Chapter Text
The clouds always settled low enough to brush against Gotham’s countless rooftops, their presence relentless through every season.
If Tim could just reach high enough, far enough, he liked to think that the clouds would be soft to the touch. He’d touched clouds before, of course, while being dragged through the air by his Kryptonian clone best friend, but the clouds above Gotham just looked… better, tonight. Tempting.
Even the clouds probably carried knives or had sharp edges, though. This was Gotham, after all. The city that never settles.
Red Robin perched atop one of the shorter skyscrapers, waiting for action, somehow at peace. When were his nightly patrols ever peaceful? Surely the evil was hiding in between it all- he just hadn’t found it yet.
The familiar click of the comms channels sounded through Tim’s earpieces, signaling an incoming message.
“Oracle to Red Robin, come in.”
The voice modulator had its robotic touch to it, clearly identifying who the message came from, if the call signs weren’t clear, or if Tim hadn’t realized. Oracle was calling, not Babs, or any other abbreviation.
“Go ahead, O. It’s cloudy tonight,” Tim held a small smile as he spoke, the built-in microphones on his earpieces picking up on his low voice perfectly.
He waited a second, then two. Reaching to adjust the utility belt at his waist, Red Robin double-checked the line on his grapple gun, double-checking that the Bo staff also attached to his right side was secure. He hoped that something interesting would answer his previous response over the comms.
Oracle, as always, never disappoints.
Another click sounded before she spoke.
“Riddler’s got henchmen causing noise near your location; head towards the West End, aim for the Gazette. I think they’re on top of one of the parking garages- no clear fix on them yet.” Babs relays, the Oracle voice modulator still on top of her transmissions.
Interesting, just like Tim had hoped. Riddler’s latest escape from Arkham wasn’t breaking news, but having his little Riddles? Riddle-nators? Riddle-nation? Question marks? Not the point. The noise Babs mentioned was surely to either draw or distract attention. Whatever it was, Tim would know within the hour.
Red Robin decided to consider the Riddler’s latest tricks as a challenge.
Aiming his grappling gun to the west, positioning for the next higher building, Tim pulls the trigger, launching the hook into the clouds. “You got it, Oracle!”
He inhales, exhales- and leaps into the night.
The wind rushes through Tim’s hair, cold across the skin on his face that his domino mask didn’t hide. As the line from the grapple begins to pull, he pushes down on the trigger again, promptly engaging the auto-release mechanism designed by Red Robin and his mentor together- the same momentum still pulls him up for a second, unlatching from the ledge that the hook had held itself on, and without another thought, the second grapple almost launches itself out of Tim’s hands, the trigger pulled to launch instinctively from the reflex, the habit.
Even with the roaring of the breeze in his ears, Tim swears that he doesn’t understand why the GCPD doesn’t catch the trouble before the trouble catches them, because, well… Riddler’s henchmen are loud.
Before he had even stood on the same grounds, the deafening noise was nothing other than classical, orchestral music. Almost like Tim was playing a video game, where the boss battle music would probably be better. This encounter resembled more of a side quest. He pulled on the grappling gun again, latching onto the parking garage’s rooftop.
Landing silently, thankfully on the opposite side of where the music seemed to come from, Tim takes a second to catch his breath, identifying his surroundings as he does so. Tonight, the neon lights of the city shine brighter, slightly skewed from the fog. His mind turned back to the loud task at hand.
What did Red Robin need to consider before investigating?
Right- Riddler’s henchmen, meaning he’d likely need a thesaurus, and that Eddie, the Riddle-man himself, was probably working with another rogue. And said henchmen were either dumb and wanting to cause trouble for fun, or, tonight’s shift would quickly become a double.
Tim nearly groaned at the thought of overtime, stopping only at the thought of a larger plot winning without his work on the smaller one at hand.
If he didn’t get a handle on the trouble in front of him, it could spread quickly, like wildfire. Tim was the only Bat here, right now. It depended on him. But any possible riddles left behind by the Riddler? He didn’t have to solve those alone.
“Red Robin to Oracle: do you have a thesaurus on hand?”
He also definitely needed to consider the risks, security cameras, civilian count… it was ten at night. The likelihood of civilian activity was impossibly low, seeing as the parking garage was a well identified magnet for mugging. Security camera and risks, of what, though? Injury? Nah. Tim would be fine, he could take a couple of hits.
