Chapter Text
“If we don't face our fears, our fears will chase us forever.” — Paulo Coelho
“Sorry!” Prentiss called, speeding into the conference room. “There was a pile-up; traffic was backed up for miles.”
Hotch sent her a nod. “Now that we’re all here, let’s get started,” he said.
“It’s a big one,” JJ said grimly, handing out files while Garcia turned on the tv. “Yesterday, a mall in Philadelphia was the target of a chemical attack. Gas canisters were found in the air vents. Mass casualties: twenty-seven dead and over a hundred injured, with forty of those in critical condition.”
There was a moment of stunned silence.
“Anthrax?” Morgan asked finally.
“No, thankfully,” JJ said, and the room exhaled a little.
“These injuries look both defensive and offensive,” Rossi pointed out, frowning at the screen.
“The gas led to extreme hallucinations and fear,” JJ explained. “Most of the injuries were caused by people either trying to flee from their hallucinations or fight them off.”
“So we’re looking for a sadistic unsub,” Prentiss said.
“Not an unsub,” JJ corrected. “We actually know exactly who’s behind it.” She turned and clicked the remote, pulling up new pictures on the screen. They had been pulled from security cameras in the mall and showed a number of figures in ragged brown clothes, armed with guns and heavy-duty gas masks. “The M.O. and uniforms fit Jonathan Crane.” A mugshot of a thin man with glasses appeared on the screen. “Crane is native to Gotham City, New Jersey,” JJ explained, glancing around the room. “Up until two weeks ago, he was imprisoned in Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. He escaped and fell off the radar.”
JJ clicked the remote and newspaper headlines filled the screen. “This is not the first time he’s done this. We have records going back two decades of similar breakouts and attacks.”
“Why haven’t we been called in before?” Prentiss demanded, flipping through her thick file.
“He never crossed state lines,” JJ said. “That makes it a state matter, and we were never called in.”
“Gotham is notorious for keeping to itself,” Reid reported. “It relies on its vigilante population to keep its less conventional criminals under control.”
“Vigilantes like the Red Hood,” Hotch said stonily. There was a moment of silence as they all exchanged looks.
“The Red Hood?” Rossi asked, looking from person to person.
“It was before you came out of retirement,” Morgan said. “Mass murders in three different states. We managed to tie it back to a territory feud between rival crime lords from Gotham. We caught Hood and interrogated him, but he escaped in transit to prison.”
“Our profile was almost completely wrong,” Reid added. “It was a fascinating case.”
“And he slipped through our fingers and back into Gotham,” Hotch said. He looked at Rossi, expression hard. “He left a gift basket in my office. Evidence couldn’t find any tampering. It was just there to mock us, to make sure we knew he’d escaped and could do whatever he wanted.” Hotch tapped his fingers against the table. “We need to approach this case with caution. Hood could react negatively to our presence in the city.”
Jim Gordon looked like a man who’d seen war. That was the first thing Rossi thought when they climbed out of the SUVs and found the man waiting for them. There was an exhausted determination in his eyes, the kind of grim acceptance people got after seeing one too many dead bodies.
He also looked like a man who wasn’t happy to see them.
“Jim Gordon,” he said tersely after they introduced themselves. “Police Commissioner. Follow me.”
The team exchanged glances and followed him inside. The GCPD building was conspicuously modern compared to the gothic architecture they’d seen on their drive through the city. Reid mentioned as much, and Gordon grunted. “Two years back it was almost completely destroyed when Ivy threw a tantrum over some lab dumping toxins in the river. Wayne Enterprises provided the funding for a new building.”
He said it so casually that the team faltered, staring at him. “Is that common?” Hotch asked.
“We need moderate repairs at least once a year,” Gordon confirmed. “Here.” He opened the door to a conference room. It was a decent size, brightly lit, with a white board and a large table that was covered in boxes. More sat on the floor. “These are the case files for Crane,” Gordon said, folding his arms.
“All of this?” Prentiss asked.
“Some files were lost when the building was destroyed, but yes. This is everything we have.”
“Jesus,” Prentiss murmured.
Gordon shut the conference room door with a decisive click. “Look,” he said gruffly. “I was overridden by the state. I didn’t want you coming here.”
JJ stepped forward. “Commissioner, we understand that this is your case. We’re just here to help.”
Gordon shook his head. “I know this is a federal case now. It’s out of my hands. Just be aware. Gotham is different. It’s not like other cities you’ve worked in. And it doesn’t take kindly to outsiders. I tried to warn both of our superiors of that, offered to catch Crane on our own terms and then send him into federal custody, but they didn’t go for it.” He met their eyes one by one. “Just be careful. I don’t need a bunch of federal agents dying on me.”
