Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The overhead light flickered above Tim’s desk.

He blinked, then calmly reached for the sci-fi-looking face mask beside his keyboard and slipped it on. The mask covered his mouth and nose and had a built-in voice modifier and gas mask. He set down his screwdriver and glanced toward the door.

Some goon stepped inside, like he didn’t belong — which, to be fair, he didn’t.

“I’m closed until midnight,” Tim said, voice metallic through the filter.

The guy said nothing, just shuffled in and placed a warped, half-melted drone on the table. Tim recognized the design instantly — Black Mask’s latest model. Modified for surveillance. Fragile when dropped from, say, five stories.

Tim raised an eyebrow. “You want me to fix your screw-up, or is this from Black Mask directly?”

The goon handed him a phone already mid-call. Tim sighed and pressed the speaker.

“Black Mask,” he said, tone flat. “Speak fast. I have a real project to get back to.”

A low laugh crackled through the speaker. “Zero, you’re still the best tech support in Gotham.”

Tim rolled his eyes and inspected his nails. “I charge a 20% fee for flattery and wasting my time.”

“I can pay that,” Black Mask said smoothly. “I need that drone fixed by the end of the week — if possible.”

Tim slid away from his desk, chair wheels creaking as he rolled to the center table. He picked up the drone and rotated it in his hands. Camera damage. Cracked shell. Core looked stable but he'd check just in case. 

“Did it fall in water?” he asked.

“I don’t think so. I had someone shield it from the rain as soon as it went down.”

Tim hummed. “Three days. Thousand flat, plus the flattery fee.”

“You’ll have half in your account tonight. The rest when it’s done.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill.” He ended the call, handed the phone back to the goon, and waved him off.

The door shut with a soft thud.

Tim sighed and grabbed his screwdriver in one hand and the busted drone in the other.

He wasn’t exactly sure how his whole tech-fix hustle blew up like this. Well, he did — it just happened faster than he expected.

One day, he was fixing classmates’ phones for free or cheap favors. The next, everyone at school knew he was the kid who could unlock locked devices, wipe data, or hack whatever was broken. Rich kids started paying him to fix laptops, phones, even smartwatches — and he got good at sneaking in extra fees they never noticed.

It came in handy after his parents died overseas.

He got kicked out of Drake Manor. Not that he’d wanted to stay — the place was a haunted museum. 

So he rented a tiny apartment in Crime Alley — cheapest spot he could find. It wasn’t much, but it was his.

Then one day, a low-level goon stumbled in with a busted drone, panicking over a broken camera. Tim fixed it without breaking a sweat.

That was the start.

Within a week, he was fixing phones and gadgets for the underworld — wiping stolen devices, installing spyware, rerouting calls. A couple months later, he built his own secure data-sharing app. The kind criminals could use without fearing cops or rivals.

He was just 14 then.

Now, at 16, Tim had climbed fast.

He wasn’t just the best tech support in Gotham’s underground — he was Zero, a ghost in the city’s veins. Hacker, fixer, and invisible to everyone who mattered.

He didn’t even choose the name. It started as a joke — “Zero knocks, just enter.” He always knew when someone was coming before they reached his door, so no one bothered knocking. For a while he was that guy. Eventually, the rest of the nickname fell away. “Zero” stuck.

Tim popped the drone open, removing the cracked shell and damaged camera. He set the parts aside — maybe he could salvage something later. If there was anything worth saving.

After twenty minutes, he got bored and slid the tools aside, spinning back to his desk. He booted up his computer, fingers already dancing across the keyboard.

He wanted to check if the Bats were on patrol — and more importantly, which neighborhoods were heating up tonight. Always good to predict what tech he’d need to fix before the goons brought it in busted and half-fried.

As soon as the monitor lit up, the overhead light flickered again.

Tim groaned and looked toward the door with a deadpan stare — which vanished the second Cheri stepped through.

He stood up. “Got anything good?”

Cheri nodded and handed over a heavy bag. Tim took it, grinning as he peeked inside — circuit boards, batteries, burnt-out motherboards, twisted connectors, and a few mystery parts he’d definitely have fun identifying.

“You’re my favorite,” he said sincerely, setting the bag down on the desk. “Need anything fixed?”

She shook her head.

“Heading out?”

She nodded again, offering a small smile before slipping back through the door.

Yeah. Cheri really was his favorite.

She didn’t talk — couldn’t. She’d lost her voice after a bad run-in with Batman a couple years ago. Not that she was a villain. She was a quiet rogue, one who got pulled into the criminal world after her mom got in deep. Cheri didn’t have anywhere else to go, so she brought Tim scraps and did her own thing.

Tim considered her a roommate since she lived in the same apartment as him. He occasionally slipped her some money. 

He sat back at his desk and started digging through the haul she’d brought, sorting it by type and potential.

Batman — Bruce Wayne — had once been Tim’s hero. Had. But after Jason Todd’s death, the man changed. More violence. Fewer second chances. Criminals ended up in hospitals almost nightly. It was brutal.

And Nightwing? He used to be Tim’s favorite. Until he stopped trying to stop Bruce. Let it all slide. That killed it for Tim.

If you asked him now who his favorite vigilante was?

Red Hood.

Yeah, maybe he was a crime lord — but he didn’t let dealers sell to kids. He shut down trafficking rings with brutal efficiency. That alone put him above 90% of Gotham’s population in Tim’s book.

As if on cue, just as Tim finished sorting through the contents of Cheri’s bag, one of his routine alerts pinged. He tapped the corner of the screen and a feed popped up — Red Hood and Batman, spotted on a rooftop near the Wayne Tower.

Tim groaned. He still regretted not adding mics to those cams. Watching was fine, but hearing would’ve made everything ten times better.

On screen, Hood was casually spinning his gun, leaning against the rooftop access door like he had all the time in the world. Batman stood opposite him, rigid, arms crossed. They didn’t look like they were fighting — weird. 

Usually, if those two were in the same frame, it ended in explosions.

Maybe Red Hood was finally striking deals.

Tim rolled his eyes and went back to sorting parts.

×

“What do you want, old man?” Red Hood asked, still twirling his pistol like a coin.

Batman didn’t rise to the bait. “I need you to find out where the criminals are getting their upgraded tech.”

Hood raised a brow behind his helmet. “And Oracle can’t?”

“She’s tried. The phones we’ve recovered are wiped clean — professionally. Some kind of custom firmware, untraceable. The kicker is, there’s a device built in that allows full remote erasure. Not just factory resets. Total data destruction.”

Red Hood whistled low. “Sounds expensive.”

“And smart,” Batman said flatly. “Too smart for the usual street-level players. And whoever’s making it — they’re not using tech we’ve seen before. I’ve cross-referenced every known cybercriminal in our database.”

Jason clicked the safety on and off, thoughtful. “So you want me to dig for your digital ghost?”

Batman didn’t answer.

Red Hood chuckled. “Fine. I’ll look into it.”

×

Once Batman’s patrol ended, Tim sat back, expecting a steady line of clients needing fixes.

He returned to the drone — the sooner he finished, the better.

The overhead light flickered again. Tim glanced at the door.

A group of goons filed in, forming a careful semicircle around the table, each holding phones and cameras.

Tim scanned their devices quickly, assessing the damage. “300 for each camera, 100 for each phone. Place them in the green box.” He pointed with his screwdriver to the corner. “Done in twenty-four hours.”

The goons nodded and set the devices into the box before heading out.

Less than thirty seconds later, Tim’s phone pinged — a transfer of 3,700 dollars.

Who said crime doesn’t pay? Illegal tech repairs, hacking, info extraction, blackmail — all lucrative. And all very much paying.

He finished the drone faster than expected. Maybe that was because he’d built the prototype from scratch. What could he say? Black Mask commissioned it, and paid well.

The prototype and this busted model weren’t all that different.

Tim placed the drone on the shelf marked Finished Repairs, then wheeled back to the green box. He carefully unloaded the tech onto the table.

The cameras needed new lenses and shells, maybe some internal double checking. The phones had to be wiped clean again — then reloaded with everything necessary.

That was the protocol. Everyone knew it.

But Tim earned respect for following it strictly. Unlike many others, he didn’t cut corners. His encrypted apps and modified phones were the best in Gotham.

× 

Red Hood leaned against the alley wall just outside one of his smaller warehouses, arms crossed, helmet tilted down slightly as he listened in on the comms. Eavesdropping on his own men was a habit — not because he didn’t trust them, but because they talked more freely when they thought no one important was listening.

So far, it was all noise: football scores, rumors about the Bat, neighborhood turf drama. The usual.

Then finally, something useful.

“I’m planning to pick up a new laptop this week,” Rick said. “Gonna have it wiped clean before I touch anything. Just in case.”

“Yeah, smart,” Nikki replied. “Can’t trust those tech stores not to have backdoors.”

“You should probably take it to the guy,” Alice chimed in.

Rick hesitated. “What guy?”

“You know. The guy. Everyone does,” she said.

“I’m new, remember? I don’t know all the names yet.”

“They call him Zero,” Nikki said. “Allegedly. He’s like a ghost — only works with people on his list. Long-ass client list too, longer than Main Street. If you’re loyal, he makes time for you. Everyone else? Good luck getting in.”

Red Hood straightened slightly, the name sticking in his mind. Zero . Not much, but it was a start — better than the total blank he’d been working with.

“How does someone even get on the list?” Rick asked.

“You either get lucky and run into him at a meeting, or someone drags you into his workshop,” Alice replied. “Otherwise? Forget it. He keeps things locked down. Runs background checks like he’s the damn NSA.”

“He weeds out rats fast,” Nikki added. “No second chances. You screw up, you're out — permanently.”

“Paranoid type,” Rick muttered.

“No. Cautious,” Nikki corrected. “Smart. That’s why he’s still in business.”

“His gear doesn’t just work — it lasts. Phones, drones, surveillance cams, custom apps... All encrypted to hell and back. No one's cracked his stuff yet. Feels like he’s got a monopoly on the underground.”

Red Hood hummed thoughtfully. That level of control, secrecy, and consistency wasn’t just talent — it was discipline. And discipline like that usually meant one of two things: military training… or obsession.

He pushed off the wall, already running through the list of contacts who owed him favors. If this ghost named Zero was even half as good as the rumors claimed… Red Hood needed to find him. Fast.

×

Tim was done working for the night. He locked the workshop behind him, flipped the security system on, and made sure his phone was secure in his pocket before slipping into the shadows.

A few streets over, he ducked into a narrow alley and shrugged on a jacket. His mask came off and disappeared into an inner pocket. Hoodie up, head down — just another street kid now.

His destination - the 24-hour pharmacy. He needed to restock the first aid kit.

Like any teen in Crime Alley, Tim knew the basics of self-defense — and skateboarding. Most of his bruises came from the latter. He was good at martial arts thanks to his flexibility and tendency to avoid fights altogether.

Inside the pharmacy, he moved quickly through the aisles, grabbing band-aids, bandage wrap, disinfectant, numbing cream, and a box of heavy-duty painkillers. All the usual.

When he got to the register, only one person was ahead of him.

The guy was massive — at least 190 cm tall, built like a fridge, all broad shoulders and quiet menace. Compared to Tim, who barely scraped 150 and had the muscle tone of a wet cat, it was like standing behind a human tank.

Tim gave him a once-over, then looked down at his basket.

Yep. Just another normal night in Gotham.

The fridge-sized guy paid and walked out. Tim stepped up to the counter and dumped his haul onto the scanner. He just wanted to pay and eat something before crashing.

He caught the cashier giving him a weird look — concern flickering across her face as she scanned the items.

Fair. A 16-year-old in all black, buying medical supplies at 5 am, probably didn’t scream “well-adjusted civilian.” But hey, not his fault tonight had been busy.

He paid in cash, shoved everything into his bag, and headed out. The gas station was a few blocks away. Cheap ramen and an energy drink sounded like heaven.

But as he walked, the feeling crept in — slow and cold.

He was being watched.

He glanced behind him. Nothing. Just empty sidewalks and the flicker of dying streetlamps.

He looked to the sides. A couple civilians scattered around, but nobody was too close. Still… that sense of being followed crawled up his spine and settled between his shoulder blades.

Tim didn’t trust feelings. He trusted patterns. Data.

But this?

This was instinct. And instinct had kept him alive more than once.

He ducked into the gas station, hoping whoever was trailing him would either lose him in the aisles or back off entirely.

He grabbed an energy drink and a couple packs of ramen with practiced efficiency, heading straight for the register. No hesitation. In and out in under a minute.

No looking back. Just straight to the alley behind the building.