Carefully, Red Robin had his boots on the ground now, the melody of orchestral music seemed to vibrate the cement of the building. It would mask the sound of his otherwise already silent footsteps. Riddler’s henchmen played loud music, but the thud of banging accompanied no tempo, meaning it was either torture or destruction.
Tim reached up to tap the side of his domino mask twice, the right side, near his ear.
Please work , he prayed. For future Tim’s sake, getting a second opinion on mask upgrades couldnt’t hurt.
Just then, a flash of color overlaid itself onto Tim’s vision, for a few seconds, before fading.
Heat signatures. Three of them.
“Red Robin to Oracle,” Tim called, whispering, “I got the infrared to work.”
It was a silent celebration, but still a win in Tim’s book. Cool, check that one off of his list: capable of programming infrared into software for gadgets.
Approaching the suspects, Red Robin rounded a corner, and the culprit of the ruckus revealed itself, although considering that it was the source of the noise, it wasn’t really a reveal, but-
A click went through Tim’s ears, and Babs’ modulated voice followed. “O to R. Those guys are loud as all get out. Good on the infrared. Do you have an eye on the henchmen?”
Three henchmen had their backs to Red Robin. Two were of taller and bulkier, muscular builds, while the other was closer to Tim’s size, just a tad more… string-bean like. The smaller held a baseball bat, slamming the aluminum against what looked to be the remnants of a box.
Huh. Wires pooled at the ground, and large bursts of purple and green spray paint colored the concrete walls, the chemicals in the air sending the slightest twinge up Tim’s nostrils. Glass shards glimmered under the streetlamps and the glow of the moonlight. The strings linked themselves together, as Tim also noticed the brass knuckles that each of the other men sported like jewelry.
A piece of Tim’s fringe fell across his domino mask, his eyes.
I really should fix that eventually, right? No- Tim. Back to the situation at hand, Robin, his inner thoughts echoed.
The smaller henchman continued his baseball bat-assisted assault on what looked to be the remaining pieces of a computer- which could only be assumed to be from the top-floor security office of the parking garage, next to the Gotham Gazette, meaning…
One of Riddler’s goons was beating the ever loving shit out of the computer mechanism for a security system, attempting to get rid of incriminating footage.
And somehow, neither of the three musketeers had managed to spot Tim.
Wasn’t that just perfect?
Tim realized that he’d better snatch a the computer’s memory card before the Riddler’s annoying goon destroyed it all.
Another incoming message from Oracle, a click.
“O to R, do you have eyes on the target?”
Shit! Surely there was no way Tim could whisper his answer back, not given his current position. That, and the music was much too loud- was there a way to turn it off? Instead of answering Oracle, Tim reached both hands to his utility belt- his left goes to the square shaped gadget near the back of the belt- portable and makeshift keyboard- tapping once on the top with his thumb, immediately after with his index finger on the bottom of the square, and repeating. Morse code for ‘yes’.
“Copy that,” the return came instantaneously from Oracle.
Tim tried his best not to smirk as he also tried to mentally prepare for whatever the hell he was about to do. Eh, whatever. All he needed to do was get facial recognitions on the henchmen and take the memory card that surely held information. After all, he was Red Robin- this would be a cakewalk.
His right hand unclasps the one thing Red Robin was sure he’d go insane without: his Bo staff.
There Tim stood, clad in red and black, as two goons the double of his size would definitely try to bash his skull in as soon as they learned of his presence. Besides, weapons? Destruction of private property? Loud music? Yeah, this counted as illegal and called for some good old crime fighting.
No time to waste, Timmy, he thought. Alright. Go-time.
“I think you swing better than the Knights,” Red Robin called over the music, flicking his wrist to allow the Bo staff to click, connect, and extend to its full size.
All three men turned their heads, the intrusion immediately obvious to them. The violin music swelled.
Ooh~! Maybe the henchmen could even fight Tim to the tempo of the music! Wouldn’t that have been satisfying! Given that the one holding the baseball bat couldn’t even destroy the computer shell to the tempo, a fun fight was unlikely.