There was a tense moment of silence. “Of course,” JJ finally said, smiling professionally. “You know your city best. We’ll defer to your expertise.”
“You will?” Gordon challenged.
Hotch raised an eyebrow. “Is there a reason we shouldn’t?”
Gordon met his eyes steadily, searching for something. “I’m sure you’re aware of our…unorthodox approach to stopping crime.”
“You mean your alliance with the vigilante known as Batman?” Reid asked.
“That’s the one,” Gordon said, not looking away from Hotch.
“We’re aware,” Hotch said neutrally. There had been uproar when the news got out that police were actively working with a vigilante, had actually installed a batsignal so they could more easily call said vigilante. The state had tried to shut it down, but had given up after several months when they realized crime had gone down dramatically since the police started working with Batman instead of trying to catch him. Now it was something that everyone knew, but no one discussed.
“Would you defer to my expertise on that matter as well?”
“What are you suggesting?”
Gordon huffed and rolled his eyes, apparently sick of dancing around the matter. “Batman is our best shot of catching Crane with minimal casualties,” he said bluntly. “Are you willing to work with him and his team without arresting them?”
“Commissioner-”
“I know it’s a big request,” Gordon cut him off. “But like I said, Gotham is different. The Bats have resources and information that we don’t. They know these guys better than anyone.”
There was a long moment of silence as Hotch considered. “I’m sure there would be no issues if we worked with GCPD consultants,” he said finally.
Gordon nodded, some of the worry lines on his face softening. “Good. They’re usually out and about by nine. I can call them then.”
“Guess we’re becoming nocturnal,” Morgan murmured.
Gordon shot him a grim smile. “Welcome to Gotham.”
By the time nine o’clock rolled around, they’d gone through a large chunk of the files—mostly thanks to Reid—and started working up a profile.
“He’s gotta be a sadistic psychopath,” Morgan said, flipping another file closed and tossing it onto the table. “No signs of psychosis and if there was abuse it was never reported.”
“I’ve got some bullying reports,” Prentiss interjected. “Nothing too extreme, if the reports cover the extent of it. But we all know how easy it is for kids to hide bullying.”
“He’s obsessed with fear,” Rossi said, frowning. “Perhaps because he can’t feel it himself. His records from Arkham Asylum say that he views these attacks as experiments, a way for him to study fear. That certainly lends credence to the psychopath theory.”
“But wouldn’t that stem from feeling afraid for a long time?” Prentiss asked. “Wanting to understand how it works and inflict it on other people, rather than himself?”
“So, what, he’s bullied and afraid, and then it gets to be too much so he strikes back, makes his attackers feel afraid, and that’s the trigger for him?” Morgan asked thoughtfully, spinning a pen between his fingers. “He’s hooked on their fear and has been chasing that initial high ever since?”
“Either way, he’s clearly not going to stop,” Hotch said grimly. “His experiments haven’t satisfied him so far.”
“And Arkham Asylum clearly can’t hold him,” JJ added, looking up from her own file. Normally she’d be out making contact with local media outlets, building rapport with Gordon, or interviewing witnesses, but Gordon had warned her that it’d be safer to stay with her team. The more she read about Gotham, the more inclined she was to stay put.
“Arkham Asylum can’t really hold anyone,” Reid said, sticking another index card on their timeline. “It has the worst containment and recovery rates of any asylum for the criminally insane in the United States. Despite the money that’s been poured into it and constant efforts to reduce corruption—most notably led by Bruce Wayne, a local billionaire—nothing seems to work.”
A knock sounded on the door and Gordon glanced around the room. “If you’re ready, our ‘consultant’ is upstairs.”
The team looked to Hotch. He paused for a moment, recognizing this as his last chance to back out of a situation that would definitely breach protocol. Sure, he’d made exceptions and pushed the line in the past, but this was taking it to a new level. Hotch glanced around at his team, gaze snagging on the pictures tacked to the whiteboard, smiling faces and bloodied injuries and body bags. His jaw set and he nodded once. “Let’s go.”
By ‘upstairs’, Gordon meant the roof. It was a relatively pleasant night, the heat of the day dissipating now that the sun had set. Clouds blotted out the stars, but there wasn’t an impending threat of rain. A bright light shone across those clouds, forming the shape of a bat. For a moment, the spotlight and the signal on the clouds was all they could see. There didn’t seem to be anyone on the roof, and the team spread out a little way from the door, looking around with varying levels of anxiety and excitement.