He knew where the security cameras were. He made sure to stay out of sight as he hoisted himself up onto the rooftop and crouched low beneath the neon sign. It wasn’t the best hiding spot, but it bought him time. A breather.

Or so he thought.

Because barely thirty seconds later, someone else landed on the roof.

Red Hood.

Both of them froze.

Tim’s brain short-circuited. And judging by the way Hood froze mid-step, his did too.

For a full heartbeat, they just stared at each other. Two ghosts in the dark.

Then Red Hood raised his hands slowly — not in surrender, but in a calm, not-here-for-a-fight kind of way — before grabbing his grappling gun and launching himself off the roof without a word.

Gone.

Tim blinked.

Then glanced down at his bag, cracked open the energy drink, and took a long sip.

He might need to rethink his entire night.

But at least — whoever was stalking him definitely got lost. 

× 

The knock at the workshop door snapped Tim awake.

He shoved his mask on and pressed the button under the table. The door unlocked with a click and swung open dramatically.

It was the same goon from three days ago.

Tim rolled away from his desk, grabbed the finished drone off the shelf, and placed it on the table without a word.

The goon handed him a phone — already mid-call, again.

Tim sighed internally, switched it to speaker. “Black Mask.”

“Zero,” came the smooth voice, “always a pleasure hearing that modified voice of yours.”

“I fixed your drone,” Tim said, voice flat. He pulled one leg up into his chair and rested the phone-hand on his knee. “Need anything else?”

“There’s a server issue I’d like you to look into,” Black Mask said, then added, “Actually, there’s something else.”

The goon dropped a heavy bag on the table with a clink.

Batarangs.

Tim raised a brow. “They’re explosive,” he said. “And sharp as hell.”

“And you,” Black Mask said smoothly, “are the best tech support in the city.”

“I gain nothing from reverse-engineering vigilante shrapnel.”

“I’ll pay half a million flat,” Black Mask said. “Plus 20% of your fee.”

Tim considered it for a moment, eyes flicking from the goon to the bag of batarangs. “I want the full payment up front. If I’m working with explosive devices, the end result might not even be usable.”

There was a pause on the line. Then, Black Mask replied, “Fine — but you share anything significant you uncover.”

Tim shrugged, even though he knew Black Mask couldn’t see it. “Of course. You’re handing me a bag of vigilante tech and half a million. I’ll share my homework.”

“Wonderful,” Black Mask said, sounding genuinely pleased, before hanging up.

Tim handed the phone back to the goon without a word and stared at the bag of batarangs like it had personally offended him.

The goon left with the drone and the phone, and Tim hit the button under his desk again — the locks clicked shut.

A few seconds later, his phone buzzed with a payment notification.

Only then did he press a second button under the desk, disabling the electromagnetic fields so no electronic devices worked within the room. 

He pulled out one batarang and quickly removed the tracker. He’d worked with these before — he knew exactly where to find the bugs.

That was the worst part. He had fifty of them sitting on his table, and each one had to be stripped, modified, and spoofed.

Every tracker would need to report a fake location — believable, scattered, and well-timed.

And when that was done?

He’d still have to relocate the entire damn workshop.

But hey — half a million, plus a 20% flattery fee. Worth the hassle.

×

“Please tell me you’ve actually found something useful,” Jason said, leaning against the Batcave wall and spinning his gun lazily. “Why am I always the one doing all the work around here?”

Bruce didn’t look up from the monitor. “We know he’s worked with Black Mask, Penguin, Two-Face — and a laundry list of street-level enforcers. Beyond that? Nothing solid. The guy’s a ghost.”

“He’s more than just careful,” Oracle muttered. “People are scared to talk. They think if they say the wrong thing, they’ll lose access to their tech guy.”

“Because they will,” Bruce said. “He weeds out rats faster than anyone I’ve seen. Loyalty is currency with this one — and he’s rich.”

Jason scoffed, holstering his gun. “Fantastic. A paranoid genius with a god complex. Just what Gotham needed.”

“Did you find anything else?” Oracle asked.

“Alias is Zero,” Jason said. “Secretive. Paranoid. Encrypts everything. That’s about all anyone knows. Only way to get on his client list is either dumb luck or being dragged in by someone already vetted.”

Silence stretched for a beat.

Then Bruce looked at Jason. “I think you should attend the next criminal meetup. Try to establish a connection with Zero.”

“I was already planning on going,” Jason said. “But it’d help if I had a face to match the name.”

“You’ll have to profile him,” Barbara said. “No visuals, yet” 

× 

God. Damned. Batarangs.

Tim slammed his fist on the desk, then kicked off hard, sending his chair rolling backwards. He hit the wall with a dull thud and let out a long, frustrated sigh.

He should probably just move the workshop today — ditch the trackers, skip rewriting the signals. Just leave everything bugged behind and work on the batarangs somewhere clean.

He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, then grabbed his phone and dialed Cheri. He didn’t expect her to answer. She never did. She only listened to voicemails.

He waited for the tone, then said, “Cheri. I need to relocate again. Can you come help today? I’m packing now. We’re moving to Location East A. Thanks in advance. I’ll pay you five grand.”

He hung up and got to work.

Everything was already in large plastic boxes — Tim always packed for a quick exit. He rotated between six or seven locations, and kept the essentials in his Crime Alley apartment — his civilian fallback.

The rest stayed in the workshop.

He glanced at the computer, typed in the protocol code, and waited as the data transferred to the new location’s secure servers. Once the transfer completed, he wiped everything from the current system.

Then he dismantled the computer, scattering the parts into different boxes like he’d done a dozen times before.

He stacked the boxes near the door and sat back, scrolling through his phone while he waited.

The overhead light flickered and the door clicked open from the outside. Cheri was the only other person with universal access, besides Tim himself.

She stepped inside, gave him a silent nod, and started hauling the boxes out to the truck.

While she worked, Tim sent a quick message to all his clients: Out of service for 3 days. Relocating. Will update soon.

He pocketed the phone, then moved to help with the rest of the boxes.

Ten minutes later, they were on the road. Cheri drove while Tim slumped in the backseat, having swapped his sci-fi mask for a plain medical one. He was trying not to fall asleep.

He failed.

×

Tim woke up slouched in his workshop chair. Judging by the creaky ceiling and the cold draft, it was definitely the East A location. He blinked a few times, brain catching up — right, Cheri had helped him.

He pulled out his phone and sent her the promised money. She’d not only moved all the boxes in… she’d carried him, too.

Tim looked around the room for a moment, then dragged himself over to the computer to boot it up. A notification blinked in his memory — there was a criminal meeting in two days.

But did he actually want to go?

Honestly, he was tired of those dumb meetups. They were like Wayne Galas — if everyone was armed, masked, and had severe trust issues.

Throw in the occasional gas bomb, shootout, or explosive tantrum, and yeah… not exactly his scene.

Sure, the rules were the same: smartest and strongest win. Everyone else just bleeds trying to keep up. But if Tim wanted to drink, deal with annoying egos, and chat with borderline psychos, he’d just crash a teenager party. Same chaos, less blood, and a significantly lower risk of nerve gas.

He’d rather sit in his workshop, dig through server logs, and find something actually useful.

Plus, he still had that bag of batarangs to mess with — at least now they were unbugged.

Tim peeled off the medical mask and tossed it onto the table, fishing out his usual one and dropping it beside the keyboard. He double-checked the locks on the workshop door, then dumped the bag of batarangs on the table with a dull thud.

Now he just had to pray none of them exploded.

He stared at the workload for a long moment, then grabbed his phone and turned to leave.

Screw it. He’d had enough for one day. He was going skateboarding.

Yeah. He deserved a break.

He locked the workshop behind him and activated the security system.

× 

By the time Tim got to the skatepark, it was 3 am The place was practically deserted, save for a drunk guy loitering nearby.

He dropped his bag beside a bench and hopped on his skateboard, rolling out into the open space to mess around and try a few tricks.

Sometimes, he just liked being a teenager — a 16-year-old skating at 3 am in an empty park.

It was the easiest place to pretend he was normal.

To forget, just for a little while, that he was Timothy Jackson Drake — the kid with no parents, no home, no real friends.

A high school dropout. A runaway from an orphanage. Legally dead. Now neck-deep in Gotham’s underground as a tech fixer and part-time hacker.

It had all started with photography, really. A broken camera, a curiosity for repairs… and suddenly he was more profitable fixing gadgets than selling grainy Robin photos to the Gotham Gazette.

Before he could drown too deep in self-pity, he botched a trick and wiped out, hitting the pavement hard.

Then came the voice. “Don’t look so defeated from one fall.”

Tim flinched and scrambled to his feet, skateboard in hand, already turning toward the sound.

A tall man — easily 190 cm — stood under a flickering street lamp, smoking.

“Who are you?” Tim demanded, posture tight, eyes sharp.

“Jason. But you can call me Jay,” the man replied casually. “Just relaxing. No need to be so on edge, kid.”

Tim exhaled, still wary but a little less tense. “A guy your size watching someone from the shadows tends to put people on edge.”

“I wasn’t watching,” Jason said. “Just making sure you’re safe. This is a skatepark in Crime Alley.”

“Uh-huh. That’s what they all say,” Tim shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm as he pushed off on his board. “Next, you’re gonna tell me there’s a van with free candy parked just around the corner.”

Jason exhaled a stream of smoke and chuckled. “Funny kid. No van. No candy. Not that type.”

Tim rolled his eyes and kept skating, letting muscle memory take over. Whether someone was watching or not didn’t matter. Not tonight.

Jason watched him for a beat before speaking again. “So, what brings you out here at 3 am?”

“Ran away from home,” Tim said smoothly. “I’ll probably head back before sunrise.” It came out so easily, it barely registered as a lie anymore.

“All by yourself? No friends to skate with?”

“I prefer being alone,” Tim replied, executing a clean trick. “Helps me think. Besides, who drags someone else out here at 3 am?”

Jason crushed the cigarette under his boot. “What’s your name?”

“Tim,” he answered without hesitation, landing another trick and coasting forward like the conversation didn’t matter.

Jason watched him for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly like he was mentally filing something away. “Tim, huh? You skate like someone who’s used to being on the run.”

Tim didn’t respond right away — just kicked the board up with a practiced movement and caught it. “Skating’s cheaper than therapy.”

Jason let out a short huff of laughter. “Ain’t that the truth.”

Tim rolled over to the bench and dropped onto it beside his bag. “You ask a lot of questions for someone who’s ‘not watching.’ Don’t you have more important things to do? How old even are you?”

“That should be my line. You look 14,” Jason said.

Ouch. “I’m 16!” Tim shot back, clearly offended.

“I’m only three years older. I’m 19.”

“You’re illegally smoking.”

“And you’re trespassing in a skatepark at three in the morning. I don’t think you’re in a position to judge.”

“It’s not trespassing if the gate was never locked,” Tim defended, folding his arms.

“I heard someone stole all the gate keys a while back. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” Jason asked, eyebrow raised in mock suspicion.

“Nope. Never,” Tim said, eyes drifting upward as he looked at the sky like it held all the answers he wasn’t giving.

There was silence that stretched between them for a bit before Jason said “If you need to run away, there's a good youth support center near by, they don't ask any questions” 

“Thanks for the tip, but I'll be fine” Tim said and grabbed his bag and skateboard before beginning to walk away. 

“Stay safe, kid” Jason called and simply watched as Tim left the skatepark. 

Chapter Text

Jason stood at the edge of the criminal meetup, leaning against a wall as he scanned the crowd. He was looking for anyone who might be Zero — not that he had much to go on. No profile, no confirmed sightings. Just a reputation.

He hated going in blind.

His luck shifted when he spotted Selina across the room. If anyone had been around long enough to know something, it was her.

Pushing off the wall with casual ease, he made his way toward her.

She noticed him and offered a sly smile. “Well, well, Red Hood~ To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Catwoman,” he said coolly, his voice modulator flattening his tone into something colder. “Is Zero here tonight?”

Selina tilted her head, amused. “Jumping right to business? No flirtation, no witty banter?”

Jason didn’t rise to the bait. “I don’t have time to dance around this.”

She sighed, clearly entertained by his seriousness. “You really want to find Zero, huh?”

“Is he here?”

Selina scanned the room lazily, her eyes dancing over various lowlifes, smugglers, and mercenaries. “Depends on what you mean by here. Physically? Maybe. But he’s not the type to mingle. If he’s smart — and trust me, he is — he’s already watching the room, not standing in it.”

Jason frowned behind the helmet. “So he uses proxies?”

“Sometimes. Other times, he shows up in person — just never dressed as Zero,” Selina said, idly toying with the end of her whip. “That’s the trick. You might’ve already bumped into him and never even realized it.”

