

“Friday morning is clear,” Tam said, “But I am holding it in reserve. We might bring you down to meet the new Movemo hires. They will be integrated into the onboarding program the next two weeks following.”

“I’ll meet them when I meet the other new hires,” Tim said. By Friday morning, Tim was going to be dead in the water. “Send me their profiles and I will use to time to familiarize myself.”

“Friday morning,” Rachel added, “You have the barber coming to your house, don’t forget.” Tim nodded. It was a standing appointment, every third Friday, that Rachel managed.

“Then,” she continued, “You will be playing golf with Senator Renyolds and Representative White. They are both on the Congressional Committee overseeing the –”

“I know who they are,” Tim interjected. Golf was not Tim’s favorite activity. It took an absurd amount of time, people were overly serious about it, and it required a skillset that took time to learn. While Tim had paid for private lessons a few years back to be able to hit a straight shot down the fairway, Tim would never be good. Nor did he have the emotional bandwidth to care.  

“Senator Renyolds might try to set you up with his granddaughter. Be warned. His assistant mentioned it over the phone.”

Tim frowned. His sexuality was public knowledge. He wasn’t looking forward to side-stepping that conversation.

“Anything else?” Tim asked his two assistants.

“Not that I am tracking on,” Tam told him, while Rachel shook her head.

“Send in Lucius when he comes up.”  As soon as Tam and Rachel shut his door, Tim put his head down on the desk and took deep breaths. He felt like he was underwater, his ears ringing from the pounding headache.

Tim felt so out of it that he barely registered when his office door opened.

“You really are hungover. I didn’t believe it when Tam told me. Thought it was code for something else,” Lucius’ smooth voice told him. Lucius had been in a constant in Tim’s life since Bruce had taken him on as Robin.

First, he was one of the few people Bruce would legitimately take advice from. As Tim grew older, Lucius had also been someone to foster and develop Tim’s interest in technology. Tim and Lucius had a couple of years of bounding bat-themed weapons off each other and making prototypes.

Tim had leaned heavily on Lucius the first two years after becoming CEO. It was Lucius more than Bruce who had coached, mentored, and developed him into the professional leader he was today.

“Laugh it up,” Tim grumbled.

“Bruce told me you were kidnapped. You doing okay?” Lucius asked him.

“Jesus Christ,” Tim complained, “Did B tell everyone about that? That is a highly exaggerated description of the event. I was gone for barely an hour.”

“Your father and I are longtime friends. We talk about our kids,” Lucius pointed out, in an amused tone. Which, thank god for that. Bruce needed someone who wasn’t his child or Alfred who knew him behind both masks. Lucius had no expectation of Bruce, as either Brucie Wayne or as Batman. Clark was also a good friend of Bruce, but he didn’t understand the social side Bruce, who had spent years in the limelight as some facsimile of himself.

When Clark took off the mask, very few people had expectations of him.

The Waynes couldn’t get away with that. With or without the mask, people looked up to them with expectations. Dick had run away, hid from the limelight, and gone by only the first half of his last name.

Despite even that, gossip columns ran constant media around Dick. That, of course, may or may not have been because Dick had been blessed with good looks that should have been superhuman. They were not, of course; B had all their genetics mapped.

Dick was a plain old human, despite his looks.

“I’ll be honest,” Tim told him, “I didn’t get around to reading your email. Give me the five w’s on the supply chain issue,” Tim told him.

From there, Lucius gave him a clipped version of his email. Tim just needed the wavetops. Enough of an idea of what happened to make an informed decision. The factory pictures were… horrific.  

“Your recommendation?” Tim asked, after his Chief Operating Officer finished talking.

“Two courses of action,” Lucius said neutrally, “Media hasn’t gotten wind of this. We bury it. Cut ties with the supplier, open up bids for the particular component part, put all end-items that the part goes into on back order or utilize withheld stock, and move on.”

That would be easy and cause little to no friction for their business.

“Total estimated cost?” Tim asked.

“We’re working the numbers now. Low millions.”

“Risks?”

“Media gets wind of it. We look complicit,” Lucius pointed out.

“The other option?” Tim asked.

“Go public and criticize our supplier. Might take a PR hit or it might turn in our favor and look like accountability. Either way, we would get ahead of the fallout,” Lucius said, his voice neutral, “But it would likely cost more in PR.”

Tim knew instinctively the right answer. “Get the ball moving to go public. What happened with our Internal Affairs department? Our suppliers are supposed to be inspected semi-annually.”

“That’s how we found it,” the COO told him, “I have ordered an immediate inspection of all of our suppliers. Bottom line for this quarter will take a hit.”

“I’ll smooth it over with our shareholders,” Tim said, “Any legal repercussions?”

“No,” Lucius said, “We have proof that we weren’t aware of the situation, and that we immediately cut ties when it became known.”

“We’ve reported it to the proper authorities?” Tim asked.

“Yes,” Lucius told him.

Tim nodded. They continued the conversation, hammering out some of the details. When Lucius left, Tim took a deep breath, steeling himself to focus on work.

Around 1100, Tim began to feel better. His headache had subsided with the copious amounts of water he had consumed since waking up.

He pulled out his other laptop from his office safe. They used a lot of different reports and systems to keep track of their vigilante activity. The JLA had a different system than the Bats did internally.

For preplanned missions, they filed After Action Reports. For anything unusual on patrol, they submitted a Patrol Report. The GCPD filed police reports for all of their actions. They had worked out a system with them where they were interviewed as part of the criminal hand-over to the GCPD so that they weren’t required to write up one of those. Ever once in awhile, Gordon would ping them for an official report.

Side note, one of the harder things to hammer out for the Code of Conduct was the expectations around how involved vigilantes and superheros need to be in the post-arrest criminal process. Hence the team of lawyers Tim had employed to work on the document. Getting them approved to testify in court under their superhero/vigilante pseudonym was a struggle, but also incredibly necessary.

However, for all events or activities that occurred outside of patrol or pre-planned missions, Batman required them to submit Incident Reports. When they were submitted, B immediately got flagged.

The situation with Danny required an Incident Report. Before Tim typed it up, he wanted to get his facts straight. The bare bones timeline went like this:

4 October:                   Met “Danny” Daniel, Danny recognized and approached Tim, refused to provide last name. (Purposeful/engineered meeting? Tim’s location at the bar wasn’t pre-planned. Did that indicate stalking?)

5 October:                   Powdered Death and Sionis operation, the laced cocaine disappears. Phantom is revealed to be responsible. (Also unconfirmed, no proof other than Phantom’s words that he was the one who took the cocaine.)

11 October                  Tim initiates meting with Danny; Tim stays the night. (Danny had left his number to begin with.)

12 October                  Phantom appears at Red Robin’s surveillance of Sionis. (Showcases willingness to work with Red Robin despite never having worked with a vigilante prior.)

13 October                  Constantine contacts his “ghost expert.” Despite short timeline, Danny is aware of the incident in Peru and subsequent handling of Anubis.)

Tim surveys Danny Nightengale-Fenton-Masters and Phantom shows up. Phantom believes Batman knows Danny’s location. (Why? Is it because Red Robin showed up? Was he already aware of the link between Red Robin and Tim and therefore expected Red Robin?)

Assumptions to Confirm or Deny:

                                    Tim had taken food and drink from Danny indicating that Tim’s death wasn’t a likely objective.

                                    It was likely that Phantom was aware of the link between Tim and Red Robin.

                                    It was likely that Danny had arranged the meeting with Tim.

Laid out in plain type, it was inherently suspicious, and unlikely, that Danny and his meeting was coincidental. The question was, why? What did Danny gain from developing an emotional or physical connection with Tim?

Tim took his notes and turned it into a bare bones Incident Report with additional details around location and times and removed his notes. The report only included three sections: what happened, the timeline, and follow-up recommendations.

Tim bit his lip as he stared at the recommendations box. He could be a coward and simply leave it blank. Tim tried to be objective. What was the objective recommendation for the course of action?

Tim settled on:

Recommends Red Robin be pulled as Case Lead, and that Batman takes over the investigation. Recommends that surveillance be posted on Mr. Fenton and that Red Robin cut contact with suspect. Recommends that JLA create PIRs and approach Mr. Fenton in a neutral environment for follow-on questioning.

Tim sighed as he pushed submit. Well, that was the end of that. Goodbye hot boy, Tim thought bitterly.

Not ten minutes later, Tim’s computer dinged.

B’s response was simple.

Recommendation denied. Call me.

Tim’s stomach sank. Fuck. Fuck.

Tim took a deep breath, steeled himself, and clicked Bruce’s number. Better to get it over with now. B picked up on the second ring.

“Tim,” Bruce’s voice was steady, “Thank you for calling.”

Tim sighed, “Well, yeah B, I kind of had to.”

“You are well aware of what lengths your brothers will go to in order to avoid talking to me,” Bruce commented neutrally.

Tim felt the guilt seep into him. “To be fair to Jason,” Tim pointed out, “He and I agreed that I needed to report this.”

Bruce chuckled, “That is a surprise.”

Tim narrowed his eyes, despite Bruce not being able to see him. He said suspiciously, “You’re taking this too well.”

“Dick had his fair share of romantic partners that turned out to be villains,” Bruce told him, “As have I. I would be a hypocrite to attack you on this, especially when you were unaware. Further, as of now, Danny alias Nightengale is classified as a person of interest, nothing more.”

“Jason also called you a hypocrite,” Tim said.

“Now that doesn’t surprise me.”

There was a beat of silence on the other side of the phone. “I’m sorry I put our identities at risk B,” Tim said, “I fucked up.”

“You may have also given us an access point for intel,” Bruce pointed out. “I’m routing Duke to follow Nightengale for the afternoon. We can discuss our plan of attack at the meeting tonight.”

Tim nodded despite being on the phone, his heart picking up at the thought of trying to gain intel from Danny. “Okay.”

“Also,” Bruce added, “I want you to run the intel meeting with the Justice League tomorrow night.”

Tim blanched. With what fucking time was he going to prepare for that meeting? Tim started to protest, “Bruce…”

“I’ll go on Patrol with you tonight and we can plan out the agenda,” Bruce cut Tim off. Tim frowned, that could work.

“Okay,” Tim agreed.

Bruce made a humming noise in agreement. Tim took that to mean the phone call was ending. “And Tim,” Bruce added.

“Yes?”

“Sounds like you and Jason got up to some fun last night. Glad you two have each other.” Bruce then clicked off the phone before Tim could defend himself against the hangover accusations. Fucking Lucius, Tim thought bitterly, he must have told B that he came in hungover.

Rachel popped her head into his office a few minutes later, asking if he had eaten lunch. Tim told her a flat no, which meant thirty minutes after that, a to-go sandwich order was brought in. The second Tim bit into the sandwich he realized how hungry he had been.

Tim shot a message over to Rachel thanking her for bringing him the lunch.

After lunch, Tim got up and moving before the planning meeting on supply chain issue. He liked to walk around the building to interact with the people doing the down-and-in work, get a pulse for his employees. WE was it’s own campus in many ways.

Tim had seen the Reddit posts. He knew that when offered a job at WE headquarters, people debated its location. On one hand, potential employees liked its relative closeness to NYC, easy access to an international airport, large benefits package, on-site gym and athletics facilities, on-site childcare, robust cafeteria, and relatively inexpensive cost of living in Gotham. On the other hand, the cost of living in Gotham was low because you had to live in Gotham.

At one point it had been the murder capital of the world. Despite the number of rogues that Batman and crew had thrown into Arkham, it still had an absurd number of rogues per capita.

Tim loved his city, but he could understand why others didn’t.

The afternoon found him sitting in conference rooms.

Lucius lead the supply chain meeting. A large monitor behind him showed all their shipping and logistics nodes. His IndoPa Division head was not happy and appeared stressed.

Tam called the meeting to start, and Tim addressed the group.

“As you all have been looped in, over the weekend, one of our Inspectors discovered a major competent supplier has been breaking international law through their sub-contractor in regards to child labor. It was severe. We have voided their contract and are pivoting to reactive measures. This is going to have an operational impact on our IndoPa division, as well as secondary consequences on stock on military and consumer products.”

Tim looked around the room. Everyone had read the email and were staring at him intently.

Tim had a reputation among his people. For as friendly as he tried to be, workers had a long memory. His firing spree three years ago had resulted in most of his upper-level staff having an appropriate amount of fear of him. Tim was also known to be direct and aloof at times.

In reality, as much as Tim would love to get to know his key people better, he didn’t have the time. His age also made it hard.

Lucius ran the meeting for the next half hour, going over the technical aspects of what end-items it was going to impact, the regions they were looking for a new supplier, and what global backstock they were going to pull from.

One of Lucuis’ Department Heads who handled the particulars with their military contracts had a certain look on his face.

“I can call the ACC[5] and DLA[6],” the man input, “But it may need to be elevated above my level.” The Army Contracting Command was nestled inside of Amy Materials Command which was led by a three-star general out of Redstone Arsenal, Alabama. The DLA was headed by another three-star out of Fort Belvoir, VA.

Tim could, in theory, meet with him when he went DC for his meeting with the JLA on Wednesday. Tim wrote down his thoughts and slid them over towards Tam.

If Tim had to raise it to the OUSA A&S, or the Office Under the Secretary of Defense for Acquisition and Sustainment, he would, but it would likely be an overkill. At that point, Tim might as well just call the SecDef, which was really overkill for a supply chain issue.

“I deal with the Army and DLA,” Tim told him. Lucius nodded to Tim. “Lucius, I need a breakdown on the end-items effected, the backstock we can provide, and timelines for return to normal production.”

Lucius nodded at Tim. The meeting continued. They discussed PR fallout, legal repercussions, and shot ideas on how to solve the production problem.   

After the meeting ended, Tim’s IndoPa Division head cornered Tim. Tim gave a polite smile.

“Tim,” the man gave a thousand-watt smile, but the twitch around his eyes belied his nerves, “I wanted to talk to you about what happened. My division is working overtime in order to fix this. I want you to know that I am doing everything –”

Tim cut the man off, “Is anyone dead?”

The man blinked, taken aback, “No.”

“Is anyone getting arrested?” Tim asked, his voice was amused.

The man shook his head, “No.”

“Was it an intentional oversight on your part?” Tim asked.

The man had finally caught onto what Tim was doing and his shoulders relaxed, “No.”

“Good,” Tim said, “Then there is nothing to be concerned about. I trust that you are working to solve this efficiently and legally.”

“I am,” the man confirmed, “I – uh, thank you. We haven’t really had much opportunity to interact. You’re doing really great things for this company. You’re making your dad proud, I’m sure.”

Tim wanted to roll his eyes at the compliment. Instead, he just raised an eyebrow at the man.

“Thank you,” Tim said simply, “I have other meetings to attend. If you run into any problems, route them through Lucius.”

The man could tell he was being dismissed and slinked away. Tim huffed and followed after Tam to another conference room for his meeting with his CMO.  

His Chief Marketing Officer was a woman in her late thirties, with impeccable hair and fashion sense. She looked like she had just stepped out of a business magazine. Two younger, probably newer hires, trailed in after her. The three of them sat on the other side of the conference table mirroring Tim, Tam, and Rachel.

“Mr. Drake-Wayne,” his CMO, Abigal King, started, “I’m sure you understand the impact that your personal brand has on Wayne Enterprises at large.”

Tim did. The cult-of-personality for businesses had only increased with social media usage. Many people saw WE as Tim himself, despite the literal thousands of employees that made up the business.

However, Tim did not have the time or bandwidth to manage his own social media accounts. Beyond that, he just didn’t care.

Abigal had done an amazing job tying their mission statement to their media output, making WE seem modern, caring, and a force for good.

“Abby,” Tim smiled at her, “I do.”

“Great,” she nodded, “I need your buy-in for this.”

“I’m not sure what this comprises of,” Tim said.

“To be frank, Mr. Drake-Wayne –,” she started.

“Call me Tim,” Tim interrupted her.

“Tim,” she amended, “Your social media presence is… lackluster.”

Tim nodded. That was true.

“We’re going to follow a step-up model,” one of the younger employees told him, “Start reintroducing photos to your accounts, increasing posting pace overtime. Then, we will integrate video content. This will include both personal content and you operating in the business context.”

That sounded fine.

“Okay,” Tim agreed, “Am I going to have a photographer on me?”

“For some of the business events,” the young woman said. The name card in front of her identified that her name was Kaylee.

Abby interjected, “We will need you to take a more active role in photographing your personal life. Phone photos are fine –”

Tim cut her off, “I am more than happy to use a real camera.” Any excuse to use cameras was a good excuse, even if Tim no fucking clue what he could photograph in his personal life.

“But,” Tim looked at Abby, “What do you want me to photograph? My life is exceptionally boring.”

Abby blinked at him for a moment. Kaylee tilted her head as if she didn’t understand the question. The other individual on the PR team, Jacob, looked at him like he was mad.

Tam snickered next to him, and Rachel looked like she had won a bet.

“No offense Mr. Drake-Wayne –”

“– Tim –”

“You are literally one of the richest men on the planet. You’re young and – don’t take this the wrong way – incredibly attractive. What do you mean you’re boring?” Kaylee asked him, a look on her face like Tim was an idiot.

“I mean, I’m boring,” Tim repeated. Take away the vigilante stuff, and all Tim did was eat, sleep, work, and workout. “I don’t do anything,” Tim told them, “And I’m not actually all that wealthy. I really only take a moderate salary, the Wayne Family Trust assets are not mine, even if I control a lot of them. Bruce is wealthy. I’m just a trust fund kid.”

That wasn’t strictly true. Tim had inherited his Drake Industries assets when his parents had passed away. They had been held in a trust until Tim had emancipated himself. After a back-and-forth contact negotiation that protected Tim’s assets, Wayne Enterprises interests, and a clause that Tim joking referred to as his business pre-nup, DI had been pulled under the WE umbrella.

Tim had his own assets. Tim had tied some of it up in properties he owned across the world. The paranoid part of him wanted easily accessible safehouses in almost every major city. Some of his assets were tied back up in WE. The rest were managed by the same financial management team that managed the Wayne Family Trust.

Tim spoke with his Financial Manager probably once a month. Rachel managed that appointment.

“What are your hobbies?” Jacob asked.

Tim blinked. Did he have any hobbies? “I workout six times a week,” Tim offered. Abby looked at him as if expecting him to continue. Tim paused, thinking, “I play piano? I like photography? I hang out with my brothers?” Tim shrugged.

“Jesus Christ man,” Jacob said, “Are you saying you have the same hobbies as a high-school boy?”

Tim felt weirdly hurt by that accusation. “I took on the responsibility of running a Fortune 500 company at seventeen,” Tim pointed out. “I spent the last five years finishing multiple college degrees at night. I’ll be honest with you, between my responsibilities to Wayne Enterprises, the Wayne Foundation, and the JLA, I barely have time to keep up with family, much less have a social life. Most days, I get up, workout, I do to work, I eat dinner, and work some more.”

Tim felt himself getting frustrated with the conversation. He was usually extremely composed at work, nothing phasing him. Tim had been told a piece of advice that stuck with him:

The only thing you can control is how you react to situations. As a leader, Tim set the tone. If he panicked, everyone would panic. Because of that, Tim made a conscious effort to never appear frustrated or overwhelmed.

This conversation, however, felt very personal. Tim glanced around the room. The two younger employees looked sheepish, as if they realized that Tim’s life wasn’t the fancy jet-setting lifestyle that they probably imagined.

Rachel was staring at him with a very particular look on her face. Tam frowned at him.

“Which,” Abby interjected, clearly seeing that the meeting was derailing, “We can absolutely work with. You’re the youngest Fortune 500 CEO of all time, and you have been incredibly successful at it. That makes you illusive and someone for people to look up to. Clearly, you’re very tech forward, driven, and socially conscious. You can easily connect with the younger generation. You’re open about your sexuality in a very refreshing and unconcerned way. You have a close relationship with your family, which people find wholesome. There is a lot for us to work with here, and make no mistake Tim, you are far from boring.”

Tim felt his anxiety and frustration defuse. That was an extremely generous description.

Abby smiled at him, “What we need to decide is how we want to present these traits from an artistic and aesthetic perspective. I have pulled some profiles, and I want you to tell me what you like and dislike.”

She slid across a tablet which had a social media grid square pulled up. Tim vaguely recognized the man, maybe an actor? The pictures were modern and slick – the man in tuxedos and framed by large open windows overlooking a city. Tim scrolled through the photos – adjusting cuff links, on the arm of a tall blonde, holding a glass of whiskey, in front of a red carpet.

“I don’t live this lifestyle,” Tim pointed out, feeling like he was taking in circles. It wouldn’t necessarily be impossible to generate, but it required time that Tim didn’t have. Although her comments reminded him that he had the semi-annual Wayne Foundation Gala coming up in two Saturdays.

Tim turned to Rachel before he forgot, “However,” he prompted.

Rachel interrupted, “Your tux fitting appointment is on the schedule for next week and you have a meeting next Monday with the Wayne Foundation chair to finalize details.” Tim nodded and turned back to Abby.

“Think less of the specific details of the photos. Do you like the colors, general aesthetic?” Abby asked.

“It’s… okay,” Tim said, “I feels like it’s a little pretentious. It would be inauthentic to my life.”

“We would like to increase your public appearances,” Abby told him, “It would help your image overall to get photographed at high profile events. We missed the fall New York Fashion week this year, but it’s not too early to RSVP to events for February’s fashion week. There is also next year’s MET Gala.  As far as the events that are coming up, there is the Frieze Art Fair and Art Basel in Paris later this month. In November, there is the Le Bal De Debutantes in Paris. You are young and it would be excellent way to get you to meet others in your age bracket. The Melbourne Cup in November in Australia. The Art Basel in Miami in December. The Superbowl next February.”

Abby rattled off the events and Tim felt overwhelmed. It sounded like a giant time suck that would require a significant amount of attention. Many of the events she had listed weren’t even in America.

Tim knew, however, that he had to compromise here.

“Let’s stick with ones that can be limited to a single day of travel,” Tim told her, “So no overseas unless it coincides with a WE business trip. As I said earlier, I am an incredibly busy person.” Tim turned to Rachel and Tam. “Do not book anything for me without confirming.”

Both of his assistants had a serious look on their faces.

Abby looked at him with a sharp smile. “You’re an unusual billionaire, Tim.”

The Waynes were considered fairly reclusive as far as the rich and wealthy went. They rarely left Gotham, which made them either quirky or pretentious, depending on who was asked.

“Not a billionaire,” Tim muttered under his breath, sliding her back the tablet. Again, that was Bruce, not Tim.

“Okay,” Abby’s voice was calm. She passed back the tablet, another profile pulled up. Tim recognized the photos as Kyle Palmer, CEO of eco-friendly bicycle company out in California. It was a pretty small business, but it had a cult following. Kyle attended last year’s Wayne Foundation Gala; they spent two hours talking about how to decrease business byproducts that harmed the environment.

Tim liked the dude. Kyle was young, down to Earth, and stuck to his morals in face of increasing business costs.  

His grid showed him in exactly that light. Kyle looked relaxed and approachable in jeans, frayed t-shirts, and snapbacks. A couple of the pictures were taken on the beach; one photo showed him at a non-profit event.

“Kyle is a nice guy,” Tim told Abby.

“I was told that you were friends. It might benefit us to have you two pictured hanging out,” Abby said.

“Friends is stretching it,” Tim muttered. “Kyle’s a pretty relaxed guy. I don’t think I would be able to pull off that level of nonchalance and general coolness. But this is… better, I guess. I’m probably somewhere in the middle.”

Tim glanced over at the clock on the wall. It was getting late, and he wasn’t going to be late to the Monday sync meeting today of all days. His brothers were going to give him hell enough as it was.   

“Abby,” Tim addressed, “Let’s cut to it, what do you want me to do? What is your plan here?”

“Our meeting later this week will be focused on external PR, including a few interviews and photo shoots. We will get some content out of that. Additionally, I do need you to photograph your life. You said you work out? Gym pictures. Play the piano, get me a photo of that. A recording of you playing would be even better. Pictures of you and your brothers would be helpful. Your younger brother, Damian – right? – is still a minor so WE will need a signed release. I will email you a link to a shared file that you can drop the photos in. Once we get a backlog and you have approved the visual look, we will launch on a posting schedule.”

Tim could do that, awkwardly and stubbornly, sure. But he could do that.

“Understood,” Tim said, “Kaylee, Jacob, it was nice meeting you. Abby, we will touch base again later this week. PR for the supply chain issue does take precedence over my social media.”

“My division can handle multiple issues at once. Rest assured, that was why I was hired.” Tim stood up, which caused everyone else to stand in response. Tim spent the rest of the day wrapping up some work emails.  

Right as Tim closed his work laptop, there was a knock on his office door.

“Yes?” Tim called out.

Rachel popped her head into the office. Tim furrowed his brows. Was there another emergency?

“Hey,” she said, “I just wanted to apologize for earlier.”

Tim blinked at her, confused. “Uh, for what?”

“Giving you such a hard time for coming in hung-over. Because you are so good at what you do, it’s easy to forget how damn young you are. The PR meeting really drilled home how much you do. You deserve to have a life outside of all of this.”

It was a nice sentiment, but one Tim didn’t believe in.

“Does anyone really deserve anything? Are we entitled to certain things in life?”

Deserving was such a privileged way to view the world. Because if one deserved certain things, did that imply that people dealt a bad hand deserved that as well.

Tim preferred to look at life like a terrible game of dice. Sometimes you came up snake eyes.

Rachel, however, was not going to engage in Tim’s existential ramblings.

She bulldozed forward, “If you want to be twenty-three sometimes and fuck-off and go do fun things, Tam and I will make it work with your schedule. I know he is your dad, and you love him, but WE functioned just fine under Bruce Wayne and he isn’t exactly the paragon of responsibility.”

Bruce, of course, had excellent timing. Just as Rachel spoke her last sentence, and stepped behind her into the office. Rachel had not been trained as a vigilante and didn’t notice the other human entering the room. Tim’s eyes flickered to his father.

“Did it really though?” Tim asked, his desire to be a little shit outweighing his current guilt around the situation with Danny.

Rachel blinked, “I mean, yeah. I’ll fully admit, you have done wonders for the direction of WE, and the scandals weren’t exactly great for the business. Thank God, that you don’t take after your father.”

Bruce had such a shit eating grin on his face. It was an unusual expression to see, but it egged Tim on more.

“I wonder everyday how I turned out the way I am,” Tim said. “I mean, B was a good father, but there was always some new blonde model around the house.”

Bruce rolled his eyes.

Rachel scrunched her face up with some level of disgust, probably at the idea of Bruce’s perceived womanizing ways. Tim couldn’t help it, he started laughing.

“It’s always good to hear what my children say about me when I’m not around,” Bruce said, his voice cutting in smooth and polished.

“Mr. Wayne,” Rachel squeaked, “Oh fuck, fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t – please don’t fire me.” The last part was said almost pathetically as Rachel’s job flashed before her eyes.

Bruce held up his hand, cutting her off. “Please don’t apologize for advocating for my son. It’s why you were hired, and you’re doing an excellent job Rachel.” Rachel blinked and suddenly looked incredibly shy. She glanced away, a blush appearing on her face.

Oh eww. At forty-five, Bruce’s age seemed to only work in his favor for every single straight women’s attraction to him. Tim didn’t get it, but Bruce was also his father.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Dad, hello,” Tim said sharply, “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, Lucius had me pick up some paperwork for the next board meeting,” Bruce gave a sheepish exaggerated smile. It was Bruce’s acting smile. “I figured since I was here, I could offer you a ride to family dinner tonight.”

Tim scowled. Bruce, no doubt, wanted to talk to him alone before everyone else. Picking up papers, his ass.

“My bike,” Tim pointed out.

“We can grab it later,” Bruce countered, “Plus, son, I know you have multiple of them. I have a few in my garage at the manner that are in your name.”

“Fine,” Tim relented knowing that he wasn’t going to win this fight against Batman, “But I am driving whatever car you drove here.” Bruce smirked at him.

He packed up his stuff, sticking it into his leather backpack, while Bruce shamelessly flirted with Rachel.

Bruce had driven his Bugatti, the La Voiture Noire which was parked sideways in their underground parking garage. The sleek vehicle was one of Tim’s favorites, coming in at an almost nineteen-million-dollar price tag.

Maybe Tim would buy himself one, after all, his current hobbies were more fitting to a teenage boy as he had been so kindly reminded today.

Bruce tossed him the keys. B did know how to silently apologize, or maybe he was buttering Tim up? Regardless, it was working. It was unfortunate that Tim had to adhere to the speed laws.

All of them had gone through extensive evasive driving training. When Tim had turned sixteen, Bruce had flown him out to a private property he owned in the middle of Idaho. That multiple mile driving course had been a revelation. There was nothing quite like the power of a million-something-dollar vehicle speeding across the ground, driving laws irrelevant.

All of the Wayne boys had a thing for things that went fast.

“Alright,” Tim said as he pulled out of the parking garage, “What did you come out all this way to talk about?”

“Just checking in on you,” Bruce said, his voice a lot flatter, but also more authentic, than it had been earlier in the office. “When we talked on Saturday, you had been excited about the relationship.”

“Hardly a relationship,” Tim said bitterly.

“You never know what the future holds,” Bruce pointed out.  

“Who replaced you with an android?” Tim asked, narrowing his eyes at him.

Bruce grunted in response. “Now, about tomorrow night,” Bruce said, pivoting the conversation towards the JLA.

Monday night meetings with the bat family were an affair. Most of the time, they were an opportunity for all of them to sync up on what everyone else was working on. It helped ensure that they weren’t working redundant cases, or worse, no one was working a case.

Most of the time, it was a mild affair. It was also the only time Bruce allowed food down in the cave, a peace offering to get everyone to show up.

Alfred had an arrangement of pastas today with garlic bread and a large salad. It looked divine.

Alfred himself sat behind them on the chair that he had claimed in the cave, reading a paper and slipping a glass of wine. Tim raised his eyebrows at the man. Alfred’s twinkling eyes showed that he had come to watch the show that would be Tim’s humiliation.

“Aww,” Dick said as soon as he laid eyes on him, “Timmy has popped his villain cherry.”

Tim blushed and stuttered, “Danny is not a villain.”

“I’m not sure about that Drake,” Damian said, leaning casually against the computer desk. He was still wearing his school uniform. Maybe he had an afterschool activity? “Sounded pretty villainous from what I read.”

Cass tilted her head in Tim’s direction, radiating warmth. At least she wasn’t going to tease him.

“Daniel isn’t a villain,” she said, “He’s an accomplice.”

Tim huffed. Fuck the incident report, fuck telling them anything. Assholes, the whole lot of them.

“Oh, don’t give Timbit a bad time. I, for one, am one of the only people here that hasn’t been distracted by a pretty face – ” Jason said, his voice magnanimous.

“Excuse me Todd,” Damian protested, “I think that title goes to me.”

“Well,” Steph added her two cents, “You’re a child, I hardly think that you count.”

“I am sixteen,” Damian snapped, “And if I remember correctly, when you were sixteen – ”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Dick cut Damian off, “Time out, keep the heat on Tim.” Steph flashed a grateful look at Dick. Duke, who had said nothing the entire conversation, folded into himself at the table.

Damian rolled his eyes, but thankfully didn’t push it.

“Kids,” Bruce’s voice came from behind Tim’s back, “We will not be giving anyone a hard time. Dish up and we will talk about the ongoing case roster.”

They all debriefed where they were in their active cases, in unspoken agreement that Tim would be the one to go last.

About halfway through the dinner, Tim’s phone started to buzz in his pocket. Tim frowned, unsure of who would be calling him on a Monday evening. The caller-ID showed Danny’s name. Tim blanched as the eyes of his entire family turned on him.

Bruce gave a sharp nod; answer, was the unspoken order.

Tim’s heart beat out of his chest as he clicked the accept call button.

“Umm, hello, this is Tim,” Tim answered, his brain blue screening. Cass signed at him, asking if he could get more awkward. Tim stuck his tongue out at her. Dick had a wide, mischievous grin on his face. Jason looked intensely at the phone as if he wished he could set it on fire. Weird.

Damian leaned back in almost disinterest.

“Tim, hi,” Danny’s voice was a lot more kind than it had been on the JLA phone call, “Thanks for picking up.” Danny sounded surprisingly nervous, as well. It was a far cry from the guy that had told Batman to fuck off.

“Uh, you’re welcome?” Tim said awkwardly, his palms sweating as ever eye in the room watched him intently.

Danny, thankfully, laughed, “I know we said Friday and I’m still excited about that, but I was wondering if you wanted to have lunch with me tomorrow? My afternoon classes got canceled since my advising professor is out sick. This is kind of impulsive of me to call like this, and I am sure you are busy. Even if it is just like a cup of coffee…”

Tim was unbelievably fucking busy. Two days ago, Tim would have jumped at the chance to see Danny. Now, he just felt conflicted.  

Bruce inclined his head towards Tim. He wanted Tim to accept the date.

Tim swallowed and got his thoughts together. “Sure,” Tim agreed, “Let me get back to you on time. I might have to have my assistants move some stuff around –”

“If you’re busy,” Danny interrupted, “I completely understand.”

Tim closed his eyes and pretended like he didn’t have Bruce, and Dick, and Jason, and Steph, and Cass, and Damian’s eyes watching him like a hawk.

“No,” Tim protested, “I would like to get lunch. Let’s get lunch. I will text you the time in the morning.”

“Okay,” Danny agreed, “I would like that.”

Tim replied softly, “I would like that too. See you tomorrow, Danny.”

“See you tomorrow, Tim,” Danny responded in kind and the phone clicked off.

“See you tomorrow, Tim,” Damian parroted, in almost an exact replica of Danny’s voice. Tim paused, that voice sounded familiar in an uncanny valley way.

It wasn’t that Damian’s skills were off, because they were dead-on as usual. Rather, the voice sounded familiar divorced from Danny’s mouth.

Why?

Tim frowned at the thought.

“This is a good pivot to the case Tim is working. As you have all read Tim’s incident report, there are so-called Ghosts in Gotham. Person of interest, Danny Nightengale, has a personal connection to these creatures,” Bruce said.

Tim nodded, glad to have Bruce brief the group. “The JLA is working on the international threat piece. I want us to focus on Mr. Nightengale and obtaining information. I believe Tim can be an inside source.”

Dick commented, “Ooooh, honeypot operation. You ready for that babybat?”

Tim was absolutely not ready for that.

“You’d look real good in a short skirt Timmy,” Jason teased.

Tim rolled his eyes, set his shoulder back, and stared straight at Jason, “Damn right I would,” Tim responded.

Jason gave Tim a shit-eating grin.

What the fuck had Tim gotten himself into. Neither Batman nor the League of Assassins had trained Tim to be a goddamn seductor.

-----

Across Gotham, human Danny stared down at his phone. It had been over twenty-four hours, and he still hadn’t managed to track down Osiris. The Ancients had been wholly unhelpful. Danny knew he would have to call an emergency meeting with the Council soon, as rumors were running rampant.

Skulker hadn’t found the Egyptian death god, and Danny felt himself grow impatient.

Danny hadn’t the faintest clue how to narrow down his search across the known universe. Batman was supposed to be smart, wasn’t he?

Red Robin, Tim, was one of his protégés. Tim was clearly brilliant, if his work at Wayne Enterprises, was anything to go off of. Danny would feel it out tomorrow. Maybe not reveal that he was half-ghost, but looping the JLA in wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world.

Danny had gone at it alone for a long time. One of Danny’s ghost doubles looked at his human form. They stared at each other for a while, Danny’s mind splitting between the two perspectives. Looking at himself, perceiving himself, was an out of body experience.

Danny blinked and willed his ghost form to disappear.  

Lunch tomorrow will be interesting.

[1] This is not a revolutionary idea. For one, people join the military and die for the why all the time. Why people do things is more important than what they do. Second, everyone should go watch the Ted Talk Start With Why by Simon Sinek, it really fleshes out this idea.

[2] Humanitarian Assistance/Disaster Relief

[3] IndoPacific

[4] Chief Procurement Officer (CPO), Chief Compliance Officer (CCO), Chief Legal Officer (CLO), and Chief Marketing Officer (CMO)

[5] Army Contracting Command

[6]Defense Logistics Agency, a DOD Agency that handles the end-to-end Global Defense supply chain

Chapter Text

There was a saying, a 70% plan executed violently now is better than a perfect plan executed later. It was a bastardized version of a quote by General Patton, a complicated historical figure. While Tim didn’t endorse all the man’s actions and beliefs, Tim did agree with the sentiment of the quote. It was also a quote thrown around a lot among young heroes.    

Sometimes you didn’t have all the variables and there wasn’t time for reconnaissance. Sometimes waiting to execute a plan could result in civilian death.

Time sometimes was the enemy as much as the person on the other side of the trench.

Tim liked to think that Bruce had a complicated relationship with that saying. Batman, after all, had been the one to teach Tim everything he knew about tactical, operational, and strategic planning.

Bruce had digital rolodexes of plans for every contingency under the sun. Tim knew B enough to know that he didn’t like to execute a 70% plan. However, sometimes timelines and personnel didn’t allow for complex briefs over a terrain model. Instead, sometimes plans were slide decks sent over at 0203 in the morning with satellite imagery standing in for reconnaissance imagery.  

After the family meeting the evening prior, Bruce had taken one look at him and kicked him home and off the patrol roster. The prideful part of Tim wanted to argue with him; that he would be fine; that exhaustion was part of the job.

However, his head still hurt from the weekend and his hangover. Tim’s schedule for the rest of the week loomed over him like a black cloud of dread.

Tim took the night off, graciously, stole a civilian bike from the garage, and headed home. A quick shower had him in bed by 2100. A large part of Tim felt guilty when he set an alarm for 0730 instead of his normal 0600, but the sleep would hopefully reset him.

Tim woke up the next morning feeling like a changed human being.

As he ate his breakfast, he clicked through the slide decks that Bruce had sent him.

It seemed that – on the other hand – Bruce hadn’t slept. Bruce had taken Tim’s patrol shift and stayed up late to finalize the plan for the mission and hammer down on the PIRs for the meeting with the Justice League.

Another wave of guilt fell over Tim.

Tim sent back a: Thanks B.  

Bruce’s response was immediate: No problem.

Most of what Bruce had sent over was fairly standard, after all. They had standard operating procedures for a reason.

Tim clicked through the orientation slide, noting the primary and alternative choices of venue.

Tim immediately called Rachel.

She blearily answered, clearly still waking, “Tim? Is everything okay?”

“Remember our conversation yesterday as I was leaving?” Tim prompted her.

 “Yes,” she said immediately sounding suspicious, “What do you need?”

“I have a date today,” Tim announced, knowing that both of his assistants would badger him relentlessly for details later. “A lunch date,” Tim clarified, “I would like to get a restaurant booked out. I will shoot over the details.”

“A date? You have a date?” Rachel squealed at him. “Oh Tim, of course, text me and I’ll call first thing when I get in.”

“Thanks Rach,” Tim acknowledged, ending the call. Tuesday was probably the lightest day of his workweek, so there was that, at least. Tim clicked through Situation, Mission, and Execution noting Bruce’s assessment of Danny.

The ConOps was straightforward. Tim would arrive via an armored Wayne Enterprises vehicle they used for public events. Tim would have to have Rachel arrange for a driver. Cass and Steph would arrive early, clear the area, and stage in a get-away van down the street as a quick reaction force.

Drones would be staged at four points around the building equipped with smoke and stun grenades. Jason would act as an overwatch from a building with easy viability into the restaurant.

Bruce would operate comms and the drones as Babs had work and wasn’t available.

Tim clicked through administration and logistics, which was much heavier than normal. Ah, Tim thought, this was where Bruce had spent his time.

Tim glanced over the risk matrix. It was the way that they categized and prioritized threats. A shorthand, so to speak, to determine what type of planning factor was required. The risk matrix labeled threats by a category and a likelihood. Assessing a risk at a certain level required the escalation to the proper echelon of handling. Tim knew the matrix by heart, but Bruce had inserted the key regardless.[1]

Category Alpha were threats that were catastrophic in nature. Global anhelation, wide scale death, property and environmental destruction on a city-wide scale, and complete unmasking of all heroes. It was exactly like the label sounded like.

Category Bravo threats were critical threats. Threats to large-scale mission success, public identity reveal, and threat to many lives, both civilian and hero. A threat to a small city or large group of people would likely fall under Category Bravo. Despite the consequences still being severe, the threat wasn’t world ending, nor did it require the mobilization of the entire Justice League.    

Category Charlie threats were serious in nature. This included loss of civilian or hero life, individual identity reveal, and large-scale property damage.

Category Delta threats were moderate in nature. Moderate didn’t necessarily mean not dangerous. This category included the threat of permanent injury, small-scale property damage, risk to equipment, risk to the environment, and other factors on this level.

Category Echo risks small in scope and scale. Risk of broken bones or similar injuries; mild property and environmental damage; damage to equipment. Rescuing cats out of trees, so to speak.

The categories were then weighed against the likelihood of an event happening. An Alpha-Five risk was the highest threat anything can be deemed. It meant that a being like Darkseid was in route to destroy Earth.

It also created a shorthand for heroes to know what their response time needed to be. For example, when Tim had been kidnapped, and Phantom had alluded to the threat of a ghost army, Batman had probably called an Alpha-Two code to mobilize the JLA to meet at the watchtower.

The JLA also had a standing Operational Risk code. The threat of a ghost army had been downgraded to an Alpha-One with the information from Phantom, but the JLA hadn’t taken it off-the-books so to speak. The JLA’s standing code was always the highest standing threat that wasn’t in the zero column.

“Dropping off” or “voiding” a threat was when threats got downgraded to a zero. There were plenty of Alpha-Zero threats. Flash breaking the timestream, for example, was an Alpha-Zero threat. While none of the speedsters were likely to do that currently, there was still a non-zero change.

Bruce had a lot of contingencies for Alpha-Zero threats, entire digital file systems full of analysis in the Alpha-Zero category.

The superhero community also had a joke that if someone was an “Echo-Zero” they were essentially harmless or powerless. It was funnier than it should have been.

Bruce had done an assessment on the lunch mission for standing threat levels.

Just identifying the threat, however, was not enough. From there, you needed to create a risk mitigation and/or reaction plan.

Bruce’s slide decks showed the following in order of greatest threat to least threat.

Tim flipped through the rest of the slides. He would need to wear Kevlar fabric underneath his civilian attire today which wasn’t the most comfortable.

Tim did take note of the Physical Network Analysis and the CASEVAC plan. Time to hospital was around ten minutes, which wasn’t the worst all things considered. Tim would be in civilian attire, so civilian care would be the default for Tim.

If any of the others got injured, it was thirty-five minutes to the cave for higher care. Tim could pretty much tell you the drive time from anywhere in the city to the Batacve.

Tim changed over to his office wear, taking an extra moment to think about his outfit. He wanted to look slightly less business than normal for his date.

Rachel gave him a look when he got into the office that Tim rolled his eyes at. Another day, another dollar. Or rather, another day, another whatever the fuck Tim makes in a twenty-four-hour period.  

-----

The morning after their call, Tim had texted Danny a location and time. Danny had checked out the restaurant online, and it looked expensive.

That was fine; Vlad could afford it.

Danny did run back to his apartment after his morning responsibilities and throw on something nicer than his usual grad student attire. Black pleated trousers, a green textured short sleeve button down, and a nice belt was topped off by a silver chain. Danny switched his normal beat-up sneakers for black utility boots.

His fashion sense had improved over the years, to some extent.

Danny’s advising professor actually had called out sick and canceled all of his afternoon meetings. That meant that Danny should have been using the time to work on his research. Danny’s time management skills had decreased proportionally to his ability to hold multiple forms.

It was a cheat code in life that sometimes bit him in the ass. Because while he could have other versions of himself doing the thing, as in his research, it didn’t make him want to do the thing anymore than when he could only hold one version of himself.

Danny’s academic abilities had increased substantially when he left his parents’ household and no longer had to split his attention with ghost attacks. He still lapsed at times.

When Danny appeared at the restaurant, it had a polite sign posted indicating that it was closed for a private event. Well, fuck, Danny and Tim would have to figure out an alternative once Tim arrived. Danny waited on the sidewalk, leaning against the building.

Five minutes after the time that Tim had sent him, a sleek black Rolls-Royce rolled up to the front of the restaurant.

The Tim that stepped out of the car was the Tim Drake-Wayne that Danny had seen in magazines. Suddenly Danny felt very grateful he had made the call to change clothes.

Tim’s dark hair was styled to perfection. He had on a dark gray, sleek suit paired with a black mock neck shirt. Danny could guarantee that the watch he was wearing cost more than his undergraduate degree. Tim looked intimidating, and nothing like the blushing man that he had picked up at the bar. Nor did he look like the feisty vigilante, suspicious of everything that moved.

Tim looked confident, as if he expected the world to bow to his will. Even his emotions were tightly controlled.

Tim was a regular human and yet exuded more power than Danny had seen from most ghosts. Danny found that presence incredibly attractive. The deepest parts of him was terrified that Tim – or really person he would date – wouldn’t be able to handle Danny’s power.

Danny wanted someone who could stand toe-to-toe with him. Due to what Danny was, that person didn’t exist. However, Tim was probably one of the few humans on Earth who could even begin to understand the responsibility Danny felt.   

It was also, at the moment that Tim stepped out of the car, that Danny realized that the private event the restaurant was closed for was their lunch date.

Danny had been raised by middle-class parents in the Midwest. This level of casual wealth felt shocking. Danny didn’t even know if Vlad would do something like this without a compelling reason.

Should Danny offer to pay for half the cost of renting out the place? What would it even cost to do something like that? Thousands, probably, right?

Tim gave him a light smile, “Hi,” he said, “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Danny stared into Tim’s blue eyes, “I’m happy to wait for you.”

Color rose to Tim’s checks, and suddenly Danny felt at ease. This whole song-and-dance was a calculated show.

Tim, as Red Robin, knew about Danny’s call with the Justice League. Danny, however, should not know about Tim being Red Robin. Unless Tim suspected that Phantom knew his identity and had told Danny. Tim didn’t know that Danny and Phantom were one and the same – and how could he when Danny could hold multiple forms? – so Tim didn’t know about how he had interacted with him in his ghost form.

It was a disaster of identities for only knowing each other for two weeks.  

Did Tim think that Danny had purposefully hit on him the first time they met? Danny didn’t believe in coincidences due to Clockwork.

Tim, rightfully so, was suspicious of Danny and his intentions. Danny would have been suspicious of himself and his intentions if the situation had flipped.

Internally, Danny cursed Jazz and her advice. He should never have given Tim his number. Alas, Danny had become somewhat smitten with Tim. After Tim had woken up from the nightmare in his bed, Danny didn’t know if he was capable of just walking away from the other man. At least, not without Tim telling him to do so.

However, all that needed to be set aside.

While this lunch had been initiated between Tim and Danny, in reality it was a meeting between Danny Nightengale – a half identity Danny had created in the devastation following his ascension – and Red Robin.

Danny needed to focus.

He opened his human form up to the energy of the world around him, scanning for other vigilantes and their soul signatures. Unsurprisingly, Danny recognized two people in a white work van parked down the street. Danny identified them from the cocaine bust. Danny struggled to remember their names – Spoiler and Black Bat?

The blonde girl and the silent one.

Additionally, Danny felt another human on the roof forty-five degrees to his right. Danny knew the name of that one – the Red Hood. The revenant that had come back to life.

Danny willed another form into existence. His invisible copy flew up to assess his roof top watcher.

The Red Hood held a rifle that was locked onto Danny’s human form. Danny wasn’t very familiar with non-ghost fighting weapons, so he couldn’t identify the type by name. He assumed that whatever bullet that thing could send out, would be able to kill a normal human being.

Danny’s only experience with a gun was when he put one to his own head and attempted suicide.

When Jazz had dragged him back from the Infinite Realms, Danny had wildly swung in the other direction. He spent the next year rejecting his power and status, attempting to end it all in a Nihilist spiral.  

The three days that Danny had spent in agony as his human brain matter knitted itself back together taught him that he never wanted to attempt that again. Danny hadn’t even had the wits about him to change his state into a ghost form to ease the pain.

Since that moment, Danny had been averse to guns.

Danny had never had someone else point a normal, non-ghost, weapon pointed at him before. Danny wasn’t afraid – how could you be afraid when death wasn’t an option? Danny did, however, feel unsettled. He didn’t want to repeat his death by gun experience.

Tim’s family were violent protective vigilantes.

Danny focused back on his human form. Danny and Tim walked up to the door of the restaurant which opened a step away from there.

“Mr. Drake-Wayne,” a burley older gentleman with a thick Middle Eastern – possibly Lebanese – accent greeted him, “Thank you for choosing my restaurant for your lunch.”

Danny was completely ignored next to Tim. His presence was chopped liver next to the literal billionaire.

“Good afternoon Mr. Amhaz,” Tim said, his voice refined, “You have the best humus in town. I am always happy to patronize your business. Please let me introduce you to my friend,” Tim’s eyes then meet his eyes, and a silent communication flowed between them.

Danny had never told Tim his last name. Not necessarily on purpose, but the longer Danny could avoid the questions of his parents, the better.

This was also a moment that Danny needed to choose who he was meeting Tim as. Was he meeting Tim as Danny Fenton, midwestern boy with a fucked-up childhood? Waa Danny meeting Tim as Daniel Masters, PHD engineering student and heir to Vlad Co? Was Danny meeting Tim as Nightengale, the human that liked to annoy the Justice League Dark?

Or, Danny mused, was he meeting Tim as Danny Phantom, half-ghost King to the Infinite Realm?

“Daniel Nightengale,” Danny interjected smoothly, making the decision. Tim already knew that name. There was no point in avoiding that knowledge. Tim’s eyes flashed in recognition of Danny’s choice. Danny told the man, “شكرا لاستضافتنا.”

Thank you for hosting us.

Tim blinked in surprise. Danny smiled smugly at that. He had spent six months living in Lebanon. He also had the benefit of knowing every living and dead language ever created inherent to his throne.

Mr. Amhaz led them inside the restaurant and into a private room at the front of the restaurant and directed them to sit at the table next to a window. It was beautifully set up with a white tablecloth and single flower vase. Ah, Danny thought, window seat so that the sniper could see him.

A server trailed behind Mr. Amhaz requesting their drink order. They both got water, Tim sparkling and Danny flat.

Tim gave him a polite smile when they sat down. “You speak Arabic?” Tim asked.

“I speak quite a few languages,” Danny answered honestly. “I’ve spent a lot of time traveling and I pick them up quickly.”

Danny wondered how many languages Tim spoke. Tim likely had labored over the knowledge set, gaining it the hard-earned way. Danny had the cheat code.