Instead of bursting into dance to the orchestra, Tall Riddler Goon #1 half grunted-half yelled, charging into Red Robin’s direction, and thus, gave Oracle a full opportunity to run facial recognition software, considering their lack of care for hiding their faces.
As the body mass surged towards him, Tim slid out of the way, right side, twirling the staff up, before across, instead hitting the shorter henchman in the back of the neck. The man stumbled, pausing for just enough time to let Tim sweep the staff underneath the guy’s legs, and first up to bat, the henchman dropped the baseball bat, metal clanging against the ground. Good. Now, Tim would have a chance at private files that Babs might not have the chance to access, if it was on a private server- interesting… for where they were located. What did this have to do with the Gazette, anyways?
Yelling pulled Tim from his sleuthing. “You’re for dinner, bird freak!”
With the help of that kind remark, Tim then remembered that a very large man- no, Tall Riddler Goon #2- was running at him, stomping, as Tim scoffed while turning to brace for impact, or, preparing to strike, staff in front of his chest. The goon shouted.
Red Robin took another swing.
Home run! The end of his staff hits the side of the henchman’s head, then his neck, before Tim pulls his grip to widen the hit, striking between the shoulder blades, finally twisting to avoid collision, before Tall Question Mark #2’s height drops, and Red Robin lands one last hit, for good measure, atop his head.
Strike one for the Riddler’s goons.
Again he twisted his body to avoid other certain collision, ready to try again on the first guy that had tried to squash him like a bug in this situation-
A ringing noise filled Red Robin’s left ear.
On the ground, Tim could make out an extension cord, and kicked the toe of his shoe underneath, hooking, and pulling. Something unplugged the god awful speakers that played the never-ending.. What was that even, Beethoven?
The music came to an end. Finally.
The ringing sound continued,
“I’m gonna kill you, Robin!” Yeah, he’d definitely heard that one before.
Unfortunately for Red Robin, the shorter henchman had swiped his hand to hit Tim’s head, bouncing three times against his cranium. Left side, of course. How convenient.
You know what else happens after three taps on the left side of Tim’s mask?
Red Robin’s domino mask had recently been upgraded by the man himself, for three taps to answer the phone call coming through his left earpiece. Instead of the ringing of Bernard’s incoming call,
“Hi, Tim,”
Bernard’s voice floated through the impossibly small speakers inside of Tim’s ears- smooth as butter.
“Are you busy right now?” A spark lit itself in Tim’s chest, because he could hear the smile on Bernard’s lips, the way his eyes crinkled on the edges when he did so.
Tim was actually pretty busy, considering two men were trying to hit him into the sky like a baseball, and the smacking from one of said men’s attacks had answered the incoming phone call of Tim’s boyfriend.
The very same boyfriend who did
not
possess the knowledge that Tim was Red Robin.
He hadn’t answered the greeting yet. Tim definitely needed to respond to Bernard’s questions like a normal boyfriend would.
Maybe if Red Robin talked enough, while on the phone, in the middle of a fist fight, he could freak out Riddler’s goons and make them think that he was crazy or something.
Speaking of which: The future baseball star managed yet another attempt on Tim’s already short life, swinging a hand accessorized by brass knuckles.
“Tim, are you there?” Bernard’s voice was sweet, with just the slightest shade of concern on the edges. Tim was the only one that would be able to identify that tone from Bernard.
Red Robin flinches, narrowly missing the punch, which drags onto his shoulder instead. Instinctively, Tim pushes his weight down onto the staff, placing one of the blunt ends on the ground, kicking up, pushing against the goon’s chest with his heels, launching his body into the nearby wall. His head hits the hard surface with a thud.
That’s two strikes for Team Riddler!
“Wow, I have the worst service sometimes,” Tim manages to respond to Bernard with a slightly casual tone, as best he can, during a literal fight. If it had been anyone else calling, Tim would’ve hung up immediately. Not that he had willingly answered.
Within the last few months of Tim and Bernard’s relationship, he’d wired his earpieces to sync to Oracle’s comms, but specifically the left earpiece would link to his civilian phone, specifically allowing only Bernard’s phone calls to ring if he attempted to call several times. With the answering of said phone call, the audio would split. Thankfully, Oracle and Red Robin were on their own channel… and Babs knew that Tim had answered Bernard’s call. Accidentally, as the woman could literally see through his domino mask to use facial recognition software, among other things.
