#dicktimjay?

After turning down any attempt of his Sentinel to contact him (i.e. actually duck and dodging said stalkery behavior he is intimately familiar with), it all comes down to the basics less than a month after the disastrous discovery in a hotel room right after he'd played Wayne Enterprises CEO with the likes of Lex Luthor–

who will always and forever be King of the Douche Canoes, seriously

– the breakout at Black Gate is the most all hands on deck that's happened in Gotham in the last year.

Since several members of the Rogue Gallery teamed up to set the explosives, well, every Bat is expected to set-up in Gotham, and Red Robin, for as much as he's stayed the fuck out of their business in the last year, finds himself already in the city for a few meetings with Lucius about next quarter when the night sky outside Wayne Towers lights up with the very familiar symbol.

"Dammit," he breathes out, pretty much aware he could just ignore it. Considering Nightwing, the Red Hood, Batgirl, Black Bat, Robin, and B were all in the city tonight anyway.

(What's one more body between the people of Gotham and the baddies? Well, depends on the body, doesn't it?)

Lucius gives the usual suffering sigh he gives Brucie Wayne when the other mask falls away and leaves the vigilante behind.

"I guess we can pick this up tomorrow," the head of R&D tells him idly, scrolling through text alerts on his phone while Tim visibly reins himself back in to the new line of motherboards going into their medical cradles for military aid.

Tim just stays quiet for once because even though Lucius and Tam both know the big secrets, it's still not something they talk about unless a thorough sweep for bugs has happened in the last thirty minutes.

(Ninjas suck sometimes. #facts)

"It's fine. We still have a few more things we can cross off the list–" Tim starts, jaw tight when he turns away from the familiar symbol, when some things still fucking sting even though he's been doing his level-best to move the fuck forward.

Lucius hums at him and holds out his phone with a tight smile.

The quick update on Gotham's Track the Crime Spree app shows him exactly what's going down, and his truly epic facepalm is the loudest thing in the office.

**

The Batcomm he hacked is on mute, voices in his ear to keep up with the criminals spilling out of Blackgate and swarming the city. Not to mention some of the classics had a hand in making it happen.

The initial plan changes when the Bats start calling dibs on bad guys, throwing out their locations, heading toward the more-than-usual amount of mayhem.

He doesn't throw in on the convo, instead starts picking off the small fries that just happened to be more concerned with escaping and hiding than doing a fair amount of damage the second they hit Gotham proper.

(Really noobs)

He's running through alleyways, easy, fast, and furious to take down the low-level escapees with quick double zip ties for wrists and ankles, not even really working up a sweat.

He leaves the big times to the official night crew, deals with the small fries and enjoys the burn in his thighs as he runs.

Batgirl spots him, yelling out something before he's off again, not interested in some kind of reunion.

(And her low level shields make his back teeth ache with how vulnerable she is, how much she needs someone to strengthen them for her, how he could do it without working too hard... Dammit, the Guide in him is drawn to her with those pesky instincts he's been trying to get under control.)

His first big bad of the night comes in the form of–

Condiment King.

And just. 

This guy.

He really wishes he had the time to enjoy witty banter and a long, drawn-out fight with some heavy hits. Anything to stop him from the low-level buzz on the edge of his shields he knows is Nightwing. He zip ties Buddy Sandler to a light pole and his backpack of condiments to another, he gets one good one before it’s time to move on. 

“Well, I relish the win, but you and the rest are going back to jail. See ya next crime.”

Then he’s off, shooting a grapple, taking off into the night.

Mortimer Kadaver was already kidnapping a victim, and he gets a satisfying crunch when he breaks the guys nose after a look at the torture implements in the back seat of the stolen sedan. The citizen takes off without a look back, completely ignoring him to wait for the police.

He jumps on another stolen car, riding a few blocks at breakneck speed before he punches out the driver’s side window and steers the car himself.

(It’s fun when the low-level thugs don’t know what’s going on. “How are you not driving?!” “Tell the hand in the window to give me the wheel back!”)

He doesn’t get thrown when brains kicks in and the driving thug slams on the brakes, but it’s a close thing.

Instead, he’s trying not to smile when they tumble out the other side of the car on unsteady legs. It’s an easy KO when the city is literally going to shit over the comm in his ear.

Things get real when O calls everyone in on the West side where the bigger, badder B is apparently ready for a round 2 of the “break Batman’s back” challenge.

(It’s the worst possible time for that guy. The flash of memory, of being Dick’s Robin for the short stint, of working with him while Bruce had to train his body again to take on the mantle after Jean Paul had to admit defeat. The best times, the most painful memories. All of it swirling in his chest with the buzzing on the edge of his senses getting sharper, cutting into his shields. All the bullshit stories about True Pairs and here he is, tempting the bond with things like proximity and ass kicking.)

He hits the top of the water tower to check out the sitch, trying to stay out of sight, out of the way of the main family doing their things while Bane is hepped up on venom and swatting at Robin and Black Bat like flies.