“Parlez-vous français?” Tim asked him. Do you speak French? Danny’s mind translated for him.

“De quoi s’en sortir,” Danny answered, enough to get by.

Tim tilted his head slightly, “您會說這種語言嗎?” Do you speak this language?

Danny smirked at Tim’s attempt to gain knowledge, “是的，我會說粵語.”

Yes, I can speak Cantonese. Tim looked at him critically for a moment. Danny half expected the language questioning to continue.

But then Tim gave a light smile and looked down at the menu. “Laylas is quite good,” Tim said in reference to the restaurant they were eating at. “I am quite partial to the lamb shawarma. I also think we should get the appetizer platter. I can never choose. Lunch is on me, of course.”

Danny looked at Tim amused, “Well you did buy out the restaurant. How much does that cost, by the way?”

“No idea,” Tim answered flippantly, “I had my assistant handle the details.”

“Next time we can just – I don’t know – get a sandwich at a deli,” Danny pointed out.

“Next time, eh, Nightingale,” Tim had said the words teasingly. However, the emotions he was putting off were not teasing. Hurt and betrayal resonated off Tim.

Danny sighed. Honesty would be the best policy here. “I was born Fenton,” Danny told Tim, staring straight into his eyes, “and legally, that’s still my last name. My parents are nutjobs to put it mildly, so I avoid associating with the name. If you were to look me up at Gotham U, my name would come up as Masters.”

Tim sat silently, observing him.

“That name is just a tool,” Danny explained, “A deal I have with Vlad because he pays for my education and living expenses.”

“You have a good relationship with Vlad Masters?” Tim asked, neutrally.

“We have an understanding,” Danny answered vaguely, not wanting to dig into his relationship with Vlad. It wasn’t that he was against explaining to Tim why he and Vlad had the relationship they did, just that he wanted a couple of drinks before getting into it.

They were interrupted with a knock on the door of their room.

“Come in,” Tim called loudly. The room must have been sound proofed to some extent. It made sense that Tim would choose a restaurant with privacy and silence for this conversation.

Once again, Danny felt like a fish out of water. Ghost culture was different than human culture. In Danny’s capacity as ruler of the Infinite Realms, he was afforded an extreme amount of respect and deference. Beings crumbled around him and bent to his whims.

In consequence, Danny didn’t ever flex that power.

Tim felt refined and poised, like he had been raised to this standard.

The server asked for their order. Tim smiled, reserved, and ordered them appetizers. Danny didn’t say a word.

The moment the door clicked behind the server, Tim’s eyes trained back on Danny. Tim took a sip of his water.

“I think Masters is on the guest list for the upcoming Wayne Gala,” Tim told him, “Will you be attending?”

Danny tilted his head at Tim. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was asking. Was he being invited in some weird way? The word games were hurting Danny’s head. It was time to get to the root of why they were here.

“I don’t know,” Danny answered honestly. “Will I have a sniper riffle trained on my head the whole time?”

Tim’s eyes flew wide in clear shock. Danny tensed his body, ready to go intangible to avoid a bullet. Tim made a minute hand signal, clearly calling off a shot. Danny’s eyes flickered to the signal and back to Tim’s face.

Tim’s expression was unreadable, but much harder than it had been earlier. The emotions rolling off him were conflicting.

The ghost in Danny that called for stillness gave him the patience to stare at Tim challenging. Danny’s ice powers ached to leach out of him. The room must have dropped a few degrees, but Danny held the rest of him inside coiled tight.

Tim broke his gaze flexing his fingers out and fiddling with the ring on Tim’s right hand. Tim gave that moment of pause before he stared back up at Danny’s, his eyes displaying honesty. “I don’t know,” Tim mirrored Danny’s earlier statement, “Should you have a sniper riffle trained on you the whole time?”

“No,” Danny told him, voice resolute, “I am no threat to the humans on this planet.”

Tim blinked at him owlishly, “This planet?”

Danny grimaced at the slip of his tongue. “Let me rephase that. The only beings I am a threat to are not on this planet.” That wasn’t strictly true. Threat was such a weird word when Danny was what he was. He didn’t want to hurt people, but he was so far beyond the scope and scale of normal humans.

By nature of what Danny was and his position, he was a threat to everyone and everything. There was no escaping that fact – nor that responsibility.

There was another knock on the door. Tim looked towords the door and called for them to come in. A large platter was set in front of them with humus, tzatziki, sambouseks, tabouleh, pita bread, and stuffed grape leaves.

It looked amazing. Tim clearly had good taste in food. They put in their lunch orders, Danny ordering the same meal as Tim.

The server excused himself, leaving Danny and Tim to their private room.

Danny swallowed, feeling like he needed to regain some sense of control over the conversation.

“I’ll admit,” Danny told him, “That I became aware of your identify,” Tim stared at him with shock radiating off of him, “after the first night we meet. To me it’s actually a point in your favor. As I said, my childhood was far from normal. I have dealt with beings not from this universe since I was fourteen.”

“Okay,” Tim responded, his voice falsely neutral. Danny assumed they would unpack the secret identity reveal sometime later.

“The organization,” Danny struggled to find the words, still hesitant to not speak in code, even with the illusion of privacy, “That you are apart of wants to know more information?”

“Yes,” Tim affirmed, “If there are threats to Earth, we need to know.”

“For you,” Danny told him, “I will agree to an information debrief. You… guys might even be able to help, to be honest.” Danny reached out and grabbed one of the fried stuffed hand pies, dipping it into the yogurt sauce.

Danny glanced up at the young man sitting across from him. He had his brows furrowed together. “For me?” Tim asked confused, almost by reflex.

Danny wanted to laugh at how adorable he looked. “Yeah baby,” Danny told him honestly, “For you.”

Danny would love to lean over and kiss the other man who had a blush creeping on his face. Danny wondered if the others listening in were going to give Tim a bad time. It almost made Danny want to flirt even harder with the young vigilante.

“Who is listening in?” Danny asked, his voice conspiratorial. He would, after all, only make that mistake once with Tim.

Tim’s eyes glanced at the door. Ah, even with the privacy there was only so much Tim would be willing to say in public.

Danny smiled, “Never mind,” he said. “I can guess.”

“I assume that your guess is pretty accurate,” Tim told him, dipping a pita bread slice in tzatziki, “Scary accurate actually. How did you figure that out?”

“Our white-haired friend told me,” Danny said, “I am not that smart. He sees soul signatures, so masks mean nothing.”

“Is that common for… his kind?” Tim asked, clearly disturbed by the idea that a whole group of beings would be able to see through their disguise.

Danny paused, considering how to answer. “I mean, yes, they can see soul signatures, but not many would care if that makes any sense. They are unconcerned with the living. Most are not a threat.”

“Most.” Tim repeated flatly, clearly not happy with that generalization.

“Yes,” Danny answered, “And the ones that do care, I, or our white-haired friend, will handle.”

“Why?”

Danny considered the question for a moment. He loaded up his plate with the small bites. They were amazing. Danny wasn’t going to turn down good food.

“The same reason you do it, I assume,” Danny finally answered, “A sense of duty and responsibility.”

“You feel a responsibility to handle these… beings?” Tim asked, picking at his food.

Danny stared down at his own arms. He had on a short sleeve button down shirt, so his arms were bare. His Lichtenberg scars from his death shined down his left arm. On his right arm, Danny turned his wrist up, one of his suicide attempts staring up at him with a roped and nasty reminder.

That had been a rough day.

Danny finally answered Tim. “Yes,” he muttered, “As I said earlier, my parents are nutjobs. They opened up a portal to the afterlife in our basement, and I had a responsibility to do something.”

Tim stared at him. “Your parents opened up a portal to the afterlife. The fucking afterlife.” Tim looked like his world had been rocked, again. Waves of uncertainty and existential dread radiated off of him.

Right.

That would be a shock for most people.

Danny had lived with the reality of life and death for a very long time. He forgot what a revelation that was for most people.

Danny felt himself flushing from the embarrassment. “Uh, yeah,” he answered, “They created a portal to something called the Infinite Realms. I’m sure Constantine explained it.”

“He didn’t explain fuck-all,” Tim said, bitterly.

“Right,” Danny agreed. “Voldemort does that.”

Tim grimaced, almost in agreement. Then he asked cautiously, “Why do you call him that?”

Danny laughed, a little surprised with the question. The answer was easy. “Another British man who split his own soul to oblivion? John shouldn’t have made the reference so easy if he didn’t want the comparison.”

Danny didn’t wait for the follow-on question. “I can see soul-signatures too, of course.”

“Of course,” Tim repeated. The words meant the opposite, however. For a moment, Danny wondered whatever conclusions Tim was coming to in his mind. Danny’s status as human was probably only hanging by a thread.

“Do you have magic?” Tim asked.

Danny paused for a moment. Did he have magic? Magic felt like such a petty word to describe the breath of his powers. Danny controlled all the energy that made up life. He could rewrite reality on a whim. Sure, Danny mused, he had magic.

Danny said as much. “Yeah, sure, you can say that I have magic.”

“But that’s not what you call it,” Tim replied, quickly catching onto Danny’s tone.

“It’s more complicated than that,” Danny responded.

Another knock on the door of their private room brough their lunch orders. Large plates filled with shaved lamb and jasmine rice smelled incredible. Danny’s mouth salivated at the idea of making small pita sandwiches.

“I could get used to this,” Danny mused, in reference to the food.

“Didn’t grow up with this?” Tim prodded.

“Mmm, no,” Danny responded, honestly, “Did you?”

Tim snorted, as if the idea of a fancy lunch was hilarious. “My parents didn’t remember I existed most of the time, much less to take me out to lunch. I was lucky if my housekeeper remembered to drop off groceries two times a week.”

“That’s rough,” Danny responded. He was sure that there was a lot more to that story, but he empathized with the neglect. Danny continued in a flat voice, “I was lucky if the food in my fridge didn’t reanimate when we were trying to eat it.”

“What the actual fuck. Is that…? Are you…?” Tim struggled to ask the right question.

“Am I telling the truth?” Danny asked, “Oh yeah, as I said, my parents were nutjobs that opened a portal to the Infinite Realms. They thought it was a good idea to store the substance that makes up the realm of the dead in the same fridge that they feed their teenage children from.”

“Danny,” Tim responded, his empathy and grief radiating off of him, “I’m so sorry. That is awful.”

Danny shrugged. Water under the bridge of his life. “I ran away from home right before I turned sixteen,” Danny told the lie like he was breathing. He had said it to so many people he almost believed it. Rather than his entire being shattering from the power that he had been imbued with, Danny liked to pretend that he actually had run away.

What a nice fantasy.

Danny started to build a shawarma sandwich, his mind wandering to his teenage trauma.

Tim’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “I did too.”

“What?” Danny responded, confused.

“I ran away.” Tim said, voice calm, “When I was sixteen. Both of my parents had died. They hadn’t been good parents, but they were still mine, you know. Then I had a series of friends die. Then, Bruce – uh, my adopted father,” Tim clarified, “Disappeared. I had nothing.”

They stared at each other, empathy radiating between them. Danny liked to think that the other people on the end of Tim’s comm link were feeling guilt.

“So, I ran away,” Tim continued, “Went on almost a year long trip around the world. Spent some time training with a certain group.”

Danny didn’t know what a certain group meant, but he could guess that it wasn’t good. Danny was sure that Tim hadn’t been picking sunflowers in a field. Whatever Tim had done during that time probably contributed to the weight that lingered on Tim’s soul.

The King part of Danny wanted to reach out and touch Tim’s soul, soothing the hurt and darkness. The human part of Danny wanted Tim to know that it was okay that he did what he did to survive.

Danny licked his lips and told Tim honestly, “I spent two years living in the Infinite Realms. My older sister found me and dragged me back to the land of the living. I feel more comfortable with the dead.”

“That’s how you met Phantom,” Tim assessed.

Danny paused for a moment. How should he respond to this?

“No, I met Phantom in Amity Park when I was fourteen. I have a complicated relationship with him,” Danny tapped against the dining table in anxiety, “But I trust him. We will protect this Earth against beings from the Infinite Realms.”

There was a long pause from Tim. Danny focused on eating the food in front of him. Finally, after Tim finished a bite, he told Danny, “They believe you. The others on my comms, they believe you.”

“Oh,” Danny responded, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. “Oh.”

It was an unexpected wave of relief. Danny, King of the Infinite Realms and Ancient of Balance, had no right to feel relief when regular humans believed him. That was inane and ridiculous. That was beneath Danny’s notice, at least it should have been.

Regardless, the relief still fell over him like a warm blanket being wrapped around him. Danny had spent his entire – short lived – hero career completely alone.

“We tried calling the organization,” Danny told Tim, “A couple of times. I believe there was some inference.” Danny’s voice was hard and bitter. He blamed Clockwork for the lack of assistance. Danny could have used some mentorship and guidance as a young hero. Maybe Danny wouldn’t have ended up as the Ancient of Balance.

He would actually have just been Danny Nightengale on a date with Tim Drake-Wayne, two heroes. Instead, Danny felt doomed by his crown.

“Interference?” Tim asked.

“Yes,” Danny answered, “I can’t really explain much more than that right now. Maybe when I debrief the… organization, I can go more into it.”

The existence of the Ancients wasn’t hidden, but nor were they also widely known. Danny wondered if Constantine was aware of their existence.

Danny Phantom’s status as the King of the Infinite Realms was immediately identifiable to any ghost when Danny was in ghost form. He hid his status when he walked around as a human.

The dead rarely talked to the living, but Deadman was a unique case. Deadman also rarely talked to the dead nor had he ever interacted with Danny as a ghost.

Tim ate his meal and Danny looked at the other man. At first glance, everything about Tim appeared to be squared away to perfection. He had on silver W cuff links – a gift from Bruce Wayne? – and a black Rolex watch. A signet ring sat on his left hand. The suit looked like it had been recently pressed, and Tim’s hair was styled with just the right amount of gel.

However, Danny could see the slight bags underneath his eyes and the way his shoulders sat with exhaustion.

Tim looked like he needed a long nap.

Danny resisted the urge to suggest such a thing.

Tim finally broke the silence. “You suggested this meeting for a reason,” he promoted.

Danny chewed on the inside of his lip, debating how to approach it. Finally, he settled on, “Phantom has been searching for the ghost that Anubis reported to. He has fled to one of the living worlds. Phantom is at a loss for his location.”

Danny hated talking about himself in third person. It felt like he was having a stroke.

“You think we can help?” Tim asked.

“Maybe, maybe not. But, you wanted information from us. I’ll provide that if you help us in return.”

Again, the us. Despite everything that Danny was, he did not view himself as plural. He could hold twenty forms, and they would still all just be him, one singular entity.

Tim blue eyes were unreadable, and his emotions were calm. “I’m not sure how we can help, but we can try.”

“That’s all I can ask for,” Danny responded. “When do you want me to speak to the organization?”

Tim narrowed his eyes and slightly tilted his head. Ah, he was listening to others debating over comms. Danny waited patiently, eating the delicious free food that was in front of him. Would it be rude to ask to take the leftovers?

Tim and he had barely managed to make a dent on the appetizer platter. Danny liked to cook but that didn’t mean he would scoff at reheating food.

Tim’s mouth thinned in clear annoyance. He made some hand signals out of the window. There was another couple of moments of debate.

Tim finally asked him, “Are you available this evening?”

“I teach the kids boxing class until seven,” Danny said, “It’s too late to cancel and I wouldn’t do that to Sam. I can do after?” Danny could, of course, hold a duplicate of his human form and do both. However, Danny was certain that Tim and/or Batman would somehow know, and it would destroy what little identity he was still hanging onto.

Tim nodded, again listening to the debate at the other end of the comms.   

“We will have someone pick you up at seven at the gym.”

“Okay,” Danny agreed. It would be a long evening.

Danny looked down at his food. He fidgeted with his hands before finally asking. “Can I take the rest of this to go? Is that rude? I’m sorry – I’m not –”

Danny huffed at himself.

Tim blinked at him before giving him a sweet smile. “Of course you can take it to go. Do you want me to order you another dish to go? I’m sure that –”

“No,” Danny firmly interrupted.

“Okay, it wouldn’t be a bother,” Tim pointed out.

“No,” Danny repeated, “You have already been too generous.”

“I hardly think one meal is generous,” Tim’s voice was exasperated.

“If you remember correctly, I asked to make you dinner, provided we are still even on for Friday,” Danny pointed out.

Silence slid over the room as the two men stared at each other. Danny suddenly wanted to open a portal to the Infinite Realms to escape this embarrassment.

He shouldn’t have brought it up. He shouldn’t be feeling this invested in a fling.

Tim reached up and ran one of his hands through his hair, in agitation.

“I’m sorry –” Danny began.

“Can I –” Tim spoke at the same time.

“You first,” Danny told him.

“Can I… think about it?” Tim said, “A lot has changed in the last couple of days.”

“Of course,” Danny tapped at the white tablecloth. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

There was another knock on the door. The server came in, offering to clear off their table. Tim politely requested that everything be boxed for them to take home. The server didn’t even blink.

“Would you like dessert?” the man asked them.

Tim inclined his head towards Danny in deference. “No,” Danny protested, “We’ve had so much food.”

Tim politely told the server. “No thank you.” The man left the room, expertly balancing all of the leftover dishes.

Danny pulled together all of the courage he had in his body, and softly told Tim, “I am not going to insult your intelligence by claiming that our meeting was a coincidence because I don’t believe I coincidences. However, I do believe in fate.”

Tim let out a haggard breath. He looked like he had never had anyone tell him something like that before. Shock and mild attraction rolled off Tim.

Danny used that emotional feedback as the fuel he needed to continue. “I would like to think that there was a reason we met two weeks ago. I would like the opportunity to continue to get to know you.”  

Tim fiddled with his signet ring. “Okay. Yeah, okay. I thought about it. Yes on Friday, but let’s take it slow.”

“Of course, baby,” Danny used the pet name again which always got the blush to creep up Tim’s face. Then, Tim’s face twitched, and he glared out the window, presumably at the man holding the sniper riffle.

Huh.

Danny flashed a big smile out the window at the man. He could be cheeky. There to-go meals were quickly returned, and they walked out of the restaurant. Danny resisted the urge to reach out and grasp Tim’s hand.

The black car sat outside, waiting for Tim.

“I will see you tonight?” Danny asked.

“Yes, I will be there,” Tim affirmed, “But my identity isn’t… well known.”

“Right,” Danny agreed, “I won’t say anything. May I?” Danny asked. Tim’s brow furrowed in confusion.

Danny then reached out and grabbed Tim’ hand. Tim tensed for a moment but allowed Danny to maneuver his hand. Danny moved slowly, allowing Tim the opportunity to pull away. He then flipped Tim’s hand and gently kissed the heel of his palm.

“I look forward to spending time with you on Friday,” Danny told him.

Tim swallowed hard, appearing to be at a loss for words.

Danny felt smug.

Danny dropped Tim’s hand and backed away from the vehicle. “I – uh – goodbye Danny,” Tim stammered out.

Danny just smiled in response as Tim opened the door and got into his car. Danny stood there watching as the car drove away.

-----

As soon as the car door shut behind Tim and he was hidden by the tinted windows, he let out a long “Fuck, Jesus.”

“More like fuck Danny,” Jason told him over his comms. Tim groaned in response. He couldn’t believe that everyone had listened to him completely fumbling his way through that date.

“Not going to lie,” Steph chimed in, “I can see the attraction. That man is fine and smmootthh. Like goddamn, Tim, you didn’t stand a chance. I’ve changed my opinion. I don’t care if he’s a villain. Tim, get that dick.”

“Red Hood, Spoiler,” Batman snapped, “Not the time.”

“I have to go back to work,” Tim told everyone, “I am turning off the comms. B, about the report…?”

“I’ll write it,” Bruce affirmed, “Tell Rachel hello for me.”

“Gross B,” Tim twisted his face, “She’s Dick’s age.”

Laughter erupted over the comm link which still lingered when Tim clicked it off.

-----

Danny shouldn’t have been surprised to see Bruce Wayne sitting on his couch sipping a cup of coffee when he got back to his apartment.

Danny still jumped like he had seen a ghost.

Then, he doubled over in laughter.

It appeared that Batman had a sense of humor. He had offered him coffee on the phone with the JLA after all.

“I wasn’t sure how you took it,” the bat themed vigilante told him, “So your cup is still in the French Press.” Danny wandered over to the kitchen and began preparing himself a cup of coffee.

When in Rome.

“I thought I wasn’t meeting with the Justice League until this evening,” Danny commented neutrally.

A fake smile spread across the older billionaire’s face. It was somehow completely akin to an expression that Vlad Masters would make, and also radically different. Danny watched the man wearily.

“This is a personal visit,” Wayne told him, lightly.

Danny nodded. That made sense. Barely an hour earlier, he told Tim, Red Robin, that he knew their identities. Danny should have been expecting this.

“I’m not going to tell anyone about your identities,” Danny told him, firmly.

Wayne shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. His emotions were bland and unassuming. Danny wasn’t sure if it was a display of incredible control or if Bruce Wayne truly didn’t give a fuck.

The vigilante who had been doing it for many decades told him, “You have no proof and no platform to tell anyone, it’s not a worry of mine.”

“Then why…?” Danny huffed.

“Am I here?” Wayne finished. He shifted on the coach, moving from the relaxed knees crossed position, to legs open and learning dominantly forward. Wayne told him in a conspiratorial voice,  
“You know, I am incredibly protective of my children. My third son in particular likes to think that I have become more relaxed with my age, but that’s not true.”

Despite the tone and the waves of mirth that rolled off Wayne, Danny could hear the silent threat.

“Are you here to tell me to stay away from him?” Danny wouldn’t do so unless Tim told him as much, no matter who was threatening him.

Wayne made a non-committed hmm sound. “No, he can make that decision for himself. You seem like a good kid, overall. He’s made worse choices.”

Danny blinked at that. That wasn’t the worst assessment considering the circumstances.

“But?” Danny prompted.

Wayne gave Danny a creepy smile. “If you hurt him, I will not kill you, but I will make it so you cannot live on this Earth.”

Now that sent a shiver down Danny’s spine. Danny held onto his human life by a thread. In some ways, this identity was his most precious belonging. His relationship with Jazz, Ellie, and even Vlad were the only links he had to normality.

Danny didn’t interfere with free-will, so he wouldn’t force Bruce Wayne to never carry through on his threat. Nor did Danny like to interfere with the fabric of reality.

If Bruce Wayne followed through on somehow destroying Danny’s ability to live on this Earth, it would be devastating for him.

Somehow, Bruce Wayne had managed to threaten him, successfully. Fucking Batman had succeeded at threatening the most powerful being in existence.

Of course.

Danny should have expected nothing less.

“Understood Mr. Wayne,” Danny finally responded, “I have no intention of hurting your soon.”

“Good, I’m glad we see eye-to-eye. And please, call me Bruce, since it seems you will be dating my son.”

Danny swallowed hard. The last thing he wanted to do right now was call Batman, Tim’s father, something absurdly casual like Bruce.  

Wayne stood up and finished his coffee in one long sip. He puttered over to the kitchen, rinsed out the coffee cup, and placed it in the dishwasher. Danny watched this in stunned silence.

Finally, Wayne walked towards Danny’s front door. Danny leapt up, realizing that he probably should be doing something.

“Mr. Wayne, would you like –” Danny didn’t know what he was going to offer. Water? Food? His leftovers from Laylas that sat discarded by the door, still in the to-go bag?

“No thank you Danny,” Wayne said to him, “I have to go. Remember, tonight, Batman is not Bruce Wayne.” Bruce’s voice dropped into the classic Batman growl at the last statement. Danny swallowed and resisted the urge to yes sir him.

His midwestern sensibilities ran full speed into the manners his mother had raised him with. Before Danny could decide how he was going to respond to Wayne, he had already left through the front door.

The only evidence that Danny had that Bruce Wayne, Batman, had graced his apartment was the empty coffee cup sitting in his dishwasher.

Danny sighed and sat down on his couch. He sipped the cup of coffee he had poured himself, mentally preparing himself for a long night.

Nap.

Yes, Danny would take a nap in his human form.

As that form drifted off to sleep, Danny’s mind wandered to the Isle of Infinity. He sat with Pandora – they were arguing over the timeline for calling a Council meeting. Then, he blinked, and he was floating above a fire world with Skulker, reaching out to search for Osiris.

His mind drifted again; he was visiting a King on the outer edge of the Infinite Realms. The universe that the being had hailed from hadn’t developed vocal language. He communicated through empathy links and vague hand gestures.

Then, sitting was floating above a cracked surface of a planet. He breathed out and flexed his power. Danny existed as only sentient being in that universe. The planet that one of Danny’s forms floated above was dying. The air was toxic, and the surface of the planet had long eroded to volcanic ash. The sun this planet orbited periodically shuttered, throwing out solar flares into the sky that lit up with vibrant colors.

Danny mediated, observing. This form had been observing the process for the last year, at peace with the destruction of this world. The form that he held there was less human shape than the others. It was energy shifting and spinning with eyes like miniature universe, reflecting infinity back to empty world.   

Danny never wanted anyone to see him like this; this form, this state of existence was otherly. Only here, alone, acting in his position as the Ancient of Balance did Danny allow himself to expand beyond the boundaries of a physical form.

The planet itself would die soon and release the energy it held back to the balance. To Danny, it was breathtaking and awe inspiring to see nature run its course. This was not the only planet in this universe soaring towards annihilation.  

In fact, this was the last planet to go through this cycle of destruction. Over the next millennia, this universe would ultimately contract and collapse. Danny could force it along faster if he so desired. There was something about the brutality and the silence of nature – space, quantum physics, whatever one wanted to call it – running its course.

The Ancient of Balance, hummed in content to be an observer in the process.

Danny shifted again, back to his small apartment, on the small Earth that he called home. He finished his dinner, changed into his kickboxing attire, and grabbed his gym bag.  

Teaching human children grounded Danny. It brought him startingly back to the minutia of being alive. Their little brains were so hung-up on meaningless interactions, and their emotions were wild. One moment a child could feel the strongest burst of joy only to rapidly swing towards sadness, then embarrassment, then hope, then pride.

Danny felt more human every time he left the class.

The hour and a half went fast, a few parents sticking around to observe. A little girl named Jenny finally mastered her round kick. Liam remembered to tuck his thumb with his punches today.

Danny almost forgot of his after-class obligation. The gym owner Sam, not to be confused with Sam Manson of course, was in his office in the back doing paperwork for most of Danny’s class. Danny almost missed the jingle of the door when a man walked in who was not one of the parents that Danny recognized.

He also smelled of death. This man had clearly spent some time in the realm of the dead. It was a miracle that he didn’t recognize Danny on sight.

Most likely because of the utter mess that was his core and ectoplasm.

Danny’s eyes assessed the man. Tall, over six-foot, and jacked, it was easy to identify him as Danny’s guide to the Justice League Meeting. He had black hair with a small white stripe and piercing, vibrant, blue eyes. Ethnically ambiguous, possibly of Latin descent. Danny recognized his soul signature as the vigilante – or villain, Danny didn’t really know – known as Red Hood.

Regardless, the man walked in ten minutes before Danny’s class was set to end. It coincided with Sam leaving his office. Sam walked up to the man, clearly familiar. Danny couldn’t hear what they said to each other, but it was friendly.  

When Danny walked up to the two after class, Sam gave him a brilliant smile.

“Danny,” Sam said, “I want to introduce you to Jason. I went and taught all this guy knows about throwing a right hook before he up and got adopted by Bruce Wayne.”

Danny blinked, recognizing the name. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” Danny asked, amused.

“Allegedly,” Jason answered with a grin.

“Nice to meet you,” Danny extended his hand towards the man. “I’m happy to meet one of Tim’s family members.”

Sam’s eyes flickered towards Danny, recognizing at that moment Jason had come to the gym for him.

“We shall see,” Jason told him, gruffly.  

Sam tensed beside him, picking up on the tension.

Danny turned to the older man and suggested, “Hey Sam, why don’t I lock up tonight?”

Sam gave Danny a look indicating that they would be having words about this later. But otherwise, moved help the parents and kids gather their things. Danny moved to begin his after-class clean-up ritual. Jason leaned back against the wall, clearly content to watch and not say anything.

Finally, once the parents were gone and Sam had grabbed his bag, it was just the three of them in the gym.

“Danny,” Sam told him with a sigh, “Please don’t trash this gym with a fight. I like you and don’t want to have to find a new instructor. Jason, if anything happens, I’m billing you.”

“Sam,” Jason whined, sounding younger than he looked, “Why me?”

“You’re the one that got adopted by a billionaire,” Sam pointed out. Danny, smartly, did not open his mouth to point out that he had been adopted by Vlad Masters, a multi-millionaire. That, and being sovereign over a realm, even a dead one, meant Danny never had to worry about insufficient funds.

Sam locked the front door behind him.

Jason’s eyes grew sharp, and the atmosphere tensed.

“You’re the one that had a gun pointed at me today,” Danny said, neutrally.

Jason’s grin showed far too many teeth. He crossed his arms and leaned forward. It would have been intimidating except Danny hadn’t felt physically threatened since before he became a ghost.

“You’re lucky I didn’t fire,” Jason pointed out.

“I don’t think Tim would like that,” Danny commented.

Jason shrugged, “Tim would get over it. I know my brother.”

“What would he think of you threatening me.”

“Danny,” Jason told you, “I haven’t threatened you yet. If I had, you would know it. Like this, for example: If you hurt my brother, I will send your head in a duffle bag to your sister.”

That was an interesting threat. Danny had never had one of his forms dismembered before. Would it just turn into ectoplasm, even in his human form?

Danny snorted in amusement. Danny could easily bend the will of beings around him, even living ones. Jason’s connection to the dead made it that much easier. All he had to do was reach out with his core and force Jason into submission.

But Danny didn’t do that.

He didn’t believe in doing that.

However, “I believe your threat,” Danny told Tim’s brother, “That being said, Tim and I are not even dating. You’re jumping the gun on the shovel talk.”

“I like to get ahead of things,” Jason told you.

Yeah, Danny thought, You and Batman.

“I have no intention of hurting your brother,” Danny told Jason, honestly.

Jason met Danny’s eyes unflinching, “A lot of people have hurt Tim for their own selfish reasons. Tim deserves better than that. I want to make sure that you’re committed before Tim gets hurt.”

Jason’s soul ached and his emotions projected a well of sadness. Whatever Jason knew that Tim had gone through had deeply affected Jason. Jason was earnest in his threat to Danny, in that he loved his brother.

However, this was the second family member of Tim that had threatened Danny today. Danny needed to point out, “Tim is a grown adult who runs a billion dollar corporation and has been an active vigilante for over a decade and has saved the world at least what –”

Jason shrugged, “Five, six, we all lose count.”

“Has saved the world six times. Tim can take care of himself, Jason.”

“Oh, I know he can,” Jason affirmed, “Tim can be a ruthless motherfucker. I pity you for the first time you guys have a lovers spat. However, Tim can have a blind spot for the people he cares about. Here is the deal. You hurt Tim, I hurt you.”

Danny sighed at Jason’s statement. It was sweet in a weird, twisted way. If Danny had been anyone else, a former crime lord who put people’s heads in duffle bags would be terrifying. Instead, Danny just felt amused and vaguely fond.

It was good that Tim had people in his corner.

“Are you going to take me to this Justice League Meeting, or not?” Danny asked.

“I thought you’d never ask. Come on, ghost boy, have you ever been to Space?”

[1] This Risk/Threat Matrix was created for this fanfiction. It based on a lot of different operational ones but I didn’t love every one of them so I generated my own that I felt applied to the Batman universe. However, these are real and great tools to more objectively categorize and lay out contingencies.

Chapter Text

If you’re not early, you’re late.

That was actually a Janet-Drake-ism. It had been drilled into Tim since before he could walk and talk, along with all the other rules his parents had heaped upon him. For as distant and neglectful as they were, they sure liked their rules.

No, actually, that was a lie. They couldn’t care less about rules. Appearances, however, were held in higher esteem than God in their household. Religion, after all, was just another tool to project the image they wanted to build.

Tim’s parents had thrown him into etiquette classes as soon as Tim could talk. Tim had been taught to be seen and not heard. Tim had been taught to project an image of a studious, polite little boy who would one day take over the family business.

Ironically, Tim hadn’t taken over the family business, he had taken over the one that bought it out.

Tim wondered, later, if some of the training he had in his younger years is what made him so good at keeping up the secret identity. Tim hadn’t been encouraged to just be himself.

Bruce, on the other hand, despite all the regimented opinions he had as Batman, was very much a I’ll-show-up-when-I-show-up type of man. Bruce was rarely late, but he also was rarely early. Far be it for his children to be late to anything, though, that hypocrite.

Tim chalked this behavior pattern up to Bruce being raised as the most powerful person in the room. As Bruce Wayne, people accommodated him. Bruce expected it, subconsciously or not. As Batman, other heroes stepped into line.

Bruce’s time was incredibly valuable. The fifteen minutes wasted by being early were just that, fifteen minutes that Bruce could have spent doing something else. The more Tim’s time became restricted, the more Tim understood that impulse.

Time was one’s most valuable asset.

So, on Tuesday evening, Tim and Bruce arrived exactly on time to the zeta tube.   

Tim’s oldest brother was waiting for Tim and Bruce by the zeta tubes. He had on his Nightwing uniform and a determined glint in his eye.

Bruce took one look at him and sighed.

“Dick,” Bruce’s voice was tired, “You’re not included in the Justice League roster for this matter.”

Dick gave a bite-me smile and didn’t answer nor move.

Bruce continued, “Also, aren’t you supposed to be on patrol tonight in Bludhaven?”

Dick shrugged in his casual way, “The city will survive without me. It’s not Gotham.”

Bruce gave Dick a look. They had run the data once. Despite its statistical improbability, every time they left Gotham unattended a Bravo-Five or Charlie-Five level event always fucking occurred.

Tim felt certain that Gotham was cursed. Constantine had never confirmed it outright, but no other explanation would suffice. Batman sighed again in a put-upon matter.

“Dick,” Bruce said.

“Bruce,” Dick parroted.

Tim rolled his eyes at the two men. If Bruce’s relationships with his children were categorized by spiderwebs, then Tim’s and Bruce’s relationship was the annoying web in the corner of the garage that has been ignored for too long.

On the other hand, Bruce and Dick’s relationship was a giant web in a doorway that everyone got caught in trying to leave.  

There were only fourteen years between them.[1] Bruce had been Tim’s age when he had adopted Dick. Tim could barely take care of himself, much less a traumatized nine-year-old. Beyond that, Bruce himself had been a traumatized-twenty-three-year-old. Tim knew how dysfunctional Bruce had been at thirty-three when Tim had become Robin, all circumstances considered.

The older Tim got, the more grace he felt for his father for his parenting failures. However, that also directly corresponded to how baffled Tim was that Bruce had put any of them on the streets in bight costumes.

Dick had had turned thirty-one this year. Dick had also passed twenty-two of experience as a vigilante, only short of Bruce himself by a single year.

In many ways, Dick had been instrumental in developing what Batman and vigilantes were as a global construct. His position as the leader of the Titans made Nightwing almost as popular and ubiquitously as Batman himself.

Dick also hadn’t allowed himself to be formally adopted by Bruce until Dick was in his twenties. In fact, the formal adoption didn’t occur until after Bruce had come back from the timestream.

Part of Tim wished he had been a fly on the wall for some of the conversations between Bruce and Dick over the last decade.

Tim knew he had to step in before this became a problem.

“B,” Tim said, “The Justice League is tracking that the bats were involved in the initial interaction with Phantom. We didn’t say Nightwing wasn’t there when I met Phantom.”

Bruce made a hmpth sound. Irritated, but clearly decided it wasn’t worth an argument over.

Dick flashed a large smile at Tim and felt suspicious. Call it younger brother vibes.

The three of them used the zeta-tubes to arrive at the Watchtower. Superman was already there, early as always. His midwestern manners had internalized the fifteen minutes early rule.

Superman always arrived early, and Batman always stayed late.

Unwritten JLA rules.

Superman’s eyes flickered to Dick in surprise. Batman usually never allowed someone not authorized to be in a meeting, crash a meeting.

Batman’s children held different rules. It was an open secret that the Bats and Birds were connected. For one, they were photographed in blurry nighttime photos together constantly. There was no denying the hoard of heroes that operated out of Gotham. At the same time, Batman never outright confirmed anything about their familial relationship. Just like Nightwing had never formally stated that he used to be Robin; but it was pretty apparent when Robin of the Titans became Nightwing of the Titans.

That didn’t stop the JLA from gossiping about them.

Clark and Diana were the only ones who knew their identities and complicated familial relationships.

Dick grinned brightly at Superman. Tim suppressed the urge to snicker.

Batman took his normal seat at the table, and Tim and Dick choose a seat. Tim shuffled, pulling his tablet out to review the notes that Bruce and he had discussed.

Tim glanced up and out the window of the Watchtower. It was always incredible to Tim that they were in fucking space. Never in a million years would nine-year-old Tim imagined that he would be in a meeting with the world’s biggest heroes.

Bruce had built the Watchtower a decade ago, before Tim had taken on role as CEO. It had been a joint-funding endeavor by the United States, UN, and the Wayne Foundation. It cost North of a hundred billion dollars. Bruce had personally funded fifty billion of it. It was pushed Bruce off the top ten wealthiest people charts for a good number of years.

It was so much money that it felt like monopoly money. They had recovered some of their costs by the fact that Wayne Enterprises had also build the Watchtower, so Bruce had essentially paid his own company to build it. It also meant that Bruce had the ultimate painstaking oversight and control that he required to ensure that it had been built up to specs.

Bruce had been in the process of building the floating defense when Tim had been adopted. Time seemed to have passed exceedingly slowly, and far too quickly at the same time.

For example, waiting for this meeting to start.  

Because of Danny’s presence this evening, the meeting would have a strict timeline and agenda. Tim glanced at the clock, irritated that people were pushing on being late. People namely being Constantine. That fucker was always late.

Tim pulled out his stylist and started to organize his thoughts on his tablet. Nightwing chatted happily with Barry Allen about nonsense that Tim zoned out. The clock ticked by. Every second that Constantine was late was another second that Tim could have spent doing other things.

Bruce loomed silently. The stragglers showed up, and Tim glanced at Zatanna and Constantine. Zatanna was dressed casually, in black pants that cling tightly to her legs and a white button-down top. She had on two-tone Edwardian style black and white boots. She was not wearing her signature top-hat but overall looked put together.  

Constantine, on the other hand, looked anything but put-together. He looked, frankly, frazzled and smelled vaguely of cigarettes. Tim wondered how often he washed that tan trench coat.  

Not often, Tim would bet.

Batman nodded at Constantine and said gruffly, “You’re late.”

“Well excuse me, I was trying to track down the information you wanted.”

Superman stepped in before Constantine got his ass chewed my Bruce, “Constantine, we’ve had discussions about this. Timeliness is important.”

“I don’t see anyone chewing out Batman when he’s late,” Constantine huffed.

Batman turned his head towards the British Magician. It was a silent threat. Constantine huffed, “Fucking fine, sorry, sorry. I won’t be late next time.”

“Make sure of it,” Batman ordered.

Again, one could not spell Bruce Wayne without hypocrite.

“Media?” Bruce half-asked, half-directed.

Constantine scrunched his eyebrows up in utter confusion.

Tim huffed and translated for Bruce. “B wants to know if you have any media for your brief on ghosts.”

Constantine blinked. “Bloody hell, no, was I supposed to? These are the sort of things you need to warn a man about.”

“It’s in the JLA SOP[2],” Batman informed him, “Which you signed.”

Constantine huffed and gestured to the people in the room, “Where all of you aware of this?”

Dinah Drake, bless her soul, smiled sweetly and answered, “I understand that JLD operates differently, but, yes, Constantine, this is a professional organization.”

“You’re just going to have to live with it.” Constantine folded his arms and shot dangers at everyone in the room, “After all, my opinion of this situation is that we should just not fucking interfere.”

Then, completely unceremoniously, Constantine slouched into the chair across from Tim. For a split second, Tim wondered if Constantine was going to put his feet up on the conference table. Tim braced himself for the absolute tongue lashing that Constatine was about to endure.

B had gotten more patient over time, but not that patient.

Instead, Constantine’s voice was exhausted and exasperated as he told them all, “I’ll be bloody honest; I don’t know a damn thing and Deadman’s not talking.”

“Try,” Bruce commanded.

“I told you everything I knew. The Infinite Realms is like the neutral zone for all of reality. It’s how universes are traversed. It’s how you get to the land of the dead – and all lands of the dead. It’s where Hell is. It’s also where the gates of Heaven are. It’s also where Valhalla rests. It’s not somewhere where living humans should go,” Constantine exclaimed. Tim felt cold ice tingle down his spine. The idea of Danny having lived in the Realm of the dead for two years was insane. No wonder the man’s baseline for normal seemed so… off. No wonder Tim clicked with him.

Constantine continued his rant, “Danny would know more, but he refuses to answer my fucking phone.”

Batman waved his hand, “We’ve made contact with Nightengale. He has agreed to answer our questions and will be arriving at the Watchtower sometime between 1900 and 2000 EST.”

“How the bloody hell did you manage that?” Constantine squawked.

“We asked,” Batman responded, flatly.

Diana tilted her, as if she was thinking about something. She pursed her lips, then turned to Bruce, “I, too, am curious, how you managed that one. Last we spoke to Mr. Nightengale, he seemed very averse to providing any information.”

Batman didn’t respond. Tim rolled his eyes.

“Constantine,” Clark started, “We give you a lot of latitude for how you run the JLD. I do not interfere with the way you do things, however, in the future, please review our operating procedures prior to attending a JLA meeting. JLD operates on behalf of the Justice League. Please do not forget that.”

Constantine looked properly ashamed. It was hard not to feel ashamed when being scolded by Superman. Tim glanced around the group. Hal was fiddling on something on his phone, disinterested in the conversation. Oliver and Dinah chairs were pulled close to each other. Zatanna looked annoyed at Constantine but hadn’t otherwise interfered in the conversation.  

“Moving on,” Bruce barked, then flicked on the monitors around the room, pulling up the presentation that he had put together. “As Red Robin has the most exposure to Phantom and Anubis, I asked him to run this part of the meeting.”

“Yeah,” Hal said sneakily under his breath, “That’s the reason.”

Tim turned to glare at the test pilot. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Hal hummed and smirked at Tim, looking completely unashamed at being called out.

“It’s just Daddy Bats refuses to put you up for nomination, yet you’re here regardless. No offense kid, I think you’re plenty competent, but it’s the principle of the matter. For example, one person has commented that Nightwing is sitting in on this meeting.”

“You just did,” Tim pointed out.

“Lantern,” Dick butted in, ever the peacekeeper. His eldest-child syndrome was showing. Dick flashed a showman grin, and teased, “Don’t give Red a hard time. It’s hardly his fault he was kidnapped by the ghost.”

Tim scoffed at Dick. Dick grinned right back at him. Only Bruce and Diana knew that Dick had sat in on plenty of JLA meetings that he wasn’t supposed. First, Tim knew for a damn fact, that Robin had listened to most of the early JLA meetings through Bruce’s comm.

Then, when Dick had taken up the Batman mantle. Somehow Bruce and Dick had managed to sweep that year under the rug with most of the JLA being none the wiser. When Bruce had been rescued from the time stream, the ones that were aware had so many questions that Batman just refused to answer.

That also didn’t include the numerous times following that that Bruce had tapped on Dick to fill in for him because of injury or some other nonsense.

Dick’s ability to completely disappear into an identity both fascinated and terrified Tim. Sometimes Tim wondered how much of Dick Grayson was an act, a carefully curated persona to keep the entire world at arms through the false illusion of openness.

Afterall, if someone acted like they had nothing to hide, there was no reason to push.

Dick had learned too well from Bruce.

“Green Lantern,” Batman barked, “Is this a formal complaint?”

“Fuck no,” Hal responded easily, “Just teasing you. I like the kids. Much more than you.”

Hal was in his late thirties; Tim knew that even in his costume, he read as younger. Still, the audacity of the man.

Oliver, bless his soul, came to their aid. “Ahh, Green, lay off them. You’re only calling them kids because we’re old now. We were their age when we started.”

“I’ve been doing this longer than both of you,” Nightwing pointed out. Most of the room’s heads all whipped around to stare at Dick who had a lazy smirk on his face. Bruce huffed under his breath. Whether he was annoyed at the derailment of the meeting or Nightwing casually dropping lore, Tim didn’t know.

“No way,” Oliver protested, “You can’t be older than thirty. Bats would not have let you out –”

“Nine,” Nightwing interrupted.

“Fuck,” Hal exclaimed.

Dinah gasped, “Batman, how could you –”

Barry slipped out a: “Jesus.”

Clark just grimaced. He was aware of Dick’s age from pretty much the beginning.

Constantine’s eyes just flickered around the group as he was happy for the attention to not be on him anymore.

“Enough,” Bruce ordered, “My bad decisions are not up for discussion. Nightwing, stop agonizing them unless you don’t want to be sitting in on this meeting anymore.”

“Aye aye B,” Dick responded easily.

“Red,” B directed the meeting over to him. Tim straightened in his chair, almost instinctively. Tim nodded to Bruce who tossed him the clicker.

“Thanks B.” Tim then took a moment to pause and gather himself before addressing the group. He glanced at the universal clock that displayed times from around the world.

“It’s currently 1748 EST, we have at a minimum one hour to discuss our course of action before Danny Nightengale arrives. We will break the meeting at 1900, so I ask for your undivided attention until that time. B and I have decided that we would like to identify around five central PIRs[3] to focus our,” Tim paused searching for another word than interrogation, “questioning of Nightengale on the topic of ghosts.”

Tim glanced around the room. The air suddenly became serious. Nightwing had a blank look on his face and he was making notes on the yellow notepad in front of him. B sat back with his arms crossed.

“Any questions before I begin this portion of the meeting?”

Clark smiled at Tim encouragingly. Hal leaned back in his chair, having put his phone away. Tim had everyone’s attention as he had asked.

Tim continued to speak, “First off, while I understand that the enormity of the revelation that there is an afterlife and I will acknowledge that those questions are important for a myriad of reasons, religious or otherwise, I want to remind everyone that the purpose of information and intelligence gathering for the JLA is threat assessment. When Danny arrives, our duty is to the set of PIRs that come out from this meeting, not whether x, y, or z god exists. I do not want this interview to be derailed from the information we actually need to learn, good to go?”

Tim glanced around the room. He flipped open his tablet which the projected on the screen behind them. He typed PIR and numbered one through five beneath it, leaving them blank.

Constantine told them, “God exists kid. I’ve talked to him.”

Tim blinked back that revelation. Hal Jordon spoke up. “I understand what you’re getting at, but I argue that the existence of God should be a PIR for us.”

“I’m telling you he exists.” Constantine told them, exasperated. The group ignored him. Tim focused in on Hal.

“Whether or not God exists is irrelevant. The question could be, is God a threat to Earth,” Batman told the group. “That could be a PIR.”

“That is founded on the assumption of his existence,” Tim pointed out. “Which is not in line with protocol for developing a good PIR,” B nodded at Tim in agreement. “It is also not the immediate priority. We need to narrow down on what we need to learn about ghosts and beings of the Infinite Realms in order to assess if they are a threat to Earth.”

Dinah spoke up, “The capabilities and limitations of portal making too and from the Infinite Realms. Is this something all ghosts can do or just specific ones?”

Tim nodded at her and wrote that down. That was a good start.

Oliver frowned next to her, then added, “Scope and scale. What is their ability to mobilize against Earth?”

Tim nodded again. “We have to define ‘they.’ Anubis, and whoever he reported to, was a threat. I think a PIR should be: what beings in the Infinite Realms are a threat to Earth?” Tim jotted both down.

Hal added, “The ghost-expert kid mentioned some sort of jail, which implies a political system. We should get intel on how they operate.” Hal had spent eight years in the Air Force after graduating the Air Force Academy.[4] For as much of an arrogant asshole he was – and most pilots were – he understood discipline. In the military, at a certain rank you either stopped flying and transitioned into command, or you got out. Hal got out.

Tim jotted down: How does the political system of the infinite realms operate?

“How to fight them,” Nightwing added, “What are their strengths and vulnerabilities. That is key here.” Tim nodded and typed out: What are the various strengths and vulnerabilities of ghosts?

Barry, who was right of Nightwing mused, “If they have a political system, I wonder if we could write a treaty with them.”

Constantine groaned. Everyone turned to look at the trench coat wearing man. “We are not trying to create a treaty with anyone from the Infinite Realms. Need I remind you what deals with the dead cost.”

Tim looked down at his list:

1. What are the capabilities and limitations of ghosts to make portals to this Earth?
2. What is the scope and scale of their potential mobilization against Earth?
3. What beings in the Infinite Realms are a threat to Earth?
4. How does the political system of the Infinite Realms operate?
5. What are the various strengths and vulnerabilities of ghosts?

“Do we disagree with any of these questions?” Tim asked the group.

“They look good to me, Red,” Nightwing said, and the group chimed in agreeance.

Bruce nodded at him. Tim added, “Let’s rack and stack priorities? What is the first thing we need to know?”

Hal looked intently up at the screen. Superman sat back, a pensive look on his face. Finally, Dinah spoke up, “Move three to one, five to three, and one to five, and I think it’s the right priority.”

Tim rearranged the list as suggested.

“That looks good,” Superman said, “Is there anything additional we need to discuss before Danny Nightengale gets here?”

Tim shook his head, “No, that is all,” Tim affirmed. The tricky part would now be getting that information from Danny.

“Good,” Clark responded, “Since I have the core group here, I would like to take a moment to discuss tomorrow’s Code meeting.”

There was a general groan across the entire room. Tim carefully did not look up from his tablet. He wanted to whip his head around to Clark and ask what the fuck he was doing bringing that up with Tim in the room as Red Robin.

“Tomorrow we are discussing Rules of Engagement and lethal force,” Clark said, “I would like to remind everyone to please put their personal opinions aside and act in a professional manner with Mr. Drake-Wayne.”

Tim swallowed hard, but otherwise didn’t show anything outwardly. Tomorrow was going to be a rough meeting, that was for sure. Tim was also going to discuss civil liability with the JLA, but he certainly wasn’t going to correct Superman on that.

“Why are we indulging the brat?” Hal asked.

“Because Congress requires us to do so,” Dinah pointed out.

“Tell Congress to fuck-off. We’ve been doing pretty good at that for twenty-years, why now?” Oliver added.

The truth was, they hadn’t been doing very good at that for the last twenty years. The fact that they had passed the Meta Protection act had been a miracle. Bruce had funded multiple lobbyist groups in DC for the sole purpose of keeping Congress off of the JLA’s back.