Jason’s jaw tightened. “Do you have anything actually useful on him?”

She leaned in, voice dropping just enough to make it feel like a secret. “Rumor has it, it’s not just one guy. It’s a duo. One’s a girl — can’t talk. The other’s Zero.”

Jason didn’t reply, but the tension in his shoulders was obvious.

“The girl’s name is Cheri,” Selina continued smoothly. “Eighteen, red hair, medium length, always silent. Never seen her speak. Zero, on the other hand… about 150 centimeters tall, not a fighter build, but definitely trained in martial arts. Black hair — sometimes longer if he’s wearing extensions. But if he’s showing up as himself? He wears this weird sci-fi-looking mask.”

 “All right. Thanks,” Red Hood said, turning away.

Selina stepped smoothly into his path, blocking him with a sly smile. “One more thing, Hood. If he catches wind that you're sniffing around for info, he'll cut you off so fast you won’t even hear his name whispered again.”

“I’m just trying to make contact. Guy’s a tech wizard — that’s all,” he said, sidestepping her and walking off.

He kept scanning the crowd, looking for anyone who fit Selina’s description — Cheri, Zero, anyone who might lead him to something solid.

Nothing.

Even as the night dragged on and the crowd thinned, he came up empty. No red-haired mute. No masked genius. No leads.

He exhaled sharply, frustration curling tight in his chest. Maybe they hadn’t shown up at all.

He left with nothing but a few new puzzle pieces — and even those didn’t fill a lot. 

× 

Tim sat hunched over his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, Mr. Cobblepot. That’s not how servers work.” His phone sat on speaker mode, crackling with the sound of the Penguin's irritation.

He sighed internally, eyes flicking back to the glowing monitor.

“What do you mean that's not how they work?” came the nasal squawk from the other end.

“You can't just disable the firewall like that,” Tim said, forcing his tone to stay even. “There are backup codes. I’d be alerted immediately.”

“Well, I don’t see any firewalls on the phones.”

“Good. That means it’s working.”

There was a pause, then the voice snapped back, “Listen here, Zero. I pay you to keep me digitally safe from cops and whoever else. I want results.”

Tim leaned forward, dragging a hand through his hair, barely restraining the groan threatening to escape. “For the last time, I am doing my job. You haven’t been raided. Your system’s clean. Everything’s running exactly like it should.”

“You tech types are all the same,” Cobblepot grumbled. “Always talking in circles like we’re too dumb to understand.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “No, Mr. Cobblepot. I’m talking like someone who knows what they’re doing.”

There was a low growl on the other end. “Careful who you’re mouthing off to, Zero.”

Tim muted the call for a second, let out a scream into his hands, then unmuted. “If you're that concerned, I can set up a live dashboard so you can see the system status yourself. Real-time metrics. No tech-speak.”

“Good. Do that.”

“I’ll send the access code in an hour. Don’t break anything in the meantime.”

Tim hung up without waiting for a goodbye and collapsed back into his chair. He stared at the ceiling for a second, then mumbled, “Next time I take a job, it’s with someone who doesn’t think turning the phone off makes him untraceable.”

He swung his chair back toward the computer and pulled up the codebase. “Alright, Cobblepot. Let’s build you a dummy-proof dashboard.”

He paused briefly, then opened a separate window to run a quick network trace — just in case Cobblepot had tried poking around where he shouldn’t.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

With a sigh, Tim closed the window and went back to building the dashboard.

His work on the batarangs was nearly finished, too. Nothing groundbreaking — just components he could repurpose to upgrade existing systems.

Honestly, batarangs weren’t as impressive as everyone made them out to be.

Once the dashboard was up and running, he sent the access codes to Oswald and shut down his computer.

He was done for the night. Dealing with Penguin was always the worst part of any day. That guy could understand magic and meta-human powers, but when it came to tech, he was so painfully illiterate it made toddlers look like prodigies.

Tim grabbed his phone, left his mask on the desk, and headed out.

He locked the door behind him and activated the security system before walking to the local gas station.

An energy drink and a couple of prepackaged sandwiches later, he was sitting on a bench under a dim streetlight, peacefully enjoying his 5 am breakfast.

Peaceful — until someone walked up.

“You shouldn't be out this late, kid.”

Tim didn’t even need to look. He recognized the voice instantly.

“I’m just having breakfast, Jay,” he said, taking a sip of his drink.

“Ah, you’re the skateboard kid.” Jason leaned against the light pole, pulling out a cigarette.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Nice to see you too, again,” he said, sarcasm dripping off every word.

Jason lit a cigarette and gave him a once-over. “Energy drink at 5 am?”

“Ironically helps me fall asleep,” Tim said, finishing the last of his sandwich.

Jason raised a brow. “That sounds like an insomnia simulator.”

“I’ve had insomnia since I was twelve. Turns out if you give a toddler melatonin, they build a resistance to it.”

Jason stared at him for a beat before letting out a puff of smoke. “Damn. That’s dark.”

Tim took another sip of his drink, unbothered. “Not even the worst of it. But hey — nothing beats downing caffeine under a streetlamp in Crime Alley at 5 am”

“You need therapy,” Jason said flatly.

“Don’t we all?” Tim replied with a roll of his eyes. “I skateboard. It’s basically the same thing.”

Silence settled between them as Tim finished his energy drink and Jason smoked the last of his cigarette.

Tim glanced over at him, hesitating just a beat. “Don’t you have a job or something? Why are you out this late?”

“I’m a private tutor. English and literature,” Jason said without missing a beat. “No clients tomorrow.”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “Seriously? You got a license for that?”

“Don’t need one if I’ve got the skills and people are willing to pay.”

“Huh. I guess it really does work like that,” Tim said with a shrug.

“And don’t you have school tomorrow?” Jason asked, eyebrow raised.

“High school dropout,” Tim replied, unfazed. “I was too smart for that place anyway — wasting away in broad daylight.”

“That’s what they all say,” Jason said dryly, “right before they regret it.”

Tim chuckled. “Nah, I’m different. I was top of my class — basically a senior at 13. I could’ve passed every exam, but they wouldn’t let me. So I said ‘screw it’ and walked out.”

“And now you skateboard at night and loiter on benches?”

“I do more than that,” Tim shot back. “I’ve got a side gig. Nothing fancy, but it pays enough to earn my right to loiter.”

Jason rolled his eyes slightly. “Just stay safe.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim muttered, standing and slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Bye, Jay.”

He needed to get back and dig deeper into this so-called Jason the tutor. Something about the guy was setting off alarm bells — a flicker of déjà vu he couldn’t shake. And Tim didn’t like not knowing.

×

Later, Tim sat on the floor of his apartment, laptop balanced on his crossed legs. The screen glowed with results from his search: Jason. Every hit pointed to Jason Todd. And every photo looked exactly like him.

Tim frowned, chewing the inside of his cheek.

He really didn’t want to admit he’d been casually talking to a supposedly dead ex-Robin.

How the hell was he even alive?

Despite the obvious conclusion staring him in the face, Tim kept searching — looking for anything, anything, that might point in another direction. But the internet refused to give him an out.

Eventually, he sighed and set the laptop aside, flopping back on the floor like a dropped marionette, limbs sprawled out. He stared at the ceiling.

“Jason Todd is alive... I mean, I knew, I guess. Somewhere deep down. I just didn’t want to acknowledge it.”

A beat of silence passed. Then Tim suddenly sat up, the weight of realization hitting him all over again.

“Shit. I shouldn’t be messing with them. This is going to get so awkward.”

Tim stared into space for a long second, then snatched his laptop and started digging for information. He hadn’t kept up with the Batfamily in the same obsessive way since getting involved with Gotham’s underworld. Well — he had, just not as thoroughly. Where he used to stalk them 17 hours a day, now it was more like passive surveillance. Camera feeds. Pattern tracking. Occasional notes.

The official stories all claimed Jason Todd had gone into witness protection — some tearful tale about a traumatized kid who saw the Joker murder Robin.

But Tim knew better. He remembered the warehouse. Jason died in there.

And yet… here he was. Alive. Smoking under a streetlight. Cracking sarcastic jokes and pretending to be some kind of night owl literature tutor.

Was he still a vigilante? Or had he finally walked away from all that?

Tim paused, fingers hovering over the keys.

There hadn’t been any new vigilantes lately. 

But there was a new crime lord.

Red Hood.

He frowned, heartbeat picking up.

Was Jason… the Red Hood?

× 

Tim sat hunched in his workshop, hands moving on autopilot as he disassembled yet another batarang. His mind, however, was miles away. Half the pile was already in pieces — muscle memory doing the work his brain refused to focus on.

The overhead light flickered.

He didn’t notice.

He didn’t notice the creak of the door or the footsteps either.

What snapped him back was the sharp thud of a phone dropped onto the workbench.

Tim blinked out of his daze and glanced up, shooting a half-hearted glare at the goon standing there. Wordlessly, he picked up the phone.

“Yes?” he said flatly. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

“Zero, how’s the batarang project coming?” came the familiar voice of Roman Sionis.

Tim pulled one leg up onto his chair, propping his elbow on his knee. “Next time you haul in a sack of stolen batarangs, give me a heads-up. Those things come with trackers.”

“Is that why you relocated?”

Tim’s tone stayed cool. “Mr. Sionis, I don’t particularly enjoy scrubbing tech bugs or moving workshops just to stay off the Bat’s radar.”

“Noted,” Black Mask replied. “So — have you found anything worthwhile?”

Tim glanced at the dissected parts scattered across his desk. “They can be broken down for components. Some parts are decent — could be repurposed for security upgrades.”

“That’s it?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Batarangs aren’t designed for information gathering. They’re more utility than intel.”

A pause. “Hmph. Disappointing. Maybe next time.”

The line went dead.

Tim silently handed the phone back to the goon, who took it without a word and walked out.

With a quiet sigh, Tim turned back to the batarangs. There were still a few left to gut. Even if they weren’t useful for data, they were good practice for keeping his hands busy — and his mind distracted.

× 

Jason was making his usual rounds through Crime Alley, boots crunching against broken pavement. He wasn’t looking for a fight tonight — just confirming that Penguin’s thugs had finally cleared out after the turf war they stupidly started and were now losing.

He was about to head toward one of his safehouses when someone suddenly grabbed his arm.

His hand instinctively twitched toward his weapon, but he paused when he got a good look at her — young, red mid-length hair, hazel eyes wide with urgency. She looked shaken.

Jason studied her warily. She didn’t speak. Instead, after a tense pause, she pulled a folded note from her pocket and handed it to him.

He took it, unfolding the paper and scanning its contents quickly:

“Red Hood, I'm Cheri. I work with Zero. And he's in danger. You have to help me. I know Black Mask is planning to betray him — he's going to attack him.”

As he read, she stared at him, desperate and pleading.

Jason looked up from the note. Even through the helmet, their eyes locked.

“I’ll help,” Jason said, voice low and steady. “Take me to him.”

Cheri nodded, releasing his arm before turning and quickly leading the way.

They moved fast, weaving through a maze of back alleys and narrow passageways. The deeper they went, the more claustrophobic the city became — brick walls pressing in, dim lights casting long shadows. Finally, they reached a tightly packed area where the buildings leaned too close, half-swallowed by time and neglect.

Cheri stopped at a worn basement door. She keyed in a code with practiced fingers, then pushed it open and held it for Red Hood.

Inside, the narrow hallway smelled faintly of oil and dust. Cheri moved without hesitation to the third door on the left and unlocked it.

×

Tim was still hunched over his workbench, batarang pieces scattered across the surface. 

The overhead light flickered again — he barely registered it.

The door creaked open.

Cheri stepped in first, and the moment her eyes landed on Tim, her shoulders relaxed in visible relief.

Tim glanced up, confused. “Cheri? I thought you weren’t coming by today—”

He stopped cold as she silently motioned toward the door behind her.

Red Hood stepped inside.

“Red Hood,” Tim said flatly.

It was like a switch flipped. His entire demeanor shifted — colder, sharper. His posture straightened, movements grew deliberate. He picked up a batarang and disassembled it with practiced ease, not even glancing down. His eyes stayed locked on Jason.

Cheri quickly signed, ‘It’s okay, I brought him here.’

Tim caught the message from the corner of his eye. “Why?” he asked, tone low and guarded. “Why would you do that?”

Jason could read the tension radiating from the kid — this wasn’t just caution. It was fear disguised as control. Hood didn’t want to escalate it. So, he kept his posture non-threatening, arms crossed where Tim could see them.

“I’m here to make a deal,” Jason said, improvising on instinct.