“Agents,” a deep, gravelly voice said from directly behind them.
They all whipped around, hands going to their guns.
“Woah, do not shoot!” Gordon yelled, throwing his arms out. “Hold your fire!”
Hotch held up his own hand and the team froze.
Gordon pinched the bridge of his nose and dug in the pocket of his trench coat, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “I told you that spooking them was a bad idea,” he muttered to the shadows.
Gordon sparked his lighter, leaning in to light his cigarette, and a tall figure stepped forward, the light from the small flame flickering off his armor and cowl.
Gordon snapped his lighter shut and exhaled a cloud of smoke. He muttered something that sounded a lot like ‘always so dramatic’ and waved a hand absently between the team and the person who could only be Batman. “Batman, BAU. BAU, Batman.” He squinted at Batman. “They’ve agreed to work with you and your team as consultants. Try to avoid incriminating yourselves.”
Batman grunted.
Gordon huffed, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Go on, then. I’m sure the FBI would like to sleep at some point tonight.”
Batman turned his gaze on the team, the blank lenses of his cowl sweeping over them with a heavy intensity. Hotch resisted the urge to draw his gun. “Jonathan Crane,” the vigilante began, each word heavy and deliberate, “is a psychopathic mass murderer and serial killer. He is obsessed with the study of fear and attacks people with a neurochemical compound he calls ‘fear toxin’ or ‘fear gas’, depending on whether it's in liquid or gaseous form. This neurochemical causes the body to produce dangerously high levels of cortisol and adrenaline. There are also hallucinogenic qualities in some versions.”
Batman held out a file to Hotch. Hotch took it cautiously and flipped it open.
“That is a record of Crane’s base recipe, as well as a few recent variations,” Batman explained gruffly. “We’ve synthesized antidotes for all these variations. The police have stocks, as do hospitals and clinics. I recommend you keep at least two vials of the base antidote on you at all times. It will at least mitigate the effects of the other variations. You should also get fitted for gas masks.”
“We’ve got a tech coming,” Gordon confirmed.
There was a moment of silence as the team digested that information. “Thank you,” Hotch said stiffly.
Batman nodded, just as stiff.
Prentiss cleared her throat. “You said Crane is both a mass murderer and a serial killer. Could you elaborate on that?”
Batman’s face didn’t shift, but his gaze felt suddenly unimpressed. “You have the files,” he said.
“Yes,” Prentiss agreed, heart in her throat. This man was just as dangerous as the unsubs they dealt with. They could only be thankful he worked with the police. “But I’d like to hear your analysis.”
Batman stared at her for a moment longer. “You’ve witnessed one of Crane’s mass attacks,” he finally said. “News reports of his previous attacks are easily available. They’re obvious and dramatic, causing as much fear as possible.” He folded his arms under his cape. “However, he also displays hedonistic serial killer behavior.”
“What kind?” Rossi asked, matching Batman’s businesslike tone.
“Thrill. He experiments to understand fear, but he also enjoys it. He has told me that the fear victims feel before they die is the best kind.”
Batman let them digest that for a moment before continuing: “He kidnaps individuals and experiments on them, usually while building up to one of his major attacks. He exposes these victims to different levels of his toxin, usually in increasing doses until the victims die. I believe the deaths are a byproduct of his experiments or a secondary goal. Causing fear is the primary goal.”
“So there may be victims we’re unaware of that he took to practice for his most recent attack?” Morgan demanded.
Batman’s head tilted just the slightest bit in Morgan’s direction. “Yes.”
Morgan cursed under his breath.
“This M.O. is not unusual for Crane,” Batman continued. Prentiss wondered how he could talk so much that deeply without hurting his throat. Either his voice was naturally that deep or the man had already fried his vocal cords forcing it deeper. “He often sends his men with cameras to carry out his attacks, while he remains behind to observe and make notes. He is not physically imposing.”
“The location of this attack was weird, though,” an unfamiliar voice chimed in. The team looked sharply to the side. There was a young man perched on the edge of the building, arms resting casually on his knees as if he weren’t crouching above a deadly drop. He was dressed in black, with a blue symbol stretching across his chest and down his arms that looked sort of like a bird in flight. A blue domino mask was plastered to his face, white lenses turning his smile eerie.
“You’re Nightwing,” Reid said, startled. “A vigilante from Bludhaven who works closely with Batman, widely theorized to have been the first Robin.”