The heroes were beyond fortunate that one of their founding members had more money than most men on the planet.

Batman, Red Robin, and Nightwing sat silently. Tim’s eyes meet Dick’s from across the table; he had a slightly mischievous grin stretching across his face. Please, Tim silently begged, don’t be a nuisance.

However, Dick Grayson-Wayne, especially in his Nightwing costume, was incapable being anything other than a complete and utter pest.

“I don’t know Greens,” Dick commented, “Sounds like you’re intimidated by a twenty-something year old.”

Hal scoffed, “The child Robin would eat Drake-Wayne for lunch.”

Ouch. Damian certainly tried his best when they were younger.

“Speaking of Robins,” Hal turned his attention towards Tim, “What about you Red, you want to join the JLA meeting tomorrow night? You’re, like, the better socialized version of Batman. You would break his little brain.” Then Hal’s face twisted up, “Or you would be best friends.”

Tim didn’t want to touch that statement with a ten-foot poll.

“Ha–” Superman paused before he accidentally said Hal’s full name. Hal’s identify wasn’t a secret to anyone in the group, but they enforced pretty strict code names at the Watchtower. “Green Lantern,” Superman gritted out, “You are pushing me today.”

Hal sighed dramatically, “Fine, fine. Getting punished for showing an interest in our next generation of heroes.”

Tim took a breath then told the group, “Lantern, I appreciate the support, however, I have personal reasons for not joining the JLA at this time at an official capacity,”

“Red Robin does not owe anyone an explanation,” Batman said with a finality, staring down the table. Hal shrugged. Diana smiled at Tim with understanding. Nightwing winked at him. Tim was used to all the eyes in the room on him as Tim Drake-Wayne.

As Red Robin he ran Young Justice. At least, before his team scattered to the wind. He was not, however, used to the attention of the entire Justice League in his hero identity. Tim wanted to shrink back into his seat away from their prying eyes.

The conversation continued over the Code, with grumbling from certain members at the table. Superman stayed very neutral, and Batman did what Batman did best; grunt and speak little except when necessary.

It was easy to separate Bruce and Batman. B didn’t talk because he struggled to find the words; Batman didn’t talk because he felt it was unnecessary. Sometimes, Tim wondered where that continuum started and ended.  

Tim got an alert on his tablet. Hood sent them an ETA estimate of Danny to the Watchtower of ten minutes. B got the same message. Tim watched as he clearly sent the information along to Superman.

Superman glanced down, nodded at Bruce, then told the group, “Take ten, Nightengale is on his way to the Zetas. Batman, I assume that Red Robin will continue to take point with Nightengale?”

Batman nodded, “Nightengale is receptive to Red’s questioning. I assume it has to do with their similarity in age. Nightengale is antagonistic with the older league members.” Batman lied bold-faced to the League.

The rest of the JLA members agreed with little complaint.

Great, Tim thought darkly, Now Tim would be put on the spot to question the dude that he had hooked up with twice in front of all of his childhood heroes. Batman was lucky that Tim excelled in compartmentalization, otherwise Tim would be pissed.

The world’s most accomplished heroes shuffled about their business; Some of them leaving to use the restroom, others pulling out personal electronics. Tim himself stood up and stretched out. He leaned over the table, reviewing the PIRs.

Batman came and stood beside Tim. Tim hummed at him in acknowledgement. Bruce grunted back. Tim mentally, sarcastically, imagined what B was intending to convey with his monosyllabic caveman communication.

Tim, you’ll do great, no sweat, Tim imagined Bruce saying in his most outrageous Brucie Wayne voice. Funny enough, it calmed some of his nerves.

Behind them, Superman stepped into the room with Danny at his side. Tim turned around to stare at the man, keeping his breathing under control.

Danny looked casual in sweats and a t-shirt, clearly having come straight from teaching his kickboxing class. There was a humor in the man showing up to meet the most powerful superheroes on the planet in sweats.

Danny winked at him.

Tim gave him a flat look in response.

Constantine stepped back into the room, groaned, and looked like he was about to turn back around and hightail it out of there. Danny gave a predatory grin.

“Voldemort,” Danny said loudly, “It’s been too long.”

“I swear you’re my nemesis,” Constantine muttered under his breath, then turned to stare Danny up and down. Finally, the British said, “Last we saw each other, you were dragging a crazy techo ghost back into the Infinite Realms in the Philippines. That was almost a year ago now.”

Danny hummed in agreement. “I see you broke our deal about talking to the Justice League.”

Constantine narrowed his eyes, “That was predicated on you handing all matters before it came to the Justice League’s attention. I’m not the one who dragged Red Robin halfway across the globe, that was your bloke Phantom. Which, who the hell is that by the way?”

Danny raised his eyebrows at Constantine. Tim sighed; this was going to be a long meeting.

“Please,” Superman motioned to the conference table, “Get comfortable.”

Danny then strode forward, took the seat next to Tim, then promptly kicked his feet up on the table, leaning back in his chair.

Superman sighed, exasperated.

“Get your feet off the table,” B growled at Danny. Tim looked over at the man, who had crossed his arms over his chest. It was unfair that Danny, in grey sweatpants and a thin black T-shirt, looked as attractive as he did at that moment. His black hair was tousled and bright blue eyes almost glowed against his pale skin. He looked like he had freshly shaved.  

The way that Danny had his arms crossed showed how frankly jacked he was despite his slender build. The curling script tattoo that ran along Danny’s left arm seemed was not one that Tim recognized. Tim wondered, for a moment, if that was because the language didn’t originate from Earth.

Regardless, Danny presented an air of casual physicality. Intentional or not, he was broadcasting that he didn’t give a fuck that he was on an secret space station surrounded by larger-than-life heroes.

“I thought you told me to get comfortable,” Danny replied easily to Batman and Superman, not moving his feet. The corners of Danny’s mouth tilted up in amusement and challenge, and his blue eyes almost sparked with mirth. From Tim’s experience with Danny, he had learned that Danny always had a slight air of unbridled amusement to him, as if it was just simmering under the surface. However, Tim hadn’t seen him be so impish before. It was like the phone call that Danny had with the JLA.  

Danny was attempting to illicit a reaction.

Much like how Red Robin and Tim Drake-Wayne were masks, it appeared that Danny Nightengale was one as well. Nightengale was also an asshole it seemed.

Due to Hal’s barking laugh from behind them, it seemed like the rest of the league was watching this display.

Tim turned to the man and said in a flat detached tone, “Please remove your feet from the conference table before Batman removes them for you.”

“Threats of violence,” Danny tutted, “Not a great way to treat a guest that you invited.”

Tim sighed, irritated. Was it too late to back out of their Friday date?

Tim knew that his eyes were hidden by the whites of his mask, but he hoped that his body language conveyed how much he wanted Danny to knock it off. Danny sighed, pulled his legs back in, and sat up straight.

“Alright birdie,” Danny said after the short stare down. That nickname was new, Tim noted. It seemed that Danny had replaced baby for birdie in his vernacular tonight, “Only because you asked so nicely.” The rest of the JLA shuffled over to the table and took their seats. Nightwing looked at Danny very intently, and Tim got a sinking feeling in his stomach.

He did not need Dick going protective older brother on him tonight.

Superman started the meeting, of course, with a simple statement, “Mr. Nightengale –”

“Call me Danny.”

Superman affirmed, “Danny, thank you for joining us on such short notice. It appears that you are familiar with Red Robin and Batman, Constantine and Zatanna, but please let me introduce to you the rest of my team. First to my right is Wonder Woman.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Diana said. Danny gave a tight smile.

Superman continued, “Green Lantern,” Hal gave a mock salute, “The Flash,” Barry gave a friendly wave, “Green Arrow,” Oliver grinned, “Black Canary,” Dinah nodded, “and Nightwing.”

Nightwing stared Danny straight in the eyes and told him, “I only came here to ensure that you behave.”

Danny tilted his head at Dick, “Am I going to get shovel talk number three today?” Tim could feel the confusion from the rest of the group and almost groaned in annoyance.

Fucking Danny. Fucking Nightwing.

Also.

Shovel talk number three? Who were one and two? Had Bruce already confronted Danny? Was it Jason? It had to be Jason.

Nightwing tilted his head forward and with false cheer answered, “Most likely. We are all very protective, you see.”

Jesus Christ.

“Enough,” Tim snapped, “Nightwing, behave, or I will have Batman remove you from this meeting. Nightengale, please stop antagonizing people. It’s not conducive to your goals of cooperation, unless those goals have changed in the last seven hours.”

Both Dick and Danny had dual looks of amusement and Tim felt his blood pressure rise.

Batman gave Nightwing a threatening look, and Dick raised his hands in the universal signal of peace.

Batman nodded at Tim to continue. Tim used professionalism like a shield. Jason liked to joke that Tim had his gala-voice; a hyper refined, polite, but also cut-throat affect Tim had learned before he attended Middle School.  

“Thank you for agreeing to join us,” Tim said pointedly, “I think we should get all of the cards on the table. In the spirit of cooperation, the JLA will be upfront. We are trying to build a threat assessment of brings from the Infinite Realms.”

Danny looked at him and nodded, not saying anything, as if waiting for Tim. As much as Tim loathed to admit it, Bruce had made the right call by having Tim lead the interrogation.

Danny claimed that his initial interest in Tim was accidental, but genuine. B was one-hundred precent using that angle to get Danny to reveal things he wouldn’t otherwise. So far, Danny showed impertinence with everyone but Tim.

Batman’s assessments were generally right. On a side note, this is why Tim got so pissed off when Bruce showed emotional constipation with his own children as he was clearly extremely capable of reading and utilizing other’s emotions to his advantage.

Tim asked Danny, “What do you want to get out of this conversation?”

"Phantom needs assistance in some matters,” Danny told then, “I am vetting if the Justice League can help. Hit me with your questions birdie. I won’t promise to answer everything, but I will do my best."

Tim wondered if there was a reason why Danny wouldn’t be able to answer all the questions. Was it lack of knowledge? Because of the ghost legal system? Was he protecting someone? Was someone threatening Danny?

Tim pushed those thoughts aside. The PIRs weren’t the questions Tim was going to ask directly, but they were the knowledge they wanted to gain.

Tim started in hot, "Is Anubis a threat to Earth?”

“At this current moment, no.” Danny answered easily.

“And the person he answers to?”

Danny leaned back a little in his chair, as if contemplating the answer. He bit his lip. Tim allowed him the moment to think.

Finally, Danny decided on, “… yes, in theory, Osiris could be a threat to Earth. Phantom has been trying to track him down, but he’s fled the Infinite Realms and is hiding in one of the living worlds.” Danny then waved his hand around as if he was trying to find the right words, “Earth is less of an objective to him and more like a... tool. He was looking for Phantom's attention. He has it.”

“Why does he want Phantom's attention?” Tim asked.

Instead of answering, Danny grumbled, “You’re a detective, right?”

Tim blinked at the question. His instinctual response was no. The word had been tainted by Ra’s al Ghul and Tim always felt vaguely sick whenever anyone referred to him with that term.

Also, sure, investigation and assessment were part of the job and Tim had a number of active cases he was working. However, the word detective felt very diminutive to the breath of work he did as Red Robin.

Tim didn’t let his thoughts impact his tone, and lightly responded to Danny, “Sure. Close enough.”

Danny nodded, “You would be able to help Phantom track down Osiris?”

Tim didn’t want to commit to the yes, although it would be in everyone’s interest if Osiris was no longer a threat to Earth.

“Possibly,” Tim responded, noncommittal, “I don't know all the factors, but there are plenty of people in this room capable of conducting a search.” Tim glanced around the room as the Justice League. They were silently watching Tim interrogate Danny.

They could all bicker and bitch at each other when it was just them in the room, but they all understood the gravity of the intelligence that Danny could provide.

“Hmph,” Danny responded to the question, as if he didn’t believe in the rest of the League’s capabilities. Tim’s eyes flickered to Nightwing who was doing an atrocious job of not looking both smug and lethal.

“Why does Osiris want Phantom’s attention?” Tim redirected back to the line of questioning.

“He's one of the minor Kings of the Infinite Realms,” Danny responded, as if that would answer everything.  

“Kings?” Tim asked.  

“Kings, Gods, Devils, demons, fae, jinn whatever you want to call the creatures that rule over lands of the Dead. Osiris rules over The Daut, also called A’Aru or the Field of Reeds. I’ve never personally visited, so I’m unable to give you a Tripadvisor review.”

Hal Jordan snickered across the table and Danny flashed him a thousand watt grin.

“So, Egyptian pantheon are ghosts?” Tim asked.

“Not really,” Danny shook his head and reached up and ran a hand through his hair, “When beings die, their energy goes to the balance. Enough people have a belief, a will so to speak –” Danny nodded over towards Hal who scrunched his face up in confusion,  “– for a desire for a certain afterlife that the balance manifests such a being. I say this loosely because it can also happen opposite where a living being dies and their cult of personality when they are alive gives them Godhood as well. There are other ways and exceptions to the rule, but this is just the broad stokes. Osiris and Anubis are tied to beliefs around death, hence their existence. Some of the rest of the Egyptian pantheon exists, some don’t. Truly depends on strength of belief. But they aren’t,” Danny made a noise of frustration, “Actually the mythical Egyptian pantheon. The myths that they came from never happened; they are just beings that take their form and rule the dead believers’ souls.”

There was a lot to unpack in that statement, but as Tim had lectured the other’s earlier, he needed to focus on the PIRs and interrogation objectives. One of which was the political climate of the Infinite Realms.  

“So the Infinite Realms is comprised of...?” Tim led.

“Kingdoms of the Dead and doors to living worlds,” Danny answered.  

“And there is a legal system?”

“Um, loosely, vaguely. We're,” Tim noted the royal we, “working on it. It's a rather new development.”

That also implied a myriad of other factors.

Before Tim could ask his next question, Constantine decided to open his mouth, “I'm sorry to interrupt, but how the bloody fuck do you know all this? Nightengale you've refused to answer a single damn one of our questions over the years, but as soon as Red Robin asks you're an open book?”

Danny looked over to the man, his eyes burning with amusement. Despite that, Tim could feel a twinge of something, almost as if Danny had a genuine disgust for the man in front of him.

“What can I say, he's cuter than you Voldemort. Your soul stinks,” Then Danny paused and continued with a resolute, “I also don’t answer questions from people willing to mutilate their own soul.”

Constantine sputtered and leaned forward as if he was about to bite Danny’s head off. Danny looked completely unaffected by the display; his eyes stared cold at Constantine.

Tim needed to put a stop to this before it escalated.

Then Diana interrupted, her voice polite, but question pointed. “I would also like to know where you got this information to ensure the validity of it.”

Danny looked at her for a moment and then sighed. “It’s a bit of a story, so please don’t interrupt,” Danny told them all. He turned and looked at Tim, as if he was speaking directly to him. “My parents are crazy, certifiable nutjobs. They consider themselves Ectobiologists or Parascientists, or whatever pseudo term you choose to use. Now, I know you’re going to ask: Danny, I thought you said ghosts were real? Why use the word pseudo?”

Tim quirked his lips at Danny’s sardonic storytelling.

Danny continued, “That’s because my parents are closer to Gotham rogues than people practicing the scientific method. Their early work on ghosts is laughable and absurdly off the mark. Then, they went and ripped a hole in reality and created a stable portal to the Infinite Realms in our basement.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tim heard Oliver Queen mutter.

“We are lucky that most creatures have no interest in returning to the living worlds. The ones that did were more annoying than anything else. But Amity Park – where my parents still live by the way – caught the attention of Phantom, who dragged all of the wayward creatures back through the veil. Because I lived on top of this portal, I felt compelled to help.”

Danny paused for a moment, he glanced around the room. This hit a lot of the classic emotional beats of being a hero and everyone was nodding in agreement.

“We ran out of that luck. A very powerful creature named Pariah Dark attempted to pull this Earth into the Infinite Realms. Phantom defeated him but it was clear that the portal needed to be closed. I closed it from the inside,” Danny reported this with a sterile tone and little emotion in his voice, “and I spent the next two years living in the Infinite Realms.”

“Bloody fuck,” Constantine muttered, “How are you still alive?”

“I’m not sure if I really am,” he stated as if he was unaffected by the idea of being possibly dead. “But I still age and I have a pulse, so at least there is that.”

Tim let his eyes flicker over to Bruce who looked like he was studying Danny intently. Danny didn’t look dead, and he surely didn’t feel dead when they had been intimate. Tim realized that Danny had his eyes trained on him, as if he was searching for Tim’s reaction.

Tim gave Danny a small encouraging smile, and Danny let out a breath that he had been holding.

They needed to get this interrogation back on track. The only question Danny had really answered so far was a vague description of the political system, and even that had been vague.

Tim fiddled with his tablet, and then asked Danny, “Are these portals common? Phantom and Anubis can make them.”

“No,” Danny responded quickly, “Few ghosts can make portals. Part of it has to do with power, and part of it with purpose. Belief and will give power and purpose. Most ghosts that you meet have a fixation. For Anubis, he is a soul fierier like his mythical namesake.”

“How many can make portals?”

“How many?” Danny repeated, “Ancients, I don’t know. That’s a hard number to quantify. Probably around a couple of thousand, and that’s talking all dead souls across all universes. Very, very few in the grand scheme. Most of them would have no interest in this Earth, nor would they have even heard of it. But the Infinite Realms makes its own portals all the time. They’re just… unreliable. Natural portals bend time and space.” Then Danny under his breath hissed, “And they give me a fucking headache trying to close them.”

“And the man-made portals?” Tim prompted.

“For this Earth?” Danny asked, “Two, one that’s been closed for good and another that’s not a problem.”

Bruce stuffed at the end of the table; Tim understood the reaction. The idea that a human, on this Earth, had unfettered access to the land of the dead was terrifying.

“Who and where?” Tim asked.

Danny gave a tight smile, “Don’t worry about it birdie, I have it under control.”

Tim narrowed his eyes under the mask and book marked that in his brain as information to pursue.

“So these thousand ghosts or so, are they a threat?” Tim asked.

Danny paused, then answered, “No. Could they be, sure? Just like how every single person in this room has the possibility of being a threat to Earth. But actively a threat, no, there is no motivation there.”

Tim didn’t point out that, yes, every single person in this room could be a threat to Earth. That was why Bruce had developed extensive contingency plans for that very possibility. Danny was either very naive or very laissez-faire, neither of which Tim himself embodied. Tim leaned towards the second possibility.

It was a bizarre state of being.

“Would it be possible to get a list of beings with that power, their additional abilities, and the lands that they rule?” Tim asked, hedging his bets. The worst that Danny could say is no.

Danny laughed at him, “Good try, birdie, but I’m not going to give you everything.”

Tim rolled his eyes under his mask. It had been worth a shot.

“Can you describe some of these beings and their powers?”

“That is a massive range,” Danny responded, “Constantine could probably give you a few examples. It depends on what the beings identify as so to speak. Beings that consider themselves Demons are going to be different than beings that believe themselves to be ghosts. Manifest your own destiny, isn’t that what they say?” Danny said the last sentence with a sardonic lit.

Tim waited patiently for Danny to actually answer the question.

His flat look must have been conveyed despite the mask, because Danny sighed and continued, “Ghost powers are broad, truly. Most Infinite Realms beings have the same basic base powers: flight, intangibility, energy manipulation, density shifting, and what we call overshadowing.”

“Overshadowing?”

“Think possession, but more temporary. It’s also incredibly obvious when someone is being overshadowed.”

Overshadowing flashed in Tim’s mind with horror. The idea that almost all beings from the Infinite Realm were capable of possession was a terrifying thought. It would be a disaster if someone like Superman was possessed.

“Are there ways to prevent overshadowing?” Tim asked.

Danny’s whole body stiffened. “Yes,” he answered flatly.

“Can we obtain those?”

“No.”

Danny’s face was hard with certainty.

“Why?” Batman interjected from the end of the table.

Danny leaned forward over the table in his chair and turned his head towards Batman. He answered, “The technology to prevent overshadowing could also be used to harm ghosts. I don’t want humans getting their hands on it.”

“You don’t consider yourself human,” Batman remarked.

“I do,” Danny assured, “Sorry, I will amend my statement. I don’t want living beings getting their hands on that technology.”

“You identify with the ghosts more than the living,” Batman observed.

“Didn’t we already go over this?” Danny snapped.

“What is energy manipulation?” Tim blurted out, redirecting the conversation back to the earlier question.

Danny folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Very smooth, Red Robin,” Danny said sarcastically. “You’re aware that all of the known universe is made of every, right?”

“Explain,” Batman ordered.

Danny rolled his eyes, “Particle physics breaks my brain so don’t like quote me on this[5],” Then Danny muttered under his breath, “I’m a Mechanical Engineer for fuck’s sake.” Louder, Danny continued, “Anyways, all matter is made of atoms which are made of protons and neutrons which are made of quarks which are always vibrating. E = MC² and all that jazz. And energy can’t be created or destroyed. In the end, universes either entropies and dissipates across space or compress and implode. In both instances, the energy ultimately feeds back into the Infinite Realms. The Infinite Realms in turn generates new universes, new life.”

Tim swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of Danny’s word. Danny sat here explaining the secret of life as if it wasn’t mind blowing.

“Because energy cannot be created or destroyed, it is also finite. The Infinite Realms are infinite in their perpetuity, not their vastness.”

Danny mistook the silence in the room for confusion.

“Ancients,” Danny said to himself, then loudly told them, “If we really wanted to get into the weeds with this, I would have to, like, pull Reed Richards from another Earth or something.”

Oliver Queen then blurted out, “You’ve visited other Earths?”

“Well, yeah,” Danny responded, bewildered, “didn’t I say that I lived in the Infinite Realms for two years? It’s literally the gateway to all universes. There are some wild worlds out there. Remind me, birdie, to take you to this universe that is literally steampunk. I have a feeling that you would geek out there. I geeked-out there.”

Tim blinked from the whiplash but wasn’t sure how to respond. The idea of going to another universe with Danny was unhinged. They hadn’t even been on a proper date, much less passed into the travel to other worlds stage of their not-yet relationship.

Tim also noted that the statement implied that Danny had chosen to live in this universe despite a vast number of options. Tim earmarked that information for later thought.

Danny then continued, “Souls are manifestations of will. Will is energy. It's ineffable and undefinable. It's what gives beings sentience.”

“That seems rather chicken and egg,” Superman pointed out, “Sentience brings sentience.”

“I am about to blow your mind big blue,” Danny said, “That is true for everything. I am not even sure the Ancients are aware of how existence began. It is a cycle. Death creates life. Life creates death. Permanence isn’t a state of natural being. Very few stand outside of that natural order.”

“Who?” Tim asked, but he instinctively knew the answer. Ancients. Danny had said that word enough. He spoke it like one cursed at a God.

“There are a few… hmmm…. manifestations of will that are outside of the balance. Beings that represent fundamental concepts of existence. Time, balance, space, movement, and fate. They control and guide the universe in those areas, some better than others. I would say gods above gods, but even they are fallible.”

Tim felt the air knock out of him. Would they even be able to combat beings like that? Would they just have to depend on their goodwill?

“You mentioned balance multiple times,” Batman noted, gruffly.

“You caught that, eh?” Danny asked, amused, “Yes, the Ancient of Balance stands apart because – after all – he controls all the energy of the known universe and therefore everything. Most beings consider him the High King of the Infinite Realms. But he goes by many names. He prefers the Arbiter.”

“Is this being God?” Hal asked tentatively.

Tim glanced over at Green Lantern and he looked as mind blown as the rest of them.

Danny scoffed at the question. “My first instinct is to tell you no, absolutely fucking not.” Danny then looked down at his hands. He took a deep breath and continued, “But I guess it really depends on how you define God. Are you speaking specifically about the one above all or more specifically the textual Islamic –Judeo – Christan being? Because he does exist.”

Then Danny huffed, “And is incredibly fucking annoying, that moralizing bastard.”

Hal gritted his teeth, “Listen here, I may not be the best practicing Catholic, but do not commit blasphemy in front of me.”

Danny looked at Hal blankly. He then relented, “I apologize. It is not my intent to undermine your beliefs. I can stop explaining…”

Hal then deflated, “No, continue. Batman would have my head.”

Danny hummed in response, “The King doesn't interfere with free will. He didn't create the universe as much as guides it. He's not interested in being worshiped.”

Black Canary face contorted in confusion, and she blurted out, “The most powerful being in existence isn't interested in being worshiped? Isn’t that antithetical to the rules of will you just explained about will and ghost creation.”

“Yes, no,” Danny then made a grumbling noise, “They are less rules and more guidelines. Regardless, the Ancients are set aside from them. I don’t know why so don’t bother asking. Anyways, the King really isn't - it's complicated.”

Danny then abruptly stood up. He ran his hand through his hair in a show of frustration. He then told them, “Let’s just say, the King doesn't want the crown. Power and responsibility are not burdens everyone asks for.”

Tim immediately caught onto what Danny had implied. Tim turned to Bruce who had a similar look on his face.

“He was not always the Ancient of Balance,” Bruce spoke up.

“Yes, no,” Danny said, “Chicken and egg again. He was always destined to be and once he became it, it was like he always was it.”

“But he was something before?” Danny flinched, “Human?” Bruce asked. Danny stared at Batman as if stunned that he had picked up on the clues.

Danny swallowed, “Yes.”

“You speak about him with familiarity,” Bruce stated.

“Yes.” Danny then turned around and paced backward. The room held their breath. Danny was clearly sitting on the edge of a revelation to them. Tim didn’t want to speak up for fear of influencing Danny away from that decision.

“You’ve spent significant amounts of time with him,” Bruce continued his insight.

“Yes.”

Bruce made a hmm sound. Danny then turned around rapidly, facing them. He had made his decision.

“Red Robin had already met him. He’s Phantom.”

Suddenly, the world started spinning around Tim. It was as if the floor had dropped from underneath him. If Tim hadn’t been sitting down, he probably would have stumbled over his own two feet.

Jesus.

Christ.

The most powerful being in existence had fucking flirted with Tim.

Danny stared right at him as he was gauging his reaction. Tim didn’t know how to react. How does one react to that?

Then, “Boo.”

This time Tim jumped so hard; he actually did fall out of his chair. Multiple people in the room gasped in shock.

Phantom floated next to Danny. He had on an all-black outfit – ghosts changed outfits? There was fashion in the land of the dead? – with flowy pants and a black billowing blouse. He had on an intricate black velvet vest with silver buttons.

The sword that Tim had seen him wearing last was still hanging at his waist, but it had a faint blue glow. A large green signet ring sat on his right hand. The most prominent change, however, was the swirling crown that floated above his head. Fire and ice clashed in battle, weaving intricately into a circlet.

Tim’s brain didn’t compute.

Phantom had been slightly insecure and a sarcastic asshole, but he had hardly given off the vibes that he was the King of Everything.

Tim had been right about one thing – Phantom had been playing at being less of a predator. As Phantom floated next to Danny, Tim’s eyes flickered between them. They looked similar side-by-side. Too similar.

Tim almost couldn’t believe that he had missed it. It was if he had clrt+c-ed Danny and then inverted him. There was slight feature differences – the jawline was a little more sharp and the ears were pointed.

However, it was clear that Phantom was using Danny’s likeness, for some unknown reason.

“Greetings,” Phantom said.

One of the other people in the room – Constantine, Tim’s mind supplied – was hyperventilating behind them.

“My liege,” Constantine said in a strangled voice, “Thank you for your presence.”

Phantom then laughed, high and bright. “John Constantine, you have denied the balance for many years and made a mess of your soul.”

“I apologize – my liege – please – no, bloody fuck –” Constantine rambled.

“Peace,” Phantom told him, “I have not come to collect your soul. I hardly have the time to care about individuals.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. You still have your soul debts, and they will come knocking,” Phantom told him.

“I understand,” Constantine breathed out.

“Do you?” Phantom said softly.

“I –”

Batman, thankfully cut Constantine off from the hole he continued to dig himself into.

“King Phantom, if what we have been told today is true, we are honored by your presence,” Bruce said, diplomatically.

The unspoken why are you here hung over the room.

Superman interjected, “Earth welcomes you, King Phantom.”

Phantom nodded his head towards the two superheroes.

“Thank you,” the King responded, “I have a fondness for this Earth.” Phantom’s eyes flickered over to Danny. Tim felt a rock settle into his stomach. The likeness, the presence here, the protection on the rooftop of Danny – something was not adding up.

Danny’s face remained impassive.

Hal then decided to open his big mouth, “The kid here claimed that you are the King of all existence.”

“I am.”

“Prove it,” Hal challenged.

Tim sucked in a breath. Of all the hairbrained, irrational, foolish sentences that Hal Jordon had ever uttered, Tim would bet that this would take the cake. The air left Tim’s lungs as the gravity of the danger of that statement settled into his body. Constantine’s eyes flew wide, and he stared shocked at Hal.

Constantine sputtered, “My King, he means no offense. Do not punish Earth –”

Phantom’s laugh cut off Constantine’s ramble. “I do not take offense easily. But sure,” then the creature smiled. Teach stretched across his face and the being in front of him started to crackle like static, “I’ll prove it.”

Then, the world collapsed.

It was as if time had both slowed and sped up at the same time. The matter around Tim became fuzzy. It felt like reality had been dropped into a protein shaker and someone was shaking it back and forth. Tim lost sense of direction, as up became down, and down became left, and left became – down? His mind faltered to process the radiating pieces of light in front of Tim.

As reality rippled around him, Tim realized that they could all perish; blinked out of existence because of Hal-fucking-Jordan’s big mouth.

Then, it all stopped.

When Tim opened his eyes, he floated in the vast expanse of space. In front of him the conference table floated with all of them still in their respective chairs, but the rest of the Watchtower was gone. Somehow, Tim could breathe despite clearly being in space.

Tim looked horrified towards where Earth should have been.

It was gone. Earth was gone.

All that remained was a handful of heroes and one damn conference table.

“What the fuck?” Oliver groaned.

“It’s gone,” Superman muttered under his breath, “Earth is gone.”

Phantom chucked, “You did ask me to prove it. Worry not, Earth isn’t gone. It’s just set aside for now. I will bring it back.”

Tim was too stunned to know how to feel. Earth – with Jason, Damian, Stephanie, Alfred, Tam, Rachel, Kon, and all the other people he loved – had disappeared. While Phantom claimed he would bring it back, Tim’s mind didn’t know how to process.

“You are what he says,” Superman stated, stunned, eyes flickering back and forth from Danny to Phantom.

“Yep,” Phantom popped the word, which seemed on-brand for Phantom but utterly ridiculous for the most powerful being in existence that had just disappeared Earth.

“Why are you here?” Superman asked, bewildered.

“As I said, I’m fond of this Earth. One of my subjects threatened it. I am working to find said subject. You are a group of very talented individuals which may be of assistance to the search. Plus,” Phantom’s eyes flickered from Danny to Tim, “I was asked.”

Tim’s mouth ran dry. Tim had asked Danny to speak with the JLA and Danny must have asked Phantom. Phantom had done this at the request of Danny, who had done because of his feelings for Tim.

Something was not right in the relationship between Danny and Phantom. Was Phantom obsessed with Danny hence the appearance? Would Phantom threaten Tim over his budding relationship with Danny?

Phantom hadn’t seemed upset in Peru and the rooftop; in fact, the being had flirted with Tim.

Unease settled across his entire body.

Then, Clark Kent sucked in a shuttering breath, as if he had come to some sort of realization.

“Nightengale said you control the flow of the universe and the death of planets and universes,” Clark’s voice was unusually hard.

Phantom gave Clark a confused look, as if he didn’t understand why he was being questioned on that.

“Yes, that is one of my responsibilities,” Phantom acknowledged.

“My planet was destroyed along with all of my people,” Superman uttered, sounding completely wrecked, “You choose –”

“Do not give me credit for something that was not my bidding,” Phantom interrupted. “Your planet was destroyed because your people overmined it into obliteration.”

“But you could have stopped it,” Clark said, voice hard. Tim glanced around the JLA. Oliver sat, looking stunned at the area where Earth had been. He didn’t even look like he was processing the conversation in front of him.

Hal looked stunned and guilty.

Diana and Bruce were giving each other looks as if deciding how to defuse the escalating conversation.

“I don't make a habit of interfering with beings free will Clark Kent,” Phantom said, clearly enunciating the name. Clark’s identity was not a secret to anyone here and it wasn’t a shock that Phantom knew it. “Even if it comes at a grave cost. You should be grateful for that.”  

“You let my planet –” Clark repeated.

“I will not apologize for the natural balance,” Phantom interjected. “You are overestimating my involvement in most things.”

Clark then said in a shattered tone, “My whole family died. My –”

Then, in an instant, Batman had Danny in a hold, batarang across his throat. Tim hadn’t even seen Bruce move, nor did he understand the physics of it in their current floating situation.

Regardless, Bruce was clearly threatening Danny.

Tim immediately knew why; Phantom had indicated that Danny meant something to him. Danny was the only piece of leverage they had. Phantom had disappeared Earth and all of its people, and Bruce Wayne was going to ensure that it came back.

Phantom's relationship with Danny was like the soft exposed underbelly of the beast. There was no functional way any of them could fight Phantom - the being had just casually destroyed or hidden an entire planet. Instead, Batman struck where vulnerability lied, and Danny was that vulnerability.  

Danny sucked in a breath, shocked. He stared at Tim as if confused on what to do. Both Phantom and Superman turned towards Batman.

Then Batman tightened his hold on Danny. Shock radiated across Phantom's face. Batman's then spoke, his tone gruff and authoritative, “Phantom, I think it’s time that you returned Earth.”

[1] LOL. There is a larger age-gap between me and my ex-husband than Bruce and Dick. Edit: I should clarify, I was the younger one.

[2] SOP stands for Standard Operating Procedures. It’s usually come sort of codified writing/policy that dictates how a Commander/Leader/ect. wants certain things to look like.

[3] PIR are Priority Intelligence/Information Requirements. They are also sometimes also referred to as RFIs (Requests for Information) or in same vein as CCIRs (Commander’s Critical Information Requirements which is more for what information triggers a commander to get involved). They are short questions used to outline critical information needs that are essential for decision-making, planning and achieving mission objectives. It’s a focusing tool for intelligence gathering or an interrogation. A good PIR asked a singular question and is specific and observable in nature. “What do we need to learn about a threat in order to assess it?”

[4] Hal Jordan’s military service is confusing as hell to me. For one, I can’t seem to find the real answer on how long he was in for. One source said he was kicked out for assaulting an Officer which lol you can’t be a pilot without being an officer, so did he assault a superior officer? Another source said he was a Col which damn son, he must have been in for awhile to get the bird (that doesn’t really fit the timeline for his background.) So, I split the difference in this. Also, DC Database said he is in the “United States Green Lantern Marine Corps” which is fucking hilarious. Peak humor. I applaud whoever edited that in.  

[5] Seriously don’t quote me on this lol. Bunk science is bunk science. My excuse is that it’s coming from Danny’s mouth... so unreliable narrator for the win.

Chapter Text

Critical Vulnerability.

Tim had faced the Joker many times in his life; his chemically pale skin and stretched smile sometimes flashed behind his eyes when he tried to sleep. Once, early after Tim had picked up the mantle of Robin, he had been grabbed on patrol.

Tim had been bound in a warehouse, completely nude, with the laughing clown glowering over him. In that moment, Tim had believed with an absolute clarity that he was going to die.

Death had not scared him – even at eleven.

However, the Joker hadn’t intended to kill him. He had wanted to condition him.

The Joker had wanted a personal Robin. The Joker had stared into Tim’s eyes and realized that death wasn’t Tim’s worst fear, but that his own mind was. Tim’s own imagination provided him with a capability for violence; born from an ability to comprehend before he could moralize.

Within an hour, the Joker had somehow latched onto and fed into all of Tim’s fears.

They were unfounded, of course; Tim had not been an evil child, but a precocious one.

It had taken all of twelve hours for Tim to begin to feel like he was losing his mind.

The Joker had put him, tied up, in a makeshift cell. The Joker lounged in a purple armchair across from the bars, a role-reversal from his Arkham days, no doubt. Tim had nothing covering his mouth

“You know,” the Joker had drawled at him, “I have been watching you little red bird. You’re not like your predecessors.”

Tim had glared defiantly back at him.     

“You’re small,” the Joker stated. Tim braced himself for the usual villain drivel that he was weaker than the Robins that came before him. He had heard it quite a few times, and as loathe as Tim was to admit it, they were right.

Tim wasn’t as dexterous and impressive as Dick’s Robin or as effectively physical as Jason. Tim had been quick at that age and had used speed to create distance with calculated strikes.

The words never came.

Instead, Joker tilted his head at him, “You have a grasp on effective use of violence at a such young and tender age. It’s glorious, beautiful. Where did the Bat find you? Hmm… actually don’t answer. I like the mystery. It hardly matters anymore, anyways, I have you now. You will be mine. How does being a little clown sound? You can honor your older brother’s legacy in the carnival profession.”

The Joker rambled at Tim.

The Joker knew Bruce’s identity; what they didn’t know was why he didn’t exploit it. Bruce seemed certain that the Joker would not tell anyone. Tim thought that was an insane assessment, but in this moment, Tim realized that Bruce was right.

The Joker cared little for their civilian identities, much like he cared little for who he had once been.

“I would like to put you through a metamorphosis, my little clown. You have so much potential. Tell me, what do you see in me? What is your analysis of this situation?”

Tim’s silence was his defiance.

“Oh, come on, little clown. Play with me. I want to be your Daddy, I could be like those types of Daddies and except obedience, but I rather hate paternal forms of control. That is, after all, what Batman is to you, isn’t it – paternal control?” The Joker leaned back leisurely in his chair. From Tim’s perspective he could see the frayed edges of the purple suit. There were dirt smudges and Tim wondered if Joker had dug up the material.

Tim’s eyes flashed around the warehouse, trying to find something that would betray their location.

Joker reached into his lapel pocket and fished out a smartphone. The monstrous man holding the phone caused a million questions to flash through Tim’s mind. Who had purchased a phone plan for the Joker? The Joker fumbled around for a second with the phone.

Tim wasn’t sure if it was an act of false incompetence or lack of familiarity. Tim strongly favored the prior theory.

The Joker then erupted with a, “Ah! Here it is!” Joker turned the screen of the phone around towards Tim. Tim blinked as his mind processed what he was seeing. The image showed children sitting at desks.

Tim immediately recognized the classroom – it was his after all. The Joker was live streaming his classroom with all his friends in it.

“So, I won’t demand you to speak,” The Joker told him, “But I will give you a choice. You see this of course. I will just place the image here. I will let your mind fill in what I could do if you do not talk to me. See? Choices.”

Then the clown gave him a wide, terrifying smile, “Tell me all of your dark thoughts, my child.”

Tim had spent three days in that cell, and well, he would let everyone else’s mind fill in what had happened to him. Tim felt eternally grateful that as he aged, the Joker became less interested in him.

Years later, when Ra’s al-Ghul had told him of his intentions to turn Tim into his pet-project heir and – highly implied – sexual slave, Tim had almost laughed in his face.

What the fuck did it say about Tim had he had two of the worst psychopaths on the planet wanting Tim to be their legacy?

Nothing good that was for sure.  

Regardless, the experience had taught him something. The Joker was playing a game of chess where the board comprised of pink and orange squares and blow-up sex-dolls pieces. For all the chaos that the man projected, he was deadly tactical.

The Joker struck where it would hurt and retreated, Guerrilla Warfare style; trapping Bruce into no-win scenarios through striking where it hurt.

The Joker was effective in the way that other rogues were not. He had assessed Tim’s critical vulnerability just like he had assessed Jason, Dick, and Bruce’s weaknesses.

Rapid enemy analysis was vital to creating effective plans. For all that Joker played Guerrilla games, the Bats and Birds played the game of maneuver warfare. They couldn’t win the war of attrition, so they had to outsmart and outplay the enemy.  

There was a concept that Tim had been introduced to early in his time as a Robin called Center of Gravity. It was the concept that all people and systems had a critical element that served as their strength that they utilized to achieve their goals. That Center of Gravity shifted based on the situation and mission.

Critical Capabilities and Requirements were the legs that the Center of Gravity stood on; what was needed for the strength – elements that were required to support those needs.

That is where one found the critical vulnerability. The Joker had assessed that Tim’s Center of Gravity, even as a child, was his ability to think his way out of problems. That was predicted on Tim’s need for a clear mind and his ability to make moral judgements.

Sanity.

Tim required his sanity more than anything else. That was why the Joker had almost succeeded where Ra’s al Ghul’s machinations had failed. The Joker knew where to strike for maximum effect. 

That was to say, that Bruce Wayne had a very similar ability.

With a rapid moment of clarity, Tim realized that Danny was not Phantom’s critical vulnerability, his adherence to free will was.

-----

Danny could safely say that he hadn’t expected Batman to hold a knife to his human form; a form that he had, just hours earlier, given to the blessing to attempt to date his son.

The emotions rolling off of Bruce Wayne, however, were not those of a desperate man making a desperate decision. His calm stillness unsettled Danny.

From Phantom’s mouth, he challenged, “You don’t kill. Why should I believe your threat?’

Batman’s mouth gave a half quirking smile. In a wry and gravely tone, he told him, “The question is, why would you entertain it? You could stop me with a thought, could you not?”

Danny absolutely could. He could rewrite the scene, change Batman’s decision making. He could simply remove Batman, similarly to he had the Earth. Danny could tug, and Bruce Wayne’s soul would fall effortlessly into the afterlife and become a citizen of the dead part of his domain.

But Danny had made a promise to himself that he would not interfere with living free-will. Would Danny allow the temporary death of his human form as a sacrifice to this core tenant of his resolve? A slit throat was a painful prospect, one that Danny was intimately familiar with.

His silence was answer enough for the group. Most of the living humans around them were paralyzed in fear and awe.

Danny’s human form stared at Tim. Tim’s eyes were rapidly flashing between Bruce and Danny, first tense. Then, Danny watched as a small amount of relief and knowing radiated off of the young man. Danny, in his human form, stayed silent. 

Tim no longer feared Danny to be in harm’s way, therefore, Danny knew that he was not. Batman was bluffing, but to what end?

“You don’t interfere in free-will,” Bruce Wayne stated sharply. If Phantom breathed, he would have let out his breath in frustration and mild surprise.

“I can,” Phantom defended, “It is through my grace that I do not.”

“You would let me kill him,” Bruce stated resolutely.

Phantom bristled. What an infuriating man.  “Who is to say that I simply do not believe you will?” Phantom’s eyes inadvertently flickered his gaze to Tim which Batman seemed to catch. The emotions rolling off Bruce were limited. If Tim hadn’t been there, calm and composed, Danny would be a lot less sure of Bruce’s resolve.

“I am desperate, am I not?” Batman said quietly. “My children were – are on that planet.”

Phantom frowned. The blade at Danny’s neck pressed into him, not quite drawing blood. Danny considered his options. He could concede and return the planet. His human form could attempt to overpower Batman; with a little bit of surprise and leaking over ghost powers it wouldn’t be impossible. He could continue to call Batman’s bluff.

Frustrated, Danny snapped from Phantom’s mouth, “What would you even gain from killing Danny? Other than angering me?”

Batman then made a grunting affirmative sound and promptly released Danny. His human form staggered a bit and sputtered.

Danny reacted from his human mouth, “What the fuck was that?”

“I apologize,” Batman said gruffly, “I needed to prove some theories. Regardless, I request that you return Earth.” Phantom stared at his human form. Danny disliked holding his doubles near each other; there was something uncanny valley about it.

His display of power had been effective, but to what end? Bruce Wayne had stared the most powerful being in existence in the face with cold resolve.

No wonder Tim was the way he was. Jesus.

Bruce Wayne was one crazy motherfucker.

Phantom huffed, waved his hand, and set reality back into place. From one breath to the next, Earth and the Watchtower were returned to their natural place. Danny hadn’t truly removed Earth as much as temporality split reality into two, one with Earth and one with the heroes.  

Removing Earth would have had celestial effects Danny would have too effectively counter. A pocket dimension trick was easier.

As if a spell had broken, the rest of the Earth’s heroes seemed to leap into reaction.

“Fuck, fuck,” the Green Lantern intoned, “What the fuck. Jesus, I’m sorry. I won’t ever ask that again.”

Both Danny and Phantom’s looked towards the intergalactic hero. He had been Danny’s unabashed favorite hero growing up, with his connection to the cosmos. Now the man felt like cheap whiskey and sale cigars.

Never meet your heroes.

Wonder Woman breathed deeply, and the Green Arrow and Black Canary embraced. Danny didn’t actually know of the other hero’s identifies. He could slip into their minds and pluck their names and faces from the depth, but it was an invasion of privacy Danny did not make a habit of.

Superman being Clark Kent, however, was something Danny had discovered years ago by accident. Superman’s soul signature was particular, and it was shocking for a regular human to be shrouded in it.

Danny highly suspected that when Clark died he would be elevated to King status in the realm of the dead. Superman was worshiped on Earth and his mythos clung to him. Danny had never meet someone destined to be one of his more powerful subjects before they had died.  

Nightwing, Tim’s oldest sibling, stared at both Danny and Phantom intently. Dick Grayson was interesting. His soul radiated a shocking crimson, a lot more electric and blood stained than most in the room, even Oliver Queen.

It was interesting, Danny thought, that Bruce Wayne – for all of his Dark Knight shtick – had a rather pure soul. His children, on the other hand, did not. Even Tim had bodies in his wake. Part of Danny wondered what had caused that.

Danny wondered about his own morality often. That was another reason that he refrained from compromising the free will of others. Living in the land of the dead had desensitized Danny to the concept of life and death, and therefore the morality around it.  

Batman’s pure-ish soul signature should have been another clue to Danny that Batman had been bluffing earlier.

Zatanna, Constantine’s less annoying companion, stood up and bowed to him. “Lord Phantom, thank you for returning Earth, we apricate it.”

“Just Phantom is fine,” he responded. “You are not dead. I am not your Lord yet.”

“I thought you were the King of everything?” the Flash asked. It was the first time that the speedster had said anything during his interaction with the group, both as Phantom and as Danny Nightengale.

The man spoke softly and kindly, asking for clarity humbly. The flash’s soul signature had a soft white hue to it and Danny knew that the man must rescue puppies in his free time or something. 

For that, Phantom answered him truthfully, “I am the Ancient of Balance, the Arbitrator for the cosmos. I am also the King of the Infinite Realms. His former is intrinsic to me, the latter was bestowed. Any titles relating to my position of King are optional for the living.”

“Your position of King isn’t inherent?” Batman asked sharply.

“Not at all,” Phantom responded, “I defeated the former monarch in combat.”

“Before you became the Ancient of Balance,” Batman stated.

Phantom blinked. “I have no idea how you could even know that.”

“I didn’t, but you just confirmed it.”

Talking to Bruce Wayne was a headache inside of a mindfuck. If Danny hadn’t already imprinted on Tim like stary duckling, he would wearily escape and never speak to the man again in his life.

“King Phantom,” Superman’s voice was slightly unsteady, but lacked the heat and anger of earlier. “I apologize for my earlier behavior. May we start over?”

Clark Kent’s body radiated grief. While he presented an outwardly composed presence with his arms loose at his sides, his mind was clearly spinning with pain and regret.

Danny didn’t like to dwell on what he represented to the living. He barely accepted the depth and breadth of his power, much less what that power meant on an existential basis. His human form reacted to his swirling thoughts and reached up to run his thumb along the almost invisible scar along his right arm.

Red Robin then spoke softly, “Let’s all sit.”

Danny human form stared at Tim’s mask which hid his eyes. Someone rolled another chair up from the edge of the room to accommodate the additional person at the table. Danny sat in same chair he had occupied earlier next to Tim, but Phantom hesitated on where to sit.

After a moment he took the position next to Batman, and rest of the heroes shuffled around his two forms.

Protocol would be to wait until Phantom sat before everyone else did; the heroes seemingly did not care for such Protocol. Danny felt grateful for the lack of pomp and circumstance, but also off-kilter. This was not his council or advisors.

Should Phantom control the meeting? Demand reverence?

Danny knew how to act around humans as Danny; Danny knew how to act around ghosts as Phantom; Danny did not know how to act around humans as Phantom.

Wonder Woman broke the silence. “King Phantom,” she said, her voice round and smooth, “Young Danny indicated that you desired our assistance in finding a wayward subject of yours.”

“Yes. Osiris escaped before my people were able to apprehend him. We have Anubis in custody and are waiting to apprehend Osiris before putting Anubis to tribunal before my Council of Kings. I have two of my people, Skulker and Fright Knight running a search. There are eight alternative Earths where Osiris was worshiped on. My best guess is that he would find refuge on one of those worlds, but it’s possible he is hiding on another.”

“You believe we can be of assistance?” Superman asked.

“I believe you have motivation to be of assistance. My people are unused to operating in living worlds. The Council and Observants are getting concerned by Osiris’ lack of arrest.”

“What are the Council and the Observants?” Tim asked.

Phantom turned to look at him. His mind split between multiple viewpoints from Danny and Phantom’s eyes. Tim’s costume fit tightly against his body, but due to the thicker woven fabric, did not do the man justice. Oh, Tim looked absurdly attractive in his suit – like he did in all clothing – but Danny would much rather the suit be on the floor.

Tim’s dark, slightly curly, hair was criminally slicked back, most likely more for functionality than aesthetics. His crystal blue eyes were hidden by the whites of his domino mask. Danny resisted the impulsive urge to reach out, remove the mask, and run his hands through Tim’s hair.

He wanted to ruin the man’s perfect appearance. For as polished and fastidious as Tim acted, Danny could tell that Tim thought very little about how he actually appeared. Tim was a very practical man above all else.

Danny’s mind got lost over staring at Tim and almost forgot to answer the question. His lack of focus slipped, and he answered the question from his human form’s mouth.

“The Council of Kings is the closet thing we have to a Senate or Parliament. It’s a body comprised of all the ruling Kings of the Infinite Realms. It’s how, uh, Phantom makes law and policy. The Observants would be the equivalent of the Supreme Court, of a sort. They have no defined power but observe all of reality. Phantom has tasked them with court authority.”

“What intelligence have you gotten from Anubis?” Batman asked, his voice chipped.

Danny blinked and Phantom tilted his head. If ghosts were capable of blushing, Danny was sure that the red-hot evidence of his embarrassment would be evident on his face.

He forced his voice to remain assured as he told Batman and the Justice League, “We have not conducted an interrogation on Anubis.”

“Hmph,” Batman responded, “That would be your first step. Do you have an intelligence organization?”

Phantom shook his head minutely, “Fright Knight and his people operate as my Guard which is the closest I have to an intelligence or military force. It’s unnecessary.”