Tim tilted his head, slowly leaning back in his chair. The screwdriver in his hand twirled once, a subtle show of calm he didn’t feel. “Oh? And what kind of deal are we talking?”

Beside him, Cheri shot Jason a confused glance.

Red Hood chuckled softly, stepping back to lean against the wall. “I want you to work exclusively with me,” he said. “No more jobs for other Crime Lords or top-tier scum. Just me.”

Tim stared at him for a moment, expression unreadable. The screwdriver slowed in his fingers before coming to a stop. He set it down carefully.

“Just you?” Tim echoed, voice flat. “And why would I agree to that?”

Jason shrugged, calm and steady. “You’re smart. Too smart to keep working for guys like Sionis. They’ll chew you up, Zero. And if they think you’re more useful dead than alive? They won’t hesitate.”

Tim glanced down at the batarang halves scattered on the desk. He didn’t want to admit that he already knew all of that. That he'd been having the same thoughts, but kept pushing them aside.

“And what’s in it for you?” he finally asked. “Why me?”

Jason shrugged again, more sincere this time. “You’re talented. Scary smart. I could use your help” 

Tim looked at him for a long time, searching for the lie, the angle.

Finally, he said, “I’ll think about it.”

Jason nodded. “That’s all I ask.” He turned to leave.

“Wait,” Tim said, voice quiet but firm.

Hood paused and looked back.

Tim slid a burner phone across the table. “To keep in contact with me.”

Jason picked it up without a word, then walked out.

Cheri lingered for just a second longer, signing a quick ‘Sorry for not telling you sooner’ before slipping out after him.

× 

Tim paced the length of his living room, thinking and tense.

He knew Black Mask turning on him wasn’t a matter of if — just when.

For a while, he’d survived on secrecy and reputation alone. It was enough to keep people wary. Enough to keep him breathing. Enough to keep him needed. But that buffer was wearing thin.

Sure, he could fight. But not well enough to go head-to-head with someone like Black Mask. Not alone.

He stopped, blinking hard.

What if those batarangs hadn’t been about intel at all? What if Sionis gave them to him to get him caught by Batman?

The thought made his stomach twist. He resumed pacing.

But then — why spend half a million for a throwaway trap? Was that just to make Tim drop his guard?

His steps quickened.

Teaming up with Red Hood made too much sense. Hood had a reputation for protecting kids, cracking down on trafficking, and going after the worst of the worst. And most importantly, he hated Black Mask.

That was a powerful kind of protection.

And if Tim had a safe house backed by Hood, deep in Crime Alley? Then he’d be off the Bat-radar too. They hadn’t touched that part of the city since Hood took over.

It was risky.

But maybe… less risky than staying exactly where he was.

Tim kept pacing, thoughts circling like vultures.

He couldn’t come off as too eager to team up with Red Hood — but he also had no clue how much time he had before Sionis made his move. Every delay felt like borrowed time.

His gaze landed on his laptop.

He hesitated for only a second before grabbing his mask and burner phone. With practiced ease, he slid the mask on, fingers steady despite the nerves curling in his gut.

He typed out a message:

‘I’ve considered your offer. Can we call?’

The reply came two minutes later — an incoming call.

He picked up. “Red Hood,” he greeted, sinking onto his couch, legs crossed, voice modulated by the mask.

“Zero,” Hood replied. “What’s your decision?”

Tim silently counted to three before answering. “I’ll accept your deal. On two conditions.”

“I’m listening.”

“One. I want a safe house. A place to live and work — both as a civilian and as Zero.”

“Done.”

“And two. I want to stay alive. Which means keeping the Crime Lords and Bats out of my business. As far out as possible.”

There was a pause on the other end.

Tim held his breath for half a beat, wondering if he’d pushed too far with the Bats request. 

Then Hood spoke. “I can do that. I’ll keep you safe.”

A beat passed before Tim said simply, “Then we have a deal.”

He hung up.

The moment the line went dead, he slumped back into the couch with a sigh — then slowly slid off it, collapsing onto the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.

His hands were shaking. But he had a plan.

× 

If Jason had to choose between helping Bruce investigate some sharp-edged kid or keeping said kid safe? 

It wasn’t even a question.

He’d pick the kid. Every single time.

Bruce could be persistent — hell, relentless — but he was also used to things going his way. Used to people folding under his glare and giving him answers. But Zero? Zero would bolt the second he got even a whiff of the Bat sniffing around. And if that happened, Jason didn’t think he’d find the kid again.

Zero was careful. Slippery in that street-rat, back-alley kind of way that Jason knew from experience. The kind of kid who could survive anything, but not forever. Not without backup.

And Bruce? Bruce was harder to lie to, but easier to lie around. Withholding information wasn’t that difficult when you knew what he was looking for.

Jason hadn’t planned on getting very involved. He really hadn’t. But the moment he saw Zero in person, everything changed.

First impression? Just a kid. Not a man, not a threat — just a kid wearing too much armor and pretending the weight didn’t hurt.

Smart, absolutely. Dangerous, maybe. But underneath all that? He looked tired. Lonely. Like someone who’d taught himself how to survive but never had enough safety to just live. 

If Jason had to guess, he’d guess Zero to be fourteen. Maybe sixteen on a good day, in the right light, with the right posture. But no older than that.

And it pissed Jason off.

Because what kind of city let a kid like that get so deep into crime that he had a crime tech business? What kind of system let someone that young end up on the streets dealing with Black Mask? 

Zero was skating on a razor’s edge, and Jason could see the cracks already forming.

The paranoia. The insomnia. The obsession with control.

He’d seen it before. Hell, he’d lived it.

So yeah, Jason would lie to Bruce. He’d drag his feet on reports. Pretend he was too busy with gang clean-up or turf monitoring to give an update. He’d keep the kid’s information out of the system for as long as he could.

Because Zero didn’t need Batman.

He needed space. He needed safety.

Jason knew what it felt like to be young and alone.

So no, this wasn’t about loyalty to Bruce or justice or whatever higher moral code the rest of the family clung to.

This was personal.

And if it came down to choosing between the mission and the kid?

Jason already knew his answer.

× 

Tim was packing up the last of his gear in the workshop, movements quick and efficient. He’d already asked Cheri to clear out the rest of his sites. This was the final one.

Red Hood had arranged a safe house for him quickly — too quickly, maybe — but Tim wasn’t going to complain.

He’d already wiped the cameras, killed the external feeds, and scrubbed his digital trail. Sionis wouldn’t find anything useful here later. 

He wasn't stupid enough to believe this meant he was safe. But he wasn't helpless either.

Still, just to be safe, he was leaving the servers running for another two weeks. Enough to buy himself time and cover.

He’d also connected comms with Red Hood for easier contact. One click, and they were instantly linked. It wasn’t trust — at least, not yet. 

As if on cue, Red Hood’s voice came through. “Glad to know you’re still awake at midnight, Zero.”

“Criminals don’t sleep at midnight,” Tim replied dryly, texting Cheri a quick ‘All packed. Ready for pick up’ “At least not in Gotham.”

“Nice one,” Hood said with a low chuckle. “I’ll send over the safe house address and the security system code. Feel free to change anything — it’s yours now.”

“Thanks. I’ll definitely be doing that,” Tim said, a smirk tugging under his mask. He muted the comms but stayed online, just in case. 

Chapter Text

Cheri pulled up in front of a modest three-story apartment tucked away in Crime Alley. It looked a little nicer than the surrounding buildings — cleaner walls, newer windows — but nothing flashy enough to draw attention.

Tim double-checked the address on his phone before stepping out of the car. He approached the front door, noting the first unusual detail: no keyhole. Just a keypad.

He punched in the passcode Red Hood had sent him, then gave Cheri a nod to start unloading the car.

Inside, the air was stale but clean, the place clearly untouched for a while. On the small entry table sat a folded note.

Tim picked it up and read:

‘Sorry if this feels too big. But this was the smallest vacant house in Crime Alley with all three floors available. Make whatever changes you need — security, layout, anything.

– Red Hood’

Tim rolled his eyes, but there was a small, amused huff behind his mask.

‘ Too big ’ was right.

He gave the place a quick walkthrough and made a mental note of the layout. First floor would be a workshop. Second, storage. Third, the living space. Simple and efficient.

But before he could even think about settling in, there was one urgent priority — upgrading the security system. The place was decent, but "decent" didn’t cut it when Black Mask might come knocking.

He rolled up his sleeves, cracked his knuckles, and got to work.

Step one - change the passcode. Ten digits. No patterns. Nothing easy to brute-force. Then came the network — he swapped out the router for his own hardware, encrypted the signal, set up firewalls and dead man’s triggers. Paranoia was part of the job.

Next were the perimeter defenses. The laser grid on the windows and doors looked solid enough, but “solid enough” still left room for someone better to break in. Tim reprogrammed the sensors, tested angles of entry, and added motion alerts tied directly to his personal comms.

Meanwhile, Cheri had unpacked the truck in less than two hours, even organizing the boxes by floor. She offered to help with the wiring once, but Tim just shook his head without looking up. He appreciated the gesture, but this part? This was his.

By the time 6 am rolled around, he had barely scratched the surface — just the basics were done. 

He grabbed an energy drink, chugging it under 3 minutes before beginning to unpack his stuff. He wanted to settle in a little bit before continuing. He'd also need to buy blinds for all the windows. 

× 

Jason was in the middle of making himself dinner when Barbara called. He sighed and wiped his hands on a towel before answering, putting her on speaker as he went back to stirring the sauce.

“Yes? What do you need?”

“Any updates on Zero?”

Jason’s jaw clenched slightly. “No. He wasn’t at the meet-up. I didn’t get a chance to contact him.”

“Really?” Barbara’s tone was skeptical. “I figured he'd be there.”

He rolled his eyes and turned the heat down on the stove. “Babs, I don’t have a reason to lie to you. And after that meeting, I’ve been up to my neck in cleanup. Penguin and Sionis are both being relentless. It’s been a turf war hell out here.”

There was a pause on the line, but Barbara didn’t press — not yet.

“How’s your personal life?” she asked casually. “Y’know, outside the family.”

Jason let out a short breath. “Bruce is obsessing over Zero. Roy’s swamped in Star City. I’ve been dealing with turf wars and trying to build some kind of network.”

“In other words, you’ve been alone.”

“Not exactly.” He leaned back against the counter, voice softer now. “I’ve been hanging around the skatepark lately. There’s this one kid who shows up a lot. A bit younger, but... the kind who grows on you fast.”

Barbara hummed. “Sounds like your older brother’s genes are kicking in.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “It’s not like that. I just—” He hesitated. “I want to make sure kids like him don’t end up on the wrong side of the city.”

“If you say so, Jay.” Her voice warmed slightly. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

“Always.”

She hung up, and the kitchen fell quiet again. Jason stared at the phone for a second longer, then pocketed it.

Yeah. He’d head to the skatepark later.

Just in case.

×

It was 2 am. Tim sat alone in the skatepark, perched under a flickering streetlight, sipping from a half-cold energy drink.

He heard something in the distance — a soft shuffle, barely there. He scanned the shadows. “Jay?” he called, uncertain. He didn’t know if Jason would actually show, but honestly? He hoped it was him.

Even with all the guilt knotted up in his chest — about stalking Jason, about the family — he’d still rather be here in the dark with Jason Todd than alone.

A cold shiver ran down his spine. He reached up, pressing a hand to the back of his neck, feeling his pulse spike. Anxiety prickled under his skin.

His fingers closed tightly around the grip of his skateboard.

“Nice night to be out alone, isn’t it?” a voice murmured from behind the bench.

Tim’s entire body jolted.

He didn’t look. He didn’t think. He bolted.

One fluid motion — energy drink dropped, feet planted, skateboard caught — he was gone. The wheels hit the pavement hard, and he pushed off as fast as his legs would allow.

Gunshots cracked behind him. Echoing through the empty streets.

He ducked low, weaving to make himself harder to hit. A shot hit a metal rail nearby — sparks flew.

His chest was tight. Every breath scraped in his throat. He focused on speed, carving through the narrow sidewalk and aiming for the one place in the area that might have cameras, lights, people.

The gas station.

It was only five blocks away. If he could make it there—

Another shot rang out. He swerved, heart pounding, the wind howling in his ears.

He didn’t dare look back.

But luck had never been on his side.

His skateboard slammed against a crack in the pavement. The board stopped. Tim didn’t.

He flew forward, hitting the ground hard, and before he could scramble to his feet, pain tore through his leg — hot, sharp, sudden. A bullet had grazed his calf. Not deep, but enough to stagger him.