“I can confirm three out of four,” Nightwing said cheerfully, walking over to stand beside Batman. “Nice to meet you.”
“What makes this attack strange?” Rossi asked, sending the newcomer a quick nod.
Nightwing put his hands on his hips and tilted his head to the side. Compared to Batman, he was almost startlingly expressive. “Crane’s never left Gotham before. I don’t know why he’d go to Philly.”
“Maybe he thought it was getting too hot here,” Morgan proposed. “He got sick of you stopping his plans?”
Batman grunted.
Nightwing nodded, as if that grunt was enough to convey information. “For people like Crane, the chase is half the fun,” he said. “Crane…doesn’t focus on that as much as some of the other Rogues-”
Batman cleared his throat sharply.
Nightwing tilted his head, managing to convey an eye roll without his eyes being visible. “It’s handy having a collective noun for them,” he said, exasperated as if this was a well-tread argument. “Besides, they didn’t come up with it, and they hate being referred to as a collective, so it’s not like calling them the Rogues is giving them power.”
“This city caters to their gimmicks enough,” Batman growled. JJ blinked, startled. That was surprisingly similar to the BAU’s policy. Encouraging the names and gimmicks of serial killers caused panic and diverted focus from the victims to the killers. She hadn’t expected a vigilante to believe the same.
“Does it, Batman?” Nightwing asked pointedly. Batman’s jaw tightened. Nightwing rolled his eyes again. “Crane doesn’t chase Batman’s attention as much as Nygma or Joker,” he continued, turning back to the team, “but he does enjoy taunting us and trying to make us succumb to our fears.”
“Crane hasn’t left Gotham in twenty years,” Batman cut in. “Something triggered this change in the pattern.”
“You think he’s devolving?” Hotch asked.
Nightwing snorted. “He’s been devolving. He started operating, what”—he looked at Batman—“two years before I came on the scene?”
“Hn,” Batman said.
“Yeah,” Nightwing confirmed. “Year and a half or two years before I came on the scene, and he’s been getting more violent and obsessed ever since.”
There was a moment of silence.
“You said he’s been operating for twenty years,” Rossi said.
Nightwing tilted his head to the side. There was no way he was over 30. “Yes.”
“Implying that you’ve been a vigilante for 18 years,” Hotch gritted out. “Meaning you were, what, twelve at the oldest when you started?” The idea that anyone could willingly put their child in that kind of danger…it was unthinkable. He imagined Jack in that position and his stomach twisted.
Nightwing smiled and didn’t reply. Batman was stiff and silent beside him.
“Alright,” JJ said when the silence stretched, flashing her press smile. “Is there anything else you can tell us-”
She broke off as Batman and Nightwing simultaneously held up a hand and tilted their heads, white lenses staring at her. JJ resisted the urge to take a step back.
After a few long, uncomfortable moments, they straightened up. “We have to go,” Nightwing said, sending them an apologetic smile. Batman had already turned away, reaching for his belt as he headed for the edge of the rooftop. “We’ll touch base again later.”
“Is it Crane?” Hotch demanded.
He didn’t get a reply. Batman and Nightwing leapt from the roof, swinging into the darkness without so much as looking back.
“They do that,” Gordon said dryly from over by the door. He flicked the bat signal off, plunging them further into darkness. “They’ll be back when they’re done.”
“Done with what?” Morgan demanded.
Gordon shrugged, pulling the door open. “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.”
They did find out soon enough. As soon as they made it down the stairs, a rookie ran up to them with the news that there’d been an Arkham breakout, with three criminals managing to escape.
“It’s Firefly, Mad Hatter, and”—Gordon frowned at the report Arkham had sent over—“oh come on!” He huffed angrily and tossed the report on the desk. “Who the hell decided to take Nygma off his meds again?” He grabbed his radio. “All units, Riddler policy in place.”
A number of voices replied, “Copy that,” and Gordon put the radio down.
“Riddler policy?” Rossi asked.
“If you see Riddler, watch your step and focus on containment,” Gordon said briskly. “Don’t escalate any violence and wait for one of the Bats to arrive and talk him down. Riddler’s one of our relatively successful rehabilitation cases. We don’t see him very often these days. He stays in Arkham because of his past crimes and because he’s not great at remembering to take his meds, but as long as he stays on them, he minds his own business and spends his time being an asshole about the daily crossword instead of putting people in death traps.”
The team stared at him silently. Gordon defined relatively successful rehabilitation as only occasionally setting death traps?