Batman didn’t say anything, but Danny could tell by the blank look that he thought otherwise. Wonder Woman gave a light smile.

“Surely you have threats against your rule?” she asked, kindly.

“This would be my first,” Phantom told her, “I can alter reality with a thought and all beings of the Infinite Realms are bound to my orders. It’s not been necessary.”

“Jesus,” Danny heard Green Arrow mutter.

Danny’s eyes flickered over towards Constantine who was staring down at his hands. The man seemed overwhelmed.

“How long have you been in power?” Superman asked.

Danny paused. He could answer truthfully, but the answer felt vulnerable.

“Long enough.”

Batman made a low grunting sound, as if acknowledging Phantom’s choice to sidestep the question.

Then, Batman, told him, “I can offer my services in interrogation.”

Phantom nodded, “That would be helpful.”

Batman nodded sharply, “Tomorrow, ten hundred, Eastern standard time. I assume you know my identity.”

A sharp gasp went around the room. Danny, through his human eyes, looked around. The group showed vary levels of surprise. Batman’s identity as Bruce Wayne must have been a secret, even in this group.

Danny resisted the mid-western urge to answer Batman with a yes sir. Instead, Phantom nodded once and responded, “I do, yes. I can meet you tomorrow at your, umm, residence. I can take you to where we are holding Anubis.” Danny resisted the urge to ask if Tim could help them for the planned interrogation.

“You’re going to take Batman into the Infinite Realms,” Constantine asked faintly.

“Yes.”

Wonder Woman asked, “Is it safe for Batman to go on this trip.” Her eyes flickered to his human form. The Infinite Realms was, in fact, perfectly safe for humans and the living. However, the Justice League was not aware that the effects on his human form were not from living in the Infinite Realms, but from being half dead.

Danny assumed the answer would be better received coming from his human form. He answered, “Yes, I’m a special case. I wouldn’t recommend spending more than a few days’ time in the Infinite Realms, but short-term exposure has no negative effects.”

“And this has been tested?” Tim asked Danny.

Fair enough. Bruce was his father.

“Yes,” Danny affirmed, “my sister and childhood friends have all spent varying amounts of time in the Infinite Realms, with no negative consequences.”

Tim gave him a sharp acknowledging nod.

“Hmph.” Batman affirmed.

Constantine was muttering under his breath, “Fucking unbelievable. No bloody effects.”

Danny, and the rest of the Justice League, collectively choose to ignore the man.

“Well,” Wonder Women’s posh voice interrupted, “it’s rather late for the humans here. King Phantom, we apricate your presence this evening and look forward to an extended partnership. I believe it is time to wrap up this meeting if you are amendable.”

Phantom inclined his head to the Grecian demi-goddess.

“Well,” his human form said sarcastically, “That was fun. Shall we?”

“Until next time,” Phantom told them, and opened a portal. Both of his manifestations stepped into the green abyss.

-----

A collective sigh of relief echoed across the Justice League as Danny and Phantom closed the portal behind them. Tim’s brain hadn’t quite caught up to the events of the evening. It appeared he was not the only one.

“That happened, right?” Hal asked. “We just met the being that controls reality.”

“I think so,” Dinah said.

“We will be having a discussion later about your lack of impulse control,” Bruce told Hal sharply.

Hal leaned back in his chair and threw his hands up in the air. “I am not the only one. Big blue almost got into a fist fight with God.”

“Not God,” Constantine muttered, “God would have been better. No, no. I told everyone to stay out of this and now we have the King of Everything literally vanishing Earth on a whim. And that was him happy and cooperative.”

Tim silently agreed. They were over their heads, that much was apparent. Tim glanced over at the universal clock. It was almost midnight on the Eastern seaboard. It was time for him to return to Earth. He had a long day planned for tomorrow, and it was time to compartmentalize this evening away in his mind.

Existential breakdowns were for the weekend when Tim had mental space and physical time.

Superman sighed down at the end of the table. “Constantine is correct. My behavior tonight was short sighted and emotional. I apologize to everyone here. I will reflect on my reaction and seek improvement.”

“Supes,” Green Arrow told him, “Everyone here understands. No harm, no foul. Hal, on the other hand, I will murder you if you ever tell the most powerful being in existence to prove it ever again. You will get an arrow through your eye.”

“I said fucking sorry.”

“You did not.”

“Enough,” Batman snapped, “Meeting adjourned. Everyone will reflect on tonight’s events. I will most likely not make tomorrow’s Code of Conduct meeting. I will know if your behavior is not to standard.”

“Be careful tomorrow,” Diana said quietly.

“I can’t believe you’re going to the Infinite Realms,” Constantine said, “For the record, this is against my recommendation.”

Batman cocked his head towards Constantine, “And back out from an agreement with the Ancient of Balance?”

“Well, fuck no, don’t do that either. You know what? Not my circus anymore. You have Nightengale’s phone number. He’s your contact now. Peace, I’m out,” with that, Constantine rose with a flourish.   

Zatanna rose with him, “He doesn’t mean that. If the JLD can be of assistance, please contact us.” She followed him out of the room.

As if the spell had broken, the rest of the JLA members moved to leave.

“Nightwing,” Tim nodded to his brother. In sync, they rose to leave. Bruce stayed behind, likely to talk to Superman.

Back at the cave, Tim stripped his uniform off and threw on comfortable clothing to head home. Dick lingered, clad in just his sweats. Tim wondered if he planned to crash at the manor.

“You’re thinking loudly,” Tim sighed, “What?”

“Danny is wrapped up powerful beings,” Dick said conversationally.

Tim sighed and flopped down into a chair in the Batcave. “Dick, it’s late. Are we going to talk about this now?”

“I’m concerned for you,” Dick told him, “Call it big brother privileges.”

“Well, yeah, I know,” Tim huffed, “I still need to sort out my thoughts on Danny. You’re right, Danny and Phantom’s relationship is off.”

“Just be careful,” Dick told him. “But that’s not actually what I wanted to talk about.”

Tim scrunched up his forehead. He had a pounding headache, and his eyelids felt heavy. What Tim needed was to make the thirty-minute ride home to get some rest.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to talk to you about the pardon.”

That was unexpected. “Okay, yeah, what about it?”

“Does it just cover things that you’ve done as a hero?” Tim couldn’t place the tone of Dick’s voice; it was careful and controlled.

“What?” Tim’s tired brain didn’t understand. “Worried about something you did as Richard Grayson?”

Dick gave a half-smile. “Asking for a friend.”

Tim’s mind suddenly grew sharp. He narrowed his eyes at Dick. Dick was leaning back against the wall, falsely casual. His lack of shirt showcased just how much he had given to the world from his years of being a vigilante. A surgical scar stretched across his left shoulder.

Tim answered carefully, “No, I purposefully wrote it broad so anyone currently operating as a vigilante has the option to sign onto the Code. It’s supposed to be broad and overreaching in nature. It was a hard sell.”

Dick made a non-committed sound. “… and crimes committed in other countries?”

“Anything the US government doesn’t have jurisdiction over isn’t covered,” Tim intoned, his voice flat, “The next step will be to get this ratified by the UN. I’m working it.”

“Oh,” Dick responded, and for a moment his body sagged. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, Dick stood straight and continued brightly, “Thanks for answering my questions. Good talk.” Then Dick turned around to walk upstairs.

Tim no longer felt tired.

“Dick. Stop.”

Dick turned around back towards his and cocked his head and plastered a smile on his face. “What?”

“Seriously? You’re just going to ask those questions and not tell me why.”

“Don’t worry about it, baby bird.”

“Now I’m really worried about it.”

Dick suddenly looked like a conundrum wrapped in a riddle. The alight aging around his eyes and the heaviness in his shoulders betrayed over two decades of heroism. On the other hand, the way Dick folded up inside himself reminded Tim of a young Robin flipping around in the sky. Dick’s childhood innocence had long since left him.

“Dick,” Tim said softly, “Being a sibling works both ways.”

Tim met Dick’s eyes in a challenge. They stared each other down for a few moments before Dick sighed. He walked forward and flopped into the chair next to Tim. Tim allowed him a few moments to get himself together.

When Dick spoke again, his voice was serious and dark. It lacked his usual bright intonations, and his slight accent shined through.

“I’ve never talked to anyone about this before,” Dick whispered.

Tim almost told him, I’m not pushing, but Tim was pushing. Tim stayed silent. For a brief moment, Tim wondered if maybe he wasn’t the right person for this conversation. Tim wasn’t known for being the most comforting person. Practical and empathetic, sure, but not comforting.

That was Dick’s job.

“Bruce knows, of course,” Dick continued, “But we don’t really talk about it.”

“Sounds like Bruce.”

“This happened when I was fifteen. I was leading the Teen Titans. Slide Wilson became obsessed with me – wanted me to be his apprentice, his protegee.”

“What is it with megalomaniacs and Robin?” Tim asked bitterly.

Dick gave him a grim smile in agreement.

“He kidnapped me,” Dick said.

Tim felt his body go cold as the realization of where this was going hit him.

“Okay.”

“He had microchips implanted in my friends as a contingency to get me to agree to do what he wanted. Plus,” Dick laughed bitterly, “It wasn’t like if I refused to kill someone that they were going to live. He was going to kill them anyways. He said it was mercy. If I killed them, I got to choose how, and if he killed them, he got to choose how. There is only so many times you can watch people getting tortured.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“… how long were you with him?” Tim asked softly.

“Five months,” Dick answered with no emotion in his voice. “He gave me the name Renegade.”

Tim knew that name.

He had a file on Renegade in the Batcomputer. Bruce had not included the information that he had been Dick.

“Wait,” Tim blurted out, “That was over fifteen years ago. Renegade has been active since.”

Dick gave Tim a very grim and serious smile. “Some activities, baby bird, are not for Nightwing. It has been a couple of years, though. Bruce is very disapproving.”

“… and Slade?” Tim asked.

Dick’s expression was dark and careful. “He and I have come to an agreement.” Tim did not want to know what that agreement consisted of, but at the same time, Tim desperately needed to know.

“And what agreement is that?” Tim asked.

“Don’t worry about.”

“Dick.”

“I have it handled,” Dick’s voice expressed that the matter was closed. “The pardon?”

“… would cover any Renegade activity on US territory. But not moving forward.”

“Understood,” Dick nodded at him, “I can trust you will be discrete about this? I don’t want Damian…” Tim filled in the rest, to know that his mentor – Nightwing, paragon of good, virtue, and non-murder – moonlighted as an assassin.

Tim suddenly started laughing, overcome by the absurdity of the situation.

Dick looked at him alarmed.

“Tim?”

“Sorry,” Tim bit off bitterly, “Bruce tried so hard to make us into these perfect Robins, but we all pretend that we’re better than we are.”

“You’re the best of us,” Dick pointed out, “The only one who hasn’t killed. I’m Renegade, Jason is, well, Jason. Damian had his year of blood.”

Tim responded flatly, “I’m the one who blew up the League of Assassin bases a few years ago.”

Dick blinked at him owlishly, “Fuck. The death toll…”

“Thousands,” Tim, helpfully, filled in for him.

“Well,” Dick started laughing himself, “I stand corrected.” For a few moments, Tim and Dick laughed of the absurdity and the lack of fairness in their lives. Tim could not express how grateful he felt in that moment for his siblings.

“We’re all pretty fucked up.”

The two of breathed quietly into the silence of the cave. Tim could have sworn that the light flickered around them and the shadows danced along the stone walls. While they hid their anger and pain with laughter, it was in dark humor.

Neither Dick, nor Jason, nor Tim were proud of some of the decisions they had made; nonetheless, they had all made them in the belief that they were the right call in the moment. The deeper into the night it became, the more the twilight looked like the light; that was to say that sometimes morally gray decisions felt right when the other option was the black.

Maybe Bruce’s strict adherence to a no-kill policy was correct, maybe it was not. Tim never believed himself to be a good man, just a man doing his best.

What gave Tim the right to make the decisions he made? Realistically nothing and no one. Tim had to live with them all on his own, much the way Dick likely did.

“Thank you for trusting me,” Tim told him.

Dick then gave a large yawn, showcasing how fucking late it was, and they weren’t even on patrol.

“Get some rest,” Tim told him.

“You staying here tonight?” Dick asked.

“Nah,” Tim responded, “I’m going home.”

Dick nodded at him. “Ride safe. I love you baby bird.”

Tim had not been raised in a family that said I love you often. The phrase generally took Tim’s breath away. Regardless, Dick gave love earnestly and truly. Tonight felt like a moment between them they had not had for a very long time.

When Tim was younger, his age created a younger-brother-older-brother dynamic where Tim shared to Dick, but Dick shielded Tim. When Tim had grown up, he had resented Dick’s decisions following Bruce’s time in the timestream. That had strained their relationship for many years. Now, they were both adults with their own slew of mistakes.

Despite the absolute fucked-up tragedy of what Dick had shared with Tim tonight, Tim was grateful that Dick had chosen to share it with him.

And that he trusted Tim to get the pardon passed both in the US and with the UN.

Tim would not let him down.

“Love you too Dick.”

Dick sauntered up the stairs. For a moment, Tim contemplated crashing at the manner and driving into the city in the morning. Tim grimaced thinking about the traffic going over the bridge. He would have to get up earlier.

He heaved himself up out of the chair and over to his bike. As he started riding, curiosity overcame him about something else that had been nagging at his brain.

Tim, ever the stalker, retrieved the audio from Batman’s cowl after Tim had left. Tim wanted to know what Bruce was telling Superman about Danny and Phantom. Tim fast forwarded through the audio of everyone leaving.

Tim’s thoughts swirled about the night.

“You are absurdly lucky,” Clark’s voice was clear over the comms. Tim assumed he was referencing B’s gamble with grabbing Danny, “Tonight could have gone much differently. How did you know Phantom would react the way that he did?”

“Honestly,” Bruce sounded tired, “I did not. But what other choice did we have? Beg at his feet for the remittance of the planet. He was flexing his power. I was testing the limitations of it.”

“What do you think of all of this? My brain is spinning,” Clark said, “My parents were good God-fearing people. I feel unsettled.”

There was silence over the comm. Tim imagined Bruce’s thousand-yard stare. “I do not know, truly, but I think that I prefer indifference and lack of interference to benevolence.”

“Why?”

“Benevolence is based off a moral system. Morality is subjective. Did you know that more of my children are gay than straight? In quite a few moral frameworks, they would deserve hell,” Bruce’s tone was wry and dry as he continued, “I would hate to have to storm hell.”

Tim could hear Clark’s scoff. “So what? You don’t find it horrifying in the lack of design? What are we fighting for? My planet and people are dead. Where is that justice in that?”

“You. You are the justice,” Bruce said, almost too low for the comms to pick up.

Superman stayed silent.

“I fear for Tim,” Bruce admitted.

“Why?”

“He is already entwined with Danny Nightengale and I am not sure where Danny ends, and Phantom begins.”

“You think they are one in the same?”

“Not in the literal sense. I believe that Danny Nightengale has a dangerous moral sway on the most powerful being in existence. That makes him dangerous.” Tim swallowed hard at Bruce’s words. He was not wrong.

“To what end? Ours or his?” Superman asked.

Bruce didn’t respond to the question. Instead, he posed, “I believe that Phantom chooses to not interfere. It’s a conscious decision.”

“You think that the self-proclaimed most powerful being in existence just chooses to standby.”

“I think he is young,” Bruce said definitively, “He chooses to appear that he is in his twenties. I’m inclined to believe that it is more true that false.”

“You can’t see children in everyone, Bruce.” Tim swallowed hard. He hadn’t really considered Phantom’s age. Maybe because Tim was young, he allowed his bias to overlook the reason behind Phantom choosing a young appearance.

“Danny admitted as such,” Bruce pointed out, “that Phantom was once human. The conclusion to draw is that they knew each other prior to Phantom’s death.”

“Christ. You would fatherly imprint on the most powerful being in existence.”

Tim groaned. B would fucking do that. Bruce was quiet on the comm. He then sighed, “I’ll let you know how tomorrow goes.”

“Be safe,” Superman ordered, “You’re not invulnerable.”

“I know all too well.”

The conversation shifted to other matters, namely what they were going to do about Hal Jordon. Tim switched off the comm recording and rode the rest of the way in silence. Despite the feelings of exhaustion that had overwhelmed him earlier, the prospect of going to bed now felt far away.

The streets of Gotham loomed over him as he sped through the concrete maze. Gargoyles were lit against a looming moon, and the air nipped at the exposed skin between his jacket and helmet.

Dick’s grim smile from earlier was burned into his memory.

Danny’s sneaking glances at Phantom, alien in their meaning, kept cycling through his mind.

The stress – and extreme importance – of the Code of Conduct meeting weighed heavy on his body.

Tim felt the itch of anxiety deep in his bones by the time that he parked his bike. He rode up to his apartment in his private elevator suddenly feeling the need to do something. As he showered, he resisted the urge to patch into the comms and check in on Damian, Cass, and Jason who were holding down Gotham for the evening.

For a moment, Tim considered going for a run.

Then, before Tim could stop himself, Tim flicked through his phone and clicked on Danny’s contact. Danny answered before Tim could second guess himself.

-----

As soon as Danny had stepped through the portal, he evaporated his non-human form. Phantom disappeared into the green haze as his mind accommodated and elasticated to the change. He stepped out next to Wayne manor and his waiting bike.

Danny kicked onto it and rode back to his apartment. He went through the motions of getting ready for bed. His human body felt exhausted. It had been a long evening.

Despite the… chaos of the beginning of the meeting, it had been fruitful. Bruce Wayne’s sharp mind had caught Danny as if he had used live fish bait. Everything he said or didn’t seemed to give away his secrets.

Hopefully, that same instinct would be in full display with Anubis the next day.

As soon as Danny’s head it his pillow, he crashed out, his mind shifting to his other active forms.

What could have been moments or hours later, a his phone buzzed next to his head. He blearily reached out to silence his alarm before realizing that it was a phone call.

Tim.

“Hello,” he answered, his voice still heavy from sleep, “it’s late. Are you okay?” Danny’s mind started to come up with images of Tim hurt in his costume and suddenly he felt very awake. “What’s wrong?” he breathed out.

“Nothing,” Tim answered quickly and frantically, “Sorry for the call... You're right, it's late.” Tim sounded guilty and like he was regretting the call.

“No, don't hang up,” Danny quickly recovered, “I'm awake now.”

“Sorry.”

“I hardly sleep anyways,” Danny told Tim truthfully. Then, he thought of: “Are we alone on this line?”

Tim paused on the other end. Danny wished he could see his face. Danny had gotten used to relying on feeling the emotions of the people around him. Tim finally told him, “…yes.”

A smirk lit across his lips. Danny got the feeling that Tim was not supposed to be contacting him alone anymore. “I am going to choose to believe you.”

“Thank you, I guess,” Tim said.

“Not that I don’t apricate the call, but why are you calling?”

Tim gave a breathy sigh on the other end of the line, “Are you okay? I know Phantom is unbelievably powerful, but if you need help, I promise that I will do everything in my power to help.”

“What?” Danny blinked rapidly, confused.

“… it’s just, he looks exactly like you. And you’re clearly a point of focus for him.”

Danny sat up in bed, stunned. He didn’t know how to respond. Of all the interpretations of his relationship with, well, himself, this seemed absurd. At the same time, Danny could put all the pieces together that made Tim come to those conclusions.

At the same time, Danny felt something settle deep inside of him. Tim was willing to go to bat for him against the most powerful being in the universe, and he meant it. If Danny could swoon like a eighteenth century romance lead, he would have.

Instead, he said, amused, “You don’t need to worry about me baby, I can take care of myself.”

“I know,” Tim said quietly, “But I am offering.”

“That’s really sweet,” Danny pointed out, “However, Phantom is not a threat to me, nor you,” Danny tacked on.

“Okay,” Tim agreed, but Danny could tell by his tone of voice that he wasn’t sold on the answer. There wasn’t much Danny could say that would convince him otherwise at this time.

There was silence between them, which Tim broke. “I’m sorry about earlier today with Bruce um…” Tim hesitated on finishing the sentience.

“Holding some kind of knife to my throat?” Danny asked, amused.

“Yeah, that,” Tim said sourly.

“That’s fine,” Danny dismissed. “I knew he wouldn’t hurt me.”

Tim let out a sharp breath at the other end of the line. Danny ached to look at his face. He laid back into the bed, his fluffy pillows accepting his head. Danny wanted Tim back in his bed, pretty and earnest like the last time.

“Why’s that?” Tim asked softly.

“Because you didn't seem concerned,” Danny answered honestly.

“…that's awful trusting of you.”

Probably. Danny, however, could afford to be trusting regarding his life. Death didn’t hold him after all. Not that Tim knew that.

“I don’t think that trust is misplaced. You are a hero.”

“We barely know each other,” Tim pointed out.

“I would like to get to know you better,” Danny told him honestly.

“Against my best judgement, I do too.”

There was something fragile about this moment. Danny’s fan pushed the air around the room, and the silence of their respective bedrooms stood as their witness. Danny wanted to call Clockwork and pause time. Each moment with Tim felt like sand slipping through his hands.

It wouldn’t be long until the brilliant man realized that Danny was Phantom and it would be all over.

Danny swallowed hard and forced himself to be present for the conversation.

“What's your favorite color?” he asked, and then continued, “... and don't say Red.”

Tim gave a mock gasp. “But it's in my hero name,” he protested.  

“Exactly!” Danny exclaimed, “You have to choose another color.”

There was a pause again. Danny could imagine Tim’s face, scrunched up in thought. Finally the man joked, “Black. Like my soul.”

Danny scoffed at that, “Hardly, your soul is a beautiful deep teal blue that is almost a reflection of your eyes. It reminds me of the clearest waters off the coast of Thailand, typically calm, but able to drown you in an instant.”

Danny remembered the months he had spent in Thailand training in Muy Thai fondly. He had spent one memorable weekend fishing the Gulf of Thailand on a small vessel with some locals. They had taken their bounty back to a local village where they had fried up the fish Pla thot style.

Danny got the sudden urge to steal Tim away, take him to a far away country or universe and indulge in good food over an open fire. He wanted to steal kisses late into the night and forget about Anubis and Clockwork and all of his responsibilities.

“I can't tell if you're joking,” Tim told him after a moment.

Danny hummed, “I'm not. I told you I can see soul signatures.”

“Okay. Right,” Tim agreed, slightly uneasy sounding. Danny wasn’t sure if it was that Danny was able to see Tim’s soul or the way he described it. Regardless, Time continued, “What's your favorite color then?”

Danny got the urge to tease. “At the moment, a beautiful deep teal color like the waters of the Gulf of Thailand.”

Tim groaned in frustration. “Jesus Christ are you always this charming?” he muttered.

Danny felt the smile creep onto his face. “Only with you baby.”

“Why?” Tim suddenly said.

“What?” Danny responded confused. Why what?

“Why are you charming with me? You seemed unimpressed with the rest of the JLA today.”

Danny bit his lip. “It's complicated. The ghost problem was a lot of responsibility for me as a kid. I resented that the justice League never stepped in.”

“I'm sorry,” Tim muttered.  

“What on earth do you have to be sorry about? You were even more of a kid than me at the time,” Danny pointed out.

“Still, I was Robin at the time and led the Young Justice. Maybe if I had kept better track of Lazarus water activity across the United States, we could have caught it. Actually, we should probably do something to track ectoplasmic activity. Do you know how to track it? Is there some sort of residual or signature?”

Tim spoke in a frantic rush, and Danny could practically hear his brain spinning a mile a minute.

“Birdie, Tim, baby, stop. It's okay,” Danny told him.

There was a beat of silence at the other end of the line. Tim mumbled, “I'm sorry.”

“Ancients,” Danny groaned, “Do you always feel this responsible for everything in your life?”

“Historically, yes,” Tim told him frankly.

Danny understood the impulse to apologize for everything, even if it wasn’t your fault. Danny shared the experience of a fucked-up childhood with Tim. Despite both of them clearly being outwardly confident, competent, and accomplished, that urge to take on everyone and everything’s failures never quite went away.

“What happened to me isn't your fault,” Danny told Tim resolutely.

“You spent two years living in the realm of the dead. You barely consider yourself alive,” Tim pointed out, factually.

His lack of moral association with Danny’s almost-dead status gave Danny a sliver of hope. Maybe Tim wouldn’t freak out when all of his secrets came tumbling out.

“Honestly I am shocked by your lack of reaction to that information.”

Tim made a hmm sound. He said, “I have a lot of unusual friends. Plus, one of my brothers died and stayed dead for six months before coming back to life.”

“I have questions… So many questions.”

Danny knew that Jason was likely the brother than Tim was referring too – unless Tim had another brother that had come back to life. Danny hadn’t bothered to really investigate it, but he was curious about it. Escaping death was not a knew phenomenon. Take Constantine as an example.

Danny didn’t really care enough to track down the onies and twoies that tried to flee Death. It came for everyone and everything eventually.

“I would have to get Bruce and my brother’s permission to loop you in on that,” Tim informed him.

“Fair enough,” Danny agreed easily, “Anyways, there are only two people I blame for what happened to me. One of which no longer exists and the other is above reproach.”

“You blame Phantom?” Tim incorrectly guessed.

“No, he's a victim too,” Danny told him honestly. “Pariah Dark was the former King of the Infinite Realms.”

Tim gasped, “You mentioned his name tonight. Phantom gained the title by right of conquest, and you said that happened when you were fifteen. Phantom has only been King for ten years,” Tim quickly surmised.

Clever man.

“Yes.”

“The other?”

“The Ancient of Time, Clockwork, is a meddling bastard,” Danny told him, unable to keep the bitter sound out of the sentence.  

“… is he a threat?”

“No,” Danny shook his head, even though he knew Tim couldn’t see it. “Most of the Ancients, are, well, out of touch maybe would be a way to describe it. That much power isn't good for a being.”

Power. The word slipped off his tongue like a partially sour lemon. Danny wanted to take it out of his mouth and never taste it again.

“It’s easy to lose sight of how individual pieces fit together when you are looking at a whole puzzle,” Tim said, matter of fact.

“Are you quoting something?” Danny asked.

Tim laughed, “No. Just personal experience.”

Because Tim had power. Not in the way that Danny did, by some sort of fated divine right. No, Tim commanded fiscal power. Tim controlled hundreds of thousands of people’s livelihoods and made decisions that impacted the global economy.

“How do you handle the responsibility of Wayne Enterprises? Without letting it get to your head? How do you keep making sure that the pieces fit together?” Danny asked back to the metaphor.

Tim took a couple of slow breaths, and Danny let him gather his thoughts. Finally, Tim answered, “I hired the right people that I trust, but are also willing to argue with me. To the right end of course. You want people who will argue until the moment you say your decision is final and they carry it out to the best of their abilities. I’m lucky that Bruce and Lucius did a lot of the heavy lifting with staffing the right people.”

Danny didn’t know who Lucius was, but assumed it was someone Tim worked with.

Tim continued, “I try to spend time with every level of my staff. It’s hard. Balancing what’s good for the business and what is good for my people takes some juggling. I’ve struggled and failed a lot.”

Danny swallowed hard. It was a lot to think about. Danny wished he could speak honestly with Tim about his struggles with the throne.

Instead, Danny sarcastically quoted, “A crown is merely a hat that lets the rain in.”

Tim huffed a laugh on the other end of the line. “Now you are quoting something.”

“Fredrick the Great, allegedly. Stuck with me from an undergrad history class.”

Tim laughed, soft and sweet. “I couldn’t tell you who that is.”

“Me neither, honestly.”

“You probably should know if you’re quoting it,” Tim teased.

Danny smiled and stared up at his celling. He had the urge to talk to Tim until the sun rose. To ask him to come over for sweet kisses and teasing conversation. Instead, Danny told him, “You should go to sleep. Don’t you have work in a few hours?”

“Yeah,” Tim agreed softly, “It feels like the longer I stay up the more I can avoid all the responsibilities I have in life.”

Danny swallowed hard, suppressing desire to talk Tim into pulling an all nighter on the phone with him. Danny had the benefit of ghostly biology. Tim, however, probably really needed his rest. Especially when the man was going out on the streets and fighting crime.

Lack of sleep dulled reaction time. Lack of reaction time killed. Danny didn’t know what he would do if Tim died. He tried not to think about it at the moment.

“I would love to talk to you all night, but baby, we should sleep,” Danny told him gently, “I would say get your beauty rest but if you were any prettier, I would spontaneously combust every time you walked into the room.”

Danny could imagine the soft blush that was likely creeping up Tim’s face.

“You're one to talk,” the other man huffed.  

Danny smiled and made a content noise.

“Goodnight Danny Nightengale-Masters-Fenton.”

Danny rolled his eyes, “Goodnight Tim Drake-Wayne. Sleep well my birdie.”

“Sleep well,” Tim said softly. It took everything in Danny to end the phone call.

Chapter Text

There was a metaphor for problems and responsibilities called glass balls and rubber balls.

It wasn’t always possible for Tim to be able to accomplish all the tasks that Tim had in a day or week. There was a lot of noise in life. Tim could always be doing something more, something additional. If everything has priority in life, then nothing would have priority.

So, determining what tasks were rubber balls – ones that could bounce and wouldn’t break when dropped – and which ones were glass balls – would shatter and get glass everywhere – was vital to racking and stacking priorities. That was a judgement call, of course. Tim had to determine what Tim thought was important.

Even then, sometimes Tim juggled too many glass balls. 

Then, Tim had to figure out a way to win. One of those ways was passing off a glass ball, so that Tim had less to juggle.

Tim woke up on Wednesday morning and realized that he needed backup at the JLA meeting that evening. His own schedule was too packed for him to review all the changes to the Code. Tim also felt exhausted.

Staying up late talking to Danny had been good for him emotionally, but physically the extra early morning hit him like a freight train. The meeting with the attorneys was set for 0700, and dragging himself out of bed was hell.

Tim texted Rachel. Please have more than donuts for me this morning. Thank you.

Tim laid in bed for a moment, contemplating quitting life and running away to some place like the Swiss Alps. He could retire today, hang up the suit, and never have to worry about anything ever again in his life. Instead, Tim dragged his ass out of bed and into a short workout. He played his rock music ear-bleeding loud in order to motivate himself.

He set up the filming equipment for the social media team, irritated. Why did he agree to that again?

As Tim worked out, his thoughts shifted to the evening. Taking on the entire Justice League, alone, as Tim Drake-Wayne sounded awful. Especially with Batman indisposed in the Realms with Phantom.

Tim’s first thought on passing off a glass ball was Dick. Dick was a fantastic tactician and slogged through years of paperwork on the police force. However, he would be attending the meeting as Nightwing, so that option was out.

Tim threw the idea of Jason out immediately. Beyond the fact that Tim wouldn’t be able to explain his identity, Jason would spend the entire time being a shithead.

Cass would stand in the corner and intimidate the League but otherwise would be counterproductive. Steph’s presence would be unexplainable, but otherwise not the worst option with her background as a paralegal.  

Then it clicked. Damian would be perfect. His youngest brother was analytical, capable, and wouldn’t back down from the JLA. It would also be good training for Damian to maintain his civilian identity in front of the other heroes.

Plus, Tim thought, he could trust Damian to go through the Code with a fine-tooth comb.

After Tim finished his workout, he reached for his phone and sent Damian the message through their secure app: Would you like to come with me to the JL meeting tonight? As Damian Wayne.

Tim was not surprised when Damian responded immediately. Are you bribing me?

Tim snorted at Damian’s paranoia. While their relationship had significantly improved, Damian still didn’t trust easily. Tim knew that Damian apricated how direct Tim communicated. Tim could imagine the way Damian was squinting at his phone, trying to decipher Tim’s intentions.

Tim messaged back: Not a bribe. I thought you would enjoy it.

Damian instantly responded: Drake, you know I would enjoy it. Hence why I’m suspicious. You don’t do anything without a reason. I will not agree to this unless you tell me why.

Tim rolled his eyes at the little demon. I am busy and don’t have time to review the updates to the Code prior to the meeting. I need a second set of eyes. I trust you to be that.

Tim could imagine the way that Damian would swallow, face impassive at the compliment. Damians eyes flickered when he felt embarrassed, and he would hide it with a scathing response. Tim readied himself for the brattish response.

Tim took a short shower, and compilated his outfit. He had no patience for pomp today and settled for a slick light gray summer suit, white t-shirt, and sneakers. Fuck it, the Justice League already saw him as childish, might as well be comfortable.  

Damain responded as Tim was getting ready. Tim felt smug knowing that the brat likely had taken a moment to compose his response.

Damian’s reply flashed on his screen: I imagine you deemed me more trustworthy than the alternatives. Understood. Send me the last two versions and I will make a comparative analysis.

Actually, it would be even more helpful to have Damian at the morning meeting at WE with the attorneys.

Tim called Bruce. The phone rang three times before he picked up.

“Report,” Bruce said, his voice slightly rough. Tim had likely woken him up.

Tim rolled his eyes. 

“Good morning,” Tim said, brightly, “Not every call is an emergency.”

“Tim, it’s not even six in the morning. If it’s not an emergency, why did you call?” Bruce had been out last night as Batman after they had returned from the Watchtower. He had probably closed his eyes later than Tim. To him, it was the middle of his sleeping hours.

“I would like permission to take Damian out of school today,” Tim told him.

There was a beat at the other end of the line as if Bruce was trying to comprehend Tim’s request. Finally, Bruce responded sounding tired, “Why?”

“I need assistance with the Code updates. I won’t have time today to do an in-depth review after my meeting with the attorneys this morning. Damian can prep for the JLA meeting today while I handle WE matters. I think it would be a good experience for him from a business perspective,” Tim told Bruce, voice direct.

Bruce hummed on the other end of the line. Tim waited, allowing his father time to think it through. Finally, Bruce said, “School is important.”

Tim didn’t respond that he had dropped out and was doing just fine. Bruce was trying his best to be a responsible father to Damian.

“Damian’s grades are perfect,” Tim pointed out, “And he is by far the most responsible of us regarding his school attendance. I think that this learning opportunity would benefit him more than a day of sitting in classes.”

“Have you discussed this with your brother?” Bruce asked.

“He agreed to attend the meeting tonight with me. I wanted to clear it with you first before I offered to take him out of school for the day.”

Tim glanced down at his watch. He would need to head out soon.

“Fine,” Bruce agreed, “I will call the school and let Alfred know to drop Damian off at WE.”

“The meeting with the attorneys starts at seven. If Alfred can have him there by six fifty, I will meet him down in the lobby,” Tim told Bruce.

Bruce grunted in response again. Tim took that as dismissal that the conversation was complete.

“Alright,” Tim said, “I need to finish getting ready. I’ll message Damian, and Dad?”

Bruce made a soft sound. Tim liked to weaponize his usage of the word.

“Be safe today, please.”

Bruce made a hmn noise again in affirmative. Tim moved to click off the call.

“Tim,” Bruce said stopping him.

“Yes?”

“I’ll glad you two are getting along.”

Tim rolled his eyes. All the brothers had been getting along for years now. They were all siblings, legally sure, but it was more than that. There was a certain bond that someone developed with people they fought side by side with. Tim constantly trusted his siblings to have his back. Tim had put his life in his siblings’ hands on a regular basis. Tim bled for them.

Tim would die for his brothers.

Tim would kill for this brothers.

Tim’s eyes slid to his computer, thinking about that file. The conversation with Dick from the night before flashed in Tim’s mind. Tim knew he was at crossroads and quickly running out of time.

“B,” Tim told him exasperated, “We have been getting along for a long time. We’re not little kids anymore.” Maybe with the exception of Damian, although his seventeenth birthday was coming around the corner in December.

“I know,” Bruce said, with far too much emotion conveyed in the two words than should have been possible. Then, Bruce’s tone changed, “Have a good day Tim.”

“Thanks B,” Tim said, ending the call.

Tim then clicked back onto the messaging app to respond to Damian. Slight change of plans. B agreed to let me take you out of school for the day. You’ll attend the meeting I have with the JLA attorneys this morning and can spend the day at WE with me before the JLA meeting.

Damian’s response came back almost instantly. Roger.

The ride was short to work. His thoughts drifted to Dick and Renegade. Deathstroke sounded like he was still an active threat to Dick. Despite Dick’s assurance that he had it taken care of, Tim felt sick.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Dick’s capabilities – more that he didn’t trust Dick to be honest with him.

Tim remembered when he was fifteen, the same age that Dick had been kidnapped at; young, impertinent, and arrogant.

Tim had gone through a period of simmering anger when he was fifteen. Both of his parents had died. It had taken a fake uncle for Bruce to come in and adopt him. When Damian had come along and Bruce had immediately accepted another child, Tim had felt bitter.

While Tim and Jason’s were arguably closer now than anyone else in the family back then Jason had just attempted to murder him.

Bruce had tried to get Jason back into the family regardless.

Then Damian tried to kill Tim. Not once, not even twice, but three separate occasions. Damian had taken issue with Tim’s place at Batman’s side. Tim had grown tremendously into Robin – he had finally started to feel like he was worth something with Young Justice.

Damian had showed up as a fucked up nine-year-old. Tim didn’t blame him now – even then Tim didn’t really blame the child. However, it had cut to the core of Tim’s abandonment issues. Bruce and Alfred had genuinely tried to discipline the child, but they had been walking a fine line.

They were dealing with two children from abusive households who fundamentally triggered the core of their insecurities and fears. Tim wished he had been older when Damian had shown up so he could have given his murderous baby brother more hugs.

Damian’s background and Jason’s reappearance also reinforced Bruce’s no-killing stance to an extreme. Tim, personally, felt like Bruce over-reacted and over-corrected in response to his children.

Regardless, Tim had gone through a rebellious down-cycle one week that led to him tracking and researching every single individual who had ever been seriously hospitalized by Batman and cross referenced them against coroner and death records. Tim had found the answer he was looking for then realized what a fucking burden that was.

While, yes, none of the men and women that Batman landed in the hospital passed away during their initial hospital stay, many later passed away. Some of it was correlation and not causation. They were high risk individuals after all, involved in crime and additive substance abuse.

So, Tim filtered out those names. Tim was left with four individuals.

Richard Hill, twenty-three. TBI upon admittance to the hospital. Displayed erratic behavior after his hospital visit. It was hard to tell without doing a complete investigation into the young man’s life if that had been due to early adult onset of a mental disorder or consequences of a TBI. Regardless, the young man had killed himself three months after leaving the hospital. TBIs and suicides were scientifically linked.

Peter Jones, forty-three, had subsequently discharged himself from the hospital after being admitted against the doctors and staff’s orders. He had a gash on his leg from a batarang. His body was found three weeks later. He had perished from sepsis.

Andrea Brick was thirty-six, a drug runner for Black Mask. Also, a severe alcoholic. She had a heart attack while Batman was apprehending her and a shipment. Tim had even been on that mission. Medics had treated her and taken her to higher care. Tim hadn’t even followed up. She didn’t die that night, but two months later due to heart-related complications.

Jerry Peterson, fifty-four, broke his ankle being taken down by Bruce. Two weeks later doctors had to do corrective surgery. During the procedure, he passed away due to complications with the anesthesia.   

Tim didn’t know what the fuck to do with that information. Batman hadn’t killed them. He also hadn’t not killed them.

Tim had told no one about his research; not Jason, not Alfred, and certainly not Bruce. It would utterly destroy Bruce. Somehow, Tim had the most devastating information on the Batman and decided that it would never leave his laptop. 

Tim had been so tempted to tell Jason. In some ways, his older brother deserved the information. At the same time, God, he could never fucking tell Jason.

Now, with the information he knew now about Dick, Tim wondered if maybe he should tell Dick. Did his siblings have the right to know this? Was it Bruce’s to share or Tim’s?

Maybe Bruce knew about some of these, maybe he didn’t. Tim sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up to the man.

Over the years, Tim had come back to that list and updated it. Tim also expanded it to include anyone permanently disabled from their vigilante work. Tim had a very private, secretive fund in the Wayne Foundation that paid caretakers for these individuals under the guise of good Samaritan outreach.

Bruce didn’t know about the fund.

Even his siblings didn’t know about that fund.

At the time, Tim sickeningly realized that Tim himself had a name. Justin Niel, thirty-three, died four days after Tim had struck him in the stomach with his bō staff due to complications with internal bleeding that hadn’t been caught in his initial hospital stay.

Tim had thrown his guts up that evening and spent a week refusing to patrol, citing illness.

So yeah, Tim’s opinion on Bruce’s no-kill rule was complicated.

Tim had killed Justin Niel. That man deserved Tim’s acknowledgement. Tim sometimes visited Niel’s gravestone in his more nihilistic self-destructive spirals.

When Tim was seventeen and making the decision to blow up the LoA bases across the globe – killing thousands in the process – there was a sick part of him that was grateful that he already had a death under his belt. The first one was the hardest, after all.

Tim was lying. It didn’t make it easier. When Ra’s al-Ghul had sent Tim the roster of the dead, Tim had spent days pouring over it. He tracked down family members and set up donations for dependents and coordinated jobs for abandoned spouses.

Tim could never take away his decisions, but nor did he regret them.

Tim knew Dick well enough to know that the names of Renegade’s kills over the last fifteen-years after escaping Slade Wilson were probably very special individuals.

Being a hero was not a bloodless sport. It was naive of them to ever believe it could have been.[1]

Then again, Dick had started at nine; Jason at twelve; Tim at eleven; and Damian and Cass at birth. Steph and Duke were objectively the oldest to put on a costume, but even they had still been underage.

Tim’s mental ruminations were cut short as he pulled into his parking spot. He had a separate area that he and Bruce parked only accessible a combination of code and fob. There was also a secret exit to the street level that was hidden in case Tim ever needed to quickly change into his vigilante uniform.  

Tim glanced down at his watch. He had a few minutes before Damian would arrive. Normally, he would head straight up to his office, but he was craving more caffeine.

Tim texted Rachel: Damian is joining the Wayne Foundation meeting this morning. I will be waiting for him down in the lobby. If the attorneys arrive early, let them know I will be with them shortly.

Rachel texted back instantly: Will do. And then a seconds later send a second text. Your younger brother?

Tim responded with a simple: Yes.

Tim slid his key card through a series of doors and exited into the Wayne Enterprises lobby. It had been a surprising amount of time since the last time he had stepped foot in the lobby. Usually, he used the private elevator to go straight up to his office.

His presence was immediately noticed.

“Good morning, Sir,” one man said, and Tim nodded at him and returned the greeting.

“Good morning, Mr. Wayne.”

“Mr. Wayne, it’s good seeing you.”

“Mr. Drake–Wayne –”

“Good Moring –”

“Mr. Drake –”

Tim plastered a brilliant smile on his face as he greeted everyone he passed. He was grateful that it was still early and most of his employees hadn’t shown up yet. The lobby of his building had two security checkpoints, one at the entrance from the parking garage and one at the front lobby entrance. There was a nice waiting area that the public could access that had a small gift shop and a consumer retail store of WE products. 

RFID cards were used to track employee location, activity, and log-in portals. They allowed for remote access to certain work materials as well. It wasn’t a perfect system, but it added a layer of security.

There were a few cafes and lunch spots throughout the building. The coffee stop in the lobby was certainly one of the busier ones.   

“Sir, you can cut ahead. I’m sure you have places to be,” a woman, in her late twenties, told him when he got in line. She was pretty, dressed professionally but not ostentatiously. The color perimeter on her ID-card indicated she worked in operations.

“I can wait,” Tim responded with a smile.

Her eyes kept on flickering towards him, as she waited in line. Her gaze was sharp and calculating.

Tim internally sighed and put on his best polite smile and asked, “Operations?”

“Uh, yes sir,” she said.

“Please don’t call me Sir, I’m younger than you.”

“Habit,” she answered easily, “I do embarkation logistics for Europe, but I’ve been helping out with rerouting and cleaning up some of the mess in the IndoPacific.” Tim resisted the urge to grimace. Had he only been notified about the issues with the factory on Monday?

The week was going by glacially slow.

“I’m sure Lucius has you working overtime,” Tim said easily, “Don’t let him drive you into the ground. It’ll buff.”

She cocked her head, “You don’t seem too concerned.” Tim took an assessment of the women. She was fit, held her shoulders back, and didn’t balk to power.

“No one died,” Tim answered honestly, “Fromer Navy? Army?”

“Navy, how did you know?”

Tim didn’t answer. “How do you like Gotham?”

She gave a smile as if she saw him dodging the questions. “It’s interesting…I’ve been here for three years now. I’ve never worked in an American city with a MOPP level before.”

Tim snorted. “Thankfully it’s been two years since the last gas attack.”

“Only two years,” she gasped sarcastically. The person in front of her moved and she walked up to the register, effectively ending their conversation. “Maddison Vice,” she reached out her hand to shake, “Good meeting you, Sir.”

“Nice meeting you as well, Ms. Vice,” Tim shook her hand.

Tim waited, fiddling on his phone. The poor barista went wide-eyed when he stepped up to order. He got himself a vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso and a caramel cappuccino for Damian. He had barely received his coffee order when his younger brother entered the lobby.

Damain had on a dark blue suit, a black button-up, and a sleek black leather backpack. It was a decent choice for the day.

Tim handed over the cappuccino with little fan fair.

“Much apricated Drake,” Damain told him,[2] “Is there a reason we are meeting here and not the private entrance?”

Tim looked at him amused, “I thought you’d apricate the public display.”

Damian’s eyes darted around the room. The employees snuck looks and discrete photos. Articles would run by the end of the day that Damian Wayne was being taken under the wing of Tim Drake-Wayne at Wayne Enterprises.

A smug smile spread across Damian’s face. Tim knew his little brother too well.

“Come along,” Tim told Damian, “Places to be and things to do.”

Damian rolled his eyes, but otherwise he didn’t comment.

Tim and Damian made the trek through a series of elevators and doors until they arrived at the c-suite. They arrived upstairs at exactly 0704, four minutes late to the meeting. Rachel and Tam were waiting for them.

Rachel eyes the coffees in Tim and Damian’s hands and sighed at the ones she was holding. Tim gave her a charming smile.

“I’ll drink that later if you want to put that in my office,” he told her. She rolled her eyes at him. Damain eyed her with suspicion. Tam stood by with her tablet in hand, clearly working. 

“You must be Damian,” Rachel said, brightly.

“You would be correct.” Damian did not ask for her name.

“The attorneys are waiting for you both,” she told them. “I have two tablets pulled up in the conference room with the changes they sent over. There are Danishes, donuts, and kolaches. Would you like me to order anything else?”

“That’ll be fine,” Tim waved his hand.

“Your meeting with Marketing is at 0900, so if possible, please hit that timeline,” Tam interjected.

Tim hummed in agreement and turned to walk towards the conference room. Damian trailed beside him. Tim could see Damian making discrete glances around the office space. The last time he had probably been up here was when Bruce had been acting-CEO.

Years-ago Damian had stopped making claims about being the only “blood son” and therefore taking over Wayne Enterprises. Tim had no idea if that meant that Damian had given up interest in the business or if it was a strategic decision.

That was probably something that Tim should discuss with Damian – the extent of his interest and what his plans were following college.

Tim may be a massive hypocrite for this as he had only been months older than Damian is currently when he took over WE, but he wasn’t letting Damian anywhere near the business until he had his college degree.

Lucius was getting older and closer to retiring. Tim needed people in his corner in the business.

With Jason possibly taking over some Wayne Foundation work when he was legally resurrected and the possibility of Damian taking over operations in the long-run, Tim might even be able to sleep at night. That was, however, years out from now.

Tim wondered if Bruce was setting up Nightwing as a possible Batman replacement for the JLA. Bruce still had at least a decade left in him, unless an injury took him out sooner.

Injuries were real possibilities for any of them.

If Tim played his cards right, he and his siblings could be a force to be reckoned with.  

Before stepping into the conference room, Tim turned to Damian, “I want you to listen. Take notes of anything with ambiguous language, provides too much leeway for interpretation, or not enough.”

“Understood,” Damian responded.

Tim stepped into the conference room, completely at ease. The JLA attorneys Tim had contracted to write the Code of Conduct had offices in both New York City and Gotham. They normally worked on corporate policy but were excellent professionals.

Mr. Robert Silva, Esq. had practiced for thirty years, started in prosecution and moved to the private sector. He was brilliant, sharp, and consummate professional. He was partner to the firm.   

Dr. Kelsey Baily, Esq. was a younger woman in her early thirties; she had gotten her Doctorate of Philosophy of Law, focused on Rule of Law in emerging states. Tim had read her doctorial dissertation. Tim had insisted on her presence in writing the Code of Conduct.

Mr. Silva’s paralegal, an older woman named Angela Kingston, sat in with them.

“Robert, Kelsey, Angela, please meet my brother Damian Wayne. He will be sitting in on the meeting today. Damain, this is the legal team from Silva & Leads; Mr. Silva is one of the owners of the firm, Dr. Bailey is an expert on Rule of Law, and Angela is Mr. Silva’s paralegal.” Tim introduced.

Damain nodded sharply at the group and told them, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Dr. Baily gave a bright smile. “You can call me Kelsey. Interested in law, Damian?”

Damian paused, schooled his expression, and answered ambiguously, “I am interested in learning about all professions, the legal field included. Did you know that my father has a law degree?”

“I did not know that Mr. Wayne has a law degree,” Kelsey said, her voice surprised, “Tim, why haven’t you brought him in?”

“Ah,” Tim laughed amused, “Bruce’s degree is from Yale Law School two decades ago. I think he drank more than he studied. He never took the bar you see…” Tim trailed off, highly implying that Bruce had somehow paid his way into the degree.

Damain got a sour look on his face. Tim needed to work on that with him. Damian hated the Brucie Wayne persona with a burning passion; the idea of playing up incompetence for the press grated on the prideful child’s nerves.

What Damian didn’t realize was how much amusement Bruce got from his staged personality; Tim personally thought that Bruce was just bored and enjoyed stirring the pot.

“Understood,” Robert stepped in, “Although Mr. Wayne is always welcome here as a representative of the Wayne Foundation.” But not the legal profession was highly implied.

“Our Father cares a lot,” Tim responded, “But I think this might be too highbrow for him. Damian is actually here officially representing the Wayne Foundation with me today.”

“One teenage genius not enough for your family?” Kelsey teased.

“I’ve grown out of the position,” Tim deadpanned.

They took their seats at the conference table. It was October so the sun had started to rise slightly later in the day. The clear glass backdrop of Gotham looked haunting in the early morning sunrise light. The city smog gave the sunrise a hazy orange tint.

For a fleeting moment, Tim wished he had his camera with him. Maybe one of these days he will arrive early to work and use the rooftop for some shots.