He bit back a cry, twisting around to face the man chasing him.

The guy was tall and broad, pushing middle age with the kind of build that spoke more to brute strength than speed. Unfit, but still dangerous — especially with a gun in hand.

Tim could fight. Just… not like this. Not without a bo staff. Not against a firearm.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his nails digging into the pavement as he tried to will himself invisible. For a split second, he found himself praying to every half-forgotten deity he could name.

The man grabbed him by the collar and yanked him upright, the cold press of a gun barrel settling against Tim’s temple.

His breath hitched.

And then—.

“Drop the kid,” a modulated voice growled from behind the man.

Tim’s eyes snapped open.

Red Hood stood there, gun drawn, pressed tight to the attacker’s spine. His stance was calm, practiced. Not a warning. A promise.

The man froze.

Tim didn’t wait.

The moment the grip on his collar loosened, he dropped like dead weight and scrambled away before grabbing his board. He rushed behind Red Hood, keeping a solid ten paces of distance — not out of mistrust, but because his brain was still short-circuiting.

His leg throbbed. His heart was going even faster.

Everything in his head was noise — panic, pain, shame, adrenaline.

But he was alive.

A gunshot rang out. A scream followed.

Tim squeezed his eyes shut. He’d seen violence before — had even witnessed death — but right now, with adrenaline crashing and his thoughts spiraling, he wasn’t sure he could handle seeing it again.

Silence fell.

Then came footsteps — slow, deliberate, heavy.

“Kid,” Red Hood said softly. Somehow, even through the voice modulator, the gentleness came through.

Tim cracked his eyes open, looking up. His mind was still a fractured mess, thoughts darting too fast to grab onto.

Time blurred.

He blinked again — and suddenly, he was somewhere else.

A gas station. A bench outside. The air was cold. Jason’s jacket was draped around his shoulders. A juice box was pressed into his hands.

“I’m not getting you an energy drink,” Red Hood said as he sat down beside him. “You’ve had enough adrenaline for one night.”

Tim didn’t argue. He took the juice box, opening it in silence.

The quiet stretched between them until Hood spoke again. “Any idea why someone would be targeting you?”

Tim blinked. As Zero, the list was long. But as a civilian? That narrowed things down. He sipped the juice before answering, “Best guess? My family.”

“Are they rich, influential, or both?”

“Were both,” Tim replied, expression blank as he looked away.

There was a brief pause, and Tim could sense Hood hesitating. He still wasn’t fully sure if Jason Todd and Red Hood were the same person — but the body type matched, and Hood had appeared right after Jason came out of ‘witness protection.’

Not that it mattered. Tim knew the identities of everyone in the Batfamily. The only one he hadn’t figured out yet was Oracle.

“Did they lose everything?” Hood asked, pulling Tim out of his thoughts.

“You could say that.” Tim paused, then took off the borrowed jacket and held it out. “Thanks for saving me… but I should go.”

He didn’t want to linger too long around Red Hood while in civilian mode. It would get awkward. Too many blurred lines.

“You sure? I can walk you home,” Hood offered.

“I’ll be fine,” Tim said, grabbing his things.

“Wait.”

Tim stopped and looked back.

Hood held out a small piece of paper with a number scribbled on it, the name Jay. written just beside it. “He’s a friend of mine. Text him if you ever want to hang out at night. Just so you’re not alone. Y’know… just in case.”

Tim hesitated, then took the note silently. He tucked it into his jacket pocket. “…Thanks.”

He walked away without another word, leaving Jason alone on the bench outside the gas station.

A few minutes passed in silence before Jason groaned and pulled off his helmet, staying in his domino mask, resting his head in his hands. He should’ve just asked. Straight up - Are you Zero?

Same hair. Same sharp, haunted eyes. Not many pale, black-haired, blue-eyed 16-year-olds were wandering around Crime Alley at 2 in the morning.

And Zero? Jay suspected he was a high school dropout, he had a lot of free time to work on his projects and crime tech business. Jason knew Tim was a dropout. That detail had always nagged at him, because most bad parents wouldn't let that slide. Unless Tim didn't have parents and neither did Zero. 

He leaned back on the bench and stared up at the night sky, letting out a long breath.

He swore he saw recognition in the kid’s face. Just for a second. That flicker in the eyes. Like Tim had figured it out, too — who Red Hood really was.

But if he had… why didn’t he say anything?

Unless he didn’t know for sure.

Or maybe he did, and this was his game. A quiet power play. Holding onto someone’s secret identity gives you leverage. A small illusion of control in a world where kids like him didn’t get much of it.

And honestly? Jason couldn’t even blame him for that.

If the kid needed to feel like he had the upper hand, Jason could play along — just for a while. Let the illusion live a little longer.

×

Tim stepped into the house and sank to the floor, pulling up his pant leg to look at the wound.

The bleeding had stopped. The adrenaline had fully worn off sometime while he was sitting beside Jason, and now he felt the dull throb pulsing through his calf.

He leaned back against the wall, taking a few deep breaths.

The night’s events were finally catching up with him. And with them came a sobering realization — he was a lot weaker than he thought.

He waited a few heartbeats, just breathing, then pushed himself up and grabbed the first aid kit.

No stitches needed. The wound was shallow enough that bandages and medical tape would do.

Quickly, methodically, he patched himself up. Then he reached for his phone.

He hesitated. Just for a second.

Then, with a breath, he typed in the number. One he’d memorized long ago.

He called.

It rang. No answer.

But the voicemail picked up.

There was a pause before he spoke, voice low and steady.

“Lady Shiva. This is Tim Drake. I know my parents are dead, and you don’t owe them anything anymore.”

Another pause.

“…But I’d really appreciate it if you taught me more.”

× 

It had been a couple of days since Zero had moved into the new house.

Jason had already noticed a few changes just from walking past the place — extra motion sensors, a new camera hidden under the porch awning, and what looked like reinforced locks on the windows. Subtle, but sharp. Someone had been busy.

Curiosity — or maybe concern — got the better of him. He figured a casual check-in couldn’t hurt.

He walked up the steps and knocked on the front door, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, helmet still on.

For a while, there was no answer.

Then the door creaked open, and to his surprise, it wasn’t Zero standing there.

It was Cheri.

“Hey,” Jason said. “Is Zero home?”

She gave a polite shake of her head, then turned to grab a pen and notepad from a nearby shelf.

“It’s fine,” Jason said, raising a hand gently. “I understand sign language.”

Cheri paused, then turned back to him and signed, ‘Zero is out on a training mission. He said he’ll return next week.’

Jason blinked behind the visor. “Training mission? With who?”

She gave a one-shoulder shrug and signed again ‘Acquaintance.’

He narrowed his eyes slightly. Not in suspicion, more in thought. “Right. Of course he is.”

Cheri held his gaze for a moment, her expression unreadable but calm.

Jason took a breath and shifted his weight, looking past her shoulder into the dim interior of the house. It looked lived-in now — tools scattered on the workbench, a half-finished schematic spread across the whiteboard, an empty energy drink can on the floor near a chair.

He glanced back at her. “Tell him… I stopped by.”

She nodded and signed, ‘I will.’

“Thanks.”

He turned and walked off the porch, boots echoing against the steps. As he disappeared down the street, he couldn’t shake the quiet unease sitting in his chest.

Training mission. 

And more importantly — who the hell was teaching Zero?

× 

Tim barely registered the blow to his ribs before his back slammed into the wall with a thud. The air punched out of his lungs, but he didn’t let go of the bo staff. His fingers trembled slightly from the impact, but his grip held firm.

He was doing better than the last five rounds.

Not good. Not even close to good. But better.

Lady Shiva wasn’t fighting at full strength and he knew that. She didn’t need to. She was trained in more martial arts than Tim could name, and she was infamous for eliminating students who wasted her time.

Their arrangement was simple. One week to prove himself worthy.

If he failed, she’d kill him.

Maybe not the best short-term plan, but if he made it through? Long term, he’d be stronger than ever.

“Your progress is slow,” Shiva said, her tone flat but sharp.

Tim pushed off the wall and wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “It always is,” he said, steadying his breath. “I just need to hit the threshold, then it clicks.”

She made a quiet sound of acknowledgement, unimpressed but not dismissive. She didn’t offer encouragement. She never did, unless you survived her. 

Tim took a mental inventory — his ribs ached, his stance was loose, and his breathing was uneven. Moving too much would telegraph his next attack. He had to be smarter.

He surged forward, swinging the staff in a wide arc. Predictably, Shiva blocked it with ease — but that was the bait. He followed up with a sudden kick, pivoting his weight.

She caught his leg.

Good .

With a quick breath, he planted his staff into the ground and vaulted upward, twisting his torso midair. His free leg cracked against her side. Before gravity could drag him down, he used her arm as a springboard, pushing off and flipping back to land cleanly on his feet.

It wasn’t graceful, not really. But it worked.

And for the first time that session, Shiva paused.

Not long. Not noticeably.

But just enough.

She struck again, fast and precise — but this time, Tim ducked under her arm, aiming a swift jab at her ribs with his staff.

Shiva caught it mid-swing, her grip unyielding as she twisted, trying to disarm him with a practiced snap of her wrist.

He reacted instantly — kicking the staff from below, letting go for a split second. It snapped upward, smacking her shoulder before he caught it again mid-air and rolled behind her.

For a moment, he had the advantage.

But only for a moment.

Shiva spun, faster than he could react, and this time her fist connected — clean and hard. Tim hadn't planned far enough ahead. He’d gotten too close and now he paid the price for hesitating.

He hit the ground hard, his bo staff clattering beside him. His chest rose and fell rapidly, sweat dripping down his face as he stared up at the ceiling.

Shiva straightened, calm and composed. “Not the worst,” she said. “You’re finally using your brain.”

Tim sat up, coughing lightly as he tried to steady his breathing.

“Train individually for an hour. Focus on speed and reaction,” she ordered, already turning away.

He didn’t stay on the floor for long. He couldn’t. Not with his life on the line — and not with how badly he needed this.

Not just to survive Shiva.

But to stop being weak.

He pushed himself to his feet and picked up his bo staff, walking over to one of the many training stations. He let out a quiet breath, trying not to think too hard about the bruises already forming.

This was the mess he’d walked into.

So he’d drag himself through it.

He’d been through worse.

Maybe not physically.

But mentally? Absolutely.

× 

Tim slammed into the wall again. He’d lost count of how many times now — his back throbbed, his ribs burned — but each impact felt duller than the last. Not from painkillers. Just numbness. Just getting used to it. 

But this time, something shifted.

His vision swam.

He gagged on his own breath, lungs skipping like a scratched record.

He barely registered her next strike coming but muscle memory kicked in. His bo staff snapped up just in time to catch the blow, and he twisted to the side, stumbling on uneven feet. His balance was going. His body was slipping out from under him.

Still, he moved.

With a grunt, he launched a kick at her side — not to damage, but to use her as leverage. He spun off the impact, putting space between them. It was the only thing he could do. He couldn’t bring her down, but he could push himself back.

His ears rang like sirens. His thoughts blurred.

Stop . His brain whispered it, a fragile thing. Stop. You’re breaking. You’re bleeding.

But something deeper, something far more primal, screamed louder. Push. You’re so close.

His vision shattered again, a mosaic of light and color. His grip tightened. His body surged forward — not with control, but instinct.

He dodged. He struck her arm. The bo staff moved through the air.

He blinked.

He was attacking.

He blinked.

He was dodging.

He blinked.

The floor tilted.

The world spun.

The wall rushed to meet him.

He hit the wall and this time, everything went dark.

Somewhere in the haze, he vaguely remembered opening his eyes. There was a soft pressure against the back of his head — a hand, steady and almost… gentle. He was lying on a bed. He blinked once, maybe twice, before the dark pulled him under again.

When he woke, the room was still and dim, cloaked in shadow.

Tim sat up slowly. His eyes adjusted to the dark, scanning the space — unfamiliar, quiet, and sterile in a way that only training sanctuaries ever were. Beside the bed, leaning carefully against the wall, was his bo staff.

He reached for it, fingers curling tightly around the grip, drawing it close like an anchor.

He didn’t remember much after collapsing. But somehow, waking now, he felt it. 

A renewed resolve.

A new spirit for fighting. 

Pain pulsed through every inch of his body, seeping deep into joints and bones like a slow-burning fire. But it didn’t matter. Not now. Not when he was finally getting stronger. Not when he was this close.

He pushed the ache aside and stepped into the main training room.

Lady Shiva was already waiting, calm and composed as ever, her gaze sharp the moment he entered.

“It seems even injuries won’t stop you,” she said, voice cool and unreadable.