Gordon’s mustache twitched a little. “You get used to it.” He sighed and scratched his chin. “Some damn therapist probably decided taking him off his meds would be a good test. Can hardly blame the guy in that case. God knows we’ve warned the staff enough. Our people will focus on keeping him contained and moving civilians out of the way without upsetting him more. The Bats’ll talk him down easy enough, or they’ll tranq him if he’s really agitated.”
“And the other two?” Hotch asked.
“Firefly-”
“We’d prefer to use their real names, if possible,” Hotch interrupted. “It keeps us from mythologizing the perpetrators.”
Gordon huffed a laugh. “Batman insists on the same thing. I told him it was too late to worry about that now—the whole city calls them by their aliases.”
“Still.”
“Right.” Gordon led the way down the bustling hall, back to their conference room. “The Riddler’s real name is Edward Nygma. We probably don’t have to worry about him. Garfield Lynns is a pyro. He built himself a flying suit and has flame throwers. His main goal is destruction. We’ve scrambled the fire department and they’re following Oracle’s directions so they’re close at hand.”
Morgan opened his mouth to ask who Oracle was, but Reid beat him to it, saying quietly, “Oracle is a hacker and information broker. Kind of like Batman’s Garcia.”
Morgan nodded slowly. Maybe that was how Batman operated so much faster and more efficiently than the police—this ‘Oracle’ was getting him all the information he needed. And probably in highly illegal ways.
Gordon ignored their little aside, leaning against the wall and folding his arms. “Jervis Tetch is delusional. He thinks he’s the Mad Hatter from Alice in Wonderland, and he’s obsessed with finding the perfect Alice and setting up the perfect Wonderland. He uses mind control to do it.”
“I’m sorry, did you just say mind control?” Prentiss demanded. “Do you mean brainwashing? Manipulation?”
“No, literal mind control. If he gets one of his hats on you, he can control you completely. Like a puppet.” Gordon shrugged. “He used to be a neuroscientist. I don’t know how it works. Fortunately for us, he’s too neurotic to let any of those hats out of his sight or control. They all self-destruct if he loses connection to them, so we haven’t had to worry about other criminals getting their hands on them.”
“Well at least there’s that,” Prentiss said, only half sarcastic.
“Do you think this is because of Crane?” Hotch asked. “Or somehow connected?”
Gordon thought about that for a moment. “It’s possible,” he said finally. “Rogues have been known to team up in the past. But I think this timing is more coincidence on Nygma’s part and hope that Batman will be too busy dealing with Crane to worry about them on the other two’s part.” He inclined his head a little to them. “They may have even been right. If you guys weren’t here to focus on Crane, I doubt Batman would be out there right now.”
The team exchanged glances. The way Batman operated hit uncomfortably close to home. Refusing to mythologize the perps, prioritizing the most serious threats, analyzing the patterns and behaviors of suspects. Of course, there was also all the extrajudicial violence, impeding official investigations, and tampering with evidence. It was a miracle any of Gordon’s cases resulted in convictions at all.
Gordon apparently took their silence as a criticism because he bristled a little and said, “I’m not saying he’d just leave the city to burn. He has a big enough team now that they could’ve handled the breakout while he focused on Crane. Take it as a compliment that he trusts your skills enough to be out there himself.”
“Of course,” JJ said, putting on a smile. “We’ll start working up a geographical profile and looking at the case with fresh eyes. The sooner we catch Crane, the better.”
Gordon nodded and left. The team looked at each other in silence for a moment.
“Gotham,” Morgan muttered. Prentiss and Rossi made noises of agreement.
“Reid, get started on a geographical profile,” Hotch said. “Morgan, call Garcia and see how far she’s made it through analyzing the video. Then get a copy for yourself and start going through it too—it’s our best intel so far and I don’t want us missing anything. JJ, keep an eye on the news and see what the chatter is. This breakout could be good for us by distracting people from Crane or it could cause more panic. And check in with Philadelphia—see if there’s any updates there. Rossi, I want you to talk to some of the officers in the station, see how much they know about Crane. Prentiss, you and I will go back over the case notes and make sure we didn’t miss anything. Look especially for anything that might have triggered his change in location.”
The team scattered to their respective tasks. Reid turned on the coffee machine on his way over to the board. One thing was for sure: It was going to be a long night.
Reid frowned at the maps he’d stuck to the board. “There’s no meaningful geographical profile to be found,” he said, “but I found something interesting about the timeline.” He turned to face the rest of the team. “I divided the profile by years because there were too many data points for a single map. This map”—he gestured to the map on the left—“covers the first fourteen years of his attacks. They increased and became more extreme over time, but averaged at one or two attacks per year.” He pointed to the second map. “This one shows the attacks from the past six years.”