Tim and Damian opened the tablets that were put in front of them. They had the most recent update to the Code. The Code of Conduct itself was hundreds of pages long, not including Appendixes A through G. Appendix A was simply the list of terms and definitions to minimize ambiguity in the code, or in some instances, generate ambiguity and broadening of scope and scale.

The meeting that evening with the JLA was focused on Appendix B, the Rules of Engagement, however, the Code itself had some updates and changes since the last meeting. They had effectively moved onto the appendixes despite there still being some grumbling around the main body of the Code.

While Batman may have a strict non-lethal vigilante policy, it was both short-sighted and unfair to apply it to the rest of the JLA. They had to create laws to govern when use of deadly force was authorized, least they willfully stick their head in the sand.  

Kelsey told them, “Appendix B has been sent over with the specified changes. We added non-human beings to the list of protected parties. Please take a moment to read it over.”

Silva & Leads wrote the ROE straightforward and short. The bolded type was designed to be packed into ROE cards.

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Appendix B

1. Nothing contained within Appendix B prevents signed parties to the Code of Conduct (hereinafter “parties”) from using necessary and proportional force to defend themselves.
2. The following rules apply at all times, during all operations on behalf of the Justice League of American (hereinafter “JLA”), during non-JLA vigilante[1] activity, and other activity that could be covered by this document.
3. Please reference Appendix D for all property damage rules and regulations. While not explicitly covered in this appendix, collateral damage should always be sought to be minimized.
4. The Rules of Engagement (hereinafter “ROE”) written below are prescriptive, but not comprehensive. Above all else, parties will conduct themselves with a reasonable standard of dignity and honor. Activities not covered herein but in contradiction to the reasonable standard of dignity and honor, will be considered a violation of the ROE and will face proportional legal repercussions.
5. All parties are subject to International Humanitarian Law (“IHL”) and the laws covering the operational location. This document does not supersede, invalidate, or replace those laws nor the legal repercussions of their violation.
6. A copy of the bolded type below will be carried on the parties during JLA missions, activities, and vigilante activities. The parties are expected to understand and implement the ROE and will be held to their application.

ROE Regulations

7. You may engage in hostile forces and individuals committing hostile acts or exhibiting hostile intent, however positive ID (“PID”) is required prior to engagement. PID is reasonable certainty that the object or person the parties intend to engage is a legitimate hostile actor. Once parties have PID, they may escalate force, up to and including deadly force, to eliminate the threat proportional to the hostile actions.
8. When engaging targets, escalation of force (“EOF”) must be used and employed. Use the minimum amount of force necessary to decisively eliminate the threat. If circumstances permit, use the following degrees of force when responding to hostile act or hostile intend:
   1. Use of voice command. Order hostiles to seize activity and submit themselves to the appropriate law enforcement body.
   2. Demonstrate any weapon or abilities and intent to utilize. If time permitted, demonstrate that the parties have weapons[2] and abilities that can harm the hostile.
   3. Use non-deadly compliance means first before resorting to other forms of violence. Use of violence must be proportional to threat. Deadly force is not permitted for hostile acts that are not covered in Paragraph 12. Parties abilities and powers will be weighed in accordance to their ability to subdue hostiles without use of deadly force. Parties’ choice to use deadly force when other means are available, such as weapons and powers, will be considered during investigations around deadly force encounters.
   4. Eliminate the threat to civilian life with as minimal collateral damage or harm. Deadly force encounters will be investigated in accordance with rules and regulations outlined in Section XVI of the Code of Conduct. This document will be utilized as a signed agreement during the course of that investigation.
9. Warning shots are not authorized except during EOF involving land vehicles, watercrafts, and airborne crafts. Warning shots are not to be used in civilian cities, civilian crowds, or when the terminal location of the warning shot is not fully observed. Any civilian injuries or death as a result of warning shots will be considered negligence and result in punitive legal action.
10. Force, deadly or otherwise, is not authorized against anyone who has surrendered or can no longer fight due to sickness or wounds. Surrendered or injured hostiles will be apprehended with no unnecessary harm.
11. Destruction of or use of violence against hospitals, mosques, shrines, schools, museums, monuments, historical or cultural sites is not permitted unless necessary to apprehend a hostile actor that is a current threat to civilian life.
12. Destruction of or use of violence against government infrastructure (public utilities, commercial communication facilities, damns, ect.), ways of travel (roads, tunnels, bridges, railways, ect.) and economic objects (commercial storage facilities, pipelines, ect.) is not permitted unless necessary to apprehend a hostile actor that is a current threat to civilian life and/or necessary for a global peacekeeping mission.
13. Use of deadly force is authorized in defense of the following categories, if deemed necessary:
    1. The lives of the parties.
    2. The lives of their allies including military partners and other armed actors working in a tandem mission.
    3. Civilian life.
    4. Detainee life.
    5. Lives of members of non-governmental organizations and international organizations and/or their property such as personnel equipment of the Red Cross, Red Crescent, and UN.
    6. To prevent serious bodily harm such as permanent disfigurement, chemical harm, and rape.
    7. Property that could be utilized for serious harm such as nuclear armaments.
    8. In protection of oil fields/pipelines, public utilities, hospitals, damns, and government buildings proportional to threat of the property.
    9. The lives of sentient non-humans allies of the parties.
    10. The lives of sentient non-human non-hostile actors.
14. Pursuit of hostile forces is authorized for the purpose of preventing the escape of a hostile actor or effecting the arrest of an individual suspected of a committing, or having committed a crime. The notion of proportionality of response will be applied. Parties are not permitted pursuit when the pursuit will endanger civilian life and property beyond the scope of the threat of the hostile. Non-authorized pursuit resulting in death, injury, or destruction of property will result in an investigation in accordance with Section XIII of the Code of Conduct.
15. All civilians and property will be treated with respect. Do not seize, destroy, or alter civilian property unless necessary for the protection of categories listed in Paragraph 12.
16. All hostile property will be turned over to proper authorities. Stealing and the taking of trophies will not be tolerated.
17. You may detain civilians if they interfere with missions, commit or about to commit a crime, or are on a list of wanted persons, or if necessary for security or self-defense. They must be handed over to the appropriate legal body within a reasonable timeframe.
    1. Interrogation will be conducted in accordance with Appendix C.
18. Report any and all suspected violations of the ROE contained herein in accordance with Section XIII of the Code of Conduct.
19. Report any and all suspected violations of the Law of War and IHL committed by the parties, their allies, or hostile forces. Notify proper authorities of the nation the offense occurred.

Effective Date

20. This ROE is effective the date that ratifying party approves the Code of Conduct of the JLA. Any ROE violations prior to that date are covered under the blanked pardon issued concurrently with the ratification. The method of changing the Code of Conduct is covered in section XXI of the Code of Conduct. Any and all changes Appendix A can be made through the agreement of the signed parties.
21. All parties must be signed onto the Code of Conduct within 180 days of the ratification to receive the pardon. They will be subject to any violations of the ROE during that 180 period from the effective date to the date of their signature.
22. Any party choosing not to sign the Code of Conduct will be held in accordance to the Law of War, IHL, and all laws pertaining to their jurisdiction. Their use of deadly force will be evaluated under those legal standards, and their vigilante activities are considered illegal and unsanctioned. The ROE contained herein will not apply to those individuals.
23. Any parties signing onto the Code of Conduct after the 180 day window will not receive the pardon, and the legal standard of the ROE will be effective the date of signature of the additional party.
24. Reference Section II of the Code of Conduct for whom constitutes as a signed party.

[1] Please reference Appendix A for relevant terms and definitions. Vigilante in the context of Appendix A is commentary on the legality of the parties' activities, but rather a historically accepted term for parties' activities.

[2] Please reference Appendix A for relevant terms and definitions. Weapons are being defined here in a broad and overarching manner and refers to any and all tools that can be used to cause harm including, but not limited to, firearms, bladed tools, bows, staffs, munitions, vehicles, ect.   

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Tim finished reading quickly as he had already looked over this page many times. Damian took longer. Tim noticed that Damian had pulled out a notebook and was diligently making notes.

Tim knew that Damian’s preference towards analog came from his childhood. The LoA were surprisingly technologically advanced, but – at the end of the day – Ra’s al-Ghul ascribed to traditionalist beliefs. Tim imagined that included preference towards paper over computers.

While Tim respected Damian’s choice, Tim abhorred physical copies. They led to messy offices and lost documents. The absolute monumental effort that it had taken Tim to transition WE into a paperless company had been worth it.

While there was always the threat of a cyber-attack or documents not getting backed up correctly, Tim didn’t have to pay people to maintain physical file systems or worry that the only copy of something when home with Mr. Whoever and never came back to the office because they were forgetful.

After a moment, Damian looked up, done with reading.

“Thoughts?” Kelsey asked.

“Regarding Paragraph 13, subsections i and j, do we have a definition of sentience in Appendix A?” Tim asked.

“Yes.” Mr. Silva pulled on his glasses. “Let me find it. Here: beings with cognitive interactive functioning characterized by feelings, pain, awareness, reasoning, and complex thought process.”

Tim hummed, “I feel like that should be built out more. It’s too ambiguous. I understand it’s in reference to alien lifeforms, but as it is written now, some earth born animals would fall under the definition.”

Damian muttered, “I’m not against that.”

“Authorization of deadly force in protection of an animal?” Tim asked, bemused.

Something flashed across Damian’s face as he realized what he had just said. Before Damian could stutter a response, Robert interjected, “We struggled to find a commonly accepted legal definition of sentience.”

“What is the exact language in the Meta Protection Act? Doesn’t that define sentience?”

“It’s the definition I just stated,” Robert answered, “But I agree, it’s too broad and overreaching in nature.”

“Also,” Tim added, “My understanding is that some alien lifeforms do not feel and process pain in the same way that humans do. Additionally, hive awareness has been observed in multiple alien species…”

Damian interjected, “Excuse me Mr. Silva.”

“You can call me Robert kid.” Tim could see Damian’s face slightly close off at being called kid. Damain was also a stickler for formality and preferred usage of last names and titles. The idea of calling a man who owned one of the most influential Legal Firms on the Eastern seaboard Robert probably raised Damian’s hackles.

“Robert,” Damian spoke, his mouth rolling over the word, “I dislike the moniker kid and would prefer not to be called it again.”

“My apologies,” Robert said, “My grandchildren are your age so it’s a habit of mine. Would you prefer Mr. Wayne.” Robert, ever the attorney, spoke with no inclination of his opinions on the sentence. He posed it as if he would respect Damian’s answer one way or another.

Robert probably dealt with far more irritating clients than a sixteen-year-old Damian Wayne anyways.

Tim could see Damian’s mind spinning at the answer. Damian’s eyes glanced towards Tim, but Tim refused to step in and answer for him.

“I’ll accept Damian,” his brother finally answered, “But routing back to my interruption, the Rules of Engagement only apply to Earth, correct?”

“Very well Damian, please let me know if that preference changes,” Robert responded easily. The words could easily have come off as condescending, but Robert had a way of saying them that convoyed the upmost of respect. “To answer your question, both yes and no. Technically, the ratifying party here is the United States government. However, your brother will be immediately moving to have them signed on by the United Nations. That is the reason it is written with vague language regarding the ratifying party.”

Robert motioned to the tablet.

“However,” Kelsey interjected, “this document would govern the JLA itself, not just the jurisdiction of the ratifying party. It’s designed mainly for application on Earth but nothing is stopping the JLA from applying the ROE to engagements off-planet. In fact, they should apply the Code of Conduct to all matters.”

“Understood, thank you,” Damian responded.

“You’re welcome.”

Tim glanced at the documents. He scrolled to Paragraph 8, subsection c.

“I would argue that the EOF is both too vague and too broad in reference to JLA members’ powers. It would be easy, for example, to argue that Superman never has justifiable use of deadly force with his powerset. On the other hand, some powers and abilities are less definable. Constantine, for example, is a magic user. He has access to a rolodex of spells. He probably knows a fair number of them. It would be easy to argue that he could use many different ones to accomplish a task, but it depends on his ability to remember and utilize certain spells. It’d be too easy to critique a decision just because he has the ability to do something. Performance and mental capabilities are a limiting factor of powersets.”

Kelsey nodded at him in response. She looked deep in thought. She nodded for a bit before responding, “We could go more in depth, but I don’t want to pigeon-hole. The main body of the code itself outlines the investigative process for deadly force encounters.”

Kelsey scrolled to that section of the code and handed the tablet over to Tim. Tim remembered that section. It outlined how the JLA conducted internal investigations.

“They might argue with me tonight over it,” Tim mused.

Kelsey gave a shark-like smile. “Let them.”

Tim remembered the thought about his musing on Batman and his accidental deaths that morning. “The use of the word choice in subsection c is very specific. I think that the sentence would flow better as: Parties use of deadly force when other means are available instead of parties’ choice to use. It eliminates ambiguity and the need to establish intent.”

“I would argue that the word choice protects against parties that hadn’t intended to use deadly force,” Robert pointed out.

“I would argue that it would be better to include intent of force and accidental use of deadly force as its own section instead of a single word. That would eliminate the need to use the word choice in subsection c,” Tim fired back.

Robert gave a large genuine laugh at Tim. “Kid,” he told Tim, “Are you sure you don’t want to come work for me?”

“I don’t think you could match WE’s benefit package.”

“Au contraire,” Robert responded, “I’ve seen WE’s fiscal disclosures and you pay yourself pennies. You might find that I could match the compensation package, especially when you considered that most of your family’s income to the Wayne Trust is not dependent on your position as CEO.”

“I would have to get a law degree,” Tim pointed out.

“Details,” Robert waved it off.

“Most of this document,” Damian said slowly, “Pertains to use of firearms. However, most of the JLA and vigilantes utilize powers or non-conventional weapons. Paragraph 9, for example, references warning shots. How would Superman’s laser vision, for example, fit? Would that be covered under “warning shot.” On the other hand, Green Arrow uses arrows, many of which are designed to not be deadly. Can he not utilize warning shots in a civilian environment, despite their lack of deadly force capabilities?”

“You’re right,” Robert told Damian, “This was adapted from a conventional force perspective, and the JLA is not a conventional force. Angela, can you make note that Paragraph 9 needs to be rewritten?”

The paralegal who had been silent during the meeting responded, “I have already highlighted it.”

Kelsey interjected, “We will add a subsection for use of, what should we call them, deadly powers? Hmm.”

Damian frowned and scrunched up his face in thought. “What about a classification system based off the deadly abilities of a certain power? For example, laser vision would be a Class I because it can burn through someone, but mind-reading would be a Class X because you cannot die from it?”

Kelsey nodded her head back and forth, “We would have to be careful how it’s written. It could be discriminatory under the Meta Protection Act.”

Damian blinked as if he didn’t consider that. “It’s not a moral declaration of the abilities, but prescriptive to what they are.”

“Intent is different than result,” Kelsey pointed out, “And this could easily result in a biased policy towards powered heroes. That being said, your suggestion is actually a rather good one. I wonder if the JLA already has such a classification system?”

They do. Tim would know. He wrote it. It wasn’t organized on how deadly the abilities were, but types of abilities. It could easily be adapted to Damain’s suggestion, however.   

For a second, Tim thought that Damian would argue that he was best friend with Jon and would never discriminate against people because of their abilities.   

The meeting continued as such, with them bouncing around ideas on how to shore up the ROE document. At the end, Tim walked the legal team to the c-suite for Rachel to escort the them out of the building.

Robert told them before leaving, “Well, Waynes, it’s always a pleasure working with you. Tim, unfortunately, I know I cannot steal your heart from WE, but Damian, keep us in mind if you ever decide to get a Juris Doctorate.”

Damian gave a pleased smile, “Will do.”

“Tam, let me get Damian set up in my office before I head to the Marketing meeting. What conference room is it in again?”

“I texted you the details,” Tam told him.

Damian followed Tim into his office. “I’m in meetings all morning. I’ll come check in on you between them. You can use my desk if you want. The couch is comfortable too. The bathroom is over there,” Tim waved towards a door in the right corner of his office.

Damian glanced around the office. Tim’s set up was a lot different than Bruce’s had been. Bruce had gone for a mahogany desk and heavy looking furniture. Tim had removed all the bookshelves and opted for a very open layout. His main desk had the ability to transition to a standing-desk and was a sleek black metal.

He had a whole stack of work tablets and multiple computers set up. He pulled up two of the tablets and went searching for the document folders he wanted Damian to look over.

“I have pulled up the folder containing all the documents and ledgers for Justice League funding out of the last year,” Tim handed the tablet over to Damian, “This document –” Tim pointed to one of them on the screen – “shows an aggregate of the funds that have been provided by different sources. You have the Wayne Foundation, Wayne Family Trust, government funding and grants, and revenue generated through merchandising and IPs. The last is being handled by a New York firm that liaisons with the Wayne Foundations. You can dig into each pot if you desire.”

Tim then handed Damian a second tablet, “Here I have pulled up the folder showing the total breakdown of costs for the JLA over the last year. This includes routine maintenance on the Watchtower, all vehicles and aircrafts and their maintenance, contracting support, legal fees, paid personnel wages and compensation packages, and medical bills. These documents in particular are interesting,” Tim clicked into the sub-folder, “This contains all the money spent on congressional lobbying and legal efforts for both the Code of Conduct.”

Tim clicked back to the spending folder. He motioned to a different sub-folder, “Here you will find the set of documents pertain to the PR firm we have on retainer in Washington, DC for the JLA public opinion.”

Tim set both tablets down on the desk. He told Damian, “I recommend you spend at least until I get back from my Marking meeting familiarizing yourself with JLA funding and spending.”

Damian gave him a flat look, “This information is not immediately pertinent to the discussion this evening. Wouldn’t you rather I read over the Code of Conduct in its entirety?”

“No,” Tim waved off, “the JLA meeting will only pertain to the ROE this evening and you just got your crash course in it. I want you to understand the scope and scale of the Wayne family funding of the JLA.”

Damain cocked his head, as if picking up on Tim’s language.

“You disapprove,” he theorized.

“I neither approve nor disapprove. It’s Bruce’s money and he shall do with it what he desires.”

“Very well.”

Tim left Damian to get comfortable with the funding documents. By all rights, it would be impossible for Damian to go through even half of them in the time allotted. Tim glanced down at his watch. It was slightly after 0900.

Tim walked like a man walking to his execution on the way to the conference room. Not even twelve hours prior, a supernatural all-powerful being had disappeared Earth; Tim had spent the morning in the weeds about use of deadly vigilante force; the last thing Tim wanted was to discuss social media strategy.  

He took a few deep breaths before stepping into the room. He needed to change his headspace.

The people in the room were the same as the last meeting, his CMO Abby King and her two lackeys Kaylee and Jacob. They, along with Rachel and Tam, huddled around a tablet watching something.

When Rachel saw him, her eyes grew wide. “Jesus Christ Tim,” she exclaimed at him. Tim blinked back in surprise. What? She continued, “Do you work out like this every morning?”

Tim took a moment to comprehend what he was being asked, then he remembered the recording he took of his morning workout.

“Yes?” he responded uneasily, “Generally. Was there something weird about the video?”

“Other than it looks like you’re trying to kill yourself, nothing weird.”

“What?”

Tam interjected, her voice amused, “Rachel’s just surprised. She’s unaware of your family’s – uh, athletic choice of hobbies.”

Tim frowned at Tam’s words. They weren’t inherently suspicious. Bruce Wayne had made a reputation from his extreme sport hobbies. That being said, she could be more discrete.

“Everyone take a seat,” Abby ordered, “I apologize Tim. We were watching the videos you uploaded this morning while waiting for your arrival. I think we got a little carried away.”

“That’s alright,” Tim sat down, “I admit I am still confused. I thought I told you I worked out and you wanted video it. I didn’t have much time this morning due to early meeting, so it was pretty short workout.”

“That was a short workout for you?” Rachel exclaimed, “Tim! You need to tell me these things. I need to adjust your caloric intake. I do your meal prepping. If you’re working out like that everyday and not getting enough calories, no wonder you are always tired.”

Tim realized at that exact moment that he had probably fucked up and overestimated what was considered normal.

The workout hadn’t seemed crazy to him, but… four miles of 800 meter sprint repeats with a twenty-pound weight vest on a treadmill interspersed weighted pull-up sets might have been overkill for his first video upload for the Marketing team.[3]

“Right,” Tim announced, “Well, we don’t have to use it.”

Abby then laughed. “No, this is great,” she said, “Although you will probably get some envy from this. You already have the reputation of brilliance. You being secretly jacked will turn some heads. We hadn’t considered angle of thirst trap for your social media presence.”

The word jacked and thirst-trap coming out of the posh-woman’s mouth gave him some dissonance.

“He hides it under suit jackets,” Rachel muttered.

Tim suddenly got the urge to stand-up, turn around, walk out of the room, and forget the whole social media thing. He fought it.

Barely.

“The long-sleeve shirt helps,” Abby commented like it had been an aesthetic decision and not a choice to hide some of the scars that were evidence of his vigilante career, “Gives the impression of more professionalism. There is a certain mystique to not showing everything.”

Tim’s face got red and hot immediately. Should HR be part of this meeting?

Abby looked at him sharply, eyes clearly detecting that Tim was uncomfortable.

“I’m not going to lie to you, when you said you worked out, I assumed you lifted a couple times a week and maybe went for a run. This,” she waved towards the tablet, “Is a rather exceptional level of fitness. But you are an exceptional person, are you not, Tim Drake-Wayne?”

Tim swallowed hard, unsure of what to respond.

Jacob, bless his soul, decided that was the moment to add to the conversation. “Are you training for anything? Marathon? Cross-fit?”

Tim blinked. He couldn’t say, yes, I am training to be able to launch myself across buildings with a thirty-pound kit on in all-weather conditions, keeping up with super-powered beings. The workout I sent you was rather minimal.

Instead, Tim swallowed hard and told the group, “Bruce is big into keeping fit. We all grew up working out and doing extreme sports.”

“All of your brothers train like this?” Abby asked sharply.

Tim did not like the use of the word train, even if he was fairly certain that Abby wasn’t implying anything with it.

“Dick was raised in the circus as a gymnast,” Tim commented, “He qualified in Olympic trials when he was a teenager.” Dick had dropped out around the same time that he and Bruce were fighting. Knowing the context of Renegade, Tim wondered how much of the story he had been told of Dick and Bruce’s falling-out was accurate.

Still, Tim liked to believe there was another timeline where Dick had gone to the Olympics and absolutely swept them.

Hell, Tim was fairly certain the Dick could still do that.

Tim fully believed that despite testing stating otherwise, Dick had to be superhuman. It was absolutely unfair.

Tim locked eyes with Tam across the room. The young women looked like she was struggling to not add commentary. She, of course, knew that what Tim had said was an understatement when it came to Dick.

“Do you do gymnastics?” Kaylee asked.

“Sometimes,” Tim admitted, “I’m not very good.”

Rachel groaned. “Not very good as in the same way this morning’s workout was short?”

“I don’t train regularly, so not very good.” Tim didn’t. He prioritized strength, cardio, and martial training. He didn’t have all the time in the world, and being able to do certain flourishes while fighting was less important than actual competence while fighting.  

Abby nodded to herself, clearly being lost in thought.

“We can use this. Your father has a reputation of extreme sporting. We can make it a legacy thing. You’re billionaires. People expect eccentricity and exceptionalism. Do you program your own workouts, or do you have a trainer?”

“I do it myself.”

“Hmm,” she responded, “We will have to include some sort of disclaimer in the caption. I don’t want anyone trying this and WE getting sued. What is your normal schedule like?”

“Monday, Wednesday, Friday are lift and strength. I usually do a push-pull-total split. I try to run at least a mile cool-down on those days as well. Tuesday and Thursdays I do runs. Tuesdays focused on speed and Thursdays on distance. I try to get at least one run in over the weekend as well. My schedule is off this week because I skipped Monday’s workout.”

“We don’t need every single one of those documented,” Abby commented, “But maybe some videos of you benching, doing pull-ups, anything impressive. Videos of you doing it with your siblings would be even better.”

Tim hummed, “Damian can out-bench me.”

Kaylee asked, “Isn’t he sixteen?”

Tim nodded at her.

“Well,” Abby told him, “Keep uploading the videos. We can reevaluate next week and see if we are ready to start posting on social media. Try to get something else other than the workouts.”

“Will do,” Tim responded.

“Moving forward,” Abby told them and handed Tim a tablet. “I would like to get you set up in the talk show circuit. You are testifying to Congress the second week of December, correct?”

“Yes, they start December 10th, which is a Tuesday,” Tim affirmed. The Ratifcation hearing, a type of hearing usually reserved for treaties, was the formal name of the process that Tim was going to endure.

It made sense, on some level, that the United States government was treating the JLA like a foreign entity. In theory, every member of the JLA would likely be called as witness, however, Superman was being called as witness as the leader of the JLA, and Tim as the expert witness on the Code of Conduct, funding of the JLA, and funding policy moving forward.

Money spoke.

Bruce also was – rightfully so – hesitant to put to many of the JLA members in front of Congress. Imaging Hal Jordan answering questions to some long-time Senator sent shivers down Tim’s spine. How that man survived in the military baffled Tim.

“We want as much positive publicity for you prior to December 10th as possible.”

“Agreed.”

“You have the Wayne Foundation Gala next Saturday, October 26th. You’re co-hosting with your father?”

“Bruce and I have co-hosted for the last three years, yes,” Tim responded easily. He actually needed to talk to Bruce about some of the details. Then Tim blinked, turning to Tam and Rachel. In all of the excitement over the weekend with Phantom, Tim had forgotten about all of the planning meetings this week for the Gala.

“I thought I was supposed to have a meeting with the Wayne Foundation director on Monday to go over the planning for the Gala?” he asked, “And my Tux fitting.”

“Mark said that that you guys had hammered a lot of the details out last week during your Thursday meeting” – they had – “and that he had to cancel Monday’s meeting. He said he would touch base early next week, unless you want me to put something on the calendar?” Rachel answered.

“Yes,” Tim told her decisively, “There is some flex in Friday morning’s schedule. Send my father an invite too. And the Tux fitting?”

“Tomorrow after the Gotham U memorial. It’s on your calendar.”

“I’ll hit the wavetops,” Abby told him, “This is the list of what we have booked for you. You’re going to be on the Late Show with Stephen Colbert next Friday. It’ll be good publicity before the Gala. Additionally, the Red Carpet walk for the Gala will have some influencers mixed in with the traditional reporters. May I get a copy of the guest for the Gala?”

“I can have Mark send it over,” Tim said. “The Foundation has an events team that handles all of the details of the Gala.”

“What is the cause again this year?”

“The Gala raises money for the Wayne Foundation,” Tim explained, “But the Wayne Foundation annual report is available for last year. It goes over what we fund. It would take me hours to go through everything. Obviously, the JLA is the largest part of that pie, but there are local programs, international programs. We partner with the Gates a lot.”

“I would apricate the list. I know the foundation has photographers booked for the event, but would you allow my people to be there as well?” Abby asked.

“Of course,” Tim agreed. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Kaylee’s eyes grew wide. Ah, Tim thought, he forgot how insane the idea of attending the Wayne Foundation Gala was.

“After that, I’m still working out the details. Do you have a preference: Bill Maher, Seth Meyers, or Jimmy Kimmel?”

“I don’t watch TV.” Tim didn’t remember the last time he had taken time to watch a show, much less a talk show.

“Hot ones, WIRED’s Web’s Most Searched Questions, an interview with GQ, and the Buzz Feed puppy interview are all currently being fielded. Do you know if any of your family members would be willing to come to some of them with you?” Abby asked dryly.

Abby might as well have been speaking a foreign language for how much the words made sense coming out of her mouth.

“I will ask,” Tim made a mental note to himself.

“Thank you,” Abby said, “We have added to your schedule a fitting next week for you to get some outfits prepped for the interviews. That sound okay?”

“Sure.”

“Then this concludes our meeting,” Abby said, “Any questions from us?”

No, absolutely no questions. Tim wanted to escape as soon as possible so he didn’t agree to any more of this nonsense; he would feel more comfortable battering his soul.

“If I think of anything, I will have Rachel or Tam send it over. Abby, team, thank you.” With that, Tim turned and left the conference room.

Tam gave him a rather sympathetic look as they walked back towards their offices. “You have the Movemo meeting in a few. I’ll send the minutes over.”

“I’m going to head out right after that to DC,” Tim told them. “Rachel, don’t worry about lunch.”

Tim closed the door of his office and let out a giant sigh. He was almost surprised to see Damain looking at him silently. His brother had both tablets open before him.

Tim frowned. “Do you want to attend a Buzz Feed puppy interview with me?”

“What is that?”

“No idea. But it sounds like something you would like,” Tim responded, running a hand through his hair.

Damian scrunched his face up, “I shall do research on the interview and will get back to you on my decision.”

“Fair enough,” Tim relented. “How did your research go?”

“This is abhorrent,” Damian spit, “Our contracting costs are bloated, we spend more money on property damage than humanitarian operations, and lobbying efforts have been a sink hole of funds.”

“Mmm,” Tim agreed, “Do you understand the difference between Wayne Enterprises, the Wayne Foundation, the Wayne Trust, and the JLA? They are all run by different people, with different pots of money, and different legal fiscal statuses.”

Damain stared directly at Tim, but did not protest that he understood. Tim took that as the silent acknowledgment for him to continue explaining.

Tim strode forward and comfortably sat on the couch, propping his leg up on his knee. He fiddled with the end of his shoe lace while he explained. Damian followed him over, grabbing his notebook from his bag.

“Wayne Enterprises is a conglomerate. It’s a for-profit public company. We own controlling interest. I get my own compensation package as CEO, but that is it. Well, technically I have my own stocks as result of selling DI to WE., but that’s besides the point. Bruce owns controlling interest of WE, and the income and wealth generated as a result fund the Wayne Trust. The Wayne Trust takes that money and has a portfolio outside of WE that generates its own wealth. You know of our properties and safehouses around the world. The Wayne Trust and Wayne Enterprises are separate entities.”

Tim waved his hands as if to show separation.

“The Wayne Trust is managed by a team in New York. They make very little active decisions and do what we tell them to. I can introduce you. I try to meet with them once a month.”

Damian nodded sharply.

“Now the Wayne Foundation is another entity. It is considered a 501(c)(4) non-profit. The biggest thing to note here is that Wayne Foundation can lobby congress. It is one of the major reasons why I am so involved in the Code of Conduct. About 60% of all funding for the Wayne Foundation is through the Wayne Trust. 20% from Wayne Enterprises, and the other 20% is generated from Galas and other donations. Bruce is considered the Wayne Foundation’s founder. Unfortunately, this means that all money given to the Wayne Foundation is not tax deductible for the Wayne Trust.”

Damian grimaced, probably remembering the numbers he had just looked at that had far too many zeros. Tim shrugged.

Tim continued, “Bruce is technically the director of the Wayne Foundation but has given Mark Greenwood acting power in his stead. Due to the Wayne Trust status as the largest donator, the Wayne Foundation is beholden to the Wayne Trust and therefore Wayne families’ direction.”

“I would like the meet him,” Damian announced.

“Not today,” Tim responded, “But sure, I can introduce you. Mark is a good dude.”

“The JLA doesn’t really follow tax rules to be honest,” Tim admitted to Damian, “Bruce tired, but it’s almost impossible with the secret identity problem. It’s also why the Wayne Foundation has been under fire for the funds given to the JLA. The closet thing to how its currently running is an NGO Section 8 company,” Damian blinked a few times, and Tim could see him writing the words down. “The Code and Congressional ratification should eliminate a lot of the confusion and it would become a 501(c)(1) status.”

“This is all very convoluted,” Damain pointed out.

“Welcome to the world of big organizations,” Tim responded, “Taxes are complicated. When I took over WE at seventeen, it was a major learning curve.”

Damian looked down at his notes. He demanded, “Tell me everything.”

“Not today.”

Damian gave him a formidable glare, and Tim almost laughed at the teenager.

“Anything else you noticed?” Tim asked.

“Are you saying that the JLA can’t get better contracting costs than this?”

Tim waved his hand back and forth. “Could we? Yes. But Bruce and I are committed to ethically vetting all of the JLA contractors and ensuring that quality of the assets we bring into the JLA.”

Damian frowned, “Understood.”

“Neil Darmon leads contract management for the JLA. As of right now, anyone who works for” – Tim put the words in quote – “the JLA is being directly paid by the Wayne Foundation. The JLA couldn’t operate without the men and women hired on for support. Actually,” Tim mused, “We will probably have time to swing by their offices in in the Hall of Justice before meeting with the League if you would like.”

“I would,” Damian affirmed.

“When it comes down to it,” Tim told Damian, “The JLA is a PMC. It’s a paramilitary organization. Running it costs money. What I am trying to get at by having you review everything, is that while Superman and Batman might be the tactical leaders of the JLA, the Wayne family funds it. No matter how the money flows and what tax status the organizations are, they would not exist without Bruce Wayne.”

“And you,” Damian pointed out.

Tim blinked, “Sure, and me.”

Tim glanced down at his watch. “I have to go to a meeting for an ongoing acquisition. I will be back in about two hours, then we will head to DC. We might have to swing by the DLA headquarters in Fort Belvoir for a brief meeting. Read over the Code while I am gone.”

Tim watched Damian write down DLA in his notebook.

Tim pulled up the meeting minutes Tam had sent him and exited his office. He was late, but Tim hardly cared. Lucius was running the meeting in full-swing when Tim opened the door.

The entire turned to look at him. “Ignore me,” Tim directed and slinked back to stand behind Lucius. After sitting for the last couple of hours, he felt like standing.

Tim half listened as Lucius explained the organizational changes, compensation packages, and changes to the Movemo platform. They would integrating it with other WE entertainment packages. Tim made a mental note that they would be located on the fifth floor. Movemo’s former leadership team spoke excitably, and Tim shook their hands at the end of the meeting.

Lucius and him stayed behind as the rest of the room cleared out.

Lucius asked, “Heading to DC?”

“Yep,” Tim responded, “I have Damian with me. I plan to take him to lunch and the DLA meeting. I saw you send over the info about the supply chain timelines. I don’t think contract fulfillment will be a problem.”

“I will swing by and say hello,” Lucius said, “He interested in the business?”

“I hope so,” Tim admitted, “He has a lot to learn.”

“So did you,” Lucius pointed out.

“There is more than enough responsibility to go around. He’s getting his degree first. I don’t care what Bruce says.”

“Rather hypocritical of you.”

“I hardly had a choice,” Tim responded.

“Your rise to CEO was rather unusual, but you did have a choice when Bruce returned.” Lucius raised his eyebrows at Tim in challenge.

Tim huffed, “You’re not wrong, but I got invested.”

“And we’re better for it.”

Tim headed back to his office, ready for the day to be over.

Damian was sitting on the couch sipping on a hot tea when Tim entered. He glanced up at Tim who walked over to his desk and sat on the tabletop. He faced the wall of windows that overlooked Gotham. The bright sun was blocked by transitional windows.

Damian turned to look at him but otherwise didn’t say anything. Tim swung his legs off the edge of his desk.

Without prompt, Tim told him, “This is not public knowledge, but Lucius and I have been working to set up a semiconductor lab on an island we own in the Bahamas.”

“We own a private island?” Damian asked.

“We own many,” Tim responded, “Do you know what a semiconductor lab is?”

“It makes microchips,” Damian responded.

“Rough definition,” Tim smiled, “But I’ll take it. Microchips are in most of our technology. As of now, most of the current labs are in the IndoPacific. WE labs should be operational in eighteen months. Beyond internalizing a supply chain asset into WE, it will also change the global political atmosphere.”

“This is a good thing?” Damian asked.

Tim shrugged, “Where do you think that the JLA fits in the global political sphere?”

“The JLA is a non-political entity,” Damian announced with finality. It was a statement Bruce had made many times. It was a statement that Tim himself had made many times.

“In theory, sure, but think about it in practice Damian. We are about to sign a formal agreement with the United States and then hopefully – rapidly – the United Nations. What would happen in the instance of a global war. Superman will just stand by while hundreds of millions of people die?”

Damian held himself utterly still. He finally admitted, “I do not know.”

“What do you think the global nuclear deterrent is right now?”

“Mutually assured destruction,” Damian answered.

Tim stared at Gotham and imagined a nuclear bomb exploding in front of him, the mushroom cloud rising up into the air and dancing with the city smog.

“That is part of it yes,” Tim agreed, “But I would argue that Superman is the global nuclear deterrent. His presence, his ability to fend a nuclear attack is a major factor in global politics. What happens when Superman is politically aligned with the United States. Where does the JLA stand on these issues.”

“You don't trust the US government?” Damian pointed out. “Are you worried that the JLA will be asked to do things it does not agree with?”

“Trust is not the word I would use. I only trust governments to be self-serving actors. Trust that they will do what is in their best interest. I trust that the United States government had ideals that they ascribe to and good people working for it.”

“Wayne Enterprises is building microchip labs and the Wayne Family funds the JLA. The Wayne Foundation increases Congressional lobbying efforts and Wayne Enterprises strengthens contracting relationships with the US military. Do you understand what I am getting at?”

Damian did not respond and walked over to Tim’s desk. They both looked out at the Gotham skyline.

Tim then continued despite Damian’s silence, “Now I ask you, what are your political opinions, Damian Wayne? And I don't mean on the next Gotham mayor, but the nature of global power.”

“I haven’t fully considered them,” Damian responded.

“Well,” Tim smiled lightly, “You should think on it.”

Damian turned towards Tim. He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally told him, “No wonder my grandfather was interested in you. Have you always been this ruthless?"

Tim blinked back. On some level, Tim thought he should feel offended, but Damian’s words were without judgement, simply observance.

“Damian,” he told his younger brother, “We are about to walk into the JLA and I need you to go in, not as Robin, but as Damian Wayne, a citizen concerned with the consolidation of power of a global paramilitary force. I need you to bite back when they claim that lethal force is always necessary and they should have cross-border freedom of movement. Do you agree to that?”

Damian flexed his hands. “Yes, on one condition.”

“And that is?”

“I want to attend every single one of these meetings moving forward.”

Tim threw his head back in a laugh.

“I think that can be arranged.”

[1] I had a commander who liked to say that “war is not a bloodless ballet.”

[2] Maybe my parents were terrible, but I drank a lot of coffee as a teenager. I hate it in fanficitons when Bruce or Alfred “doesn’t allow them to drink it when they are underage.” Jesus, they fight criminals and face down guns. Let them have their coffee.

[3] I just want it to be know that this is actually a fairly feasible workout. Tough, sure, but I do a version of this without the weight vest and I know my fair share of people who could accomplish this.

Chapter Text

Danny would bet his undergraduate degree on the assumption that Bruce Wayne lived by the Sun Tzu quote, “Amid the chaos, there is also opportunity.” Danny had taken one singular class on Eastern Philosophy, and that quote was the extent of his knowledge of Sun Tzu, but it was apt.

Danny himself felt a kinship with that quote. Even in disorder, meaning emerged.  

He and Fate had a complicated relationship.

Danny had lost his mind, literally, when he became the Ancient of Balance. His body had been dragged into the Infinite Realms, but his mind had wandered to the depths of known existence. He had fallen down the black holes of eons dead stars like a modern Alice in Wonderland; a blink and he was in milky ways of a overlooking something that was certainly not Earth; a breath and he was standing with the dead soldiers of a spindly species that had conquered a galaxy only to wage war against themselves; a heartbeat and he felt the pulsating lifeforce of a hive species that had built infrastructure covering an entire planet.

Danny remembered the first time he had come to, sputtering in Clockwork’s workshop. The Ancient had looked on at him and told him, “Oh good, you’re finally awake.”

Then, he was gone again.

Danny was unable to set a human time frame on how long it had taken him to control the skipping. He bound his power for a reason. The more Danny perceived, the less he was able to focus on the forms he held.

Chaos, Danny liked to think, was an old lover.  

Danny’s human form struggled to sleep after ending the phone call with Tim.

He replayed the Justice League meeting; Phantom had agreed to spend an extended amount of time with Batman. A fact, that by morning light the next day, Danny deeply regretted.

It had never been necessary to change much about his personality between his physical appearances, Danny and Phantom. He tended towards more formality when acting as King, but he didn’t inherently change anything about himself. For one, ghosts didn’t hide their identities; they knew he was part-human. Now, with his ascension to the title of Ancient, Danny would always be part-human.

He was death and life shoved into a human form, never dying and never truly living.

His subjects expected, and inherently accepted, that status from him.

Danny wasn’t sure how long he could keep the deeply perceptive, bat-themed, genius detective from putting two-and-two together and coming up with four. Especially as they forayed into his Realms and consequently interacted with his subjects.

Danny considered simply not showing up.

He threw that out. All he had in his existence was his word.

Danny considered attempting to obscure his identity by creating a false personality and background.

He dismissed that idea as well. Danny wouldn't lower himself to lying and subterfuge; plus, he could imagine that he wouldn’t be able to keep up the charade for long.

Danny considered coming clean.

However, he decided against that immediately. Regardless of the trepidation that Danny felt about revealing to Tim his identity as Phantom, Tim deserved to be the first to know. When Danny came clean, it would come directly from his mouth to Tim.

So, despite Danny’s nerves at the situation, he persevered.

At exactly ten in the morning, he stood – as one of his ghost forms – in front of Wayne manor staring hesitantly at the intimidating doors. Danny arrived early, opening a portal close to but not inside of the gates of the property.

He felt that it would be rude to arrive inside of the grounds. Although he had considered appearing directly in the underground lair that Batman used.

He had been once before, of course, with the Red Hood. However, they had taken an underground tunnel entrance. Danny had left his bike on the outside and followed Hood into the cave, bypassing the manor entirely.

For the sake of human presentation, Danny willed his form to include legs. He had hesitated on the decision on what to wear but settled for something simple. He hid his crown and his ring but wore his sword as always.

It was more for pomp and circumstance. To any of his subjects, Danny’s identity was easily and readily apparent from his aura.

Danny walked up through the grounds; manor felt like an understatement for the residence. Rolling green grass sprawled across the land. Spindly trees wove their way towards the sky, hanging onto crimson and burnt orange leaves in the autumn crisp air.

The dramatic Gothic architecture of the building felt fitting for the city the residence hailed from; Danny could imagine the parties hosted here in the Roaring Twenties. Bruce Wayne’s great-grandparents hosting soirees with champagne overlooking the dramatic Gotham skyline.

Danny walked up to the large wooden door, hesitant.

Before he could knock – could one even realistically knock on such a door? – it opened to an elderly gentleman. He had kind eyes and a gentle aura. Danny could sense the history of death on him buried under years of atonement.

Whoever this man was, he had come to terms with the demons in his soul. A feat, Danny knew, that many could learn from.

The man inclined his head towards Danny, in a respectful manner. It wasn’t quite a bow, but it was clear that he had been briefed on Phantom’s identity. Despite that, he radiated composure. Danny was certain that this man would be an excellent ally in an emergency.

“Good morning, Your Majesty. We welcome you to Wayne Manor. My name is Alfred Pennyworth, the keeper of this residence. May I invite you inside?”

Keeper felt like an understatement.

Danny responded, “Just Phantom is fine, and uh, sure, I mean, yes, thank you.”

Alfred Pennyworth led Danny back through the twisting halls of the building. Dark mahogany wood and velvet accents seemed to adorn every room; it was timeless in an old money sort of way, hard to guess when it had been furnished.

“I would be remiss if I didn’t offer you refreshment, regardless of your biology,” Mr. Pennyworth said.

“No thank you, Mr. Pennyworth,” Danny responded, as he was led through a grandfather clock – Danny wondered if Clockwork had a copy of the contraption in his workshop – and down a series of stairs. The atmosphere changed as the cool air of a subterranean environment nipped at the edge of his ectoplasmic form.  

Danny glanced around the cavern. The large animatronic dinosaur loomed over them like a fierce protector. Danny imagined Freakshow reanimating it and sending it on a rampage. Now wasn’t that a terrifying thought?

Other than that, from the large, scale model of Gotham, massive computer set-up, clear vigilante stations, and what looked like doors to locker rooms, it came off as mismatched, but operational.  

Danny imagined a young Tim Drake-Wayne with too large blue and nervous energy viewing Batman’s operating base for the first time. Jason had called it the Bat Cave.

Danny felt like a hypocrite for judging. Afterall, his parents’ nomenclature left much to be desired. However, did they really just stick Bat in front of Cave?

Bruce Wayne stood in front of Phantom; he had on the Batman costume without the mask. He inclined his head forwarding in greeting.

“Good morning, King Phantom.”

“Good morning, Bruce Wayne,” Danny responded in kind. “Please, call me Phantom.”

“You’re rather unassuming,” Bruce remarked with a tilt of his head. Danny supposed he was; this form, especially without the regalia, appeared deceptively human and non-threatening. His aura, however, he had been told was anything but.

Danny, in all of his appearances, radiated a bright green aura of death and destruction; he had been told by others that it appeared like a supernova with tendrils of pulsating emotion like discharges from a sun.

To humans, however, Danny imagined the disconcerting separation from his appearance and power.

Danny responded to Bruce Wayne, “And you’re just a man.”

Wayne gave him a faint smile. “Regrettably,” he replied. Danny hesitated, but ultimately decided against informing him, that the entire Wayne family was deeply inundated with ectoplasmic energy. Most of Gotham was, of course. When Danny had first moved to the city, he closed a natural portal that had sat open under Arkham Asylum for who knows how long.

The soft cream of Bruce’s aura radiated off him like the light on a blissful morning day in the countryside which radically contrasted from the man’s severe black costume. Inside the pale aura, Danny noticed a very concentrated ball of death energy.

Danny hadn’t noticed it yesterday at the meeting. Bruce Wayne, it appeared, held back the darkness inside of him with vengeance.

The man stared at him, his eyes dissecting Danny’s soul.

“I need some information prior to commencing this operation,” Batman told him.

“Right,” Danny agreed.

“Where are we going in the Infinite Realms and may I get a map?”

Danny felt amusement at the question. It would be Bruce Wayne to immediately ask for one of the more powerful objects in existence.

“I am the only keeper of the complete map of the Infinite Realms,” Danny responded, easily, “As far as where we are going, a subject of mine, Walker runs a prison far from Earth’s natural dumping point in the Infinite Realms.”

“Living places have locations in the Infinite Realms,” Wayne assessed.

“Not that exact, but yes,” Danny agreed. “Some stable natural portals exist. There is a tether, so to speak, between planes of existence.”

Wayne made an assessing noise.

Now, Danny had grown up in Illinois to a set of unusual parents, but he hadn’t grown up under a rock. Brucie Wayne had declined in popularity as he aged, but when Danny had been a kid and teenager, his antics had been legendary. Late night celebrity gossip talk-shows followed Bruce Wayne like a dog after its own tail, spinning round and round.

Danny had watched him fall into fountains, trip over himself walking up and down stairs, and forgetting words at press conferences. The ridiculous antics of a man with more wealth than brain cells had been splashed across magazines.

Danny was certain that YouTube had entire servers devoted to compilation videos of Brucie Wayne’s greatest hit; Danny had never seen them, but he had been informed that pornographic sites had similar videos.

Bruce Wayne, as Batman, was as far from that persona as Danny could imagine.

“Tell me about Walker,” Batman requested.

“Walker is a ghost, from a human species, with a singular focus to imprison. It is his focus in death and the manifestation of his own will. Before I became the Ancient of Balance, Walker even imprisoned me once…” Danny trailed off.

Batman cocked his head to the side, “You allow your enemies power?”

Danny shrugged, “They are hardly enemies anymore, with me being what I am.”

“Yet, you are being conspired against. Do you have any knowledge of why Osiris and Anubis choose this Earth to manufacture drugs? My understanding is that they were attempting to turn humans into ghosts. What does that entail and why?”

“I’m not exactly sure what their intent was, other than they were trying to get my attention.”

“Through Danny.”

Danny grimaced in his ghost form. The vigilantes had been quick on the uptake between Phantom and Danny, and Danny struggled to explain away the connection.

“Yes,” Danny responded, “My subjects are aware of my soft spot for this Earth.”

“May I be bold and make observations?” Bruce Wayne asked.

“You haven’t asked before,” Phantom responded.

“Correct. First, I believe you were human, born to this Earth.”

Danny inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“Born, possibly, in the last thirty years.”

“I would be twenty-five, if I were still alive.”

Bruce’s eyes snapped to Danny. He radiated a sense of grief. Bruce’s children, after all, were Danny’s age.  

“That must have been very hard on your parents,” Bruce told him.

Danny didn’t have to swallow in his ghost form, nonetheless, he mimed the act.

“They didn’t notice,” he told the superhero.

Bruce Wayne frowned, clearly disliking the statement. His aura flexed, and Danny realized that despite Phantom’s status as the Ancient of Balance and King of the Infinite Realms, Batman saw Danny as a young, newly deceased human.

“Don’t mourn for me,” Danny told him, “I hardly changed in death. Mourn for those who do.”

“People change in death?” Bruce Wayne asked roughly.  

“Depends,” Danny explained, “On so many factors. Their strength of will and self. The person’s belief system. The desire they had to exist beyond life. The sense of purpose and unfinished business. Some fade to the Balance. Some settle in lands of the dead, unaware of their fate. Some traverse the Infinite Realms as caricatures of their living forms. Some are unchanged.”

“You believe yourself to be unchanged,” Bruce’s voice was suspiciously neutral.

The statement was a trap.

It took Danny a moment to realize that it was likely due to his physical similarities with his human form.

“In personality,” Danny sidestepped the revelation, “Yes.”

“What information are we aiming to obtain from Anubis?” Batman asked.

“Where Osiris is likely hiding, why they created the drug, if Osiris is allying with anyone else, and why they wanted my attention,” Danny rattled off.

“Very well,” Bruce said, reaching for his mask. He inclined his head towards, “King Phantom.”

Danny gave a light smile and cracked open reality. The eerie green of the Infinite Realms radiated into the Batcave, lighting up the dark corners.

Danny stepped through the portal. With no hesitation, Batman followed.

Bruce grunted as he stepped through as if he had braced himself against the atmosphere.

“There are oxygen levels in the land of the dead?” Batman asked.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” Danny told him, “You’re sustaining on death energy right now. Normal physics and biology don’t really apply.”

“I am breathing,” Bruce pointed out.

“Did you expect not to?”

“I try to not make unfounded assumptions,” Batman announced. Danny furrowed his brow. All that Danny had experienced of the masked vigilante was supposedly unfounded revelations.

Batman looked fairly dignified for his first experience with the weightlessness of the Infinite Realms. Danny had transitioned his ghost form to a more natural state, allowing his lower half to tendril down into mist rather than maintain the illusion of legs.

Danny watched Batman assess their location. Danny focused on Walker’s prison that loomed in front of them.