Without the voice modulator, Babs’ voice cracked through his right ear. “Lie better.”
Ouch. Way to try to be casual, Tim. Rolling his eyes, he squared shoulders before dodging the remaining henchman’s kicks.
Left ear: a soft chuckle that made Red Robin’s heart skip a beat more violently than the guy trying to throw him off of the building did. “Yeah, babe. This is Gotham, but- wait. Your apartment and the manor have great cell service, why the hell are you anywhere that has shitty service?”
Oh no.
Maybe it was Tim’s worst idea to date someone who would question his whereabouts.
Kidding! While the gesture made his heart warm, the reality was maybe, quickly, harshly, painfully setting in, just like the kick that lands against Red Robin’s ribs, knocking the air from his lungs, but he manages to not stumble from the force of the kick.
Tim gasps from the sudden loss of air. “Ah! Sorry Bernard, I tripped. I was just on a walk, is all-”
Attempting another one of his best imitations of a calm demeanor, Red Robin pulls a similar move to his last takedown, pushing his weight against the bo staff, onto the ground-
“What were you calling about?” Tim asks his kind, caring, way-too-smart-for-his-own-good boyfriend,
-and pushes off of the concrete again, but this time, up. Tim’s heel hits the spot underneath Tall Riddler Henchman #1’s jaw and uses the momentum to flip backwards, twisting the staff to hit once more in the chest for good measure, landing on the ground.
The henchman falls, too, knocking out cold.
Three strikes! You’re out, Riddler Goons!
Red Robin chuckles at the victory, taking another look around the area within his peripherals. Oracle’s line clicks as she sees the goons taken care of, facial recognition gathered, signaling she was listening to another comms channel.
Now, all Tim had to do was investigate the hopefully intact parts of the security system the goons had been beating to death with a baseball bat.
No one else was listening to Tim’s call now, he realized, because Babs had tabbed-out.
The adrenaline of a fight pumped through his veins, but somehow, Bernard’s voice made Tim want to jump out of his costume already.
“I think you have my red sweater, the one with the thumb holes,” Bernard let out a sigh between his own words, “Can you come over? You can bring my sweater, buy me a new one, so help me god , or help me find a different sweater to wear to dinner on Thursday-” Bernard rambled, but Tim cut him off.
“Thursday?”
Tim remembered to tie the wrists of the henchmen with the proper materials, and pressed the morse-code, makeshift-keyboard on the back left side of his belt twice on the bottom, twice on the top, repeating both again, to ping Oracle. She would send the GCPD, and hopefully, they would be useful.
Red Robin kneeled down, sorting through the wires and circuit boards left from the henchmen’s mess.
“What’s on Thursday?” Tim asked.
Bernard laughed, and it pulled Tim’s focus again. “Thanksgiving, Tim. Are you okay? You invited me to the Wayne Family Thanksgiving , and I wanted to wear that sweater because I thought it would be good for our first holiday together- I mean, as much of a holiday as it can be. But you have my sweater, therefore, you should come over, and give me opinions on something else.”
The tone in Bernard’s voice was light, joking- it made Tim’s lungs feel lighter, too.
The memory card’s metallic casing flashed in the moonlight- bingo! Tim swiped it from the rubble, slipping it into one of the pouches on his belt. Once he loaded it onto the computer at the Belfry, with Babs, he could swing- drive- over to Bernard’s.
With another look at his surroundings, Tim found himself standing on the edge of the parking garage, aiming his grapple again.
“Umm- you want me to head over now? When? Bern, it’s like, ten at night.” Tim pointed out, launching the grapple, repeating a process he’d repeated hundreds of thousands of times before.
Aim, launch, jump. Swing, retract, start again. Land.
In order to respond to his boyfriend’s energized “Yes! I do mean now, I mean ASAP! I’m literally freaking out over my first holiday with your family, who I have barely met as it is, and- you know what? You are hereby required to bring food, too, and-!”
Bernard pauses between his words to breathe. Tim laughs in response, jumping for his grapple, pulling to the top of the clocktower. His boyfriend continues.
“Tim, if it’s late… You’ll stay the night, won’t you?”
The tone is hopeful, it’s… refreshing. It’s warmer than it should be.
And it’s distracting Tim from winding his grapple to avoid falling to his death.