“That’s a lot of attacks,” Prentiss breathed.
“An average of three to four times a year,” Reid agreed. “The rate’s dropped since then, as Arkham upgrades its security, but Crane would likely be attacking much more frequently if that wasn’t an obstacle.”
“When did the escalation start?” Hotch asked, arms folded.
“The first unusually short cool-down period occurred in June six years ago, when Crane only waited three months between attacks instead of his usual six to twelve. That attack was notably less violent than his standard at the time, and didn’t last as long either. It’s also notable that he was brought in by the police on that occasion, not Batman.”
“Well the decrease of violence makes sense,” Prentiss said. “He was getting used to his new schedule and didn’t have as much time to prepare.”
“And that lack of preparation allowed the police to catch him,” Rossi agreed.
“So something happened in those three months to trigger the escalation,” Hotch said. “Get Garcia on the line, have her look into what may have caused it.”
Before Reid could finish dialing, Gordon entered the room. “Consultants are upstairs,” he said.
“The escapees?” Rossi inquired.
“In custody. Ri- Nygma was brought in peacefully, and they got to Lynns and Tetch before they could cause too much damage.”
“In three hours?” Morgan asked. “That’s impressive.”
Gordon’s mustache twitched as he smiled a little. “Our consultants do good work,” he said proudly.
“Clearly,” Hotch murmured. “Alright, let’s see if they can add anything new to our findings.”
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to stay down here and help square the escapees away,” Gordon said. “Now that you’ve been introduced, you shouldn’t have anything to worry about, but just give me a holler if you need me.”
The team trooped back up to the roof, coffee cups and files clutched in their hands.
Prentiss was first through the door, and she pulled to a stop fast enough that Morgan almost ran into her. “Sorry,” she murmured, stepping quickly to the side. The rest of the team emerged slowly, staring.
Batman and Nightwing were back, but they weren’t alone. A whole group of people were standing on the roof, all dressed in colorful tactical gear. Most of them looked like teenagers, but there was one person who was small enough that they had to be pre-pubescent. Batman and the teenager with bandoliers looked like they’d been in or near a fire, ash dusting their costumes and the teenager’s hair. The blonde girl had a bruise growing on her chin and a bright grin, while Nightwing and the youngest looked windswept but unharmed. The final figure, covered head-to-toe in black, was impossible to read.
There was a moment of tense silence before JJ stepped forward. “Hi there,” she said. “We’re the BAU. I’m Agent Jareau, and these are Agents Hotchner, Morgan, Rossi, Prentiss, and Doctor Reid.” She flashed an apologetic smile toward Batman and Nightwing. “We skipped proper introductions before.”
Nightwing waved her off. “No worries. You know Batman and me.” He gestured down the cluster of vigilantes. “Red Robin, Batgirl, Black Bat, and Robin.”
“Nice to meet you all.” JJ managed a smile. These were teenagers and children, they shouldn’t be out here facing pyromaniacs and psychopaths.
“We do not require outside aid,” Robin said, tilting his nose in the air. “We have managed Crane for years.”
JJ paused for a moment before deciding to treat the vigilantes professionally, like any other assisting officers. Doing otherwise wouldn’t help them solve the case. They could worry about child endangerment and extrajudicial activities after Crane was caught. “We don’t doubt your abilities,” she said, unable to stop her voice from softening a little as Robin met her gaze defiantly. “We’re just here to help.”
“He crossed state lines, gremlin,” Red Robin said distractedly, tapping on his gauntlet. There must be a computer or controls of some kind built in. “That makes it a federal case. They have jurisdiction. Just be grateful they’re not booting us from the case or trying to arrest us.”
Robin hissed, but Black Bat poked him and he quieted down.
Hotch cleared his throat. “We put together a timeline of attacks, and we noticed an unusual spike in activity. We were hoping you’d have some insight.”
Reid took a half-step forward. “Crane drastically increased the rate of his attacks six years ago. Did anything significant happen between March and June of that year that might have triggered the increase?”
The vigilantes stiffened, the casual intensity of highly trained individuals shifting into something more focused and dangerous.
“I take it you have something in mind,” Reid said, glancing nervously at Hotch.
As one, the vigilantes turned to look at Batman. Batman stared straight ahead, fists clenched.
“Anything you can tell us will be helpful in determining Crane’s next moves,” Rossi encouraged.