It rose up like a Frankenstein amalgamation of thousands of years of universal history. The exterior walls blended between stone, brick, and sea wire. A large watchtower rose up in the center.

Danny knew his presence must have been felt immediately.

Batman turned to him, deferring to his decision.

“Walker will be out in a moment,” Danny told him.

Speak of the devil and he shall arrive. The gates of Walker’s prison opened, and the prison warden emerged, flanked by lacky ghosts. His white form stood stark against the tones of the ghost zone. It deeply contrasted with his crimson stained aura. The ghost preferred to adorn himself in an all-white tailored suit with pinstripe pants. He wore a black fedora.

Walker opened his mouth. The accent he used best fit the transatlantic accent of Danny’s home Earth, although it meant something different where Walker hailed form.

“Your majesty,” Walker drawled with a slightly mocking bow, “To what do I owe the pleasure? Have you changed the rules again?”

“Not since the last time we spoke,” Danny told him.

Walker’s lips formed a thin line. “You have brought a living human.”

“He is my guest, and shall be treated as such,” Danny ordered.

“Your orders we shall carry out,” Walker agreed.

“I am here to speak to Anubis,” Danny told the warden, “Take us to him.”

“After me, King Phantom.” Walker turned and floated towards the gates of the prison as Danny followed after and Batman trailed a cautious distance behind him. They wove through the Prison walls, the sounds of rule breaks echoing through the ectoplasmic walls.

Danny’s new laws had caused a ripple effect.

As Danny walked through the prison, beings dropped to their knees in obeisance.

“The King, the King,” they whispered, “he is here.”

Danny moved forward with purpose, ostensively ignoring the beings. Walker stopped at a locked door, pulling a large key chain off his belt. He opened the door with flourish.

“Your majesty, would you like me to stay and observe,” Walker asked.

“No,” Danny responded, “Give us privacy. I will lock up when we are finished.”

“As if your desire,” Walker agreed, turning on his heels and leaving Batman and Danny in front of the unlocked door.

Danny pushed the door open and into the cell. Ghosts did not need amenities such as beds and toilets, so the room was rather bare. The jackal headed being curled up in a chair, reading a book.

Walker had gone soft, Danny mused, allowing the prisoners entertainment. That had not been afforded to him during his short stint in the Prison walls.

Anubis immediately sensed his presence and dropped to his knees in repentance.

“My King,” Anubis breathed, “Have you come to end me?”

“No,” Danny told him, “Your trial in front of the Observants and Council does not have a set date. I have come to ask questions.”

The being fiddled with his hands.

“I do not know much,” the being pleaded, “Osiris ordered me to obey.”

“You committed treason,” the anger bubbled inside of Danny, “You threatened my Earth and killed three living humans. What do you have to say about that?”

“You were not listening,” Anubis exclaimed, “Osiris tried. Our land is dying, fading, and we will soon too.”

“As is the will of balance,” Danny pointed out. It seemed rather preemptive of an action to take, when the fate would take eons to take effect. “As is my will.”

Anubis let out a sound like a wounded animal.

Danny had almost forgotten about Bruce Wayne’s presence until the man asked, “May I?”

Danny inclined his head forward and ordered, “Anubis, meet Batman. You are to truthfully answer all of Batman’s questions, understood?”

“Yes, King Phantom,” Anubis hissed.

“Where is your master, Osiris?” Batman asked.

“I don’t know,” Anubis ground out.

“Where do you believe he is most likely to be?”

Anubis’ jackal head in surprise. After a moment he responded, “He is searching for someone, something.”

“What is he searching for?”

Anubis started shaking his head and backing away from them. He crashed against the wall of the prison, “He is looking for someone powerful, something powerful. I can’t tell you, they will –”

Anubis cut himself off.

Danny felt anger rise inside of him. What or who could scare Anubis more than Danny. Danny was the King of the Infinite Realms, the most powerful being in known existence. Danny allowed that anger to flow out of him, penetrating the ectoplasm around them.

Reality started to tilt around Danny, walls bending and the floor spiraling. Next to Danny, intense fear radiated from Bruce Wayne.

“What could you possibly fear more than me?”

“Fate,” Anubis gasped out, “Osiris believes that Fate can control you. He is rallying allies across the realms, looking for evidence of where Fate is hiding.”

Danny’s mind went smooth. He hadn’t considered the other Ancients a threat. His interactions with the being called Fate had been minimal. They had lingered at the edge of moments in his life, half-invisible.

A hooded figure in the dark; a silhouette against a lamplight; a shadow stretching from the corner of his vision. They never spoke, just observed.

Fate found you, Danny’s mind supplied. It was a phrase uttered across the realms about the Ancient. The Ancient of Time, Clockwork, was dependable. He existed in his workshop at Danny’s seat of power.

The Ancient of Fate was more a concept than a being; one the creatures of the Infinite Realm feared and revered in equal measure.

If Osiris was seeking out Fate, and attempting to rally allies in the process, then Danny was being threatened. He couldn’t die, of that Danny was certain. However, he wondered if he could be given the Pariah Dark treatment, locked away in some dark space for eternity.

His mind started skipping between his forms, as the network of his being was hit with the revelation. The Phantom at the Isle of Infinity gasped, and the Phantom with Fright Knight and Skulker stumbled.

His human form on Earth tripped over himself and almost bowled over a freshman.

“Phantom,” Batman gasped out, “Phantom, get ahold of yourself.”

Danny stumbled backwards, suddenly aware of his immediate vicinity.

Danny’s eyes locked to Bruce’s cowl. He focused on Bruce’s light soul like a homing beckon and clawed back his limited view, focusing on resetting the world around them.

Anubis laid on the floor of the cell, gasping and shivering.

“Get up,” Danny ordered.

The jackal creature rose up in his form. Danny felt disgusted at the sight in front of him. The weak will of the so-called god, bent easily in the face of power.  

Bruce Wayne turned back to Anubis, “What allies would he be seeking?”

“Some Kings are not happy that High King Phantom rose to power and is enforcing balance,” Anubis said to Batman, trembling in front of them, “Osiris has been getting erratic. He is not thinking clearly. He wants your,” Anubis’ eyes rapidly flickered to Danny, “attention. I don’t know why. He is desperate. I think he thought he could force you to keep him from fading.”

“I was considering it,” Danny responded, “But certainly not now.”

“What allies?” Batman asked again, clearly unsatisfied with the answer.

“Hades, Fir, Olkan, Genghis Khan, Xiuhtecuhtli,[1]” Anubis muttered, “I don’t know which he visited first, but he spoke their names the most.”

Danny frowned. While each of them had expressed differences in opinion at the Council meetings, their words were hardly treasonous.

“Is that all you know?” Danny asked, bending Anubis’ soul into obedience.

The jackal headed god gasped at the intrusion and then went slack. Danny's gut recoiled at his own actions, a sense of shame bubbling inside of him. He refused to bend the will of the living; the dead were his subjects. Still, the power he held felt wrong.

Danny wanted to immediately snap the control back to Anubis and walk away.  

“Nothing else,” Anubis responded, monotone. Danny had used his power and for what?

Danny turned to Batman, silent in his costume. The superhero titled his head towards Danny, as if waiting for a question.

"Do you think we could get anything else from him?" Danny asked.

"Unlikely," Batman responded, "Your next point of intel will be to track down those names."

Great, Danny thought, more fucking work.

“We’re done,” Danny towards Anubis, his voice hollow as he turned to leave the room. “The Observants will decide your fate.”

Batman followed after him. Danny willed the door to lock behind him, despite knowing with absolute certainly that Anubis wouldn't dare attempt escape. Danny left quickly through the same route they had entered, creatures of the prison reacting to his presence again, begging for him to set them free.

Danny didn’t even bother exchanging pleasantries with Walker. As soon as he cleared the gates, he opened a portal back to the Wayne Estate.

A sense of ease radiated off Bruce Wayne as soon as the man’s feet touched solid ground.

Silence weighed heavily on the room. Wayne was the first to move. He pulled his cowl off and settled into chairs in front of his computer.

“Sit with me,” the man half commanded, half asked.

Danny forced his lower half to shape into something resembling human legs and allowed gravity to grip his body. He settled into the chair next to the superhero and tucked his legs under him like he had when he was a child.

He felt exhausted.

“Would you like something to eat or drink?” Wayne asked him.

Danny looked at the man, unsure of the appropriate response. His body couldn’t process food or water in this form, so it would be useless.

“No, thank you.” Bruce nodded at him in response.

“How long have you been in power?” Bruce asked him.

“From a human perspective, ten years,” Danny told him, “But I would hardly call myself in power for the first two. I was not very contained as a concept at that point.”

“As an Ancient. What do you mean by that?” Bruce asked, his eyes and soul lacking judgment.

“I hadn’t settled into my power. I was erratic, existing almost everywhere across existence at once. It was overwhelming. I lost my sense of self and personhood,” Danny reached up and ran a had through his hair, “This is not the only form I maintain.”

If it wasn’t for the slight surprise evident in Bruce’s aura, Danny would assume that the information hadn’t fazed him.

“And when you did?”

“The Observants, beings that had been the de facto rulers of the Infinite Realms with the imprisonment of Pariah Dark, forced me to take on the throne. They are bound to my will. They are annoying, but loyal,” Danny muttered. “Supposedly they observe everything across all time, but that’s untrue. They only judge and see what I ask them to do. And yes, I have already asked them to find Osiris, but they have been unable to.”

“Because the Ancient of Fate is blocking them.”

“It appears so,” Danny relented.

“Your Council of Kings, what is that?" Bruce leaned forward, very still.

“They are a body of the most powerful rulers of Kingdoms of the Dead. They decide on common laws across the Infinite Realms. I try to call them bi-annually, as far as a human perspective of time goes. They are fickle and dislike being forced to agree, but I thought we had been improving.”

Danny remembered the last Council meeting; Fir had clashed with Lucifer. God had backed up his former Angel. Fir, a being comprised of spindly limbs mimicking trees, was the representation of the tree of life on a planet that had evolved to grow massive trees that spanned miles. They were a rather powerful being in the land of the Dead, as the concept echoed across species. Their Kingdom was vast and beautiful. Danny had attended balls hosted by Fir and attended by the Kings and enjoyed the sheer liveliness of the Realm.

It contrasted sharply with Lucifer’s hell.

“Between these Council sessions, what does your government look like?”

“Practically non-existent,” Danny admitted, “I have my advisors, ghosts that I trust, but otherwise it is just me.”

“I suggest that you change that,” Bruce Wayne told him, “Regardless of how powerful you are and how many forms you are capable of holding, you shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

Wayne was right, of course, but Danny barely had a clue where to begin.

The idea of building a government meant to oversee all of existence from scratch felt overwhelming. Danny had been satisfied to allow the Kings their flexibility and decision-making power.

Currently, Danny regretted that decision. Silence sat between them, as Danny pondered Bruce’s suggestion.

“Have you considered seeking out the advice of historical figures?” Bruce asked.

“The living is not always the same in death,” Danny responded.

“You won’t know until you look,” Bruce pointed out. “You have all of history at your fingertips and can learn from their mistakes. From this Earth alone, there are thousands of humans that could help you on building a strong and just government”

“Who do you recommend?” Danny asked.

“Niccolò Machiavelli comes to mind,” Bruce stated.

Danny blinked. He was familiar with the name.

“Didn’t he write The Prince?” Danny asked, confused.

“He is a rather practical civic philosopher. He also wrote Discourses on Livy which is a radically different take on governance than The Prince. With your power, it would be almost impossible to implement a system with checks and balances. There are others of course. Marcus Aurelius, Constantine, Augustus, Octaviano, Locke, Confucious, Han Fei are the ones I can think of right now. I think you could get a lot from studying the Roman system.”

Danny had taken college history courses for his undergraduate degree, but he was far from an expert.

“Can you make me a list?” Danny asked. Tracking down the souls would be a journey. He already had to visit the Kings that Anubis mentioned.

“Yes,” Bruce told him, “I will also call some of my friends at Yale. I can get you a comprehensive stack of modern scholarships. I do want to warn you. Everyone is self-serving, even the dead. Just because someone was a powerful leader, does not make them a good one. Before careful of Iagos.[2]”

Danny wracked his brain for the name. “Shakespeare?” he asked.

“It’s a good play,” Bruce’s mouth formed into a small smile, “You should read it. It’s a favorite of my son, Jason.”

“Thank you for your advice,” Danny told him. His ghost form got up from the chair and moved to leave.

“Can I ask one more question, before you leave?” Bruce asked him.

Danny looked at him, imagining the wide range of questions that he could ask.

“Sure,” he agreed.

“How old were you when you died?”

Danny paused for a moment. That was far less of a straightforward question than Bruce probably imagined it to be. At fourteen, Danny closed the portal on himself, splitting his state into something both dead and alive. At fifteen, he defeated Pariah Dark, ascending to the throne and shattering his soul. At seventeen, Danny committed suicide for the first time, ending his own life before his body knitted back together and his heart started again.

After a moment, Danny responded, “Fourteen, I was fourteen when I died.”

Bruce Wayne’s deep blue eyes meet his.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce told him, “That you were not properly mourned.”

-----

Tim Drake-Wayne looked forward to the day that the only interaction he would have with the JLA was to write checks. Or, alternatively, as Red Robin.

Damian's and his afternoon had gone smoothly. Tim had treated Damian to lunch at Jaleo[3] in DC and whisked him off Fort Belvoir where Tim had been greeted by not one, but three different Generals. They had been accommodating with the contract negotiations.

During lunch, Bruce messaged to all of them that he was back from the Infinite Realms. A small amount of tension in Tim’s body released as the safety of his father was confirmed.

The JLA used contracted security for their Hall of Justice perimeter which acted as Tim and Damain 's chauffeur for the day. The men and women were highly vetted and former military for the most part.   

Finally, Tim and Damian stepped into the meeting room for the ROE negotiations. Everyone in the room was holding a copy of the ROE, one that had been updated since the morning meeting with the attorneys.

Tim’s eyes first landed on Nightwing, who gave them a bright smile. Bruce must have informed him that Damian would be attending with Tim. Damian immediately puffed up with Dick’s presence, and Tim struggled to keep back a smile.

Tim felt mildly surprised to see Arthur Curry in attendance; he had been absent from recent JLA meetings due to unrest under the sea. Other than him, the names and faces were the same from the prior meeting.

Hal’s eyes flickered immediately to Damian, but he clearly bit back the scathing remark.

“Good evening,” Tim greeted. “I have brought my brother, Damian Wayne, with me to represent the Wayne Foundation today.”

Diana gave a wonderful smile and greeted Damian. “Hello Damian, it’s lovely to have you here tonight.”

Tim noted her lack of the word meet. Obviously, Robin and Wonder Women had met. However, no one else was likely to pick up on the wording without that context.  

“Greetings, Princess Diana of Themyscira,” Damian inclined his head, “Thank you for having me.”

Hal muttered under his breath, “At least this one is polite.”

Olver Queen stage-whispered back to Hal, “I sure he was taught that by his grade-school teacher.”

Damain frowned, clearly upset by the comment. “Clearly,” Damian drawled, “It’s a quality you failed to learn in school.”

“Mr. Drake-Wayne,” Barry Allen asked gently, “Isn’t your brother too young to be involved in this conversation.” The Flash’s concern – unlike the Green team – came from a genuine place. That didn’t mean that Tim had to humor it.

“On the contrary,” Tim responded, “If maturity were needed to be present in this room, half of its inhabits wouldn’t be here. Damian stays. If anyone has a problem with that, I am happy to leave, along with my funding. I’m sure Lex Luthor would be happy to help write the Code for Congress to review.”

Tim’s eyes flickered over to Kon who tensed at the mention of his biological father’s name.

Superman sighed, a long dramatic sound that echoed around the room. “Green Arrow, Green Lantern, I specifically told you to behave. Tim, please continue.”

Tim’s eyes flickered to his father. Batman stood on the back wall, electing to brood in silence. Tim could tell that Damian was nervous. Damian, for all of the confidence he projected, deeply sought Dick and Bruce’s approval.

No doubt, Damian was a ball of nerves next to Tim.

“I expect everyone has reviewed ROE document I sent over earlier today,” Tim told the group. “Unless anyone needs additional time.”

In the back, Wally West raised his hand. He said with a charming smile, “I think I need some time.”

“Very well, take five minutes for review,” Tim directed. Tim stood with his arms crossed overlooking the group. Some of the members buried their heads in the paperwork, either reading it for the first time or brushing up on the document. Dinah Drake dutifully red penned the document.

Tim could hear Kori chatting casually with Dick, asking for clarity on some of the sentences. John Constantine looked like he was taking a nap with his head on the table.

Tim looked over at Damian who tapped his watch. The five minutes had elapsed.   

“The floor is open for discussion on the Rules of Engagement,” Tim stated.

“I have a question,” Kara Zor-El pipped up, “I don’t have pockets in my suit. How am I supposed to carry this on me?”

That was an oversight.

Tim nodded to her, “You made a good point. I will have that sentence removed.”

“So,” Oliver Queen crossed his arms, “According to this document, I have to ask criminals to stop before I can do anything else. Do you just expect rogues to stop hurting people because we ask very nicely.”

“If you had read the document carefully,” Damian interjected, “You would see that it clearly reads if circumstances permit. That would be a decision that you would have to make, Green Arrow. It seems that while I may still be in school, it is your reading comprehension skills that are lacking.”

A light smile flickered across Oliver’s face. “Alright, you got bite kid.”

Damian tensed at the word kid but held his tongue.

Tim interjected, “Every circumstance is going to be different. This document is affirming the JLA's commitment to using the least amount of force necessary to neutralize a threat, up to and including deadly force.”

Victor Stone told Tim, “The JLA doesn’t use deadly force.”

Some of the older members in the room cringed; that was – objectively speaking – a false statement. As much as Batman reiterated that belief to the JLA, it would be foolish to legally bind the members in the room to non-killing.

Tim smirked at that, and sarcastically told him, “Understood, I will go back to the attorneys and have them shred this document.”

“I have a question Mr. Drake-Wayne,” Aquaman interjected, ending that conversation, “How would this document apply to my Kingdom?”

“Upon ratification of the Code, any JLA member and signing vigilante will be held to the ROE regardless of where they are operating, including space or underwater. It will only, however, be legally enforceable on American soil.”

As in, the JLA’s adherence for the Code outside of the United States would be an honor system until further ratification.

“The next step will be ratifying the Code with the United Nations. Your Kingdom, and other independent powers –” Tim nodded towards Diana “– will have to be independently negotiated.”  

“When do you expect UN ratification to occur?” Superman asked.

“Early next year,” Tim responded, “The United Nations has set a tentative date for review on week of January 13th.”

“And countries that are not part of the United Nations,” Dick asked, his voice serious.

“Very few territories are not covered by UN law[4],” Tim responded, “Unless you have committed crimes against the Vatican…”

Hal barked out a laugh, “Golden boy Nightwing commit crimes against the Vatican? That’s a good one.”

Nightwing’s utter stillness of his response – opposite to his usual over dramatic gestures – told Tim exactly what he wanted to know. Interesting.

What crimes, Tim mused, had Renegade executed in the Holy City?

The meeting continued, members bickering over small language changes to the document. After forty-five minutes of back and forth, Tim was convinced that there was nothing more to litigate.

“You have seven days to submit requested changes to the ROE,” Tim told the group, “My attorneys will review the requests, and if they are reasonable, implement the changes. Next Wednesday, we will be reviewing Appendix C and D. If that is all, Damain and I will be taking our leave.”

Tim had gotten zero sleep the night before and had been awake since 0500 the previous day. By all rights, he was exhausted. This meeting really could have been an email.

 -----

Danny noticed Tim immediately.

It was impossible not to.

In fact, Danny was certain that half the university students and staff were staring at the young business mogul. The memorial for the most recent Gotham U student that had passed felt unsatisfactory. Elizabeth Blake had been one of Danny’s students, and a part of Danny felt guilty that his subject caused her death.

It could have been any drug, sure, but it had been created by Osiris to get his attention. Danny felt culpable for the girl’s death in a way that he had never experienced. The facsimile of a ceremony with the university band playing the music and the high-profile attendees felt disrespectful.

Tim’s presence felt disrespectful although that was hardly his fault. Danny knew that Tim likely had known more about Ms. Blake than most the men and women in attendance. Tim’s actions as Red Robin ensured that no other student would die from the ectoplasm laced substance.

Danny should have acted sooner. While he didn’t believe in interfering with the free will of the living, he had a duty to police his subjects.

Danny glanced at Tim again, sitting front-and-center. It was unusually warm for an October day, but Tim looked unbothered in his suit.  

Danny heard the murmurs around him, that Tim Drake-Wayne was in attendance. One rather bold undergraduate stage-whispered that she would introduce herself. Tim was rumored to be bi and not gay she told the people around her, as if Tim’s sexuality was her limiting factor of advance.   

Unsurprisingly, the men and women to Tim’s side attached themselves to him like lake water leaches.

Ultimately small and harmless compared to Tim’s larger-than-life presence, but stomach-turning and unpleasant to look at.

To Tim’s left, the current University President stood tense. Her white hair and kind eyes did nothing to hide the connection she had to Gotham’s criminal underworld. Her sickly yellow aura bled out of her like an infection into the students.

To the right stood Gotham’s current Mayor; a man undoubtedly bound to be voted out in the next election. He was less offensive and more unassuming. He had been elected on the platform of change, and Gotham was a slow-moving beast. Change meant little without direction.

Danny usually avoided interacting with politicians at all costs.

Today was different; it was Tim after all, and Danny would go to great lengths to see him.

Danny strode forward, making a direct path towards Tim, weaving between students. As Danny approached, a large-man dressed in an ill-fitting back suit – a bodyguard Danny presumed – stepped in front of Danny.

“Sir,” the man said, “Please step away –”

“Danny?” Tim’s voice lit up, interrupting the man. He radiated delight and the soft blue tint of his soul soothed Danny, pulling him under like a gentle riptide.  

The bodyguard’s eyes flickered back to Tim as if unsure how to interpret Tim’s exclamation.

Marian Guiles gave Danny an assessing look; Danny doubted that the women even knew his name.

Up close, Danny could see Tim’s choice in attire. The black suit he wore appeared to be linen in material. He had on a matching black dress shirt and a tie in a flat tone. Even the cuff links and shoes were matte and muted, although Danny did note the choice of loafers.

He was dressed for a funeral, Elizabeth Blake’s funeral.

The only hint of color on the outfit was from the red tips on the black rimmed chrome aviators. As always, Tim’s presence dwarfed the entire crowd.

Danny gave his best roughish grin. He certainly didn’t match Tim’s attire in his beat-up black jeans and sneakers, but he knew he was far from unattractive.

“Mr. Masters,” Guiles announced as if she had finally remembered his name, “I see you know Mr. Drake-Wayne. I was about to take him on a University Tour….” She trailed off, as if unsure if she should invite him or not.

“Tim and I are friends,” Danny announced with a sharp look.

“Very good friends,” Tim agreed, his tone and stance playful, “In fact, I’m sure you are a very busy women Ms. Guiles. I sure Danny would be more than happy to show me the new library wing.”

“Oh no,” she argued, “I’m not busy.”

“Nonsense,” Tim responded, “You were just telling me how demanding and important your position is with the University. I could hardly steal more of your time.”

“I’ll take good care of Tim,” Danny purred, “I’ll even take him to the new chemistry labs that the Wayne Family funded.”

Danny could feel Tim’s aura shudder with the words, take good care, which only caused Danny’s smile to widen. He wished he could pluck the glasses off Tim’s face to see his eyes widen with surprise.

Guiles glanced between the two of them, unsure on how to respond.

“If you insist,” she muttered in defeat.

“I do,” Tim’s said, “It was a pleasure talking to you again Ms. Guiles. We are thrilled to support Gotham University, especially with you leading the charge. Mr. Wilker, will I be seeing you at the Wayne Gala?”

Gotham’s Mayor gave a kind smile to Tim. “Tim,” he answered, “You and I both know you will have far more important people than me to talk to.”

Tim tilted his head at the man. He didn’t disagree, “I’m sure Damian will seek you out to discuss your German Shepard litter, God forbid we get another pet in the house.”

“I look forward to it,” the Mayor said brightly and Danny eyed him suspiciously. While he appeared fairly neutral in aura and authentic in emotions, he was the Mayor of Gotham. It was an inherently suspicious position.   

With that Tim turned away from his attachés and towards Danny.

“Ryan,” Tim nodded towards his bodyguard, “I’m fine with Danny. You can wait in the car.”

The man looked at Tim for a second and looked like he was about to argue. One bodyguard seemed suspiciously low for one of the wealthiest men on the planet at a public event, then again Tim had been alone when they had met.

Even for a vigilante of Tim’s skill-level, the lack of security felt alarming.

“Shall we?” Tim asked him.

Danny winked at Tim, “I’ll take you anywhere, baby.”

Guiles’ face behind them turned red. Walker looked amused by the display.

Tim gave a bright laugh and followed Danny as he led them through the parting crowd. Tim leaned in close to him and muttered, “I just want to warn you that we are going to be all over social media within the next few hours.”

Danny blinked for a moment. While that should have been expected, it surprised him.  

“Too late to change that now,” Danny whispered back.

Phones cameras metaphorically flashed around them as they were crowded out by students too young to drink. Danny strode forward, parting the crowd, and with mock flourish started pointing out the different buildings.

"That," Danny said, "Is where English PHD students go to die. Over there, is the new Chemistry labs. I believe you paid for them."

"Hmm," Tim acknowledged, "I thought we were building a physics wing."

"I think you did both."

Tim muttered something about auditing the Wayne Foundation's funding of Gotham U. They continued their journey to Danny's office, located in the Engineering staff building.

Thankfully, Danny’s office was close to the entrance. Danny shared it with two other graduate students, but one never came in on Thursdays and the other was currently teaching a class; the room was currently empty and lockable.

Tim removed his sunglasses as their entered the building. Danny heaved a sigh of relief as the door clicked behind them to his office.

“I can’t stay very long,” Tim told him, “I have a fitting for my tux for the Wayne Gala in an hour.”

Hmm, Danny’s brain went, he needed to get a tux. A call with Vlad would probably be good to sort out the details for attendance.

Tim looked at him as if he could read his mind, “Do you need me to –”

“No,” Danny responded easily, “I got it.” And he did. Danny had gotten fairly adapt at willing clothing into existence in his ghost form. Worst case scenario, he could adapt. In fact, Danny’s mind mused, maybe Dora would have some ideas on what he could wear.

“I would have you come as my date, but…” Tim trailed off, his voice full of guilt. Tim radiated a fair amount of shame. Danny could fill in the blank for Tim without needing explanation. Tim was working during the Wayne Gala. He would hardly have time for a date.

Danny understood.

Tim looked out of place, in his perfectly tailored suit, against the backdrop of Danny’s office. There were three desks, all haphazardly arranged around the room, overspilling with paperwork. A large bookshelf made of some fake wood material was pushed against the rightmost wall. Peeling office chairs were shoved against the desks.

Danny gave Tim a grin, making a show of looking him over.

“Well,” Danny drawled, playing into his more midwestern affect, “if we only have an hour.”

Tim’s eyes blew wide as he glanced around the room. “In your school office?”

“No one is going to walk in on us.”

“What about –” Tim breathed out, and Danny could fill in the sentence a million ways.

Instead, Danny teased, “I can swallow.”

Tim reacted immediately, his face flushing a lovely pink hue. The man had an ethereal look to him, his dark hair curling around his ears and bright blue eyes. Danny wanted nothing more than to shove him back against desk and make him forget his own name.

This man would be the end of Danny.

Tim stepped forward and whispered in a teasing lit, “Do you want me to call you Professor? I think I need some extra-credit.”

Danny’s face twisted up at the joke. He knew Tim wasn’t serious, but at the same time, “Teaching kind of ruined that for me.” Danny’s hand brushed along the bottom of Tim’s jaw, “But if you were into that sort of thing, I would indulge you.”

Tim’s response to the statement was cut off by Danny’s mouth enveloping Tim’s lips. Every nerve ending of Danny’s body lit up at once.

While the last had sex had been less than a week ago, Danny had since dragged Tim halfway across the world as Phantom, caught Tim stalking him in costume, had the world’s most listened-into not-date lunch date, and faced down the JLA.

For a moment, the kiss held sweet between them, tentative in their new-found balance. Then, Danny deepened the kiss, sucking Tim’s lower lip into his mouth. That caused Tim to gasp, giving Danny the opportunity to let his tongue explore.

Tim’s hands gripped the sides of his torso, pulling in desperation.

Danny started to slowly walk them backwards towards his desk, until Tim’s back hit the chair. Danny unceremoniously pushed it out of the way and cleared his desk with one sweep of his hands, papers and pens going everywhere.

He would worry about clean-up later.

Danny broke the kiss, both of them breathing hard. Tim was pressed against the desk, his back arching. Danny had trapped him between his legs.

Tim bit his lip and looked up at Danny with lust in his eyes.

Danny kissed down Tim’s jaw and neck to the hollow of his throat. He reached up and nimbly loosened the tie, allowing him better access to gently bite along his collar bone. At some point, Tim’s hands tangled in Danny’s hair.

Tim whined against him, radiating sheer desperation.  

Danny chuckled at the reaction. “Do you have any idea,” he asked, “how people talk about you?”

“Unfortunately,” Tim gasped back, “Does it make you jealous?”

“No,” Danny answered honestly, “Because they don’t get to do this.”

Danny grasped Tim’s body and easily lifted him up to sit on the desk. Tim squawked in surprise, and Danny pressed their foreheads together. Danny kissed Tim like he would lose him, desperate and hungry, one hand snaking inside of his suit jacket. His left hand reached down and pressed against Tim’s pants.

Tim’s arousal was hard against the palm of his hand.

Tim threw his head backwards; there was a low thud as it impacted the wall.

“I think,” Tim told him, “You promised that you could swallow.”

“Greedy,” Danny teased, “But I am a man of my word.”

 Danny’s hands worked the belt open, and he pulled Tim’s trousers down around his hips. The boxers followed quickly.

Danny took the moment to soak in Tim’s appearance. The other man’s suit jacket was half off and his dress shirt skewed and pushed up his torso. A faint sweat had settled on his forehead and his eyes were wild and hungry. The divot in his hips was especially pronounced in the flow from his chiseled stomach down to strong thighs.

Tim’s body was designed to leap across buildings and climb high rises.

He was a work of art in human form. In Ancient times, wars would have been waged over the man. Except, Danny’s mind supplied, Tim would have been the one orchestrating them.

His cock leaked, flushed and red. Danny’s hand reached out to gently run his thumb across the head.  

“Are you just going to stare at me?” Tim asked in a husky tone.

“Give me a moment to burn this to my memory,” Danny muttered.

“I am on a timeline,” Tim whined.

“Patience is a virtue.”

“And lust is a sin,” Tim argued, “Virtues have no place in sin.”

“I disagree,” Danny told him, dropping to his knees in front of Tim, grasping his hips and pulling him to the edge of the table, “Diligence, for example, is an excellent virtue in debauchery.”

Tim gasped as Danny took Tim into his mouth. Danny hollowed out his checks and sucked, one hand on Tim’s balls and the other on the base of his length.

“Fuck,” Tim breathed. “Your mouth.”

Danny hummed in acknowledgement, twisting his hand in gentle strokes of Tim’s cock. Tim reached up and grabbed Danny’s hair.

“Can I – can I –” Tim stumbled, “Fuck your – oh – mouth?”

Danny eyes meet Tim. Since a verbal response was impossible, Danny bobbed his head downwards. Tim took that for the yes that it was and started to gently rock into Danny’s mouth.

Danny allowed his throat to go pliant as he suppressed the urge to gag. He was only human, after all.

Danny’s hands gripped Tim’s hips as he rocked into him. To Danny’s great satisfaction, Tim did not last long from that moment.  

“I am going to,” Tim panted, “Come.”

Danny hummed in acknowledgement, as Tim’s cock pulsed inside of his mouth. The hot liquid coated the inside of his mouth as Danny rode out Tim’s finish. The feelings of euphoria that came off in waves from Tim almost made Danny come in his pants.

Almost. Danny had more control than that.  

Tim’s breathing evened out, as Danny swallowed. He flashed Tim with a grin of proof.

Tim looked utterly wanton, propped up on the desk. Danny imagined that instead of florescent lights, popcorn ceiling, and the particle board desk in his office, Tim braced against a mahogany framed in natural afternoon light.

Danny could make that happen, his powers whispered to him.

The office was inadequate.

“Jesus,” Tim muttered, “You are a menace.”

“I've been called that before,” Danny told him, standing up. Tim leaned forward to kiss which Danny took to with a vengeance.

“I taste disgusting,” Tim muttered.

“Yeah, kind of,” Danny acknowledged, “But it was unbelievably hot.”

Tim’s long fingers reached down to the edge of Danny’s jeans. Danny reached down and grabbed his wrist in physical protest.

“I want to wait until tomorrow night,” Danny told him. “Delayed satisfaction.”

“You like to edge yourself?” Tim asked.

“Me. You. Both,” Danny acknowledged. “One of these days, I am going to make you beg for it. And one of these days,” Danny kissed Tim’s forehead, “I want you to make me.”

Laughter bubbled up in Tim. “That’s a deal.”

“I think,” Danny said, stroking Tim’s hair as he purred in satisfaction, “that you have an appointment to make, baby.”

“Fuck that,” Tim groaned, “I am Tim Drake-Wayne. I can reschedule.”

 Danny tilted his head up to give him a sweet kiss. “You and I both know that you’re not going to do that.”

After a heartbeat, Tim agreed, voice filled with rue, “You’re right.”

Tim redressed with a sort of grace that should have been impossible considering their recent activities. Danny forced his own arousal down.

Danny relocked his office behind them, as he led Tim out of the building.

“Where is your driver parked?” Danny asked.

“He’s probably waiting at the roundabout near the theater,” Tim told him. If any student attempted to idle their vehicle there, the University traffic cops would give them a ticket. Tim lived in a different world.

“May I hold your hand?” Danny asked.

Tim raised his eyebrows at him, “You just sucked me off in your office and you’re asking if you can hold my hand.”

“One is public,” Danny pointed out, eyes flickering to the students who were staring and pointing at them.

“Hold my hand, pretty boy,” Tim told him, “Lead the way.”

Danny grinned at him and laced his fingers through Tim’s hand. The heat of Tim’s palm felt extremely intimate. The October air felt cool and sweet.

Tim placed his sunglasses back on his face like a civilian mask, and Danny instantly regretted not being able to see his eyes.

They walked forward towards the theater.

“Is it always like this in public?” Danny asked, referring to the small crowd that had accumulated around them.

“Sometimes,” Tim responded with a sigh, “Especially when I am making an official appearance. Sometimes people don’t recognize me. I’ll be honest, I don’t spend a lot of time in public spaces.”

“Don’t go to the grocery store, eh?” Danny teased

“No, I have –”

Whatever Tim was going to say was cut off in an instant. Tim’s body jerked and he stumbled back. A stunned look flickered across his face and he reached up to his chest.

“Tim!” Danny exclaimed, shock radiating over him.

Tim’s body dropped to the ground. Danny launched himself at Tim’s body. He clawed at Tim’s shirt to reveal a pool of crimson blood. Tim’s eyes glassed over, and Danny felt his soul detach, gone from this plane of existence.

No.

No.

Tim couldn’t die.

Tim couldn’t die.

Tim couldn’t be dead.

Danny grasped at the soul, trying to force it to stay on this plane of existence. Distantly, he could hear his human form hyperventilating. If Tim died, Danny didn’t know where his soul would go. Danny didn’t know how death would change Tim.

Danny didn’t know Tim’s beliefs and where he would will himself. Tim’s family was here; Tim’s life was here, a bright light in the darkness of this Earth. He was a hero.

If anyone deserved to live a long and full life, the marvelous man in front of him was certainly one of them.

Danny’s desperation made it difficult to reach for his powers. All at once, he slammed all of his forms, across all of known existence, into his human body. Danny expanded immediately and absolutely, tracking Tim’s soul through the Infinite Realms.

Danny would fix this. Tim would live.

Tim's body was already dead in front of him. Heart stopped and brain silent.

Then, timeout.

Everything came to an immediate halt and silence reigned around them.

“Daniel,” a familiar voice told him, “Calm yourself.”

Danny’s eyes snapped to the Ancient of Time. He floated next to Danny, appearing in an aged form. His robes billowed open, showcasing the clock that ticked inside of the being instead of a heart.

“Fix this,” Danny rasped.

“You are going to break your own interference rules,” the being observed.

“Yes,” Danny told him, instantly.

“For a human,” the being’s form started to shift, pulling the ambient energy into his aura. Leeching, Danny observed. Clockwork was a leech.

“I am human,” Danny protested.

“Are you human?” Clockwork rasped at him. “Or is your form a manifestation of what you are in the same way mine is a manifestation of what I am.”

“I don’t care,” Danny responded. He held Tim’s dead hand, clutching it to his chest. The world around them froze, buildings bent and fractured. Danny’s eyes skimmed over the havoc he had wrecked noticing for the first time that he had caused devastation in his grief.

Human dead bodies littered the broken reality. In Danny’s compression of his power, he had caused everyone in his vicinity to perish instantly.

From the corner of his vision, a cloaked shadow lingered. Danny turned and tried to reach out with his powers at the same time, but it must have been a product of reality splitting. A mirage, Danny's mind supplied.

The souls of the dead where making their journey from the living realm to the Infinite.

Danny chose Tim’s life over theirs without question or hesitation.

“Are you prepared for Tim to die one day? Would you allow Tim fade to the balance as is the natural order?”

“I can put this all back,” Danny protested. He could reach out, finding every soul he had severed. He could knit back the buildings. He could right the Earth as if Danny hadn’t just split it in two.

“Can you?” Clockwork asked with a tilt of his head, “Or can you only recreate a facsimile of what it was. You have already changed the course of this Earth in your grief. Your abilities do not extend to time.”

“Then you fix it,” Danny told him.

The being in front of him shifted backwards in time twisting into a childlike form. Large red eyes stared out of an unnaturally porcelain face. “Why should I?” the being protested childishly.

“What is the purpose of all of this, if I have to be alone?” Danny breathed out.

“Power is lonely. You are singular Daniel,” Clockwork told him. “Take in what you have done.”

Danny would destroy the world for Tim, a man he had met two weeks ago. Danny started laughing at the absurdity. He was selfish; power had made Danny selfish.

At the same time, Danny wandered through existence alone. He had nothing to anchor him. Life might as well be meaningless if Danny willed it to be. Danny could certainly destroy it as if it was.  

“I order you to turn back time,” Danny told him, standing up to his full height. For the first time in seven years, Danny had his full power at his fingertips. He felt everything, everywhere, and everyone.

Every soul across known existence, dead and alive, hummed at him. Except for two, a distant part of Danny’s mind whispered. He couldn’t feel the Ancient of Fate nor Osiris.

Danny’s power reached out and took the Ancient of Time’s own lifeforce and will in an iron grip. The other being stumbled, the clock in his chest fracturing.

A grim part of Danny realized in that moment that he could destroy Clockwork. Danny could destroy time. Danny could destroy everything.

“Selfish, Daniel,” Clockwork rasped.

“Yes,” Danny agreed, “And I order you to turn back time.”

“You would destroy existence for him.”

“Apparently.”

Time and Balance stared at each other.

Danny whispered into infinity, “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want to be this. I tried to end myself, again and again, until it became a ritual. Tim brought something real back to me. It may not work out, he might decide that he’s not willing be with something like me, but Tim still has so much more life to live. What is the purpose of life, if it can be this cruel?”

“What is the purpose, Daniel?” Clockwork asked.

“I don’t know.”

There it was: the harsh reality of existence. Danny's nihilism felt especially ironic in this moment. Why had he been fated to be the Ancient of Balance? For years, all Danny wanted was to die, and the only way that would ever be feasible would be to destroy reality.  

The only thread keeping reality from annihilation was Danny’s sense of responsibility and guilt.

“Turn back time, I order you,” Then, Danny added with a whisper, “Please.”

“As you command, My King.”

Time blinked.  

[1] Hades is the Greek God of the Underworld. Xiuhtecuhtli is the Aztec God of Death, among other things. Fir and Olkan are made up Death gods from other universes. Genghis Khan in is from an alternate Earth that was immortalized in mythology after his death and worshiped as a prophet.

[2]Character in Shakespeare’s Othello known for whispering in people’s ear and causing self-serving conflict.

[3] One of Jose Andres’ restaurants. A tapas restaurant fairly close to National Portrait Gallery. Highly recommend if you’re going to DC.

[4] Vatican City and Palestine are “non-member observer states.” Kosovo, Taiwan, and Western Sahara have not been recognized as countries by the UN.

Chapter Text

Snap.

The round hit the pavement at the exact same moment that Danny and Tim hit the deck. Danny must have noticed something because he moved before Tim was even aware a shot was coming. Danny had, likely, saved Tim’s life.  

Tim's mind immediately shifted from civilian to vigilante mode. Tim had no weapons on him and no body armor. Additionally, he had Danny and the University students to protect.

They had to get off the X.

Screams erupted around them. Another round impacted next to Tim's head on the pavement.

Tim cursed at himself for getting distracted and not keeping situational awareness. What was the civilian count? Where were all the high points a sniper could be hiding out? Was it even a sniper?

"Move," Tim dragged Danny to his feet. The number one rule of an attack: don't be a sitting duck. Tim's eyes scanned as he and Danny leapt up. Tim repeated louder to the crowd of students, especially the ones frozen in shock. "Run!" Tim shouted at them.

They started to flee. Good.

Tim's eyes scanned the fleeing students as they ran. Nobody seemed to be injured. That meant that Tim was the target. Tim heard it before he saw it, a faint electronic buzzing. Then, Tim's eyes locked onto it.

A black drone, with six rotor blades hovered around fifty meters away. Estimating a size was difficult at that distance, but Tim knew the weapon system. He has seen the video tests.[1] Wayne Enterprises wasn’t in the business of developing weapons, but their competitors were. The UAS, or Unmanned Aerial System, was capable of hosting a number of weapon platforms, including small arms.

The drone was likely remote operated, and the operator could be anywhere from a mile away to across the globe. In a normal sniper scenario, the shooter was limited to one vantage point with a limited number of exits from their perch. The drone, however, could move at will and fire from the sky. It could track Danny and Tim’s movements and stay far enough away so that the only way to combat it would be through munitions or an EMP[2]. Tim had neither.

Simply put, unless they destroyed the drone, they were fucked.

And not in a good way.

“We have to get inside a building,” Tim told Danny, pushing him forward. “It can’t follow us inside.”

Another shot rang out. Tim knew in his soul that this one would hit the mark.

He braced his body for impact. Instead, Danny reached out and grabbed him, turning them both intangible.

The round soared through where Tim’s body should have been. Tim breathed hard, staring at Danny’s face. The sensation felt similar to when Phantom pulled the same trick. He knew that they were currently invisible, but at the same time, he could perceive Danny’s face.

Danny’s eyes were wide, and he was breathing hard. The freckles on his face seemed more pronounced with the flush of adrenaline. The world seemed to slow around them. Danny had already admitted to seeing auras and having magic.

This power shouldn’t have surprised him; yet, Tim’s mind reeled at the revelation.

Tim wasn’t sure how the mechanics of speaking worked when one was intangible, from a biological standpoint. Regardless, he opened his mouth –

-----

“We have to take that drone down,” Tim told Danny. Danny stared at him wide-eyed, still reeling from the conversation with Clockwork. On his order, Clockwork had dropped him back in time right before Tim had been shot.

Danny had tackled Tim to the ground and to safety, and Tim had turned to vigilante mode. Tim seemed like he wasn’t even processing that someone was trying to kill him – had killed him.

Danny hadn’t said a word as Tim had ordered the students to flee. Now they were staring at each other, invisible due to Danny’s powers. Tim radiated a sense of calm. Danny could see his mind spinning behind his eyes.

Danny split an alternate off. At this point, Phantom could destroy the drone.

Danny could destroy the drone now with a thought, but how would he explain that?

Phantom became visible and flew up next to the electronic contraption. It was some sort of flying machine with a gun attached to the bottom, and maybe a camera on the top. For a moment, Phantom hesitated. Tim was human. Whoever was controlling the device was – likely – human. Destroying the device went against Danny’s non-interference rules.

Unless, of course, one of his citizens was behind the attack. The device didn’t radiate ectoplasm, but that didn’t mean that humans hadn’t been influenced.

Either way, Danny had mentally passed the point of no-return the moment that Tim had been shot. Danny couldn’t imagine not interfering.

Phantom reached out with ectoplasm and crushed the device. It dropped out of the sky to the ground.

Then, Phantom disappeared as the ghost's form became obsolete.

Next to his human form, Tim breathed out, “Phantom.”

Danny willed them tangible. The students had, thankfully, fled, so there was no one to record them turning invisible then visible again.

Tim then straightened up next to him, smoothing over his suit. He let out a long-suffering sigh. At some point his glasses must have fallen off his face, and Tim retrieved them from the ground.

“Fuck, they’re scratched,” he muttered pocketing them. Tim gave a tight smile at Danny. “The police are probably on their way. We’re going to have to give a statement. I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”

“Tim, someone just tried to kill you,” Danny spoke for the first time since Clockwork turned back time.

“Yeah,” Tim agreed, “That’s irritating. I’m not sure who it was.” Then under his breath, Tim muttered, “Everyone is going to be so fucking annoying about this.”

“Tim, someone just tried to kill you,” Danny repeated.

Tim tilted his head at him, and then in an amused tone said, “Not the first time. I’m not dead, so no-harm, no-foul.”

Except he had died. Danny had cradled him as his soul left this plane of existence. Danny had destroyed this world to keep him alive.

And here Tim was, smiling at him like nothing had happened. Danny wanted to scream; take the beautiful man in front of him whose emotions currently emitted mild irritation and force him to understand the severity of what just occurred.

Tim misunderstood his lack of response. Tim’s turned towards him and shifted his body language.  “Danny,” Tim’s radiated sincerity, his voice low and calming, “I’m sorry that you got caught up in this. The threat is gone. Are you okay?”

Tim reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Danny recognized the action; Tim shifted into Red Robin in that moment in the same way that Danny changed forms from Danny to Phantom. Tim was reassuring a civilian that had been caught up in an attack.

“I’m fine,” Danny snapped, “Tim, that contraption almost killed you. If I hadn’t been here –” Danny bit off the end of his sentence. Tim would be dead.

“I would have died,” Tim finished for him, “Thank you. You saved my life.”

They locked their eyes. Tim cycled through emotions in front of him, and Danny breathed through the onslaught. Mild irritation, gratefulness, frustration, relief.

“You saved my life,” Tim repeated slowly, as if he had just fully processed the earlier event.

“Yes,” Danny breathed out. Danny’s hand reached to run his hand along Tim’s face. A strong jaw and faint stubble felt warm underneath his hand, alive. Tim’s eyelashes fluttered as he looked up at him. “Please don’t die on me.” Danny pleaded.

Danny leaned into Tim’s aura. The calm blue of his soul embraced Danny like a siren song, luring him to the edge of the cliff. He could jump down into the waves, drowning in his arms. Tim’s soul was a temptation, enticing him deeper away from ambivalence.    

Tim gave him a wicked grin. “That’s an impossible promise to make.”

It was. Everyone died and faded to the Balance, even Tim one day. The reality of that felt raw inside of him, like an open wound subject to the elements. Tim’s lifestyle, further, was dangerous.

Before Danny could gather his thoughts for a response, campus police rushed onto the scene.

-----

Tim sat at the police station, irritated. The fall-out from the assassination attempt had been beyond frustrating. Everyone, their mothers, and their goddamn grandmothers had some opinion about how Tim Drake-Wayne should respond.

The campus police had arrived first; then the Gotham Police Department showed up. Tim and Danny were whisked down to the precinct for interviews. Danny stayed mostly silent on their ride, his emotions unreadable.

Tim wasn’t certain if Danny was in shock, a reasonable response to getting shot at, from Tim’s near-death experience or his own near-death experience. The latter seemed unlikely from what Tim knew about Danny.

Danny, after all, seemed unconcerned about his own mortality.

Danny had saved his life. If he had not turned Tim intangible, that bullet would have hit him center mass. Tim wouldn’t have been able to string together a proper thought before he would have died.

It was hardly the first time someone had saved Tim’s life. In fact, Tim could honestly say that he had lost count. Batman, the other Birds, Pru from the League of Assassins, his Young Justice Teammates, even Alfred, had all acted in ways that prevented his death in the field in the same way that Tim had prevented theirs.

This felt different, more intimate.

Tim had been functionally helpless, in civilian clothing.

Irrational irritation bubbled up in him. Now, Tim would be forced to wear ballistic fabric under his work clothing. That would be uncomfortable and hot. At least, Tim compromised with himself, he could limit it to public appearances. For now. Until they figured out who had attempted to kill him.

Which, who had tried to kill Tim?

Red Robin wasn’t the target. The target of the attack was Tim Drake-Wayne.

It was just Tim, Danny, and Ryan in the vehicle riding over to the station. They were being convoyed by a police vehicle in front of them. After a few minutes of silence in the car, Tim turned to Danny.

“Hey,” he told him, “Thank you for pulling me out of the way of the second bullet.”

Danny’s eyes widened, as he understood the implications. Tim was keeping Danny's powers a secret.

“You’re welcome,” Danny responded roughly.

“And that meta,” Tim continued, “Is rather mysterious, isn’t he? I’ve never seen him before.”

Slight amusement flickered across Danny’s face. Something silently passed between them. Phantom had clearly destroyed the drone to protect Danny. Phantom, either through constant watch or omnipotence – and wasn’t that concept horrifying – kept track of Danny.

The protection of Tim’s life was a likely an unintended consequence of that fact. Phantom had been very clear of his non-interference rule. Phantom had either lied about that or Danny was his exception.

After arriving at the station, Danny and Tim were separated to give their statements.

Tim narrated the sequence of events to Police Commissioner Gordon and Detective Williams. Gordon had moved the interview to his office to give them some semblance of privacy. Tim hoped that Danny was being treated well by the police.

Once Tim finished his rather short explanation of what had occurred, Gordon asked, “Do you have any idea of who orchestrated this attack?”

Tim frowned. Even if he did know, he wasn’t going to tell Gordon in this capacity. Furthermore, any of the ideas of who it could be went far beyond the scale of what a city police department could handle.