No one has to say it while calling out strategy, but it’s a pretty obvious distraction play. Keep the Bats busy while the bulk of baddies get ghost. It’s classic Bane, really.

Since the venom is highly flammable and there’s a lot of vigilantes he doesn’t want to face, he does the next best thing - makes a plan.

It easy to drive KG Beast and the Baffler right up his grill without ever being seen by the Bats as the three big baddies smack into one another on the down swing of some stunning blows. 

A combination of smoke pellets, knockout gas, and bo to the back of the head puts them out for the count in a move even he didn’t think was crazy enough to work.

Slam dunk. It’s buy two and get one free day.

Even better, Black B and Rob were back far enough to miss him through the smoke even though his rebound was a top notch move even for a season vigilante.

Which is why it sucks when Polka-Dot Man actually gets the drop on him because honestly, that guy. He does deliver a stunning back kick to put the B-lister down, but it does make him see double for an important enough second.

“Daw, takin’ alla the fun outta my night, Pretender,” the Red Hood drawls from a rooftop above him, the glint off shiny .45s too bright in his spotty vision. “Nice a’ ya ta actually show the fuck up fer once.”

“Honestly,” he banters back while the woozy sensation fades to a low grade headache, “how many asses in spandex does one city need?”

He gets a chuckle rather than a bullet to the head, so that is most certainly a win.

The drawback of gaining attention of the Red Hood, however, is the lack of duck and dodge that really is part of his new pseud.

Hood literally throws him over a shoulder and dives off the Wallstone Apartments while Red is still reeling from the blow, bellowing out when a meaty arm clamps on the back of his kicking legs in a very subtle warning.

“Leggo!”

“My ass. Stop yer squirming, fucker.”

“How about we compromise. Let me go and you can kick someone else’s ass?”

“Nice try. Like I dunno who yer really running from?”

“I’m fighting crime, not running you asshole!”

“Sure, sure. Ya know what they say. De Nile ain’t just a river in Egypt.”

“I don’t even live here anymore!”

“Oh? Can’t wait ta tell B ya just said that, Timmer.”

“I’m not his responsibility, didn’t you get the memo?”

Wind in his hair over the bad section of bail bondsmen and sleazy villain insurance. The plan forms while Red Hood arches his back to throw them both high in the air before the second grapple *zings* and latches on.

“I said th’ same thing at one time. Ya already know bout that shit, an’ how B didn’t give one fuck ‘bout what I hadda say.”

“The difference is you’re actually part of the fucking family, Jason!”

“Mmhm. Keep onnit, Replacement. M’comm is gettin’ alla this, n’ ya know it.”

“So what? No one’s bothered giving a crap  so far!”

Did he get hit with a truth serum or is this just the concussion talking? 

(R - Randal, Randal the concussion is awful and he should really stop this messy truth shit no one needs to hear.)

“Come off’n it, Timmy. Like ya don’t already know B gotcha tracked within an incha yer life? Think he just gonna let the smart one run off wi’ Shiva fer fuck’s sake?”

Even with Randal being a pain in the ass, Red has a terrifying moment of panic. They know. They all know.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, sure. Tell that ta Dickie why dontcha? I ain’t seen ‘in that pissed off inna hot minute.”

“He already knows-“

“Does he really now? Why don’tcha tell ole’ Jace all ‘bout it, hm?”

His voice through the synths sounds very not inviting.

“Randall is a fucker and he needs to lay off,” which has Hood laughing even if he doesn’t know what Red means by any of it.

They land it with a jolt — right in the middle of a brawl.

Which is just about the speed he really needs right now anyway.

Black Bat swings by with a screaming escapee dangling from one hand by his ankle while she smiles under the stitched-up mask and gives him a happy wave. The comm in his ear hasn’t fallen out so he knows the others are spaced out, corralling the others with the help of GCPD.

So, the fight is on a little more than he originally thought.

But still, the burn feels better than the low-grade concussion and the pulsing heat of Sentinels (of his Sentinel), close by. He knows Jason’s shields are fractured, held together by pure stubborn will. He knows Steph is a few blocks down, whooping it up with her shields scarily open for her senses to reach far enough out to track stragglers. B is held together the best of them all, but Dami is developing his senses now and his control is sporadic at best.

Punching the shit out of thugs takes some of the weight off the knowledge, doesn’t completely distract him from his own instincts, but distracts his brain just enough.

Leg sweeps, palm to the nose, kick to the back of the knees, a spinning whirlwind of ass kicking, back-to-back with Hood, spit blood when he takes a hit, clench his teeth when he feels the strain on Nightwing close enough to make his skin burn with it.

His chest is heaving by the time the groaning pile of bodies is down for the count and the red and blue is lighting up the night on their way. He scrambles for a grapple gun while Black B and Hood are finishing up the zip ties. But when he points it the way he wants to go, his finger won’t squeeze the trigger.