Nightwing tilted his head toward Batman, then looked back at the team. He wetted his lips. “That was when….” He hesitated, grimacing, before finally spitting it out: “Robin died.”
Hotch took that news like a punch to the gut. The horror of it turned quickly into anger. A child had died doing this, and here were more children in the line of fire? Had they learned nothing?
Batman wasn’t moving. The younger vigilantes shifted awkwardly. Nightwing sighed and folded his arms, looking suddenly older as his shoulders slumped. “I guess Crane took it personally that he wasn’t…involved. That he didn’t get to…see how”—a tiny twitch toward Batman, as if he’d glanced at the man behind his white lenses—“we reacted. The… fear it caused.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “How did we not make the connection?” he muttered.
“You can’t expect yourself to pay attention to Crane when- with all of what happened,” Batgirl argued. “And we don’t know for sure if that was the cause. Something else could have triggered him.”
“So,” Reid said hesitantly, shooting a quick look at Batman. The man seemed to have shut down. Reid hoped it wasn’t in a ‘calm before the storm’ way. “Let me see if I’m understanding. Crane may have been triggered by the feeling that he was denied something? He was denied your fear and lashed out?”
“Potentially,” Nightwing agreed, fists clenched.
“So something similar may have happened here,” Reid suggested. “We should look for something that would have made Crane feel denied fear.”
“It hasn’t been an unusual amount of time since his last attack,” Red Robin said, looking back down at his gauntlet. “And he’s been in Arkham up until two weeks ago. Start with news reports, things he could’ve had access to in Arkham that would’ve inspired the attacks.” He spoke with the easy command of someone used to leading. A moment later he glanced up, looking a bit sheepish, as if he’d forgotten who he was talking to. “That’s what I’d do at least.”
“That’s a good idea,” JJ said, smiling. “I’ll get right on that.”
“We should also check out his cell,” Morgan said. “He might have left a clue as to his motivation.”
The vigilantes exchanged looks. “You want to go inside Arkham?” Batgirl asked doubtfully.
“Is that a problem?” Rossi asked, raising an eyebrow.
Batgirl hooked her thumbs in her utility belt. “I guess not. You should probably take one of us with you, though, just in case.”
Hotch frowned. His team was perfectly capable of handling themselves, and he didn’t like the idea of the vigilantes being more involved with their investigation.
Batgirl noticed his reluctance. “At the very least, don’t announce that you’re feds,” she advised. “Might as well strap a sign to you saying ‘fresh meat’.”
Morgan raised an eyebrow. “We weren’t planning to join gen pop.”
Batgirl smiled grimly. “It’s Arkham. They’re creative when motivated.”
“We’ll take that under advisement,” Hotch said. “Now, we were hoping-”
“What are you guys all doing here?” an uncomfortably familiar voice interrupted. A figure leapt off the neighboring building, landing on the GCPD’s roof with a neat roll. Hotch drew his gun, aiming for center mass as the Red Hood popped to his feet.
Batman moved for the first time in fifteen minutes, materializing between the team and Hood. “The Red Hood is a member of my team,” he growled, straightening his posture into a dangerous loom. “He is under my protection.”
“He’s a mass murderer,” Hotch snapped.
Hood poked his head around Batman, studying them. “Waaait a minute,” he said, the modulator unable to hide the way his voice pitched higher in glee. He pulled off his helmet and grinned at them, a domino mask covering his eyes. “I know you guys! Grumpy-Fed, Lady-Fed, Young-Fed, and”—his grin shifted to something a bit more suggestive—“Sexy-Fed! How ya been?”
“How-?” Nightwing started, but Batman cut him off.
“Put the guns down,” he growled, “or I will do it for you.”
Hotch stared at Batman for a long few moments. Finally, he returned his gun to its holster. They couldn’t afford to pick a fight with seven vigilantes on their own turf. The rest of the team slowly stowed their own weapons. Batman’s gaze became less intense, though the air still prickled with tension.
“Batman is notorious for his distaste for lethal force,” Reid said, uncertain if speaking would ease the tension or make it worse. “Why are you working with the Red Hood? If you don’t mind me asking,” he added quickly.
“Haven’t you heard?” Hood asked. His smug grin looked the same as it had almost two years ago. “I’m on the side of the angels now.”
“Hood hasn’t killed anyone in ten months!” Nightwing said, as if that was a reasonable thing to be proud of.
“Yeah, I’m about to get my one-year chip,” Hood agreed dryly.
“That doesn’t excuse your past actions,” Hotch said coldly.