Names ran through Tim’s head:

Ra’s al-Ghul seemed unlikely. He hadn’t gone after Tim in the last six years. While Tim had originally aassumed that Powdered Death was related to the Lazarus Pits, that turned out to be false. Nothing Tim had done recently would warrant a new hit on his life. Additionally, as sick as it felt to acknowledge, Ra’s also liked Tim. Ra’s saw Tim as some form of intellectual and power equal. Taking Tim out would ruin Ra’s fun. No, if Ra’s was going to go after Tim it wouldn’t be through a clinical assassination attempt, Ra’s would want to destroy his life.

The Black Mask, Sionis came up next. While Red Robin had cost Sionis millions from the drug bust, Tim Drake-Wayne would be a leap as a target. Not an impossible leap, but a leap. The technology, however, seemed more advanced than Sionis usually had access to.

While Tim disliked the term military grade as it was a functionally meaningless descriptor, the drone that had attacked him had been produced for the military. That required certain channels to procure. Tim dismissed Sionis.

Other names cycled through Tim’s head: Deathstroke, Lex Luthor, Deadshot, Talia. Tim wouldn’t put it past Damian’s mother to put a hit out on him if she saw Tim as an obstacle for Damian.

Finally, Tim answered Gordon, “Not that I can think of.”

Gordon, clearly, did not believe him, but stayed silent.  

Detective Williams pushed. “Is there anything you have been doing recently that would cause someone to want to kill you?” The man asked.

Tim raised his eyes at him, feeling bemused. “Detective Williams, I am the public face of the funding behind the Justice League of America. I am also the only known civilian. It would probably be easier for me to list people who don’t have reason to kill me.”

“You should contact Superman and arrange protection,” Gordon recommended. Gordon didn’t insult Tim by offering police protection.

“Batman doesn’t allow Metas in this city,” Tim pointed out, rather hypocritically considering Phantom’s protection of him.

“I think he’ll make an exception for you,” Gordon responded.

Detective Williams continued to push, “What about that meta that showed up? Can you contact him?”

“I’ve never seen him before,” Tim lied.

“I do not recommend you going back to your apartment tonight,” Gordon told him.

“I will take that into consideration,” Tim nodded at him. Consideration, after all, did not mean he intended to follow the recommendation.

“Mr. Drake-Wayne,” Gordon scolded, “Please take this seriously.”

“I am. Did my father put you up to this?” Tim asked. It wouldn’t shock Tim if Bruce and Gordon had spoken while Tim was in the car riding from the University to the precinct.

“No,” Gordon responded, “I have just been doing this for thirty damn years, and I think my recommendations should hold some weight.”

Tim didn’t respond with, and I’ve been doing this for twelve. Call me when you’ve saved the world.

Gordon didn’t deserve that anyways, but Tim felt on edge.

“I think we’re done here,” Tim stood with finality. “I’ll be in touch if I learn any useful information,” he lied. The way that Gordon’s eyebrows rose to his hairline indicated that he didn’t believe Tim for a second.

Danny was waiting for him in the lobby. His hands were nervously shoved into his pockets, and he was hunched over himself.

“I hope they didn’t give you a hard time,” Tim bit out angrily. If they had, he would be having words with Gordon.

“No,” Danny shook his head, “My interviewer was fine.”

Tim made a humph sound in response. “Let me drive you back to your house. I have to make some calls in the car if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Danny responded, “But my bike is at the University if we could go there.”

For a moment, Tim considered offering Danny protection. While Danny hadn’t been the target of the attack, it was apparent that they were walking together. Furthermore, social media had likely already identified Danny as Tim’s romantic interest.

At the same time, Danny had the most powerful being in existence watching over him.

Tim tried to not think too hard on that. After they got into the car, Tim opened his phone to fifteen missed calls. Tim scrolled through the names: Bruce, Clark, Director Reeds, Jason, Dick, Steph, even the manor line, and Rachel.

Tim’s first call was Rachel.

“So,” he said casually, when she picked up, “I missed my tux fitting. It needs to be rescheduled.”

“Fuck,” she breathed out, “Forget that Tim. I mean, I totally already rescheduled it, so like, don’t worry about it, but fuck Tim that’s hardly the most important thing here. Are you okay?”

“How bad is the media coverage?” Tim asked.

Silence radiated from the other end of the line. Tim grimaced. Wonderful.

“That bad, huh?”

“It’s not bad,” Rachel responded. “Just all the news is talking about right now. You made CNN. There is speculation that the attack is due to your involvement with the Code of Conduct. People are calling for the JLA to put you into protective custody –”

“No.”

“FBI Director Evan Reeds called the office,” she continued.

“I’ll be there in about,” Tim glanced down at his watch, “Thirty minutes if you can let him know that I’ll call back.”

“Superman called too. Tim, I talked to Superman.” Rachel’s high pitch squeak was amusing. That being said, Clark was the last person Tim had interest in talking to at the moment.  

“Tell him that I’ll call him back too.”

“Tam and Abby are working a statement,” Rachel informed him. “WE is going to put it out after you look it over. A press conference sounds too dangerous. Are you coming to work tomorrow? You probably shouldn’t, right?”

“Probably,” Tim answered ambiguously, as in he probably shouldn’t go into work, but he probably would be there. “My office windows are Level 10[3] ballistic glass,” he added absent-mindedly.

“That’s good to know,” Rachel huffed.

“Hey, I have to go. Call Even Reeds and Superman back. I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Okay,” Rachel affirmed, “See you soon, Tim.”

Tim clicked off the phone, suddenly aware of Danny’s eyes on him.

“Going into the office?” Danny asked.

“Yeah,” Tim grimaced, “It’s going to be a long night.”

“I’m sorry,” Danny told him softly. Danny then reached out and grabbed Tim’s hand. Tim felt the hot blush rise on his face, as their fingers intertwined. It felt weirdly intimate and comforting in the back of the car.

“I’ve avoiding calling Bruce,” Tim admitted, out loud.

Danny’s eyebrows scrunched together. He gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “He can’t be angry over this. It’s not your fault.”

The fact that Danny’s first thought when Tim said that he was avoiding talking to his father, was to assume anger as the reason spoke a lot to Danny’s childhood.

“He won’t be angry,” Tim told Danny, at least, Bruce won’t be angry at him. “He’s just going to get overprotective and insist that I stay in the manor.”

“Wouldn’t that be the safest?” Danny asked.

Tim rolled his eyes. “This isn’t my first rodeo with assassination attempts. Plus, my apartment was designed for this. All windows are rated Level 10. There are EMP devices installed which should prevent drone attacks. The only way into the apartment would be the roof or ground. A Helio would be seen miles away, and to get in from the ground required passing through multiple security checkpoints.”

“If you say so,” Danny acknowledged.

“Stay with me,” the words poured out of Tim’s mouth before he could stop them, “At least for tonight and we have a handle on this attack.”

“I have class tomorrow,” Danny protested.

“You were just shot at,” Tim pointed out, “I think they can give you a day off.”

“You’re one to talk,” Danny argued, “You’re literally going back to your office.”

“Yes, but I run a multi-billion-dollar corporation.” The second the words came out of Tim’s mouth, he realized how rude he sounded. He didn’t intend to imply that Danny’s work was less important.

“I don’t have any clothing,” Danny pointed out.

“I can have one of my brothers pick them up for you.”

Next to him, Danny breathed in deeply. He closed his eyes, as if he was making a decision. He then opened them and looked sharply at Tim.

“Okay,” Danny said. “Okay.”

That was the end of that, then.

“Ryan,” Tim directed to his driver slash bodyguard, who had maintained professional silence for this conversation. “Reroute to WE please. We’ll get your bike later, if that’s okay.”

Danny tensed for a moment. Tim waited for his response. Finally, Danny said, “Okay, yeah. That’s fine. I might get a ticket. I’m parked in a twenty-four-hour lot.”

“I’ll pay it,” Tim waved off the complaint. He would buy Danny a completely new bike if necessary.

“I really do have to call Bruce,” Tim announced, staring at this phone. Danny’s hand in his felt reassuring as he clicked on his father’s number.

Bruce answered immediately and snapped, “Report.”

“I am currently in the car with my bodyguard and Nightingale,” Tim told him, indicating that he couldn’t speak completely free. “One drone with a mounted M4 attacked me following the Gotham U memorial. Nightingale saved my life by tackling me out of the way of the first bullet. A meta showed up and crushed the drone before anyone was hurt.”

“Phantom?” Bruce asked.

“Yes,” Tim acknowledged. “Danny and I made our statement at the precinct. I am going back into WE to handle fallout. Danny is staying with me for the evening.”

“You believe he was also a target of the attack?” Bruce’s voice was neutral.

“Unsure,” Tim responded. “But unlikely. However, he is now publicly linked with me.”

“Understood,” Bruce’s tone was clipped, “I would like you to come to the manor for the evening. Danny is welcome.”

“No.”

“Tim.”

“I have EMP blockers in my apartment. If anyone tries to kill me, it will be the old-fashioned way. I am sleeping in my own bed,” Tim told him.

“I am unhappy about this decision,” Bruce practically growled at him.

“Be unhappy," Tim said neutrally.

Bruce grunted on the other end of the line. The conversation was escalating unnecessarily. Tim took a deep breath, regaining control of his emotions. Danny’s eyes bore into Tim, clearly concerned.

“Dad,” Tim said gently, “I know you are worried. My apartment is designed for this –” it had originally been designed to act as an urban command center, in the case that Gotham fell to chaos. It was created to hold against worse than a single assassination attempt. “I am going home tonight.”

“Your home is here,” Bruce’s voice sounded wounded.

“Home can be many places,” Tim responded. “I am an adult, B, I can handle myself.”

Tim waited for Bruce to formulate his reply. Finally, with a gruff tone, Bruce responded, “Jason and Dick want to post security on you.”

“I’ll allow it,” Tim compromised. “For tonight.”

“Fine,” Bruce said, although it was clearly not fine. “We will reassess tomorrow.”

“Fine.”

Tim hung up the call and slouched back against the seat in the car. Danny’s grip on his hand didn’t waver.

They arrived quickly after the call to Wayne Enterprises. The parking garage was fairly empty of cars, as it was after standard working hours. When they parked, Tim told Ryan to wait with the car as he would be taking him home that evening.   

“Follow me,” Tim insisted, leading Danny to his C-suite. Tim’s took an assessment of who was there the second he walked into the room. Danny trailed behind him.

Rachel, Tam, Lucius, Abby, his Chief Financial Officer, his Chief Information Security Officer, and his Chief Strategy Officer all stood around. Around them were a number of Wayne Enterprises security guards. Everyone’s eyes immediately snapped to Danny and Tim the second that they exited the elevator.

Tim immediately took charge, “Everyone, thank you for being here. I appreciate you staying late this evening. We can move this conversation into my office. This is Danny. He is a friend of mine that was caught up in the attack today.”

Tim’s Chief Information Security Officer, Gunther Gale, was a bald gentleman with more Masters degrees than hairs on his head. Gunter’s eyes flickered to Danny.

“Daniel Masters?” Gunter said, tone implying that Danny’s relationship with Vlad Co. was concerning.

Danny stiffened next to Tim. Tim still hadn’t gotten the story of Danny’s relationship with Vlad Masters, but he had said it was complicated. While nothing they were going to be discussing rose to the risk of corporate espionage – and, regardless, Tim trusted Danny – it wasn’t unreasonable for Gunter to be concerned.

Tim opened his mouth to protest.

“I’ll wait out here,” Danny spoke quietly, but firmly. Danny flashed him a soothing smile, clearly intending to reassure Tim. “You go do corporate things, baby.”

Tam, Rachel, and Abby all reacted to the word baby. Tam smiled softly. A large Cheshire grin spread across Rachel’s face. Abby’s sharply flickered between Tim and Danny, clearly calculating how to use their relationship.  

Tim had to force himself not to fidget. He was allowed a personal life, he reiterated in his head.

Tim led his team to his office. While the space was large, it still felt stifling with the number of bodies.

His Chief Financial Officer handed Tim a tablet as soon as they walked through the door. He was rather young for his position. He had spent a decade in high pressure stock trading, then transitioned to the corporate world. WE had enticed him away from his former position with a rather generous compensation package.   

Elias spoke softly but firmly, “We are lucky that the stock market had already closed by the time of the attack. We are expecting anywhere from a 3% to 5% price drop upon opening tomorrow. I think long term effects will depend on how shaken you appear to the public.”

Tim sat down on his desktop, facing the group of people responsible for ensuring that WE ran smoothly. He looked around.

Lucius’s eyes were dark and sharp. Tim made a mental note to speak with him tomorrow about increasing their production of EMP devices. If anything, the attack had proven where the world was headed with weapons manufacturing.

WE needed to be on the front line of combating that.

“Well, good news is that I’m not shaken,” Tim assured them.

“It’s okay to be shaken,” his Chief Strategy Officer, a man with salt and pepper hair, wide-rimmed glasses, and mellow demeanor told him. Tim was fairly certain that the man had dropped bodies in his former life in the Army and was now committed to being absolutely unflappable and calm.

Tim didn’t know that for sure; it was just his head canon.

“Bryan,” Tim responded, “Both of my parents died before I turned fifteen. My adopted father was presumed dead, and I left with only a backpack and traveled the world alone for almost a year. I took this position without a high school diploma. If you remember, I was also shot at the Neon Knights press conference when I was seventeen.[1] Very little shakes me.”

“Tim,” Rachel protested, “Someone tried to kill you today. It’s understandable if you need time.”

“No,” Tim looked around the room, meeting everyone’s eyes. “The work that WE does is too important. If someone wants to kill me, I'll challenge them. But, I’m not going to be reckless. We will consider security,” Tim nodded at Abby, “during all of my public appearances. Gunter, I need you to tighten who has access to my schedule. Where I am will be on a need-to-know basis. I will handle my own personal security in my personal time.”

Bryan nodded at him. The man responsible for WE business strategy asked, “Do you believe that this is related to WE or your work with the JLA?”

“I will let the police and JLA investigate,” Tim lied.

“Do you have a contingency plan if do you get… injured?” Bryan stepped lightly over the word injured.

Tim’s tongue played with his teeth inside of his mouth as he thought it through. “If it’s temporary, Lucius takes over the position as CEO until I can step back in. If it’s permanent, Lucius will hold the position until Damian is old enough to take on the mantle. I will have legal write up the policy tomorrow.”

There was slight tension in the room. Elias and Bryan were both contenders to the position of CEO if for any reason Tim was unable to keep it. While it made sense that Tim was choosing to hand it over to family, they likely felt snubbed to some extent.

Hmm, Tim mused, he hadn’t considered that angle for why someone would want to kill him.

“Damain is your successor?” Abby asked.

“No,” Tim responded easily, “I have no intention of dying. Hopefully by the time I do retire, Damain is too old to be a real successor. But yes, in the instance that an assassination attempt succeeds, he is my choice. Also, Rachel, make a note to schedule a meeting with my Estate attorneys to update my Will.”

Rachel nodded at him sharply.

“Have you spoken with your father?” Lucius asked in a double question, Batman and WE related.

“Yes,” Tim affirmed, “Bruce will run interference with the Board of Directors. There isn’t much they can do with the Wayne Family owning controlling interest.”

Tim could cut the tension in the room with a knife. He had to remind himself that these were civilians that didn’t deal with assassination attempts and death threats. They hadn’t faced down Ra’s al-Ghul or the Joker or Scarecrow or even a street thug with a knife.

Tim paused, asking, “Is everyone here okay? Is anyone concerned about their own safety?”

Elias fiddled with his hands, “Not going to lie, yeah, a little bit. I mean, I know it’s Gotham, but –”

“Understandable,” Tim responded, “Gunter, I need you to bulk up our physical building security. Lucius, I want EMP devices installed around the building yesterday. Any employees with safety concerns directly related to their job are permitted to work from home during this period. Tam, I need you to coordinate with HR and have that policy on my desk tomorrow by noon, preferably earlier. If we can push it out tonight, even better.”

Tension in the room started to ease with Tim’s words.

“Abby,” Tim addressed, “Do you have the proposed press release?”

“Yes, right here.” Abby handed him over a tablet.

Tim’s eyes scanned over the words:

On October 18th at 4:32PM, Waybe Enterprise's CEO Timothy Drake-Wayne was targeted in an unknown assassination attempt. He is alive and well and wants to reassure the public that business operations have not been impacted. The police, federal agencies, and JLA are working together to investigate this attempt and apprehend the perpetrator. We ask that the public keep the Wayne Family in their thoughts and prayers during this trying time. Additionally, we request that the public respect Mr. Drake-Wayne’s privacy, and the privacy of all individuals caught in the attack.

Wayne Enterprise's mission continues to be to utilize all assets, personnel, and systems to innovate and revolutionize technology in order to advance global progress towards Earth’s security, stability, and harmony. In the midst of this crisis, WE affirms their commitment to their values and principles.

“Christ,” Tim muttered, “Trying time and thoughts and prayers. Abby, this is going to be mocked relentlessly.”

“It’s what the public will expect,” she explained.

Tim’s mouth thinned into a line, “Very well then. I approve. Put it out.”

After a moment, Tim asked the group, “Are there any other concerns we need to handle tonight?”

Everyone shuffled in the same way that high schoolers do when you ask them if they have any questions, awkward and poised to bolt.

“Lucius?” Tim directed.

“Nothing that needs to be handled tonight,” the man said, “We can discuss expanding EMP production tomorrow.” Tim nodded at him. This is why he appreciated Lucius. The man could read Tim’s mind.

“Gunter?”

“I – uh – will need a budget from HR for how many new security hires I’m authorized for. Additionally, my staff will be submitting a lot of overtime in the next month or so. I will try to trace if there are any leaks from the WE side that put you at risk today. The police have already called for me to hand over evidence.”

“I doubt it was anything that WE employees did,” Tim responded, “My appearance there was pretty well known outside of this building. Work with legal to cooperate with the police but don’t hand over any information that could harm WE intellectual property or security. Gotham police aren’t exactly clean, and we don’t need to put more people at risk. That’s my order.”

Gunter nodded at him.

“Elias?” Tim asked.

“We have to accept the stock price drop. I don’t see it affecting us long term.”

 “Bryan?”

“I’ll call your father tomorrow about the Board of Directors. We can use this as an excuse to pivot WE into more physical security production as you’ve been wanting to do anyways. We can set you up as more of a martyr. WE’s involvement with the JLA has been contentious, but rallying around tragedy could be good for our PR and lead to our business strategy for the next year. Make it personal, so to speak.”

Tim appreciated Bryan’s pragmatic take. The attempt was done. Now they needed to make it beneficial to WE.

“Abby?”

The woman crossed her arms over her chest, “I’m not going to lie, Tim, this is going to make my life a lot more difficult. We are going to have to budget in a lot more for security for your talk show appearances, provided the hosts even still want to bring you on –”

“ –violence sells – ” Rachel muttered under her breath.

Abby inclined her head towards the other woman, “And now, I have to double-work the WE press side. I’m going to need you to be available to greenlight statements in the next seventy-two hours as the news cycle covers this.”

“Whatever you need,” Tim responded easily.

“Thank you. Also, sorry, unrelated, is Danny Masters your boyfriend?” Abby raised on very well-groomed eyebrow. Tim huffed.

“We’re figuring it out,” Tim told her.

“Hmm,” she stared into Tim’s eyes, “Let me know when you do. I will need his profile and a statement from you on that as well. The assassination attempt has monopolized the press circuit, but his identity has already been leaked. I think we can spin it positive.”

Tim hated, with a burning passion, how his private life was WE business. Despite that, he understood.

He grimaced, “I’ll talk to him.” Moving on, Tim asked, “Tam?”

“I canceled all of your meetings for tomorrow,” she told him, “I am rearranging your schedule for next week. Have you considered the impact on the Wayne Gala?”

No, Tim had not considered that yet.

“Move the meeting that was supposed to happen with the Wayne Foundation to tomorrow afternoon,” Tim directed, “I would like to do a Town Hall meeting with WE in the morning. Abby, I’ll shoot over my talking points to you by ten. Tam, can you organize that and shoot out a link for our employees working remote or outside of Gotham.”

“Of course,” she said.

“Rachel?”

“I still think you’re insane for not taking a break,” Rachel told him, “And are you sure that you don’t need me to coordinate personal security?”

“I have it covered,” Tim dismissed.

“Well, then Director Reeds and Superman are waiting to talk to you,” Rachel told him.

“Thank you,” Tim acknowledged, “Tell Superman that I will call him after I speak with Reeds.”

Rachel muttered under her breath, “Tell Superman to wait, yeah sure.”

With one final look around the room, Tim told them all, “Thank you all for staying late tonight. I don’t say it enough, but everyone here does phenomenal work. WE wouldn’t be able to run without you. The next couple of weeks will be busy. I would ask that you be on-call over the weekend.”

With that dismissal, everyone started shuffling out of Tim’s office. Tim stood up and walked them all to the door. Danny was sitting on one of the couches outside the office, looking zoned out. He looked tired.

Danny’s eyes flickered up to him, and Tim motioned for him to come inside.

“Sorry for making you wait,” Tim apologized.

“All good,” Danny shrugged, “I thought it was going to take a lot longer, to be honest.” Danny’s eyes roamed the inside of Tim’s office. Tim shrugged off his suit jacket and discarded it on a chair. He opened a cabinet to reveal a mini-fridge and grabbed a bottle of sparkling water.

“Want one?” Tim asked.

“Sure.” Tim handed Danny the water.

Tim sat down on the couch next to him. He leaned back for a second and let out a deep breath.

“Long fucking day,” Tim mumbled, “And I still need to make a few calls.”

“Do you want me to step out again?” Danny asked.

“Nah,” Tim rubbed a hand down his face.

An exhausted silence fell between them. Tim wanted to grab Danny and wrap himself in him. He longed to go back to that evening two weeks ago when they had first met, when ghosts and assassination attempts didn’t sit heavily between them.

Danny's reaction to events-of-the-day had been surprisingly calm. Tim kept on expecting him to break-down, either with nerves or tears. They had both just been shot at, presumably, by an elite assassin who was still at large.

While Danny claimed to have handle ghosts in Amity Park, handling the supernatural wasn't the same as the brutal human capacity for violence. He seemed more shook up by Tim's brush with death than his own; Tim kept expecting him to process his role now that they had a moment of calm.

“Who do you have to call?” Danny questioned with a steady tone.

“The Director of the FBI, Evan Reeds, then Superman,” Tim told him.

“The Director of the FBI,” Danny responded, his voice colored in shock, “Ancients, I forget that you’re so high profile.”

“You’re one to talk, you have the most powerful being in existence as a glorified bodyguard,” Tim snarked. “I guess I should tell you to thank him for me.”

A small smile crept up Danny’s face, “I’ll pass it along.”

Tim fidgeted for a moment and debated his next words. Finally, he told Danny, “I’m going to have some questions for you later, just so you know.”

“I expect nothing less,” Tim could hear the fondness in Danny’s voice. For some reason it made him want to curl his toes at the attention of the affection. Tim was not used to being doted on.

Tim used Danny’s position on the couch to his advantage and laid down so that his head was in Danny’s lap. Danny raised his eyebrows at him but allowed it. He began to play with Tim's hair.

“I’m going to make my calls now,” Tim announced. Rachel had texted him the number, which he clicked on and selected speakerphone. Within seconds, Evan Reeds picked up.

“Any thoughts on who did it?” Reeds spoke without a way of greeting.

“Good evening to you to. I am alive and well, thank you for asking,” Tim snarked. Danny’s hand rubbed circles in his hair, and Tim leaned back into it.

“I am not going to patronize you by asking if you’re okay. I’ve never even met you and I know that you’re fine. I want to know if you know who did it. Gotham PD isn’t cooperating with us,” Reeds snapped back.

“It’s not a Federal Crime,” Tim pointed out.

“According to 18 United States Code, Section 1512 and Section 1958, I have jurisdiction to declare this a federal matter, which I am by-the-way,” Reeds responded, “You’re welcome.”

“I don’t speak US penal code,” Tim snapped.

“Don’t worry about it,” Reeds returned, “Tim, I am trying to help you out here. We may not see eye to eye on the JLA’s role in law enforcement on American soil, but I’m not going to deny that they have saved the world many times over. You've stuck your neck out for them and almost got a bullet for it. I don’t take well to good men getting shot at.”

Tim let out a deep sigh. Reeds had good intentions, but Tim’s nerves were frayed from the long day. Tim looked up to Danny who had a dazed look on his face.

“The JLA will sort it out,” Tim pointed out, “I don’t think there is much the FBI can do.”

Reeds shuffled on the other end of the phone. Finally, the man sighed, “Unless one of the JLA members is the perpetrator. Have you considered that?”

Of course Tim had considered that. But he had dismissed it.

“I don’t believe that any of them have motive, nor does the method of assassination match any of the heroes,” Tim pointed out.

“Unless they were purposefully going outside of their MO,” Reeds said, “You have a lot of enemies Tim Drake-Wayne. I can’t think of a more influential businessman in America right now and you’re barely out of diapers. I ask again: who do you think did it?”

Tim frowned, considering brushing off the question. He should hang up on Reeds.

Tim finally settled for a half-truth, “Honestly, it’s probably a high-profile assassin à la Deadshot or Deathstoke type. The drone was foreign military, manufactured mainly in China but finished in the United States with an M4 attachment, an American service riffle as you know. Deadstroke is known to use an M4 but has never been caught using a drone. Could be some up-and-coming no-name assassin.”

Tim continued in a clipped tone, “As for who ordered the hit? Not sure. Lex Luthor has the most to gain from a business perspective. You mentioned JLA members. No, I am not telling you who disagrees with the Code. I’m not particularly popular with the Gotham criminal underworld either. So, it would be someone with the means and connection to hire a high-profile assassin, and an assassin with the means to procure that particular drone. I would start with forensic accounting of the company that produces them. Gotham PD has the destroyed drone. I’m sure the serial numbers have been filed off, but the internal components should have their own and it shouldn’t be that hard to track down if there are any missing from production.”

Evan Reeds started to laugh on the other end of the line, “…. Fucking hell Drake-Wayne, I knew you were smarter than you let on.”

Unease settled in Tim. Had he given away too much information? Nothing he just said sounded too outrageous for a fortune-500 CEO, who funded the JLA, to know.

"I don't pretend to be an idiot," Tim snapped.

“Like your father, you mean,” Reeds responded darkly. Tim felt a chill go down his spine. He adjusted himself in Danny’s lap. He clicked though his phone to the app that Oracle designed. In there, he selected the option to connect his phone to their comms, so that the conversation would be recorded on Oracle’s system and broadcasted to his family.

Bruce would not be happy about this.     

Tim held his tongue from snapping back and giving away information. He closed his eyes, and then neutrally responded, “I’m not sure what you are implying.”

“Just that your father business practices directly contradict the image he presents. I’m not sure what Bruce Wayne is hiding, but it isn’t a wine collection. Billions of dollars spent funding the JLA. Additionally, six children, two directly connected to the League of Assassins… your younger brother racked up quite the rap sheet for a nine-year-old.”

Damian’s Year of Blood, as he called it, had resulted in a wake of bodies and crimes. Tim hadn’t been aware that the FBI had investigated it, but it wasn’t unsurprising.

Oracle’s icon popped up on Tim’s phone screen. She was listening in which meant Bruce was listening as well. Tim tensed, carefully considering his next words.

Danny hands rubbed down his arms soothingly.

“Is this an official opinion of the FBI?” Tim asked. “Because it sounds like I should be calling an attorney.”

“The FBI has files on everyone, Mr. Drake-Wayne. Very little of it is official. If you’re asking who has access to those files, very few.” Oracle will know their names by the end of this conversation; Tim had no doubt.

“What exactly is in those files?” Tim asked, neutrally.

“Nothing I will say on a recorded line,” Reeds responded, “Plausible deniability, for both you and me. Let's just say that I meant what I said earlier when I called you a good man. We might disagree about some of your family's choices, but I won't deny that there are certain threats beyond the scope of what the FBI can handle."

Tim's eyes flickered up to Danny. Like ghosts, his mind supplied. Actually, Tim mused, there was probably some FBI department specifically for those types of threats. Not that they could do much against Phantom, then again, Tim didn't know if anyone or anything could be a threat to Phantom.

That was a genuinely terrifying thought. Tim felt a wave of guilt because Phantom had saved his life not hours earlier.

"Back to the reason for this call," Reeds redirected, "The FBI will investigate who is trying to kill you. I suggest that you procure protection for yourself for the time being. Maybe don't go home for awhile."

Tim frowned; why was everyone trying to insist that he not go back to his apartment?

"I'll take that recommendation under advisement," Tim huffed.

"I'm sure you have other calls to make," Reeds told him, "But Tim?"

"Yes?"

"Don't die on me. And if you figure out who did this before I do, pass it along." Reeds told him.

"I will," Tim lied.

"No, you won't." Reeds ended the call. Tim ended the comms transmission.

Tim groaned and closed his eyes. What a fucking disaster today had become. Tim could see Bruce's incoming call, and pressed decline. He was not dealing with Bruce again tonight.

Danny continued to run his hands through Tim's hair, which helped ground him. Tim looked up to the man's face. He had a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose framing his pale eyes. In the artificial light of the office, they appeared so pale that they imitated the color of an iced over lake.

"When I said earlier that I should cancel my tux appointment to spend more time with you, this is not what I meant," Tim mused.

Danny hummed as he dragged his thumb along Tim's jaw. "Not ideal. I could have gone without you almost dying."

"Make the most of it?" Tim asked, playfully.

"Mmm, maybe," Danny agreed softly, his hands staying gentle on Tim. Tim's phone buzzed in his hands. Bruce was calling. Tim screened the call.

Nope.

They had already talked. Bruce could deal.

"I need to call Superman," Tim said, "Then we can go back to my apartment. My brothers are probably already there."

"Dick and Jason, right?"

"Yeah."

Just one more call. Tim sighed. It had been a long damn day, a long damn week, and a long damn month. Tim laced the fingers on his right hand's into Danny's, and allowed himself a moment of silence.

Then, Tim navigated his contacts to Clark's number and pressed call. It rang for a second before Clark picked up.

"Tim," Superman's voice boomed, concerned, "What is this about you not going to stay at the manor tonight?"

Tim huffed in frustration.

-----

Phantom felt unstable.

While Clockwork had shoved him back in time, and the many forms he held went back to their relative positions in time-space, Danny had stepped off of a cliff that he had been teetering on for ages.

The intoxicating, all-encompassing sheer power jittered his fractured soul. He had broken his rules and used his powers with finality. Danny had forced Clockwork to his bidding, altering existence to his pleasing, and erasing whatever timeline that would have been; that will never be.

It was not Danny's first time flexing his powers; making existence bend around him, not bending to existence. It was, however, the first time in six years.

The last time Danny had changed reality was when he had overwritten the Anti-Ecto Acts. He had simply willed the acts and the GIW out of reality. Clockwork had showed him the consequences after: a timeline that would never exist, babies that would never be born, human societies that will never come to rise.

Danny played at being God.

Was it playing if you really were?

On top of the consequences of his decision to save Tim's life, Danny had opened his mind again to the full force of his power in one form. Shoving it all back, existing as a human, felt difficult. After he called Phantom to crush the drone, Danny's human form struggled to hold permeance.

His alive body felt contorted as he struggled to keep the onslaught of his powers from leaking in and changing him. He breathed through it. In, out —focus on Tim's soothing aura, Danny demanded himself.

In, out. In. Out. Focus on Tim's voice.

Danny was here, in Gotham, with Tim.

Reality felt loose, woven around him like thin threads that Danny could just pull. Yank a little bit, tie together, snip moments easier than Danny could breathe. What did it matter if Danny changed things? The only being that would ever know would be Clockwork.

Danny could feel Tim's tense emotions when the Director of the FBI, Evan Reeds, implied that he knew Tim's identity. Danny could reach out, pull the information from Reeds mind, and remove all evidence. Like the edge of a knife, even the slightest bit of Danny's will could cut deep.

He forced himself to rein it in, as a human. His ghost forms had been slingshot out, lol back to where they were before the time rewind.

As Danny rode in the car with Tim, he had crushed all of his forms together at the Isle of Infinity. At the moment, there were only two Dannys: a human, weak, alive body and everything else that he was.

Phantom's almost full force of power shifted him away from human into an amalgamation and reflection of all life. Fingers became pointed claws. His back contorted with dark avian wings. His mouth slashed across a scaled face full of predator teeth. Then, there were the stars and cosmos that clung to his form, constantly dying and being reborn.

In that form, he felt like a monster.

His core broadcasted across the Infinite Realms. His emotions were apparent to every one of his subjects. Fury sat in the empty space between atoms. Rage permeating the quiet moments. Displeasure rang through ears.

The King was mad, long-rule-the-King.

As Danny's hands intertwined with Tim's fingers in an armored black sedan, he called his Advisors at the Isle of Infinity. Arching windows stretched around him in a grand hall, each showing a different cosmos. The floor appeared like black and white marble swirling beneath their floating forms. The ceiling stretched towards eternity until all that could be seen above was nothingness.

This structure was an manifestation of his power, and, by extension, him.

Pandora was the first to arrive. Her form recoiled at the intensity of his presence. She whimpered, a wounded sound more primal than human.

Danny did not bother to put her at ease. She had, after all, insisted that he be lenient with Osiris. Clockwork appeared next, young and small, curled in on himself, a physical representation of subservience to Danny.

Then came Skulker, weapon drawn as if expecting to fight for his life. Fright Knight followed behind him, projecting the entire force of his power and soul, protective of his own core.

Finally, Frostbite arrived, in full regalia. His stamped gold belt sat across his white fur covered hips, and a ice crown on his head. Waves of concern and care hit Phantom in full force, almost pushing his form to the floor.

"Oh, Great One," Frostbite's gentle voice resonated around the hall, "What has been done to you?"

Phantom curled on himself, claws digging into his cloak of stars.

He wanted to step forward into Frostbite's arms, put the furred beast between him and the world.

Instead, he opened his mouth and rasped, "Fate declared war by harming my intended. I have allowed the Kings far too much leeway. I will be visiting Osiris' allies. I expect your support in this matter."

His eyes lingered on Pandora who looked down, radiating shame. Danny pulled back his anger, centering himself. He didn't want to harm her even in this emotional state.

Danny was not a monster, even if he resembled one.

Clockwork's voice ping-ponged around the room, "You believe Timothy's death to be an act of Fate?"

"I can see no other option," Danny growled, "Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, the Red Robin, is under my protection. It is my decree."

Fright Knight leaned back, purple flames enveloping his form. "My Liege, would you like to have a guard stationed on him?"

Phantom paused for a moment, considering. "Possibly. For now, I will see to it myself. My human body is with him."

Skulker's teeth bared at him, "The only other form you're currently holding?"

Everyone could tell that Phantom was almost whole; he was synonymously his most powerful and most vulnerable.

"Yes."

Phantom reached out and surrounded Skulker in his power, reminding. Skulker gave off waves of approval and jealousy. "You intend to hunt down the unreachable? The Ancient that hides in the shadows? Fate finds you."

"I have not looked before," Phantom responded, "Fate has changed that need."

"I approve," Skulker affirmed, "I would be happy to join you "

Phantom leveled his eyes at the being. One of his monstrous claws reached down to grasp at the hilt of his sword. "I will do this alone."

Frostbite radiated concern and Pandora fidgeted in the air. Clockwork twitched and shuddered. His form mutated, growing in front of their eyes. A much older, almost withering, form stood in front of them.

Gray hair and hunched over. His words scraped over their ears, "Tempting Fate could threaten the fabric of existence, but you don't care about that, do you Daniel?"

Danny growled in response.

"Great One," Frostbite's voice felt soft on his body like a blaming slave, "I urge caution in your actions."

"I think caution in my actions is what led to this," Danny declared. "You are all dismissed. I will be calling a Council of Kings meeting soon. Things will be changing."

"The Realms know," Pandora breathed. "But I support you, my King. You have always been kind and just."

The truth in her words burrowed through the exterior of his anger. Danny closed his eyes, mind wandering to his human body.

Tim laid his head in his lap, so breakable. He argued with the FBI denying any protection. What a strong-willed formidable human he had found. Tim felt warm underneath his touch.

Alive.

Danny could almost pretend that he was the same.

Then, in a moment, he was back in a form that would revolt even the bravest.

Frostbite spoke next. "Our young King, no power in the world replaces love. Remember that on your journey to find Fate."

Phantom didn't respond. What was there to say to that? He didn't know if he loved Tim, but he could, and that was enough. Even Fate would not take away Danny's choice, Danny's will.

Clockwork was the being to issue to the final warning. “Be careful in attempting to escape Fate. You might find yourself doing its bidding.”

Without a response, Phantom opened a portal stepping towards the first name on Anubis' list: Hades. The Grecian inspired god lived in a cavernous kingdom.

Charon greatest Phantom at the edge of the River Styx.

"My King," the being said with a deep bow. "Hades is expecting you."

Phantom did not dignify that with a response. Charon motioned to a boat for him to step into. Instead, he waved his hand, parting the waters of the churning river that stretched before them, green with ectoplasmic energy. Danny could follow the rules of this land of the dead, which would be a show of respect.

Phantom was not here in a show of respect. He was here to assert this rule. He floated through the parted waters, vaguely aware of the irony of his actions. They met halfway across the parted river.

The physical vestige of an almost dead religion loomed in front of Danny. He was an amalgamation of everything ever believed of him. Dark hair and gray-blue skin clashed with the emerald-green fiery atmosphere of the Realm. Dead souls loomed in the distance, leaning towards Danny. They would be so easy to turn against Hades, smothering the being with his own subjects.

"My Liege," the King acknowledged, "I believe there has been a grave misunderstanding."

"Has there been?" Phantom rasped.

"I assure you that I did not assist Osiris," Hades told him. "I turned him away."

"But you didn’t tell me –"

"What would I gain–"

Hades suddenly gasped as Danny grabbed onto his soul and yanked. Hades staggered, eyes bulging out. The golden stefana on his head fell forward onto the ground in front of them.  

"King Phantom," the being pleaded, "you are known for your mercy."

Pathetic fear rolled off Hades. This being rarely had reason to fear for its existence, but all could be judged by Danny. He unceremoniously released Hades from his grasp. Hades stumbled again, attempted to right himself with dignity.  

Phantom bent down, grasping the fallen symbol of power in his hands.

"A hat that lets the rain in," Danny muttered to himself.

Hades stayed silent in front of him.

"Did you help on his quest to find Fate?" Danny asked.

Hades shook his head rapidly, "No. I wouldn't have the faintest clue where to begin. I rarely leave my Kingdom."

Phantom hummed. Hades radiated hesitant honesty. Phantom studied the Death god, decked in Grecian armor. He had existed for many millennia and would for many more. Like Hades or not, he was a piece of Phantom's court.

He maintained his rule in this land with an iron fist, dispensing judgement to all that came along. Hades was not a good or evil being, he simply was. Eons of living will constructed Hades’ presentation. Danny wondered about the being’s sense of self. Did he believe himself to be autonomous or did he see himself as a self-fulfilling prophecy?

Hades could no more easily escape what he had been born to be than Danny could escape his status as the Ancient of Balance.

Phantom’s claws picked at the golden wreath.

Hades was one of the old-guard, established and respected among the Kings.

“I will be building a new government,” Phantom informed Hades, “Will I have your support?”

Hades eyed Phantom’s grasp on his stefana. Phantom reached out and handed the object back to Hades for the god to place the crown back on his head. The exchange happened silently, a pact between them.

Finally, Hades spoke, “Your will is the will of the Realms. I will support you in your endeavors if you support me in mine.”

“You want autonomy over your Kingdom?” Phantom questioned, knowing the answer. “Why should I grant that?”

“Because,” Hades informed him, “You are not Fate. You allow beings their autonomy.”

Phantom twitched. Did he? It felt like a cruel statement in light of his actions today.

Hades continued, “King Phantom, I will support you at the Council. I wish you luck on your journey.” Now, please leave, was left unsaid. Even among the powerful, Phantom was singular. They walked forward, out of the parted river and onto the ground of Hades’ Realm. Hades gave Phantom a low bow which he returned with a nod.

Phantom slashed a portal through Hades’ realm, to their location. He allowed the waters of the Styx to fall closed behind him.

Phantom stalked forward through the twisting forest, souls lurking in between the spindly trees that rose up towards a pale green sky. Pain, sadness, loneliness radiated from painfully small auras. These had been children when they had passed.

As if the Realm was a living world, a breeze brushed against his form. Olkan was a trickster god, a forest entity that lured youth to the afterlife before their time.

"King Phantom," a curling childish voice spoke from above. Phantom zeroed in on the sound. Olkan sat on the branch of dead tree, youthful face and bright red hair that floated around him. "What do I owe pleasure of your visit to my Realm."

"You are aware," Phantom responded harshly, rotating around to face the god.

"Osiris is not welcome in my land," the child-god cooed, "You, on the other hand, are always welcome here, child-King." Danny was vividly reminded of Youngblood, the other eternally young ghost.

"I am no longer a child," Phantom pointed out.

"You cannot change the age that you died," Olkan said, "No more than I can change the wind."

Danny did not point out that there were in Olkan's land, and he could, in fact, change the wind at will. Further, Olkan was not a protector of children, he enticed them to death with youthful recklessness and pride. Olkan was a cruel King, especially for the souls of children, punishing themselves for bad decisions that many had not been old enough to consciously make.

If Danny had ended up in this afterlife, it would have been because he believed himself to be at fault for his own death as a child. But Danny would never end up here, because Danny could not truly die.

"Did you direct Osiris to Fate?"

"The Ancient of Fate?" Olkan asked, "I don't dare tempt Fate, my Lord. It is asking for trouble."

The being swung spindly legs over the tree branch. The pretend childlike innocence shot fury through Danny. Danny allowed this. Danny allowed a trickster being to punish the souls of dead children, feeding off their will and energy until they faded to the Balance.

The irony of Phantom promising, not minutes earlier, Hades’ autonomy stung. Where was that line? Olkan was no less a construction of belief than Hades. Yet, Danny felt revulsion towards the being.

Ghosts of small children huddled in the dark shadows of the dead forest, human and alien alike. They didn’t radiate fear of him like the souls in Hades’ Realm had; some of these children had died too young to know real fear. They had accepted their fate among the trees.

Danny did not, generally, interfere with beings’ self-determination in their choice of afterlife. But where was that line? When should Phantom step in?

Olkan gave a bell-like laugh, ignorant to Phantom’s thoughts.

“King Phantom, you have no reason to be here. Osiris cannot enter this Realm, and Fate has no reason to interfere."

Fury radiated down Phantom's body. This was wrong; this afterlife was wrong. Olkan was a stain on the Infinite Realms.

And well, Phantom was currently unstable. Reality rippled around them, Olkan's eyes flying wide in shock. The being hadn't expected this from him. Olkan phased through the tree, pushing distance between them. Olkan radiated unease.

"Fate might not have any reason to interfere," Phantom darkly muttered, "But it seems that I do." Why had Olkan's name come up in relation to Osiris? What did Osiris or Fate hope to gain with this cherub monster?

Regardless, Danny made his decision as the atmosphere of the Infinate Realms whipped around him. Today was a day of decisions. The children's souls would no longer be subject to this afterlife.

The space melted around them, trees turning shapeless as Danny unraveled the Realm. Olkan fought it, throwing a blast at Phantom that he waved off with his hand. Then, he formed tentacles of will from the Infinite Realms that reached up and secured Olkan in their grasp. The being fought the manifestations, thrashing about until he was completely encompassed.

Phantom stared on with dark thoughts and emotions. As Olkan's Realm melted, the many souls it contained became bare to the world. Their gentle auras washed through years of fear and isolation shone brightly in now exposed portion of the Realms.

Phantom threw forward waves of gentle reassurance. He would protect these souls.

Phantom summoned Fright Knight, who appeared on call. The being kneeled before him.

"My Liege," Fright Knight boomed, "Did King Olkan conspire against your rule?"

"No," Danny responded honestly, "But conspiracy isn't necessary for my judgment. Take him to Walker."

With that, Olkan was in his presence no more. Danny would have to decide if he should end him or imprison him. Olkan would fade quickly without his Realm which was its own cruel fate.

The children surrounded Danny; their small forms mocking him in death. This could have been Danny, dead at fourteen. One little girl with auburn hair and bright green eyes, the only indication of her ghosthood being the long tail that encompassed her lower half rather than legs, floated up to him.

"Are you Danny?" the little girl asked.

Danny leaned down to get on her level. "Yes," he told the child. "Danny is the name I was born with."

"He said you would come to save us," the child told him.

Phantom stilled.

"Who told you?" he asked, careful to keep his emotions in check around the small being.

"Fate," the girl responded, "He left a message for you. He said to let it unravel as intended."

A deep bit settled in his stomach as Danny remembered Clockwork's words from earlier: Be careful in attempting to escape Fate. You might find yourself doing its bidding.

Had Fate sent Phantom towards Hades to make an ally? Had Fate intended Danny to save the children that he had neglected in this Realm, pushing him further away from his pact of non-interference? If so, why?

Phantom's form shuddered in confusion and fear. He could, of course, not go after the other names on the list, Fir, Genghis Khan, Ötzi, Tia and Ta'xet, but would that be what Fate wanted, or what it didn't?

Danny's hand on Tim's forehead paused the circular motion. In, out, Danny's human form breathed.

[1] In real life, the UAS system SMASH Dragon from SMART SHOOTER can host a number of weapon platforms.

[2] Electromagnetic pulse

[3] Rated up to a 50 Cal bullet. Usually not commercially available, but my head-canon is that WE produced the glass, so they can install it.

[4] Reference to Hitlist storyline

Chapter Text

It had been a joke at first. The Robin Protection Agency, better know as the RPA – although Jason adamantly called it the Robin Underground – became a formal thing a couple of years ago. Cass thought the name was unfair considering she had never been Robin, but the sentiment stood.

The agreement was a combination of “no more dead Robins” and “don’t tell Batman.” The idea was that if they could handle it without getting Bruce involved, they would. No need to bring it to a higher echelon if it wasn't required.

Tim’s apartment currently looked like an RPA meeting. He unlocked the door, stared at everyone, then muttered, “I don’t have that many fucking rooms.”

“Good, because Cass and I are going to share one,” Steph bitched at him. Tim blinked.

Hmm, he thought, that was the first time they had confirmed it. Cass’ face was neutral, and Dick just raised his eyebrows.

Tim filed away a mental note to congratulate Steph on the relationship later.

Danny stood awkwardly behind him in the doorway. Tim sighed; guess he was introducing Danny to everyone sooner than expected.

“This is a complete overreaction,” Tim told them, “I didn’t even get injured today.”

Danny flinched at the statement. Cass narrowed her eyes at them. Tim’s eyes slid over the group, noting that Jason hadn’t arrived yet. Everyone was in uniform, sans mask. Nightwing was propped on one the arms of the couch; Robin was hunched over a computer.    

Signal’s eyes were blown wide, staring at Danny.

Danny stared right back.

“Your aura is wild,” Duke whispered, “Are you – uh? – don’t take this the wrong way, dead?”

“Duke!” Steph gasped, “You can’t ask that.”

Danny gave a dry laugh. “I breathe, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Duke fidgeted, “It’s not.”

Suddenly, Tim felt uncertain. Was Danny dead? He had turned them intangible earlier at the memorial. He had disclosed in the JLA meeting that he spent two years living in the Infinite Realms. Danny himself had admitted that he was shaky on his living status? Was alive and dead a dichotomy or a continuum? Tim had, naturally, always assumed that one was one or the other; that it was impossible to be both, or even, somewhere in the middle.

Danny's statements started to shake that belief. Did Tim even care?

What made someone alive?

Images of Danny’s very alive body underneath his hands flashed through Tim’s mind.

As Danny said, he breathed and aged. He went to school. He could eat food. What intrinsically drew that line between the living and dead, and if that line was porous, did it even matter?

Tim had been fine dating an alien, and some of Kon's biology had been interesting to say the least. What did it say about Tim that he didn't consider death as a barrier to romance?

“Danny, meet my siblings,” Tim motioned to the room, “The one who can’t sit like a normal human being is Richard Grayson-Wayne, alias Nightwing. You met him at the Watchtower.”

“You saved Tim’s life today. You can call me Dick.”

Danny gave a faint smile.

“The one curled in a chair with a laptop is Damian al-Ghul-Wayne, aka Robin,” Tim introduced next.

Damian didn’t even look up. “Wayne is acceptable.”

Danny raised his eyebrows, “Aren’t you all Waynes?”

“I am the only blood son,” Damian snipped, “Therefore the name applies to me first.”

“Not all of us are Waynes,” Steph interjected, “Name’s Stephanie Brown or Spoiler. I’m the only ex of Tim’s that counts. If you ever want to complain to me about Tim, I am all ears. He’s kind of a bitch.”

“Excuse me,” Tim snapped back, “Who’s apartment did you barge into?”

“Um,” Stephanie responded, “Unless something's changed, I think it’s still in B’s name.” Steph threw her arm around Cass’ shoulder, “And this is my girlfriend, Cassandra Wayne, the Black Bat, and objectively the most badass of us all.”

Cass gave a light smirk. Tim noticed that her choppy, short hair cut had been dip-dyed in a dark purple since he had last seen her. Tim wondered if that was some sort of nod to Spoiler and their newly official relationship.

“Call me Cass,” Cass hit her chest with her right hand indicating the word my and then with her index finger and middle finger of both hands, bumped them together outwardly. She then signed her name for herself, hand curling into a C with her palm facing outward, tapped against her chin and forehead and the flowed directly into the next movement, her hands pulling apart to indicate none.

Cass' sign name for herself was a combination of the sign for orphan and the letter C. As Cass signed, her eyes intently flashed all over Danny.

Danny smiled her her. He signed back hello, palm outward from his forehead. As he did that he said, "Hi."

Cass smiled brightly back at Danny.

"Then my newest, but not youngest brother, Duke Thomas, the vigilante known as Signal," Tim introduced.

Duke looked tensely at them, his eyes wild. Tim had never seen him look that way. Danny's expression was impassive, then he cocked his head.

Duke gasped. "You can control your aura?"

"Somewhat," Danny answered, ambiguously. Danny and Tim's eyes locked, as Tim's mind attempted to figure out the implications of that power.

Duke muttered, "I've never met anyone who can —"

"It's not a common ability," Danny responded easily, "I apologize, if I would have known…"

"What?" Duke snapped, "You would have shown up like this. You look normal now," then Duke said the next word under his breath, "human."

"Not dead," Danny responded, "Because I'm not." The last sentence was said with a defensive tone. Tim wondered what Danny's aura had been like before and after. Duke fidgeted with his hands; he was normally not a confrontational person, preferring to use honey rather than peppers to season his words.

Damian had stood up during the conversation. Now, he was a confrontational member of Tim's family. Abort, abort.

“Where's Jason?” Tim asked, interrupting the rising tension.