“Clean-up’s goin’ all right,” Hood reports, nudging his shoulder with the hand still holding the .45. “Lookin’ like B’s gotch some a’ th’ bomb residue ‘case ya wanna get in on that, nerd.”

“Like you’re much better,” Red rasps out, grapple in his lowered hand trembling, the pounding in his head worse than any concussion.

He knows what this is, the only thing it can be.

“Mmhm. ‘Least I don’t need a fuckin’ engraved invitation ta come back ta the Cave.”

Red’s head whips around, the whiteouts on the mask narrow in a who the fuck are you talking to? kind of way.

Hood crosses his arms over his massive chest because the guy knows when he’s feeding someone a line.

Welp, since everyone already knows apparently.

Right in front of the helmet, Red Robin shoves the grapple back in his belt and deactivates the right gauntlet with his left hand. The helmet cocks to the side in question, but Red moves with fluid grace and speed, even with Randall riding his cape, and slaps his palm on the only bare skin available, on the side of the Red Hood’s neck.

His instincts jump immediately and reach out to the dangerous cracks and crumbles in the Red Hood’s shields, the painful red throbbing of shields crumbling.

He might hear a noise out of the synths, might imagine it because what does Jason Todd owe him really?

But it’s easy, just like putting together the pieces of evidence from a crime scene. The fractured plates protecting Hood are hot to work with, a sharp sting across his brain pan (something that could be from the Pit or be just natural Jason Todd, zombie Sentinel extrodinaire), eases down with the pieces coming together, strengthening, forming a stronger metaphysical shield to give Jason a measure of peace from his own overwhelming senses. It’s a  the relief of relaxing a clenched fist after the fight.

The reason Sentinels need Guides.

(Well, there’s more to it than just that, isn’t there? And Red’s brain can’t help but flinch back to those dreams, to a voice in his ear and hands on him — Guide mapping, his dream Sentinel whispered against skin.)

Red doesn’t manage to stop Hood from sinking to his knees in the aftermath, downed criminals, things on fire, GCPD almost on top them, and Black B nearly vibrating out of her mask next to them, hands hovering and afraid to touch.

Instead, he feels the reverberation of that deep noise coming straight out of the Red Hood’s chest. The relief under the constructed shield thick between them while they stand in the middle of the street.

That growling purr is almost enough, almost enough, to stop him from turning on his heel.

But the gloved hand snags the hem of his cape stops him in his tracks. his eyes blow wide behind the whiteouts and he sees a second of Hood's emblem before his literal savior, Cass, snaps him up and throws him over her shoulder before she takes off.

The night takes a turn for a "what the fuck?" when he and Black B take a few pauses to double team some of the baddies when the Red Hood loses them close to Robinson Park.

Things got more dicey when N spots them taking out Joyful Noise before the sonic blaster destroys yet another pointless sculpture. The comms erupt in a whole lot more noise in the shit show his "duck and cover crime fighting" night has devolved into.

(He's not going to focus on how his head is just a little sore instead of Randall being a right pain in the ass, isn't going to think about the implications here. He can't focus and keep moving through the baddies if he has a sane moment to wonder if it was that easy because he also...Jason-)

They manage to evade the Bats (mostly), ignoring the cajoling and usual back-and-forth once they realize Red Robin is part of crime time.

Cass does him an absolutely solid, driving them to his other, other underground bunker, letting him hang his head against her back while the air hitting them reeks of smoke, burning plastic, and gasoline. He doesn't get the underlying tinge of metal, blood, and fear -- that was from Jason's head while those shields were coming together nicely.

(When he's a full continent away, he'll have him moment of panic, but until then, Cass is totally not addressing the very obvious elephant in the bunker.)

She stays for post-patrol snacks, producing a family-sized box of Cheez-Its and some Alfred sandwiches that are somehow still cold.

They do the usual throwing off sweaty top layers, domino and mask, stare at two episodes of The Office with Zestis from the mini-fridge in the corner.

One-handed signs while they chew, hit a quick patch up job, and the night is finally over.

Cass checks the Batchat to make sure everyone made it out of the city after one hell of a night and gives no reply to the questions about Tim, much to everyone’s dismay.

The next shift of GCPD is coming on, so the city is secured for another day. She produces a backpack and changes into soft leggins, runners, and a hoodie he's pretty sure is Bruce's.

Tim does a good job on her knuckles, and she gives him a kiss on the forehead, makes him promise to stay away from screens and not to sleep for a few hours yet.

After she takes off, he breathes out a long, breath, collapses on the overstuffed couch a minute before going to the lower levels, thinking about catching up on paperwork before he's got to meet with Lucius again. A nice shower, some coffee, and he could do some work, take an actual moment --

("True Pairs, an honest Sentinel and Guide relationship, can include sharing such effects of injuries.")

He shakes the thought out, rolls his neck, and picks up his discarded utility belt, trying to find as many things to divert his attention to as possible.