Tim didn’t flinch. He adjusted his grip on the bo staff, holding it like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

“I’m ready to keep training,” he said, his voice hoarse but steady.

For a second, just a second, Shiva’s expression shifted — approval, perhaps. Or curiosity. Then it vanished, and she stepped forward.

× 

Tim had endured several ruthless bouts with Lady Shiva since waking up.

He was improving — surviving longer, hitting harder — but even he could tell his attack patterns were growing stale.

He’d already scanned Shiva’s movements, coded them into a simulation, and run endless sparring scenarios in VR. But real progress needed more than adaptation. He needed a surprise. He needed something she hadn’t seen before.

Something versatile. Something unpredictable.

That’s when the idea struck.

×

Tim didn’t hit the wall this time.

Instead, he used the tip of his bo staff to sense it — jamming it against the surface just in time to slow his momentum and shift his angle. He twisted, used the wall as a springboard, and lunged forward at full speed.

Shiva moved to intercept, her stance tight and ready. But Tim dropped low, swerving beneath her guard. His bo staff lashed out from behind—

She caught it.

But before she could wrench it from his hands, it dissolved .

Metal turned to liquid in her grip, slipping through her fingers like mercury. Her eyes widened a fraction — just a fraction — before the staff reformed in Tim’s hands mid-spin. He struck low and fast, catching her in the ribs.

She stumbled. Only a millimeter. But it was enough.

She straightened, watching him closely.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” she said, her voice perfectly calm. “What did you do?”

Tim adjusted his grip on the staff and gave her a small, sharp smirk.

“It’s made of nanotech,” he said. “Millions of tiny robots. I control the configuration remotely.”

A pause. Not of surprise — of recalculation.

Shiva nodded once. “Very well,” she said. “Again.” before going for another attack. 

× 

It hadn’t taken Lady Shiva long to adjust to Tim’s nanotech bo staff. She stopped trying to seize it altogether, switching to pure defense — precise blocks, fluid counters, no wasted motion.

But Tim was adapting too.

He started using the staff not just as a weapon, but as misdirection. Sometimes, he faked a strike only to dissolve the staff mid-swing — slipping past her guard and landing a hit from a completely different angle. Other times, he did commit to the first blow, forcing her to guess.

He was unpredictable now. And that gave him an edge, even if only for seconds at a time.

She landed a hit to his side. He grunted, rolling with the momentum to lessen the impact and put distance between them.

Then, without warning, Shiva stepped back and straightened.

“I believe your week is up,” she said. “It’s time for you to return to Gotham.”

Tim blinked, breath ragged. “Lady Shiva?”

She regarded him evenly. “You think like a strategist. You fight like a soldier. You build like an engineer. Don’t waste that.”

Then she turned, walking away with the same quiet finality she always had.

Tim stood there, stunned — until the weight of the moment hit him all at once. He let out a breathless laugh, smiled faintly…

…and collapsed to the floor, utterly exhausted.

He’d made it. He’d gotten better.

Chapter Text

It had been a little over a week since Jason had last visited Zero. He was pretty sure the kid was back in the city.

He walked up to the door and knocked. This time, he didn’t even have to wait — the door swung open immediately.

Jason blinked. No one was standing there.

He stepped inside. The second he moved past the threshold, the door slammed shut and locked behind him with a mechanical click.

Zero rolled out from behind a corner in an office chair, wearing his usual sci-fi gas mask. This time, his eyes were also hidden behind a pair of blue-tinted glasses.

“Oh. Hello. It’s you,” he said flatly, grabbing a few small parts from a plastic bin and rolling back toward his workbench.

Jason stepped further in, leaning against a nearby wall. “I see you’re working again. What are you making?”

“Domino mask with eye tracking and a notification receiver,” Tim answered without looking up. Then he held up his bo staff. “Also upgrading the nanotech. I needed to miniaturize the remote and make a patch so I can control it with my brain.”

Jason tilted his head. “How’s that work?”

Tim glanced over at him. “The patch goes on the side of my head — it reads brain signals and translates them into simple commands for the nanotech.”

Jason nodded slowly. He didn’t fully get it, but he figured he wasn’t really supposed to.

“I want my brain to handle switching the staff between its solid and liquid forms,” Tim continued. “Then I’ll use pressure sensors in the gloves to shape and control the liquid state. Like building the tool mid-fight.”

Jason let out a low whistle. “That’s some next-level stuff. I’m definitely glad you’re on my side.”

Tim didn’t respond. He kept focused on his project until, suddenly, he turned to Jason. “Can I see your helmet?”

Jason hesitated for a second before removing it. His domino mask still covered his eyes, keeping his identity technically hidden — not that it mattered. They both knew who the other was.

He handed the helmet over.

Zero took it carefully, turning it over in his hands as he began examining the tech.

“If you’re planning to modify anything, give me a heads-up,” Jason said, watching him closely.

“Mhm.” Tim didn’t look up, still turning the helmet over, eyes scanning every surface.

Jason let the silence stretch before finally asking, “So... who were you training with?”

“Lady Shiva,” Tim answered casually, like he was naming a substitute teacher.

Jason choked. “Lady Shiva? I’m sorry— what?”

Tim looked up, eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

“You trained under Lady Shiva and survived?”

“Yeah?”

Jason just stared at him. “You realize there’s maybe a dozen people on Earth who can say that, right?”

“I know. I trained with her before — years ago. There was a deal between her and my family. This was just... a continuation,” Tim replied, carefully placing the helmet on the table before returning to his work on the domino mask.

Hood kept staring, slowly piecing together how much more there was to this kid. He’d known for a while that Tim was more than just Zero, a high school dropout — but no last name, no clear identity. Yet something told him there was a lot beneath the surface.

He watched Tim fidget with tiny parts, barely understanding what the kid was doing now. “How’d you get into tech?” he asked.

“It started with disassembling a camera — fixing it, modifying it. Then phones, laptops. Back in school, I’d fix stuff for classmates. Eventually started getting paid for it. Paid better than selling photos to Gotham Gazette,” Tim explained without looking up, his hands precise as he worked.

He paused. “I should thank that place for making me realize practical skills pay more than photos.”

“You still enjoy photography?” Hood asked.

Tim glanced over briefly, then went back to his project. “At a hobby level. I don’t want it to be anything more than that.”

The room fell silent for a beat.

“I think we’re similar in some ways,” Hood said, pulling out a knife and casually spinning it between his fingers like a coin.

Tim looked up, curious. “What do you mean?” 

Hood glanced at the knife for a moment before meeting Tim’s eyes. “We’re both people who’ve had to survive by adapting. Using whatever tools we’ve got — whether it’s fists, tech, or... knives.”

He flipped the blade closed and slid it into his belt. “We don’t always get to pick the hand we’re dealt, but we learn to play it better than anyone else.”

Tim considered that, then nodded slowly. “I never really asked for all this,” he said. His hands kept moving, but slower now, his focus shifting — like his thoughts were pulling further away than his gaze let on.

“No one really does,” Jason replied. “Batman didn’t ask to be Batman... well, okay, technically he made Batman, but he didn’t ask to be forged into the kind of person who needed to.”

He paused. “Bad example. None of the Robins asked to be Robins.”

Tim gave a short laugh, leaning back in his chair. “The best example is probably that none of us asked to be born.”

Jason opened his mouth to respond — then his phone buzzed. He sighed, checking the screen. “I’ll be quick,” he muttered, stepping behind a corner before picking up.

“Yes? What do you need?” he asked, tone clipped.

“Your comm was off. I wanted to make sure you're okay,” came Oracle’s voice.

“I’m busy with something.”

“How busy?” Her voice tensed. “We need help. A murder suspect crossed into your territory.”

“Can’t you handle it?” he asked, irritation creeping in.

“I tried. But Zero’s modified all the cameras in Crime Alley — they won’t move unless a passcode is entered. Five attempts, and they lock down for two hours. We can’t track the suspect unless we get the passcode… or Zero.”

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why does this sound like a setup? I told you — I don’t have contact with Zero.”

“Jason,” Oracle said sharply, “I know you’re lying to me.”

From the corner of his eye, Jason noticed Tim peeking out from behind the corner, clearly having heard his alias.

“I know you’re covering for him,” Barbara continued. “You’ve been protecting him for weeks now. Jay, what’s going on?”

Jason was just about to hang up when Tim silently motioned for the phone. He hesitated, then handed it over.

Tim tapped the speakerphone on and leaned back in his chair, voice playful even through his modulator. “I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

“Zero,” Oracle snapped. “What did you do to Red Hood?”

“Me? Do something to Red Hood?” Tim asked, feigning innocence. “Why would you assume that? I haven’t done anything.” And he wasn't lying, he hadn't done anything. 

“I don’t have time for games— what did you—”

“Do you want my help or not?” Tim interrupted, glancing at Jason as he set the phone on his knee. Then signed ‘Is she always this suspicious?’

Jason just gave a silent nod, looking vaguely amused.

“I still want to know what you did to Re—”

Tim hung up on her and passed the phone back to Jason. “I tried to help,” he said with a shrug, already rolling back to his desk like nothing happened.

“She's so gonna raise a panic” Jason said simply. 

Tim shrugged and rolled over to his computer, pressing some keyboard shortcuts before pressing enter. 

“What did you do?” He asked. 

“Turned off public Crime Alley cameras. Kept only hidden ones running” Tim said casually. 

“You're trying to scare her?”

“If only for assuming immediately I'd do something to you” Zero said before looking directly at Jason. “I hate people not listening to me.” 

Jason raised his hands slightly — placating gesture — before speaking “You do you, she was the one to assume first” 

He watched as the kids' eyes ever so slightly relaxed and softened. He liked being trusted. 

× 

Barbara stared at her monitor.

All the Crime Alley camera feeds went dark.

Zero had shut them down.

Her pulse ticked up. Jason’s GPS and comms were dead. He’d handed the phone over. Zero had hung up on her.

And the cherry on top?

She had no idea what Zero even looked like. No real photos. No confirmed voiceprint. Every criminal who crossed him either shut up fast or was silenced by someone else. And every time, Zero erased all traces — camera footage, metadata, even timestamps.

Barbara didn’t hesitate. Her fingers flew to open a secure channel. “Batman, we’ve got a problem. Possible abduction. Red Hood’s last known location was his Crime Alley central safe house — then his comms and GPS cut out.”

“Suspect?” Bruce’s voice shifted instantly — calm, cold, professional.

“...Zero. I called Jason. He answered — sounded normal at first. But then he handed the phone over.”

“To him?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you trace the call?”

“I tried. It bounced across six dummy relays. Classic reroute. Jason answered from a phone modified by Zero — it’s not traceable, not with what I’ve got.”

There was a pause. She could almost hear the tension spike on the other end.

“Anything useful?” Bruce asked tightly — and despite the detached tone, she knew what he was thinking. She was thinking it too. The last time Jason went dark like this, they didn’t get him back for months — and not in one piece.

“...He’s alive. Didn’t sound hurt. Just... calm. Way too calm.”

A beat.

“Get everyone. Now.”

× 

Orphan and Robin moved silently through the dim interior of Jason’s Crime Alley safe house. Dust motes danced in the low light from a flickering bulb overhead. The place looked untouched — disturbingly so.

They checked every door, every corner, every hiding spot. Nothing was broken. No signs of forced entry. The security system had still been armed when they'd arrived — no tripped sensors, no alerts logged. It was like Jason had just... vanished.

Damian stepped over to the desk, rifling through a few neatly stacked files with growing frustration. “Father, are you certain Red Hood was abducted?” he said sharply into the comms. “Who could possibly abduct a man like him? He's reckless, but not careless.”

“Robin’s right,” Spoiler chimed in over the channel. “Hood’s like six-foot-something and built like a tactical fridge. Not exactly an easy guy to sneak up on, much less carry off.”

Orphan, crouched by the window, shook her head slightly — she hadn’t found a single disturbance. Even the latch on the fire escape was still locked from the inside.

“We still don’t know what Zero even looks like,” Barbara cut in through the comms. “We’ve got no ID. No reliable footage. Just rumors. And what little we do have says he’s dangerous.”

“Doubtful,” Damian said flatly, glancing toward Cass. “Orphan looks skeptical. And didn’t Catwoman describe him as… short and slippery?”

“Five-one, wiry, fast,” Spoiler added. “Said he moved like a ferret on espresso. Not exactly your top-tier kidnapper physique.”

“Don’t underestimate someone just because they’re small,” Barbara warned. “Zero’s tech is good. Good enough to blind the entire Crime Alley grid and cover his own tracks in real time. That’s not something to ignore.”