“Picking up your boyfriend’s clothes,” Jason’s voice boomed behind Tim. Tim blinked and turned around to see Jason leaning in the doorway. He had one extra large duffel bag slung over one shoulder and carried a smaller one with his right hand.

Tim could see Dick narrowing his eyes at him in his periphery.

“Please say those don’t contain any heads,” Dick eyed the duffel bags suspiciously.

Jason stalked forward, brushing past Danny and Tim, and dropped the larger duffel bag on top of the coffee table. It landed heavily, the sound of metal-on-metal radiating through the room.

Jason clearly brought the big guns.

"What Dickiebird? Don't trust me?"

"Not on your life," Dick responded easily.

Tim sighed, and spoke exasperatedly, “This is my apartment. I agreed with Bruce that Dick and Jason could post security. It’s not that I don’t want the rest of you here, but it’s unnecessary. Furthermore, who the fuck is currently covering patrol? Please, tell me B isn’t out there alone.”

“Tim,” Dick’s voice was soft in response, “Someone tried to kill you today. We’re here because we want to be. Bruce will be fine. Plus, Aunt Kate flew in this afternoon after she was informed that you were shot at.”

“Oh,” Tim responded, “Wait, Auntie Kate’s in town? Why didn’t B say something?”

Kate Kane, alias Batwoman, was probably one of Tim’s all-time favorite people. She had served in the Marine Corps for a good number of years. She was fairly secretive about her time in the service, but Tim did know that she had graduated the Navel Academy, commissioned, and was one of the first women to go through Infantry Officer Course. She spent her early career commanding Female Engagement Teams. From there, she became evasive about her activities.

After some years, Aunt Kate had gotten out of the service and returned to Gotham. Tim had meet her during that time period.  

Now, Auntie Kate ran black-ops style missions for the JLA, traveling all over the world under the guise of an international Real Estate agent like some real-life James Bond.

Batman and Batwoman were out covering Gotham’s streets tonight – God help any rogue who decided to get up to anything criminal.

“Is everyone in your family a terrifying vigilante?” Danny questioned, his tone bewildered, eyes darting around the group.

Tim paused for a moment, thinking it through. “Technically Alfred isn’t.”

“He’s certainly terrifying enough,” Dick said brightly.

Damian’s posh tone slid over the room, “I believe that it depends on your definition of vigilante on whether Agent A counts. I would argue that he does.”

“Enough standing around talking,” Jason snapped, “We have work to get done. This apartment is going to become my killbox.” Jason unzipped the extra-large duffel and started to spread out the firearms. “If anyone dares to come inside, they will be shot.”

Dick grimaced at the table. While at times Dick would operate a grenade launcher with non-lethal rounds, Tim had never seen Nightwing pick up a gun before. However, Tim knew how Renegade operated. Normally, Dick was performatively anti-gun around Bruce and the rest of their family.

Tim looked on neutrally so see how he would respond.

Damian’s eyes, as well, flickered across the weapons.

“Those aren’t non-lethal rounds,” Steph remarked. Cass tensed next to her.

“Nope,” Jason responded. “But nor were the ones shot at Tim today. Play stupid games.”

“Win stupid prizes,” Tim finished, voice low.

“And you’re okay with this, Tim?” Steph questioned, crossing her arms, “You know how B would feel about this.”

Tim carefully considered his response. He and Dick looked eyes across the room; their subtle body language acting out a whole conversation. Are you okay with this? Are we okay with this? Is the family ready for this? The reality was that Dick used firearms as Renegade; Jason's use of them was a given; Tim had learned when he had spent time with the LoA; and Damian had been raised with them. Steph however, had never held a gun outside of Alfred's brief lessons; Cass had renounced the use of firearms with her aversion to killing; and Tim had never discussed with Duke his opinion on firearms.

Dick held firm out of respect for Bruce, and the rest of the family fell in line.

Dick gave a slight nod of approval to Tim. Bruce was not here.

“Holy fuck,” Steph said picking up on the slight interaction, “Are you all fucking hypocrites? Does B know?”

Tim frowned. He didn’t want to have this argument around Danny. He didn’t want to have this argument at all.

Thankfully, Cass stepped in before Tim had to respond. She signed the words as the same time she spoke them, “Steph, someone tried to kill my little brother today. They came after him as a civilian, not Robin.”

While she verbally said the word Robin, she signed the words for little bat. She placed her hands directly forward and then moved them outward as if she was shrugging, then placed her hands crossed over her chest with the index fingers extended and curled them twice. Little bat she called Tim; they were her little bats.

Steph’s gaze softened. “Fine,” she snapped, “Just don’t expect me to use them.”

“That’s well within your prerogative,” Dick told her, “No one is expecting you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. But, RPA rules apply here. What Bruce doesn’t know, doesn’t hurt us. As Cass said, someone went after Tim Drake-Wayne today not Robin. Regular rules are out the window. Jason, start staging the apartment. Damian, have you finished the watch schedule?”

“I have, yes,” Damian held out his laptop towards Dick.

“Thanks, little bat,” Dick said, “Tim, can I speak to you and Danny?”

Tim let himself be pulled away to the kitchen. Danny followed behind him. As soon as Tim entered the kitchen, he let out a sigh that he had been holding and leaned against the counter. Despite it being fairly early by his standards, Tim felt tired.

He could only assume that Danny felt the same. Danny leaned against him. The action felt comfortable and natural.

“Hey,” Dick said, “How are you two doing?”

“Annoyed,” Tim responded, “Tired. I think everyone is making a bigger deal of this than it needs to be. I’ve been shot at before.”

“As Robin,” Dick pointed out, then he turned his attention to Danny, “What about you? How are you doing? I’m sure this is all very surreal.”

Danny grasped Tim’s hand, intertwining their arms. “Less than you would think. I had a very odd childhood. My parents built ecto-weapons.” Danny explained in a matter-of-fact tone, “They shot at me a couple of times.”

While Danny had clearly intended the words to be reassuring, they had the opposite effect. Dick scrunched his forehead, clearly taken aback. Tim studied Danny’s face. He looked pale in the fluorescent kitchen light. His hair, disheveled. Danny hunched over slightly into Tim, probably intending to minimize his own height. Tim wondered if it was a defense mechanism from years of living with parents who apparently shot at him.

“Your parents shot at you?” Dick asked, his tone the one he used on civilians he was trying to get information out of. It lacked judgment and invited answers. Dick's Robin had been the best at interacting with traumatized people; he hadn't lost that as Nightwing.

“Not on purpose,” Danny shrugged, “I set off their ecto-detectors. I did mention that I ran away when I was fifteen.”

“You said that you closed the portal with you on the Infinite Realms side,” Dick said. The stark description of the event set something off in Tim’s brain. The idea of fifteen-year-old Danny choosing to close the portal, knowing it would strand him in the afterlife hadn’t sounded so suicidal when Danny had described it to the Justice League.

They, of course, had the benefit of seeing a very alive Danny in front of them.

Tim wondered if Danny had known that he would be able to return to Earth, or if he had closed it regardless. Then again, seventeen-year-old Tim had jumped off a building hoping that Dick would catch him.

“Same difference,” Danny’s face was grim. “Anyways, I am more upset about someone trying to kill Tim.”

Dick gave Danny an assessing look, as if he wanted to argue; like all of them, Dick was an investigator at heart, and Danny presented many mysteries. However, Danny clearly escaped his parents years prior. Danny's trauma was his to share, especially when he wasn't currently in danger.

Tim gave Dick a withering look, conveying that he needed to back off.

Dick sighed, relenting to Tim's silent demand, “It’s late. Why don’t you two get some rest. We'll hold down security.”

One part of Tim wanted to argue that he could post security too. The other part of him understood that he would be up at four in the morning getting prepared for his workday.

"Food first," Tim said, opening the fridge. There was a leftover pizza in there — clearly the family had been hanging around quite awhile prior to Tim and Danny's arrival. The police station and WE had taken hours, after all.

Tim heated up some pizza, while Dick explained, "I want to go with you with to work tomorrow. I can wear my duty gun legally. I've already taken the day off. Jason has agreed to stay with Danny," Dick nodded towards Danny. "When we get home, we can reevaluate the plan for the following twenty-four hours. I get you are wanting to stand-up to Bruce, but the manor would be easier for us to protect."

"And harder," Tim pointed out between bites, "Too many entrances. I would much rather try to attack a large ground level building than a fortified skyscraper. We can just disable the elevator and emplace a machine gun down the stairwell. No one would be able to get through that without a strike team, and even then..."

"Unless they have powers," Danny pointed out.

"Then why did they come after me with a drone?" Tim responded. "Do you think this has something to do with you?"

Danny shook his head. "I don't know, to be honest. I promise I wouldn't — I didn't —"

"I know," Tim squeezed Danny's hand, "You saved my life today. I trust you." For a moment, Tim thought Danny's eyes were going to tear up, and this would be his break. Tim highly doubted that the attack had anything to do with Phantom or Danny. Most likely, it was a consequence of his very public interaction with the Code of Conduct, and that pissed Tim off.

Someone had put Tim's almost-boyfriend at risk today. Tim shoulder's tensed and his breath fell out choppily as he realized how fucking furious that idea made him. Someone had attacked him and Danny. The intensity of that thought blindsided Tim which caused the realization of how deep his feelings for Danny had become, even in such a short amount of time. Danny was his. Nobody hurt what was his.

"Ballistic glass won't stop an RPG," Dick pointed out. "We can fortify the Batcave."

"I am not running away with my tail between my legs and holing up in the Batcave. I am going to publicly denounce this attack," Tim affirmed. "If someone is going to shoot an RPG into this building, I think we have far greater issues."

"Phantom will be watching," Danny's voice wavered, "I just wanted to let you know."

Tim tensed at the statement but otherwise didn't allow himself to react. Logically, Tim knew that Phantom was watching. It had already been proven multiple times; when Tim stalked Danny outside of his apartment, at the Watchtower, and at the University.

Despite that, it was a terrifying idea that a being was always watching them. A silent observer, self-proclaimed neutral, had turned his sights on two young men. Did Phantom watch when he and Danny had fucked?

Tim shut that line of internal thinking down. There was nothing he could do about it at this moment.

Tim raised his eyebrows at Dick. "See, we even have the King of existence on our side. I think we'll be fine."

Dick's mouth thinned, but nodded at Tim. "I'll get back to the others," Dick told them, "Please get some rest, Tim."

After that, Dick left Danny and Tim standing in the kitchen. Tim ran his hands over his eyes. "We need to talk," Tim said, "But not now. I don't have the bandwidth to right now." When Tim opened his eyes, Danny was staring at him intently. There was something in that gaze – needy, heady. Tim was reminded that not even twelve hours earlier, Danny had tackled him to the ground and saved his life.

Danny hummed, “Okay.” His slid his hand up Tim’s hand and wrist, before pulling him into his arms. Danny wrapped around him, like a weighted blanket against the world, insulating him from the stress. Tim melted against him; his face pressed into Danny’s neck and jaw.

Despite Danny’s body feeling cool, Tim felt content and warm in his embrace.

"Take me to bed?" Danny whispered against his temple.

Tim wanted nothing more. They exited the kitchen and headed back towards Tim's bedroom. Everyone had dispersed to their respective security positions or rest cycles.

They clicked the door behind them when they entered Tim’s bedroom. The Gotham skyline stretched across the windows, the blinking lights of the buildings illuminating the room. Tim didn’t turn on the bedroom lights.

He turned towards Danny, who seemed to be communicating with just his emotions, eyes flickering across his body. Soft heat pooled in his limbs, as Danny’s nimble hands started unbuttoning Tim’s dress-shirt. At the same time, Tim reached out and tugged Danny’s t-shirt up his broad chest. Danny allowed the break in contact while Tim pulled it over his head.

“We need to shower,” Tim spoke roughly.

Danny gave a slight whine of protest but nodded. Tim kicked off his shoes, and soon they were both in their pants. Danny fumbled with his belt as Tim unhooked his top button. Tim walked them backwards towards the bathroom.

A hand reached out to grasp the back of his neck at the same moment that Tim’s fumbled blindly behind him for the bathroom door handle.

Silent communication occurred, a promise with hands and soft lips, of the security of physical touch. Need a static electricity between them, sparking every time they started to pull away. It felt dangerous to Tim; too fast and too strong. Tim’s bathroom had dimmer lights, and Tim turned them up just enough to see each other. The soft amber bulbs illuminated the long shadows in the room.   

Entanglements were dangerous in his line of work. Today had proven that, and yet – “What temperature do you like the shower?” Tim asked softly. He couldn’t remember from Danny’s apartment how he had set it.

“Whatever you want, baby,” Danny promised.

Tim’s thumb rubbed circles into Danny’s waist, tracing the soft skin marked with a tattoo. “That’s not an answer,” Tim leaned against him.

Danny chuckled. “I’ll be honest,” his teeth nipped at Tim’s jaw, “While I can objectively feel temperature, I don’t really have a sense for it, if you know what I mean. It doesn't impact me. I lost that when I lived in the Infinite Realms.”

Oh. Tim sucked in a sharp breath, reminded of his earlier thoughts of Danny’s mortality. As if Danny could sense his thoughts, he pulled back and observed Tim.  

Danny's eyes were blank and quiet, as if they held the secrets of the universe. Tim wanted to know what was lurking beneath them. For all Danny’s snarky remarks and shocking composure, he was still a mystery to Tim.

Tim’s eyes flickered to Danny’s soft lips that were set together and leaned forward. He kissed Danny gently, a cool mouth against him, slowly promising him that he could trust him; that his secrets could be spilled into the silence between them.

Breaking the connection, Tim stepped backwards and kicked off his dress pants. Danny’s eyes hungerly trailed down his body, as if it wasn’t a sight he had seen earlier that day. Tim resisted the urge to flush with need. He stepped backwards into the shower and set it to his preferred hot, but not scalding, spray. It was an impressively sized shower, with duel shower heads and two benches. Condensation clung to the cobalt tiles. A river rock mosaic felt rough underneath Tim's feet. The shower door closed behind Danny when he joined Tim, shutting them off from the rest of the world.

Danny stepped under the spray, his dark hair matting back. Tim took a moment to observe him. He wanted to explore every inch of Danny's exposed skin in a categorical fashion.

The scrawling words down Danny's left arm teased unknown facts about the man. Was it an Earthly language? A ghost language? Tim wanted to question Danny, but settled for running his thumb over the ink, admiring his muscled form.

Danny moved his body closer to Tim, hand layered in soap. He ran them up and down Tim's sides; no words were exchanged. It felt as if Danny was reading Tim's emotions, responding to his needs.

The silence in the shower felt breathy. They were affirming their burgeoning relationship through intimate touch. Goose bumps covered Tim's upper body due to the gentle circular motion of Danny's hands on his arms.

Danny deft hands moved from Tim's arms to his chest, running his fingers gently over the many scars that marred his body. Danny leaned down and softly kissed a scar on his left pectoral. Tim heard himself let out a light gasp that was swallowed up by the sounds of the water hitting the floor. Danny smiled against his skin, smoothly moving up to kiss along the side of his neck and jaw. Tim instinctively twisted his head to allow Danny better access to his neck. Danny maneuvered his bodies out of the spray. The sensation of Danny's lips lingered, setting his skin on fire, like a toxin entering his bloodstream.

After a moment, Danny pulled back slightly and rested his forehead against Tim's own.

The gesture connected their bodies, and time stood still. The world consisted of the two of them, alone, underneath the gentle water.

Tim pulled back, reluctantly and grabbed his shampoo bottle; he preferred a clean and neutral smell like linen. His parents hadn't bothered buying Tim expensive bath products as a child. Now, Tim didn't shop for them himself — Rachel took care of that — but there was a sort of luxury in putting something well-made on your body.

Danny leaned back against the opposite wall, eyes watching Tim as he washed his hair. Tim engulfed himself under the pelting water, feeling the incredible weight of Danny's gaze on his body. It felt heady being watched like that; like Tim was a work of art on display.

Tim had never allowed himself to be looked at like that before. Like his body was something precious.

They switched positions and Tim took the opportunity to sit down on the bench. He felt exhausted and maybe it was the condensation, maybe it was the long day, or maybe it was the languid arousal, but Tim felt slightly dizzy. He watched with lidded eyes as Danny washed his own hair.

"Can you hand me the body wash?" Danny asked Tim. Tim opened the bottle and dispensed a generous amount in his palm. Danny made a show wringing his hands together, the bodywash foaming. Tim sucked in a sharp breath as Danny's hands explored the vee of his abdomen before sinking even lower.

While Danny didn't indulge in touching himself for long, he teased along the line of his cock and underneath and around. For a moment, Tim imagined turning Danny around in the shower and using the soap for other activities. Not that the soap would be a preferred lube, of course.

Tim continued to watch as Danny rinsed himself, washing away the long day.

Danny smirked at him, "Are you tired, baby?"

In response, Tim yawned.

Danny leaned forward and gave him a gentle kiss, bracing his hand on the tile next to Tim's head.

"Bed?" Danny asked.

"Please," Tim affirmed. He didn't worry about Danny's connection to Phantom or the identity of the shooter; or even, the security of the penthouse. Instead, all Tim wanted was to fall asleep in Danny's arms.

Tim handed a towel over to Danny who used it to pull Tim in close. He gave him a slow kiss, their tongues exploring each other's mouths. Danny's hand on Tim's lower back steadied him.

"We should sleep," Danny mumbled against his mouth. It was Tim’s turn to whine in protest, even if he knew it was the truth. Tim found his preferred bed clothes, his boxers and an old soft t-shirt, while Danny ruffled through the duffel that Jason had brought.

He didn’t protest, so Tim hoped that Jason had packed adequately.

Tim climbed into the bed, and pulled the comforter back, inviting Danny to settle next to him.

Danny sighed as he laid down moving close to Tim. After a moment, Danny reached out and pulled Tim into his chest, their entire bodies connecting upon lines of taut muscle. Danny's arms snaked around Tim's midsection, his hands weaving up Tim's shirt and splaying across his chest. One of Danny's legs wove between his, their ankle's locking.

It should have felt restrictive; Tim generally didn't like others having physical contact with him. Instead, it felt reassuring. Tim could trust that Danny would pull him out of the path of a bullet. He was willing to risk exposing his powers to save Tim's life. He was not a liability, but an asset.

"Good night," Tim whispered.

Danny kissed the back of Tim's neck, "Good night, baby."

Tim allowed the lull of mental darkness to overtake him with even breaths. The morning would come soon enough. For now, he slept peacefully in Danny's arms.

-----

The Gotham skyline crept into Tim's bedroom like it had a soul of its own. The floor to ceiling windows opened up to show miles of flickering lights and imposing buildings. Smog hid the night sky, even if a couple stars battled for their place in the glass painting.

Danny had never felt so exposed.

This city was not his by birth, but by choice. Tim, however, had been born into the grime and grit. He probably took solace in looking out across Gotham from his bed, assured that the buildings were not in flames.

Danny tried to sleep, Tim tucked into his arms, but the fear that it would all slip away terrified him. Danny had overwritten reality, indulged on a path that he wanted. Would this send the world spiraling towards some fiery end? Had Danny somehow doomed Earth by his decisions?

He breathed deeply and methodically, mind drifting into the Infinite Realms.

The children's souls flocked to him and huddled under the protection of his aura. Danny fed them, almost by accident, willing them to health and fullness. Compulsion overtook him, as Balance demanded back what he gave. A universe on the edge of formation delayed its timeline from the energy he provided to the young ones.

Danny had a duty to all of his citizens — why was he now choosing favorites?

The little ghostling with the auburn hair floated next to him. With Olkan imprisoned and their Realm destroyed, the children were without a home. They were lost souls that Danny could not leave to the brutality of zones between Kingdoms in the Infinite Realms, where chaos tended to reign. While Danny was formally in charge of all of the Infinite Realms, he left of the ruling to the lesser Kings.

Danny vowed to change that soon.

He opened a portal large enough for the children to float through, into the heart of the Isle of Infinity. Until Danny figured out what to do with them, they were his responsibility. He was once again reminded that his impulsiveness had consequences.

Danny wanted nothing more than to slide back into indifference and not face the reality that every action he took changed lives and afterlives.

"Danny," the little ghost asked, "Are we staying here?" Her aura shone brightly, like a lighthouse in a storm; Danny hadn't expected the sharp reminder of a young Ellie to hit him so deeply.

Danny pulled the little girl into his arms. "For now. What is your name, little one?"

The small creature folded in on herself. "I don't know. I don't remember." She radiated a deep sense of sadness and longing.

Danny's soul ached. "That's okay. We will give you one." He repeated, "We will give you one."

Danny called forth Pandora, who looked at him with pity.

"I felt it," she said.

Danny hummed, "I destroyed a Realm today."

She wrung her hands together, "It was an incredible show of power."

"But was it the right decision?" Danny asked.

"I don't know if anyone can answer that for you, My King."

Danny glanced down at his hands, claws really, as he still existed in his almost full form. He currently embodied a monstrosity, an amalgamation of all beings across existence. Phantom, like this, felt so inhuman.

He never wanted to show Tim this form. Shame radiated into his human body holding the man; Tim had no idea the monster he had allowed to hold him, allowed into his bed.

A roll of revulsion shuddered through him. Danny felt fraught with exhaustion; power pulsed at the edges of his currently ghostly visage begging to be used and unleashed. Reality shifting around him.

Danny needed, Phantom needed, reprieve from this. He didn't want to be this monster right now. He had failed his quest just as he had started, making a mess for himself.

Danny closed his mind and released his forms, splitting into many versions of himself that drifted out across existence.

Pandora, next to him, radiated relief like a human letting out a breath they were holding.

"Can you look after them?" he asked, gesturing to the children, "Until I can find them a permanent home? I would ask Dora…"

"But she is still establishing her rule. My King, of course I will do that for you. We are so proud of you." Her words rang true, but Danny still felt hollow. However, he glanced down at his hands to see white gloves and on his feet, boots. For now, he appeared human again.

That form left the grand hall, wandering in the closest thing he had to a home. The Isle floated above the chaos of the unruled Infinite Realms, where beings wandered. This was Danny's responsibility; this should be Danny's responsibility.

He needed guidance.

He needed to feel secure in this version of reality.

Danny shifted to Earth, his human body now sleeping. He watched above himself and Tim, silently and invisibly. Time passed like a river, ebbing and flowing as the night progressed. Danny could feel the others in the apartment, waking up in rotating shifts. Not a single one of Tim's siblings complained or felt irritation at the hour. They had chosen this life, signed up for long evenings, watching over others who slept.

Then, Tim awoke, his alarm softly chiming. For a moment, he curled into Danny like a protesting cat. Phantom smiled with amusement at the gesture. Then, Tim huffed and gently extracted himself and grabbed his laptop. He had work, Danny realized. Danny's own sleeping form twisted away from the pale light emitted by the laptop and back to sleep.

Phantom glanced at the clock on the wall.

Ancients. At 4:30 in the morning, Tim was already awake, working. Danny could imagine the adorably jealous look that Tim would give him if, no when, he told him that he didn't need to sleep in his ghost form. Phantom sat there in a meditative state as Tim worked for the next few hours. Some time later, Tim got out of bed and readied himself for work. He briefly left the room to dress and go through a morning routine. Danny learned that Tim shaved with a straight razor; he wondered if it was something that Bruce had taught Tim.

While arousal was something his ghost form could feel, it was a rare emotion in that body. Yet, heady arousal radiated through Phantom as Tim shaved his face with precision. Danny's imagination conjured images of fucking him against the counter-top, making Tim watch himself in the mirror. Fantasies that Danny could make a reality.

Then, Tim left the room to discuss with Dick the plan for the day and grab a light breakfast.

Phantom continued to watch, unable to leave Tim unattended.

Being bored was a rather human emotion, and one that he rarely felt once he had become more.

Tim came back into the room and stopped for a moment. He stood there with a light smile on his face looking at Danny's sleeping body. Finally, Tim walked up to the bed. "Hey," Tim said his voice kind, his hands on Danny's sleeping shoulder, "I have to go to work."

Danny allowed his Phantom from to disintegrate, embodying the sleeping human body. Danny blinked at Tim blearily, shrugging off the sleep and the perspective shift. Tim was bright-eyed and dressed for work. His curly hair was styled, and his face freshly shaved. Danny wanted to lean forward and run his tongue along his jaw line and down to the hollow of his throat.

Tim had on a classic black suit with a gray tie and silver tie clip. Danny lacked the knowledge to identify the cut but could imagine the fabric would be silky under his fingers. Tim always looked effortlessly cultured, as if was more comfortable in thousand-dollar suits than sweats.

"Good morning," Danny said, his voice rough from having woken up. Danny watched Tim's throat bob as he swallowed, clearly affected by Danny.

He reflected Danny's own morning thoughts.

"Good morning," Tim parroted back, "I'm sorry I have to leave. Most of the family is still here. Dick's going to be my security for the day. Breakfast should be in the kitchen. Please hang out here today if that's okay. If anyone, such as Damian or Steph, gives you shit, go to Jason."

Danny blinked at the words, processing what Tim was saying.

He sat up in bed and stretched up, raising his arms to adjust his back. Tim's eyes flickered to the line of his stomach that was accidentally exposed from the move. Danny smirked as he folded his arms behind his head and leaned back against the expensive headboard.

Danny raised an eyebrow at Tim, "I don't think he likes me."

Tim shrugged, an amused smile on his face. "Well, he likes me, and I've already warned him."

"Okay," Danny said. "Do I get a goodbye kiss?" Danny wiggled his eyebrows and didn't move from his spot in bed. He wanted to lure him forward and closer to the bed.

Tim's right hand curled underneath his chin, as he tilted Danny's face. As Tim leaned forward to capture his mouth with a kiss, Danny took advantage to sit forward, throwing Tim off kilter. He snaked his arms around the man and pulled him into the bed unceremoniously.

Danny felt proud of himself as Tim landed in his lap. Tim yelped in surprise and Danny smirked into the kiss.

"I have to go," Tim exhaled, radiating exasperation and fondness. While his words said one thing, his aura intermingled with Danny's, broadcasting his desire to stay in bed.

"Not even five minutes?" Danny stroked Tim's face with the question.

"I wanted you to get your sleep," Tim's admitted. "I'll be back this afternoon."

"I'll be here," Danny responded, letting Tim piece together what here meant.

Tim blinked at him, pretty eyes framed by black lashes. He huffed as he extracted himself from bed. Danny allowed it with amusement. Tim straightened his suit, his aura radiating slight longing. A Phantom form blinked into existence, invisibly floating after Tim.

As Tim closed the bedroom door behind him, Danny took a moment to look around the room in the morning light. He stood up from the bed and wrapped the luxuriously soft black comforter around himself.

Tim's bedroom was impressive which wasn't all too surprising. Tim had wealth beyond most people's wildest imagination.

The bed was pressed against a gray, almost concrete wall. The ceiling stretched unusually high with inset lighting. There was a framed modern art piece above the bed. It looked like someone had splashed paint over a blank canvas.

Danny didn't know art but even he could recognize a Jackson Pollock painting.

The floor to ceiling windows opened to a stunning view of downtown Gotham. Danny assumed that the windows were like a one way mirror; he could see out, but no one could see in. He followed his hunch. Blinking a form appeared outside of the building. He stared at himself, Phantom visible from Danny's perspective, floating casually on the other side of the window. Phantom, in his tangible form, reflected back at himself.

Suddenly, the bedroom door burst open and the hulk of a human that was Tim's older brother Jason, erupted into the room holding what looked like an assault rifle.

Danny blinked and gripped the comforter around himself.

Phantom went intangible on the other side of the glass; Danny should have known they would have cameras watching the outside of Tim's bedroom. Silly him.

"Fuckin' ghost," Jason muttered. He glanced over at Danny, "You good?"

"Yeah, Phantom was just, uh, watching," Danny explained.

Jason's mouth thinned into a line. "He do that often?" he asked. He radiated almost protective feelings as his aura spanned out and forward towards Danny.

Great, now Jason assumed that Phantom was some sort of creep watching Tim and Danny. This wasn't helping Tim's earlier observations.

"I have to get dressed," Danny told Jason awkwardly.

Jason raised his eyebrows.

Jason nodded at him. "Duke made breakfast. We're all eating in the kitchen."

Danny threw the duffel on the bed that Jason had retrieved for him yesterday. Danny had been so tired the night before that he hadn't gotten a good look at in the evening light. He opened it up, to see it haphazardly packed. Rumpled t-shirts, black and blue jeans, and couple pairs of boxers and socks. No shoes. Danny would have to make do with the old ratty sneakers he'd been wearing.

Jason had thrown his toothbrush and toothpaste on top, no holder or container. For some reason he had also grabbed Danny's old leather jacket. It felt very Jason of a pack job, and Danny barely knew the man.

Danny was in dire need of a shave, but he would have to wait. Or send an invisible form to his apartment to retrieve the stuff he wanted. Or steal some of Tim's stuff.

At the same time as he got dressed in fresh clothing, Phantom floated above Tim's armored vehicle. While Danny felt guilty about essentially spying on Tim, he refused to let him out of his sight for the foreseeable future. Tim's life was too precious and, at this moment, too precarious.

He wandered out to the kitchen. The one that had introduced herself as Steph was in a heated discussion with the one the brother that saw auras. She was extremely tall and fit and her shoulder muscles looked like they could flip tires. She had discarded the top half of her costume for a white muscle shirt.

"—asshole texted her over a thousand times. The judge said it wasn't fucking harassment. I swear to baby Jesus I was about knock some sense into that fucker myself."

Duke sighed exasperated, "Bruce has rules against us mingling our work and work. Steph you can't threaten the spouses of the people you represent."

"One, I don't represent them. I'm a paralegal. I just work there. Two, they weren't married."

"That's not the point," Duke grumbled. He turned around to see Danny as his footsteps got closer to the kitchen. "Good Morning, Danny. Damian's left for school. Cass and Jason are standing security for another thirty minutes."

"I called out of work today so you're stuck with me," Steph flashed a grin.

"… And Gotham U closed campus today in the aftermath of the shooting, so I don't have school today," Duke continued.

"Ah," Danny responded. No wonder he didn't get a call from his professor when he didn't show up to TA his morning section. He probably still needed to email his Professor, though. That was clearly a later Danny problem.

Duke motioned to the stove. "Food's over there. Dish up what you want."

Danny grabbed himself a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, then lumbered onto the open bar stool. "Thank you," he directed towards Duke.

The two siblings — were they siblings? — continued their half debate, half argument while Danny ate. He tuned them out, mind shifting to Phantom who was watching Tim settle into his office at WE. After Danny finished his meal, he cleaned up the plates. He stood there for a second wondering what the fuck he should be doing. Should he offer to stand security? How did one stand security? What and where were they even standing security on?

Danny imagined a guard booth hidden somewhere in the apartment and almost got himself to laugh.

Danny must have been standing in the middle of the kitchen like a damned idiot because Duke took pity on him.

"Hey," the kid said. He had a kind aura of pale blue that radiated understanding. "I can get you set up on Tim's TV in the living room. It's got like every streaming service known to man, and he has like all the video game consoles stashed in the hall closet. I think half of them are unopened, but I know he wouldn't give a fuck if you opened them. Jason does all the time. If that isn't your speed, I'm sure we could scrounge you up a laptop. And there is a library study…"

Danny blinked, "How big is this place?"

"Pretty damn big," Duke said, "I was also super overwhelmed the first time I came here. I was seventeen when Bruce started fostering me. Tim was twenty and Tim Drake-fucking-Wayne. He was way more intimidating than meeting Bruce, if I'm honest. Because Bruce is Batman, but he's, like, old. Tim was leading Young Justice at the time. First time I came here, Tim had just gotten back from space. I walked in on him having a business call with the President of the United States. I just about passed out."

While he radiated slight embarrassment and discomfort at telling a stranger that story, Duke's words never wavered.

"Ancients," Danny muttered.

"So yeah, everyone understands if you're still processing. Tim doesn't realize how wild his life is," Duke told Danny.

Danny's mind flashed to the Phantom that was following Tim.

Tim sat at his desk that was back lit by another view of the Gotham skyline. He leaned back in his chair, his tablet propped up before him showing a video call.

As if Duke's words were prophetic, the current President of the United States spoke reassuring words to Tim.

"Tim," President Alan Scott spoke, "Thank you for taking my call this morning. I'm so glad that you're okay." President Scott was a kind gentleman, who radiated warmth and moderation. In Danny's personal opinion, he was a radical improvement from their last, President Lex Luthor.

Tim responded to President Scott, "Sir, I will always make time for you."

Danny's human body competed for mental attention. Duke gave almost a reserve-shovel talk; Danny hadn't considered that maybe without the context of his position in the Infinite Realms, it would be him who appeared to be in a position of relative weakness. It felt shockingly reassuring.

Danny gave Duke a slight smile. "I appreciate it"

Phantom phased backwards, attempting to give Tim privacy with his call with the President. Tim assured him, "We're not sure who's targeting me, but we have it under control."

President Scott smiled at Tim on the video, "All U.S. resources are available to you at this time. I will not let this injustice stand. You are doing amazing work for the hero community and this country."

Tim flushed in front of him, and at the same time, Duke walked Danny to the living room.

Danny's human body zoned out watching some shitty reality TV about buying houses, as if choosing the best property for under six hundred thousand was more interesting than Tim's day, or Phantom's struggles.

At some point, Danny pulled out his phone, only then to realize that he had somehow missed a fuck ton of phone calls. Whoops.

Three missed calls from his so-called mother. He hadn't spoken to Maddie Fenton in six years and he wasn't about to change that today. Five missed calls from Jazz. Two from Ellie. One missed call from Tucker. Tucker, who Danny hadn't spoken to in four years. The last time Danny had seen Tuck was his twenty-first birthday when they had got drunk in Atlantic City.

There was even a missed call from Vlad Masters.

Danny stretched himself even further. He sent out an additional form, appearing near Jazz's therapy office. He ducked into an alleyway in Metropolis, changing his form human.

He blinked at the bright, clear sky, so unlike Gotham. He walked the block, mind splitting between the Phantom with Tim, the Danny with Tim's family, the Phantom at the Isle of Infinity, and the Phantoms observing the Balance.

He breathed out, stretched thin and reveling in it. He walked forward reaching a door in a brownstone. Danny entered the small sitting room that served as the waiting area for a number of therapists.

He gave a bright smile to the receptionist.

"I'm here to see Jazz Fenton," he told the young man.

The man blinked at him, clearly confused, "First appointment?" He asked, "I thought Dr. Fenton's ten o'clock had canceled."

"She's squeezing me in," Danny improvised. "Daniel Nightingale, she'll know who it is."

The receptionist went back and knocked on Jazz's door. Danny couldn't hear what the man was saying, but he could hear Jazz's heels walking towards the lobby.

"Mr. Nightingale," her voice was prim, but Danny could hear the simmering anger underneath. "Please come back with me."

Danny followed her back to her office. He had only been there once before, helping her move in. Jazz calmly closed the door behind them, before turning to him and snapping, "What the fuck, Danny!"

"Hey Jazz," he said, his voice false casual.

"Don't fucking hey, Jazz me," his sister simmered with anger and frustration. "I had to learn that you got shot at from a press release. Mom and Dad have been hounding me. I almost sent Ellie," she dropped her voice quietly with the next words, "to the Realms to find you."

"Right. I'm sorry, Jazz. Yesterday was a lot. We had to give a police report and Tim took me back to his place for safety," Danny explained, cringing at his own words, the excuses sounding false to his own ears.

"And yet," she bit at him, "That would be a fine excuse if I didn't know that you can hold multiple forms and are more than capable of checking in. You made Ellie worry. Next time let us know that you're alright."

It sounded like Danny had made Jazz worry too.

"I'm sorry," Danny repeated, "I'll make it up to you both on Sunday."

"Is it even safe for you to come here?" she asked, her anger abating slightly. "I assume you have another body somewhere else? What if someone notices that you are capable of being at multiple places at once?"

Danny took a moment to sit down in Jazz's comfortable chair, the one she used for patients. He sighed, unsure what he wanted to tell his older sister. He felt so much at that moment, pain, anger, exhaustion, and a deep need to quiet it all.

Danny didn't know if he wanted to explain what was happening in the Realms, or touch on his relationship with Tim. What he did know is he wanted to be a better brother to her.

Finally, he responded, "The Justice League knows about Phantom."

She blinked, almost taken aback. She pursed her lips and responded, "I thought you were against the government having any knowledge of the Realms. You did, after all, eradicate the GIW. Has that changed? Do they know about Phantom, or do they know about you?"

Danny swallowed, bouncing his leg like a nervous toddler. "Phantom," he told her, "I told them very little about the Realms and me. However, I am trying to sort some stuff out with a rogue ruler. I might need you and Ellie's help with something."

She gave him a look. "Are you okay?"

"Okay is relative," he told her.

"And I know what your okay looks like. Let me know if it means I am going to be piecing your body back together tomorrow," Jazz said it with a practical brutality. Danny knew she did it on purpose, minimizing his suicide attempts. In some ways, Jazz was more traumatized by them than he was; after all she had been the one to piece together his dead body multiple times.

Nothing shocked her anymore.

Even him.

"Jazz," he said softly, "You know I promised… and I keep my word."

Her face was hard. She reached out and grabbed his hand, "Oh baby brother," she said, "This week has been hard on you, hasn't it."

Danny's voice hitched, "You have no idea."

"Try me," Jazz challenged. Danny let the emotions he had been feeling pour out of him like a spilled glass of water. He filled the office with his aura, knowing that Jazz was capable of picking up on it.

"I changed reality again," he spoke slowly, his voice barely reaching above a whisper, "Tim died in the attack yesterday, originally. I brought Clockwork in and ordered him to change the timeline. What if this is what pushes me over the edge? What if I become…"

"Danny," she said practically, "That will never happen. That timeline is erased."

"Still," he argued, "Why me? When I have been proven to fall to temptation. It's at my fingertips Jazz, at all times. I can make anything and anyone fall in line. The world can bend to my will. It's so fragile. I destroyed a Realm."

"What?" she asked, "I'm confused. When was this?"

Danny realized that he barely understood how to explain it. "I think," he tried, "that the Ancient of Fate is leading me on a fool's quest. I think that that they killed Tim, and I don't know why. I went off the rails yesterday and am barely stable."

"It's going to be okay," Jazz promised, her voice soothing, "You're going to be okay, Danny."

"But is everyone else?" Danny asked.

She looked at him for a moment. Her large green eyes peering at him. Finally, she told him, "I don't care. All that matters to me is that you, me, and Ellie are here and happy."

"Isn't that selfish?" Danny asked.

"Yes," she responded. "It is."

They sat in silence in the office. Danny still felt broken inside, but at least he was with his sister. At the same moment his heart beat in Metropolis, he sat on a couch in Gotham. At the same time he took deep breaths in Jazz's office, Phantom watched Tim Drake-Wayne deliver a speech to his thousands of employees.

Tim sat behind his desk, calmly looking into a camera that was broadcasting all around the world. While it was intended for internal business usage only, Danny knew that it would be quickly pirated online.

Tim looked serious. His suit jacket was buttoned, and his expression was hard. Phantom floated behind him. If he was tangible, he would be in the frame of video.

Tim spoke with confidence, "As you all know, yesterday someone attempted to kill me. To begin with, your safety and security is my number one concern. Above all else, WE will take protective measures to ensure that all its employees are free from harm and harassment."

Tim paused, Danny assumed for effect. His aura was calm and although he spoke from notes in front of him, he barely glanced at them.

Tim continued, "No, I do not know the attempted killer's motive at this time. This will not impact business operations or my ability to lead this company. If anything, this incident should remind us how important our work is. I will not back down from my work with WE, the JLA, or Congressional lobbying. This is not the first time that someone has attempted to kill me for that work that we do, and this event underscores that it is imperative that we do not back down. WE will continue to seek global security through both our technological advancements and the support of our partners."

Tim paused again. His voice became quieter as he spoke, but someone carried through his office. "The world is at a precipice. For the last twenty years, the JLA has stood between others and Earth's annihilation. I have grown up in this world, as I am sure many of you have. WE has to mean something. We have to mean something. If my life is at risk for the work that I do, then I know that I am doing enough. You didn't join this company to build TVs or push out basic content. You joined WE because you wanted to be at the forefront of global innovation. This is the push that we need to become even better, to break new ground, and to hone in on our purpose as a company."

Tim's emotions were complex and real, but Danny didn't to be able to read them to know that Tim believed in every world he was saying.

He finished with, "Thank you choosing to devote your time to this company. WE seeks to stand for the world. We couldn't do that without every single one of you."

Phantom invisibly floated out of frame. The tablet clicked off as Tim's speech finished. Tim slumped in his chair as his assistant and another tall intimidating women walked towards the desk.

"That was good," the blonde lady said, "Very good."

It was as if a switch had been pulled, Tim sagged in his office chair. Tim asked, tentatively, "Are you sure? I feel like it was too much? Was it too much?" Phantom tried not to listen in too much as Tim's team talked about the message he gave to his company. He floated above them, watching out of the office's windows.

While Tim might have felt insecure about the wording of his message, Danny knew that he stood behind its meaning. Tim Drake-Wayne was not backing down from whoever had attempted to kill him, and Danny would have to fight Fate to keep him alive.

Then, Danny's mind shifted again as his focus was pulled to Tim's apartment.

A body plopped down next to him. He looked over at Steph to see her radiating amusement.

"Hi," Stephanie's bright smile "Tim's Wayne Enterprises internal message got leaked onto the internet. The memes are fucking glorious. People are brutal. And horny. And sometimes both at the same time."

"People made memes already?" Danny scrunched his face. It had been, what, fifteen minutes?

"Have you not been on the internet?" Stephanie asked, her voice baffled.

Danny blinked. No, he hadn't been. He had been a bit distracted with other thoughts. He shook his head at her.

"No wonder Tim likes you," she commented, "You Luddites. Anyways, watch."

Danny didn't point out that Tim was the leading technology CEO in the country and Danny was getting his PHD in Mechanical Engineering. They were far from Luddites… they just didn't have much time to spend on the internet. She thrust his phone in front of him.

Danny didn't mention to her that he had watched Tim give this speech in person barely minutes ago. He watched silently. It was a different perspective seeing it on the screen and not in person.

She then clicked over to another app that had a screenshot of Tim from the video. In bright text it read:

TDW: get's shot at for a second time

TDW: yawns boring. try something original

Steph crackled. "That dumbass looks so dorky in that suit. Who let him leave for the office in that?"

"I thought he looked hot," Danny muttered, feeling the need to defend Tim.

"Of course you did," she ribbed.

"Blondie," a voice, Jason, yelled across the apartment, "Get your ass over here." Steph sprang up from the couch.

"I'm coming, you asshole," she yelled back and winked at Danny. He looked critically at the TV. What had he been watching? Speaking of the internet, Danny looked down at his phone. The conversation with Jazz still left him feeling raw. While the meme Steph had showed him was funny, it wasn't untrue. Tim had essentially told the world to come at him.

Danny took a deep breath and clicked on a number he hadn't spoken to in a very long time.

Tucker's voice rang clear over the line, "I cannot believe that you are dating Tim Drake-fucking-Wayne."

"Hey, Tuck," Danny said, his voice laden with longing and regret.

"Hey, Tuck. Hey, Tuck! That’s the first thing you say to me after screening my calls for years," Tucker's voice got high pitched on the word years. Danny felt himself smile despite everything, "Do you know how close Sam was to tracking your ass down in Gotham yesterday?"

"Right. Pretty close, I’m sure," Danny relented. Danny had depended on Tuck and Sam for years. They had been a team; Danny felt the guilt creep inside of him.

"Pretty close, he says," Tucker remarked.

"Hey, Tuck," Danny tried again.

"Ancients. I am so happy to hear your voice man," Tucker sounded so relieved.

Danny fidgeted, and awkwardly asked, "How are you?"

"Good. I’m currently at a work conference in California. I’m going to fly back to New York on Tuesday." Danny glanced down at his watch. It would be barely eight in the morning in California.

"You live in New York?" Danny tried to keep the surprise out of his voice.

"Sam and I both do, which you would know, if you had answered any of our fucking calls," Tucker huffed.

"I’m sorry."

"Fuck. Ancients, Danny," Tucker sounded so exhausted. They sat in silence for a moment, unsure of what to say. Danny resisted the urge to apologize again. For his absence. For being involved in a shooting and not telling them. For leaving in the first place. For destroying their friendship.

"So, Tim Drake-Wayne huh? Have you fucked in his office?" Tuck teased.

Danny leapt at the opportunity to change the direction of the conversation. "Tim dragged me to his office last night. He spent the entire time on the phone."

"Really, that’s super disappointing, what’s the point of dating then?"

"Have you seen him?" Danny challenged.

Danny could hear the smile in Tucker's voice as he continued, "Okay, fair, point made. Sam is going to be so upset that you're dating a literal billionaire."

"I don’t think that Tim is a billionaire," Danny muttered, glaring around the apartment again. The expensive grand piano overlooked a wall of windows. The TV he sat in front of was outrageously large. Then again, billionaire?

"Uh, yes, he is," Tucker argued, "He sold Drake Industries for seven hundred million dollars including WE stock options. He has an investment portfolio that includes more international properties than there are McDonalds in the United States."

"Surely that’s certainly an exaggeration," Danny argued.

"It’s not, I would know," Tucker argued.

"Wait, you work in Investment Banking? How did Sam take that?"

"With vengeance," Tuck informed him, "She didn’t talk to me for three months after I took the job."

Danny couldn't help himself. He laughed at the thought of Sam's face "That sounds like her."

"She manages a co-operative grocery store and volunteers at Planned Parenthood. She’s got two girlfriends, they’re dope, although Jamie is a lot at times," Tuck's voice sounded conspiratorial.

"That’s awesome." Danny meant the words. "I would love to meet them."

"You fucking better," Tuck responded.

"And you?" Danny asked.

"Eh," Tuck's voiced, "I dated off and on, even had an ill-thought out fling with Val –"

"Val?" Danny interrupted, "Really? Val?"

"We bonded over missing you," Tucker sniped.

"Eww," Danny complained, "Please don’t tell me about that."

"You don’t get to dictate how we process our grief," Tucker snapped back. Danny's grin fell off his face. Despite the fact that Tuck was joking, it hit close to home. Danny had died at fourteen. Then again at fifteen. Then again at seventeen. Then again at eighteen.

"I wasn’t dead," Danny argued weakly, "And she was my ex-girlfriend."

"Hardly, for like a day," Tucker teased, "Anyways, it blew up. I fucked around in New York, and decided that despite my absolute gay energy, men just weren’t really my thing, so I found an amazing femdom –"

Tucker brought the conversation around. Danny breathed out away from his own grief.

"I am going to cut you off right there," he interrupted, not inclined to hear about Tucker with a femdom. Ancients.

"I’m joking," his friend remarked.

"Are you?" Danny protested.

"You’re just going to have to visit me and find out," Tucker challenged.

Danny snapped back, "That sounds weirdly sexual."

Tucker laughed, a full-bodied thing that Danny hadn't heard in years. Ancients, Danny had missed his friends. He had been alone for so long. "Oh, fuck," Tucker gasped, "Danny, I have to go, the first panel is starting. I’m back on Tuesday," he informed him. "Wednesday night, you, Sam, and me are going to have dinner and catch-up."

"Okay," Danny agreed, despite the fact that he wasn't sure if everything with Tim's assassination attempt would be cleared up by then. Then again, he could always make a double. It wasn't like Tucker and Sam didn't know about Phantom — even if they weren't aware of the extent of what Phantom's position or powers.

"Also, fucking hell, Tim Drake-Wayne. The Tim Drake-Wayne. I only reached out because of this, by the way," Tucker rushed out.

"I believe you," Danny lied. He knew that Tucker had reached out because of the shooting; that fact, and the lack of questioning around it, filled Danny with warmth. He had missed his friends, even if he had been the reason the friendship had ended.

"Bye, ghost boy," Tucker teased.

"Bye, Tuck," Danny responded; his friend clicked off the phone call on the other end of the line. Danny grinned at his phone. That had been a pick me up he needed.

Mom and Dad could wait for never. Vlad could wait the weekend.

Danny clicked through the TV options absentmindedly. He allowed himself to just float there, all of his forms silent. The situation with Hades and Olkan had left him in a bind. While Danny was more convinced than ever that Fate had been involved, he wasn't sure what to do about it.

Danny needed to reconvene; take a moment to ensure his next move was the right one. Exhaustion set into his body and mind.

Danny didn't know how long he had been sitting on the couch when Jason sat down next to him.

Danny glanced over at Tim's brother; his hair wet and dressed casually. Danny still didn't understand their so-called security rotations. Danny narrowed his eyes at Jason's aura. Just as he had recognized days earlier at the boxing gym, the revenant's body had assimilated ectoplasm inside of him. It was as if he had formed into a ghost in the Infinite Realms and then was forced back into a living form; the ectoplasm was rotting, a parasitic corruption feeding off of Jason's living aura in order to sustain it's formation.

It was unnatural.

Danny didn't know if he should say anything.

Thankfully, that decision was cut off by Jason's voice, "Tim doesn't think he's invincible you know."

Danny swallowed hard. He was trying not to think about Tim's aversion towards securing his own safety.

"It's just this life," Jason continued despite Danny's silence, "You accept at a really young age that there is something more than yourself. That your death would mean something if it had to. It's passiveness to your own mortality. I felt like you should know that — what you're getting yourself into. Tim will never change in that regard."

Danny dragged his eyes to Jason. The TV blared House Hunters International in the background. A couple argued over the pros and cons of a certain apartment in a tropical paradise.

"I don't expect him to change," Danny snapped.

"Good. Because he won't," Jason told him sharply.

"Good," Danny parroted.

Jason clapped his shoulder, "Good talk. Lunch is in the kitchen."

Then, Danny was at the Isle of Infinity, huddled with the children and Pandora. Then, Danny was sitting in Dora's Kingdom, alone in her library, pretending that the words in the book were the most important thing in existence.

Then, Danny was back in Tim's apartment, waiting, bored, for Tim to come home.

Phantom continued to follow Tim though the second half of his day, which included an exceedingly boring meeting about security precautions at the Wayne Gala, a discussion of the Wayne Gala menu, and a video call with a Congressman.

Danny wasn't sure when his human body fell asleep on the couch, but it must have been sometime in the afternoon. He woke to darkness in the living room, a soft blanket covering his body. He sat up to silence; the TV was off. His phone showed a time of seven in the evening.

He wandered into the kitchen where he heard rustling. Tim was staring at the stove, wide-eyed. Danny leaned up against the kitchen doorway. Phantom had watched Tim come home, strip himself of work clothes, and don gray sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Phantom disappeared the moment his human body woke up; at the moment, it was just Tim and a singular human form.