“Oh, I’m serving my time,” Hood said. His grin sharpened. “Community service, supervised by Batman himself.” He clapped Batman on the shoulder.
“How about we focus on catching Crane,” Red Robin said warily, eyeing the team.
“Hold up, I wanna know how the fuck you” —Batgirl pointed an accusing finger at Hood—“know them.” She moved her finger to the team.
“Yeah!” Nightwing agreed.
Hood folded his arms with a cocky grin. “FBI got word I was fucking with Mask’s men—you remember when he sent them outta state after I busted his trafficking operation?” he asked. When he got several nods, he continued: “Well, after several riveting days of them chasing their tails and me swanning around finishing the job, they got close to catching me and chucking me in jail. But I got away, of course, left them a lovely gift basket too if I recall correctly.” He sent a devious smile toward Hotch. “Did you like it?”
“That’s not what I remember happening,” Morgan interjected, sending a quick glance toward Hotch.
The other young vigilantes perked up. “Do tell,” Red Robin said eagerly.
“Well,” Morgan said, sending a smirk toward Hood. The vigilante’s escape was still a sore spot in the department, and he didn’t mind the chance to put him in his place. “We figured out that Hood was killing off Sionis’s men, so we tracked them, assuming Hood would show up to finish them off. We set up a perimeter and Hood here”—his smirk sharpened— “swanned right into our trap. He didn’t even hear us coming until I had a gun to his head.”
Hood was scowling now, hunching his shoulders. The other vigilantes looked absolutely delighted.
“Oho!” Batgirl crowed. “The truth comes out!”
“Tt,” Robin scoffed. “Trust Hood to be foiled by federal agents.”
“We held him for 24 hours,” Prentiss picked up the story.
“Oho !” Batgirl cheered even more emphatically.
“They had you for 24 hours?” Nightwing asked. “What is this, amateur hour?”
“Can’t escape a measly interrogation room?” Red Robin asked.
“Lame,” Black Bat contributed.
Hood was bright red by this point. The team exchanged amused, thoughtful looks. They hadn’t expected this team dynamic that seemed a lot more like a family dynamic. If they were a family, it would explain why Batman was defending Hood despite his crimes.
“I’m going to break my streak and it’s gonna be fucking worth it,” Hood muttered.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Nightwing asked. “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of your reputation shattering.”
“Focus,” Batman’s deep voice said, cutting through the hilarity. “We still have work to do.” He paused for a moment, meeting everyone’s eyes to ensure they were paying attention. “We can revisit Hood’s environmental awareness and escapology training later.”
Hood’s offended squawk was drowned out by the others’ shouts of laughter.
“What’s going on out here?” Gordon asked, opening the door. “No one’s Joker gassed, right?”
“No, Commissioner, we’re fine,” Nightwing said.
Gordon ignored him, having caught sight of Hood. “Oy!” he shouted.
“Oh shit,” Hood muttered, yanking his helmet back on.
“Get out of here!” Gordon yelled, stomping forward.
The other vigilantes ‘ooh’ed as Hood sprinted for the edge of the roof.
“First caught by the feds, now running from the cops, I think you’re losing your edge, Hood!” Red Robin yelled after him.
Hood didn’t pause to reply, disappearing into the darkness.
Gordon came to a stop in the middle of the roof. He put his hands on his hips and scowled around at the vigilantes, landing on Batman. “I told you I don’t want him near my station,” he growled. “I don’t care if he’s working with you now; if I catch him here, I will arrest him.”
“Understood,” Batman said, not changing expression.
Gordon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Everything’s cleaned up from the escapees and I’m sending people home.”
“Aren’t you worried about looting?” Reid asked. “Looting rates typically go up significantly after a disaster of some kind.”
Gordon shook his head. “Not here, not after a Rogue attack. They tend to take it personal if anyone ends up in the news at the same time as them. Most won’t risk that kind of attention, so the streets are always quiet after a breakout or attack.” he glanced around the group once more before addressing the team. “I can have an officer show you to your motel.”
“Good idea,” Hotch agreed. “We’ve made some good progress. Let’s come back at it fresh in the morning.” He paused for a moment before nodding stiffly to Batman. “Thank you for your assistance.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow night,” Batman said simply.
“See you later; thanks for your help,” Nightwing chimed in, and the other vigilantes echoed the sentiment.
The roof access door clanged, a gust of wind catching it as Gordon pulled it open, and the team instinctively turned to look at the source of the noise. When they turned back around, the roof was empty.
“What the hell-?” Morgan muttered, looking around.
Gordon sighed. “They do that too.”