There was a short silence across the line as that settled in.

“I’m just saying,” Damian muttered. “It doesn’t make sense. No struggle. No trail. Todd wouldn’t go down quietly. If he left with Zero, he did so willingly.”

Orphan looked up at him then, expression unreadable, but her gaze sharp. She tapped her fingers twice on her wrist — a subtle sign between them: Maybe .

Barbara’s voice came back quieter, more focused. “Keep searching. Check everything — anything. If Jason was taken, Zero left nothing behind on purpose. But nobody covers their tracks perfectly.”

Damian’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Understood.”

He and Cassandra exchanged a look before they silently shut off their comms. Damian pulled out his phone and began dialing.

“I’m calling Todd. If he answered Gordon, maybe he’ll answer me,” he said, his tone low and calm, since the situation didn't seem as dangerous as everyone was making it out to be. 

Cassandra stepped closer and signed, ‘Speaker.’

×

Jason leaned against the wall of Tim’s workspace, idly flipping a knife between gloved fingers as he watched the kid tinker with something small and delicate. The quiet wasn’t awkward — it was easy, companionable. Tim hadn’t asked him to leave, and Jason wasn’t in a rush to go.

His phone buzzed again.

Jason rolled his eyes, pulling it out. He paused when he saw the caller ID.

Tim glanced up. “Her again?”

“No,” Jason muttered, stepping away from the desk. “My younger brother.”

He ducked around the corner and answered. “What do you want, Brat?”

“Todd,” Damian said without preamble, “Father believes you’ve been kidnapped. Where are you?”

Jason sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not kidnapped. I’m not in danger. And I can’t tell you where I am — my GPS is off for a reason.”

“What reason?”

“Because I don’t want this place on anyone’s radar,” he said flatly. “Tell everyone to calm down. I’m fine. I promise, I’m surviving this time.”

There was a pause. “You’re with Zero, aren’t you?”

“I’m here willingly,” Jason replied, frustration creeping into his voice — then he ended the call.

×

Damian and Cassandra stared at the phone for a long beat before looking at each other.

Cassandra signed, ‘Voice calm. Frustrated tone. No signs of pain or distress. He’s there willingly.’

“Should we inform Father?” Damian asked quietly.

‘We can try. He might not listen.’

Damian exhaled through his nose and nodded once.

×

Jason slipped the phone back into his pocket and spotted Tim peeking around the corner, clearly listening.

“They’re panicking,” he said, more amused than anything.

“Let them,” Zero replied, not even looking up as he resumed tinkering. “Their fault for ignoring the evidence that you’re safe.”

“You’re really doing all this because she didn’t listen to you?” Jason asked, eyebrow raised.

Tim nodded, finally glancing at him. “I hate being dismissed — especially when I’m offering help. I’m tired of being ignored just because they’re paranoid.”

“That’s so petty,” Jason said with a low chuckle. “I love it.”

Tim smirked slightly but didn’t respond right away.

“How long do you think until they figure out you’re not in danger?” he asked, curious.

“Either when I show up in person,” Jason said, “or when someone stumbles across this place.”

That made Tim go still. His head lifted sharply, expression tightening.

“I don’t want them finding this place,” he said. “I don’t want them knowing anything about me if I can help it.”

Jason lifted both hands, a placating gesture. “Alright, alright — I won’t lead them here. I’ll head out in a few, make a public appearance, whatever you need. This place stays off the map. I give you my word.”

Tim’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, and the tension in his face eased. He gave a short nod — not quite approval, but something close to trust.

And Jason knew better than to take that lightly.

× 

Bruce sat in his chair, motionless, eyes fixed on nothing. His posture was rigid — like he was bracing for impact. He looked like he was reliving Jason’s death on a loop, stuck in that moment, again and again.

Steph, Duke, Cassandra, and Damian stood nearby in the cave, watching him with a mix of tension and concern.

“Father,” Damian began, his voice measured, “we swept Jason’s safe house. Top to bottom. No signs of forced entry. The security system was still armed when we arrived.”

Cass glanced at him, then stepped forward and signed, ‘No signs of struggle either.’

Damian cleared his throat. “We also contacted Todd. He answered. He said he’s with Zero, and that he’s there willingly.”

Cass nodded and added, ‘No pain. No fear. Just frustration.’

Bruce’s gaze snapped toward them. “You’re all taking this too lightly,” he said, voice low but tight. “Jason could be in real danger. Just because he says he’s fine doesn’t mean he is.”

Steph stepped forward. “With all due respect? We’ve been over this. There’s zero evidence he was kidnapped.” She crossed her arms. “Selina said Zero’s a whole foot shorter than Hood. Way skinnier. The guy’s not exactly built to drag Jason out against his will.”

“Zero’s a tech prodigy,” Bruce snapped, his voice rising. “You don’t know what kind of armor or tricks he could have developed. He’s erased his trail every time. That takes resources. Intelligence. He’s dangerous.”

“Jason knows danger,” Damian said firmly. “And he told us he’d survive this time. You know he doesn’t make promises like that lightly.”

Cass nodded once, backing him up.

The silence in the Batcave was suffocating — thick with tension and unspoken dread. Bruce’s jaw was locked tight, the tendons in his neck taut. His fingers gripped the arms of his chair like they were the only anchor keeping him from spiraling.

Then, Oracle’s voice crackled through the comms. “Jason was just spotted in Crime Alley. Zero brought the cameras back online. He’s heading toward the cave.”

The air shifted instantly.

Bruce’s head snapped toward the Batcomputer, hope breaking through the haze of fear like a crack of sunlight. He stood up too fast, pushing the chair back with a screech. His eyes locked on the live feed Oracle had pulled up — grainy footage of Red Hood walking, calm and purposeful, through the alley.

He was alive.

× 

The cave doors hissed open minutes later.

Jason strode in, the weight of every step echoing off the cave walls. His siblings and Steph stood waiting — Damian, Cassandra, Duke, Steph — all watching him with crossed arms, unimpressed expressions, and a shared silent question: What the hell was that?

Jason removed his helmet slowly, almost deliberately, and tucked it under one arm. His eyes swept over the group, unimpressed right back, before zeroing in on Bruce.

He walked forward with purpose, boots hitting the floor like war drums.

Bruce stepped toward him. “Jason—”

“Nuh uh.” Jason raised a hand sharply, cutting him off. “No. I’m talking now. You and Babs are going to shut up and listen for once.”

The air in the cave went still. Even Damian’s mouth clamped shut.

Jason stopped inches from Bruce, standing eye to eye with him.

“One,” he said, voice low and sharp, “you had no reason to raise the kind of panic you did today. None. You didn’t check your facts, you didn’t wait. You jumped to a worst-case scenario and treated it like gospel.”

He jabbed a finger toward the other. “Two. Where I go, who I hang out with, what I do on my own time? That is my business. I’m not your prisoner. I don’t need a chaperone.”

His voice rose, not in a shout, but in that dangerous tone that said he was furious and in control. “Three. My GPS is not your panic button. You don’t get to use it like a leash. You raised the alarm over me choosing not to be tracked. That’s not care — that’s control.”

He took one more step closer, until Bruce had to tilt his head slightly to meet his eyes.

“And four,” Jason hissed, “I’m trying to get Zero to trust us. Trust me. He’s skittish, paranoid, and with good reason. He offered help, and you two, especially Oracle, accused him of kidnapping. You know what that tells someone like him? That it doesn’t matter what he does — you’ll never believe he’s not a threat.”

Jason’s shoulders rose with a breath, then dropped. “Be grateful he didn’t bolt. Be grateful he still wants to help at all. He’s staying at a safe house I provided. For now. But if you keep pulling this kind of crap? You won’t just lose his cooperation. You’ll make an enemy you cannot find.”

The silence that followed was deeper than before. No one spoke. Even the computers seemed quieter.

Jason stood there, breathing hard but steady, helmet still tucked under one arm like a warning.

And for once, Bruce didn’t have anything to say.

Jason took a deep breath and set his helmet down on the nearby table before turning toward the computer. “Oracle, you said you couldn’t track the murder suspect through Crime Alley because Zero was blocking camera movement. What does the suspect look like?”

Barbara was quiet for a moment, then cleared her throat. “Right… I’ll send you a picture. Will Zero be helping with this?”

“He agreed to check the cameras himself and track the suspect. I’ll forward any info as soon as I get it.” Jason glanced at his siblings and Steph. “You all can scatter — you’re the reasonable bunch here.”

Steph rolled her eyes. “Nice to see you too,” she muttered, flopping dramatically onto the Batcave couch.

× 

Jason was making himself breakfast at 1 am in the Manor kitchen.

Cass walked in, knocking lightly on the doorframe to get his attention.

He glanced up. “Hey, Cass. What’s up? Want some breakfast?”

She shook her head and signed, ‘Can Steph and I meet Zero?’

Jason paused mid-motion before continuing to cook. “I don’t know if he’d want to meet you guys in costumes,” he said, glancing at her.

She nodded, then signed, ‘As civilians?’

Jason hesitated again, then asked, “Do you both know how to skateboard?”

‘We can learn.’ she signed. 

He paused for a heartbeat before responding, “Two rules. One, act casual. Two. Don't push for information. Both of you” 

Cass nodded and held up her pinky. 

× 

Tim was just trying to relax at the skatepark. With his bo staff safely scattered inside his backpack — its nanotech ready to assemble at his call — he finally felt a flicker of peace. 

After the chaos of the last few days, all he wanted was to spend the night alone, skateboarding under the stars, clearing his head.

But the universe had other plans.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tim spotted Jason approaching along with Cassandra Cain and Stephanie Brown. Both girls were confidently cruising on skateboards, while Jason walked alongside them, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Hey Tim,” Jason called as he settled onto a nearby bench.

Tim gave a quick wave but asked quietly, “Who’re they?” even though he already knew exactly who they were — and what they could do.

“My sister and her girlfriend. Cassandra Cain and Stephanie Brown,” Jason said casually.

Tim glanced at them as the two girls glided past, ignoring him completely — not out of rudeness, but because they simply didn’t see him as a threat or something to be wary of.

It was a small relief. To be treated like a normal person, even if only for a moment.

He watched them wobble and stumble slightly, novices on their boards, and a smirk tugged at his lips. Perfect.

Without another word, Tim dropped his backpack and stepped onto his skateboard, ready to show off a few tricks — not to impress, but to remind himself why this was one of the few places he could just be himself.

Tim kicked off and rolled into the bowl with ease, body moving like it remembered every line and curve of the concrete. His board dipped low, wheels whispering against the surface before he kicked off once, then twice — gaining speed — and launched himself into a clean, smooth ollie that arced over the lip.

Cassandra and Stephanie paused to watch, standing near the edge.

Tim didn’t look at them. He just moved, weaving in and out of the park’s features like he belonged there. A sharp pivot into a grind across the coping. A fluid transition into a manual. A heel flip off the rail that landed clean and easy.

The best part? He wasn’t doing it to prove anything — not really. He was just letting go, and the motion silenced the static in his head.

“Show-off,” Steph muttered with a crooked smile, nudging Cass lightly.

Cass tilted her head, watching Tim land a complex trick with sharp precision, then simply skate past them without a word, heading back into the bowl like it was second nature.

‘Good balance,’ she signed with a nod of approval.

Jason snorted from the bench. 

Tim rolled to a stop near them and kicked his board up into one hand. His breath came light and easy, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “You two need help, or are you committed to dying via gravity?”

Steph raised an eyebrow. “You offering to teach?”

Tim shrugged. “If you’re lucky.”

Cass gave a slight smirk and signed, ‘Okay. Teach us. No tricks. Just balance.’

He nodded and gestured for them to follow. “Let’s start with your footing before someone breaks something important.”

And just like that, the tension that usually clung to Tim’s shoulders eased — replaced by the rhythm of movement and the rare comfort of being around people who didn’t treat him like a threat. Just teens at a skatepark.

Jason leaned back on the bench, arms crossed, watching as Tim coached the girls through the basics — helping them balance, kick off, and wobble their way down short ramps. After a while, Tim left them to it, cruising off to practice tricks again with practiced ease.

The peace didn’t last forever. Eventually, Steph flopped down next to Jason with a dramatic groan. “Oh my gosh… My legs feel like jello.”

Cass rolled over casually, far more composed, and sat beside them without a word, her board settled neatly at her feet.

Tim coasted to a stop nearby and kicked his board up into one hand. “What’s with the gathering? Some kind of covert mission briefing I wasn’t invited to?” he asked dryly.

“Nope,” Steph said, catching her breath. “Just trying to figure out how you skate like that without defying physics.”