”Oh, shit-” Red Robin yelps , pulling the trigger of his grapple gun just in time whilst praying that his boyfriend didn’t notice the potentially fatal slip up. He wouldn’t notice the wind, thanks to built in noise suppression, but Tim dying was a different story.
Bernard’s tone of voice changed immediately, now to an anxious one. “Are you okay? Did something happen? Do you not want to stay over?”
Tim typed the code into the rooftop door’s keypad that unlocked the clocktower.. “No, no! I tripped- you know how clumsy I am. Sorry to worry you, Bern. I’d love to stay the night with you.”
Babs is sitting in front of her computer, but instead of facing the screens, her arms are crossed over her chest, smirking, watching Tim as he pulls off his domino mask and detaches his cape. It takes everything for Tim to not laugh at how ridiculous his situation is, too.
Bernard says something Tim can’t completely understand in response, but he knows it’s positive.
With a light chuckle, Tim nods his head, even though no one sees except Babs, from the corner of his vision. “Okay, Bernard. I’ll be over in a bit, text me what you want, yeah? No promises on getting the sweater, though.”
The protests from the phone call are cut off by the earpieces being pulled out of Tim’s ears, disconnecting the call. The voice in the back of his head makes fun of his vigilante airpods.
Smiling at Babs, Tim rubs his neck with one hand, the other holding his earpieces, swapping them into his utility belt for the memory card.
“They insulted me and I made baseball jokes,” Tim reported as he walked closer, smiling genuinely at the woman who was basically his older sister.
Babs just giggled, taking the piece from his outstretched hand. “That’s rough, buddy. Thank you for the trinket from Riddler’s goons, though.”
Rolling his eyes at the reference, Tim can’t help but to laugh again. “Do you want me to stay while you decrypt the files?”
The smile on Babs’ lips transforms into a smirk as she makes the executive decision to end patrol early for Tim. He didn’t need to be around to wait for the data to load, and not only would Steph and Cass be stopping by later on, but Jason and Dick, as well. Everyone was in town for the holiday.
“No thanks, Boy Wonder. You’re gonna freshen up and go see your crazed boyfriend, and bring him food, Oracle’s orders.”
Tim’s eyebrow raises, before his smile is replaced with worry. “What if the data’s about something bigger? Someone has to help! What if you need backup to go out immediately to-”
There’s a hand raised in front of Tim’s face. “Nope. You have like, nine qualified siblings who can do that just fine. Besides, I get to meet Bernard on Thursday, right?”
The groan from Tim’s throat is from realization. “I keep forgetting that it’s this week.”
“It’s literally Tuesday, kid. Damian has parent-teacher conferences tomorrow, and then Thanksgiving. Did you miss the group chat messages?” Babs tilts her head as she adjusts her glasses, leaning back.
The care in her eyes was obvious. Tim really did enjoy when he reported to Oracle instead of the big man up above- no, not God. Bruce, Batman. Boss man, who was also on patrol tonight, meaning Babs was actually serious about cutting Tim’s shift early. Which left him speechless.
It had been probably a minute since Tim had last engaged in their conversation, and Babs reached down to push her wheelchair back in front of the screens, in order to focus on activity. “See you on Thursday, Tim.”
He wasn’t going to argue, that was for sure.
“Bye, Babs. See you Thursday,” Tim nodded, walking down the stairs in the Belfry, as opposed to the elevator, heading for the first part of the base with a shower and an acceptable change of clothes for his plans with Bernard.
He tried his best to ignore the part of his mind that was still locked onto patrol, wondering about the memory chip. Babs would contact him if it was an emergency, he knew that.
Maybe it would do Tim some good to have an early night, and spend time with Bernard. He wasn’t used to spontaneous, sudden plans.
Another part of his mind whispered, though: if Bernard knew that Tim was Red Robin, he’d be able to stop by to see him more often, and hopefully, not be beaten and bruised.
Only time would tell.
Maybe, after Thanksgiving, permitting that the Wayne family didn’t somehow scare off the poor boy, Tim could think about letting his boyfriend in.
Who was he kidding? Tim already thought about telling Bernard that he was Robin. Hell, he damn near gaslights the guy each time it- oh.
Maybe Tim was a good liar.
(He most definitely was not.)