Tim gave a small smirk. “Practice. Started when I was twelve. Fit it in between photography, breaking into security systems, and taking apart cameras for fun.”

He dropped his board beside the bench and pulled an energy drink out of his bag, cracking it open with a soft hiss before leaning against the nearby light pole.

Steph eyed the can. “What flavors that? Can I try it?”

Tim wordlessly handed it over.

She sniffed it like she was inspecting alien tech, then took a sip and blinked. “Whoa. I think I just tasted the rainbow.”

Cass tilted her head and signed, ‘What does rainbow taste like?’

“Apparently—” Steph passed the can back with mock reverence, “—a mix of battery acid and artificial joy.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “And yet you drank it.”

Jason chuckled under his breath.

Tim took another sip and glanced at the two girls. “Don’t you both have school tomorrow?”

“Nah,” Steph said, stretching her arms over her head. “It’s Saturday. We’ve got the whole night to fall on our faces.”

She stood up, grabbed her board, and grinned. “Might as well make it count.”

“Just don’t fall into the bowl,” Tim warned with a half-smile. “It’s a pain to climb out of — even worse to skate out of.”

Steph stuck her tongue out at him like a defiant kid and rolled off toward the bowl anyway.

Tim watched her go, sipped his drink and then turned to Jason. “I did warn her.”

Jason gave a shrug, calm and utterly unbothered. “Yep. You did.”

A loud thud echoed from the direction of the bowl, followed by a dramatic groan.

“I regret everything,” Steph called out from somewhere below.

Tim raised his can in her direction like a toast. “Told you.”

Jason didn’t even flinch. “She’ll figure it out.”

Cass stood and casually rolled over to the edge, peering down. She signed something to Steph, then gave a small nod and skated off again — apparently satisfied that her girlfriend wasn’t dying.

Tim glanced at Jason, amused. “Is she always like this?”

“Only when she’s awake,” Jason said with a smirk.

Steph finally managed to pull herself up from the pit, panting as she climbed out on her hands and knees like a dramatic war survivor. “The bowl is evil. I have been betrayed by gravity.”

Tim offered her the energy drink again. “Truce?”

Steph took it, still winded. “You’re lucky this stuff tastes like liquid candy. Otherwise I’d be plotting revenge.”

He grinned. “You’re too tired for revenge.”

“Temporarily,” she muttered, collapsing back onto the bench.

“And I’d plot better revenge than you,” he added with a smirk.

She flipped him off without looking.

Cass rolled past them, still skating, then slowed to a stop beside Tim. She signed, ‘Can you teach me how to skate across wave ramps?’

Tim nodded immediately and grabbed his board. “Yeah, absolutely.” Without missing a beat, he pushed off and headed toward the ramp.

Steph leaned over to Jason, lowering her voice. “You said he was skittish. This doesn’t look skittish to me.”

Jason shrugged, watching Tim glide across the pavement like he belonged there.

They all knew the game they were playing — pretending to be ordinary teens at a skatepark, no masks, no missions.

But somehow, in the quiet click of wheels on pavement and the shared rhythm of movement, the pretending felt real enough to matter.

By 4 am, Cass and Steph were worn out from hours of skating, and Jason was already heading off down the path out of the park.

“Bye, loser,” Steph called, skating after him with a tired grin.

Cass coasted to a stop in front of Tim and signed, ‘Wanna exchange phone numbers? Steph’s too.’

Tim blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. “Oh— sure,” he said quietly, handing over his phone.

Cass typed in both numbers, then signed, ‘It was fun skating with you. Text us if you ever want to hang out again.’

He nodded, his voice still low but genuine. “Yeah. Sure.”

As she skated off to catch up with Steph, Tim lingered for a moment, staring down at the new contacts in his phone.

Somewhere deep inside, something uncertain began to shift — just a little. He wasn’t sure what to call it yet.

But it felt like the start of something that wasn’t loneliness.

× 

Tim sat hunched over his project, the glow of his tools reflecting in his tired eyes, when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, recognizing the number instantly.

He answered without a word, setting it to speaker and keeping his hands busy.

“Zero,” came Black Mask’s voice — low, gravelly, and laced with threat. “I know you’ve ditched me. I just want to know... what changed?”

Tim didn’t answer right away. He thought about hanging up. But that would only make him a target even faster. So instead, he leaned in, voice cold and modifier making it even colder. 

“Someone made me a better deal than you ever could.”

Silence. Then — a scream, sharp and human, echoing from the other end. Not Sionis. Someone else.

Tim flinched. Not visibly, not enough to lose control — but he knew what this was. Sionis was reminding him what happened to people who said no.

“Don’t you think that was a little rash?” Black Mask said, his voice almost mocking.

“I was disposable to you anyway,” Tim snapped. “This way, at least I get to walk away on my own terms.”

There was a pause on the line. Tim could hear Sionis breathing — low and steady, calculated fury simmering beneath the silence.

“Now why would you say that?” Sionis said, smooth and patronizing. “You’re such a clever kid. I’ve known you for over a year. All this time, I’ve treated you like an equal. Because I respect your skills.”

“You dragged a bag of bugged Batarangs into my workshop without my permission,” Tim shot back. “That’s basically begging the Bat to land on my doorstep.”

“You can’t blame me for not knowing they were tracked,” Black Mask said, feigning innocence.

“I’d love to keep playing this little back-and-forth,” Tim said dryly. “But let’s not pretend we don’t both know how this ends. It was always going to be me dead, or me walking out with someone better.”

There was a pause. Black Mask was considering his words. 

“You always were clever,” Sionis said eventually. “But clever kids get cocky. And cocky kids make mistakes.”

Tim tapped his fingers against the workbench — a slow, steady rhythm.

“I’m not the same scared kid you hired,” he replied coolly. “And if you come after me, I won’t be alone.”

“You're threatening me, Zero?” Sionis growled.

“I don’t need to threaten you,” Tim said, voice flat and unwavering. “You’re already scared. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be calling me at 1 in the morning like a clingy ex.”

A pause. Then a short, sharp laugh — cold and humorless.

“You’re gonna regret this.”

The line went dead. Sionis hung up. 

Tim exhaled slowly and lowered the phone to the workbench. His hands weren’t shaking — not yet — but the adrenaline was crawling just beneath his skin.

He leaned back in his chair, then immediately turned to check the security systems. By now, he knew all the servers tied to his past contracts would have begun the shutdown sequence.

Zero was about to become the most targeted person in Gotham.

He tapped into the comms. “Hood?”

A few seconds passed before Red Hood’s voice crackled through. “What is it, Zero?”

“I shut down the servers for everyone I’ve worked with,” Tim said, pulling one leg onto the chair and wrapping his arm around it. “They’re set to self-delete and detonate in five minutes.”

There was a pause. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because the people I used to work for will figure it out fast. I’m about to have a dozen target markers on my back,” Tim said. His voice remained steady, but he was gripping his knee a little tighter now. “Figured you should know.”

“…Detonate?”

“Yeah. There’ll be about seven explosions across Gotham. Might want to give your Bat family a heads-up.”

There was a brief pause before Red Hood sighed. “Thanks for the heads-up. Stay safe. Contact me if anything happens.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tim replied, cutting the comms.

He pulled his mask off, then briefly pulled his other leg onto the chair as well, resting his head on his knees. He took slow, steady breaths, trying to calm himself.

He was safe.

He had a safe house.

The security systems were active.

His nerves were just overreacting.

After a moment, he got up and moved to close all the blinds. As he finished, he sat down on his bed and tried to breathe — but the air felt stale, oppressive.

He never realized before what it felt like to be a target for so many people.

His mind spun with all the ways things could go wrong — running into them by accident, getting caught in a shootout. It was all a risk.

He stood up and began pacing the floors, his thoughts racing faster than his feet could carry him.

He could keep up with Lady Shiva. He had the security systems. He had his bo staff.

He would be fine.

Yet the hairs on his neck were standing up. 

For a moment he felt like a kid stuck in a gala his parents dragged him to. 

All those eyes, looking at him. Each with their own expectations… but the worst were his parents. 

“Drakes don't do this…”

“Drakes don't do that…” 

“We don't act like this…” 

“You're a stain on the family name…” 

“Stop acting so weird…”

“Be normal.” 

His legs shook and he held onto the wall. Leaning against it slightly. 

“You're such a clever kid” Black Mask’s voice threaded itself through the noise, blending with the praise and poison of gala chatter.

“You were always clever”

Tim’s hands began to shake. His throat felt dry. The air pressed down on his chest like a weight.

“I treated you like an equal” 

He’d heard all of this before. Over and over again.

Galas and Gotham’s underworld — they really weren’t that different.

Piranhas, the lot of them. Smiling, snapping jaws. Willing to tear each other apart to satisfy a hunger that never stopped — all while pretending to be allies. Pretending to be friends.

He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, his arms curled around his knees, fingers digging into the fabric of his pants like he could anchor himself that way.

It was so quiet. Too quiet. His safe house was designed for silence — soundproof walls, layered insulation, dampeners on every vent — but right now, that silence felt like a cage.

His own breathing was too loud in his ears.

He looked up at the ceiling and tried to breathe through the heaviness in his lungs.

He briefly considered calling Cheri…

But she couldn’t speak. She wouldn’t answer the phone. She shouldn’t be bothered.

Red Hood? No — not again. Not so soon. He didn’t want to be that kind of problem.

Steph and Cass? He barely knew them. Just a single night of skateboarding. They didn’t owe him anything.

He hid his face in his knees, curling tighter.

A soft, gasping breath escaped him as the tears started to fall. Slow. Hot. Unwelcome.

“I’m disappointed in you, Timothy. Janet’s voice, sharp as glass, sliced through the quiet.

He let himself cry for just a few minutes before wiping his eyes with a sleeve and forcing himself to stand on shaky legs.

He moved to the nearest window and peeked through the blinds. The skyline of Gotham glowed faintly in the distance, the smog blurring the stars.

He whispered to himself, “They don’t get to break me. Not them. Not again.”

Then he turned and headed back to his workbench.

If the underworld wanted to come for him — let them.

Chapter Text

Tim knew one thing for certain. To control Gotham’s underworld, you didn’t start by taking down the kingpins — you started by controlling the supply and demand.

And right now? He’d just wiped out every server he’d ever built for them. That meant one thing — panic.

They’d scramble. They’d claw at each other for backups, black-market patches, anything to keep their networks alive.

But if Zero just happened to be supplying again, just independently? If he still had clean hardware, black-market phones, fresh server builds?

Then maybe — just maybe — the lackeys wouldn’t shoot on sight. Not all of them. Some would want to deal. Some would want to survive.

And the best way to send a message in Gotham wasn’t to whisper it.

It was to make yourself indispensable. Force them to listen.

Tim paced back to the workbench, grabbing a spare drive and slotting it into one of the backup towers. The whirr of the machine starting up was almost comforting — something predictable. 

He opened a secure console window, eyes scanning lines of code as his fingers began typing commands. He wasn’t just rebuilding servers — he was creating scarcity, designing a network that only he could support. Locked firmware, encrypted protocols, geo-fenced tech. Hardware that whispered loyalty in every byte.

Let the big names rage. Let the crime lords posture and send threats. Their empires ran on information, and without him, they were going dark.

He'd give the street-level lieutenants just enough — phones that worked, access nodes, temporary backups. Not for free. Not for trust. For leverage. For time.

And while the kingpins were busy tearing each other apart in the vacuum trying to get their hands on him?

He would be rewriting the rules.

Tim’s lips curled into a faint, tired smile. His eyes burned from exhaustion, but his mind was sharp.

Zero wasn’t out of the game.

He was about to own the board while not being under anyone. 

× 

“Explosions confirmed,” Oracle said, voice calm but edged with tension.

Bruce turned sharply to Jason. “What’s his next move?”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “How should I know? I’m not his handler.”

“You’re the one trying to bring Zero over to our side.”

“And I still am,” Jason replied, crossing his arms. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve got a tracker on the kid’s thoughts. He doesn’t exactly send me his itinerary.”

Bruce’s jaw clenched. “We need to know what he’s planning.”

Jason shrugged. “Then maybe try asking him. You’ll get more out of him if you stop treating him like a ticking time bomb.”

From the shadows of the Cave, Dick finally spoke. “He’s creating a power vacuum. That kind of move doesn’t happen without a follow-up.”

Barbara cut in, sharp and focused. “He’s got two options. Sit back and let the big players tear each other apart, or step in and control the chaos. Maybe not all of Gotham’s underworld — but enough of it to matter.”

Bruce’s brief silence spoke volumes.

“If Zero’s playing chess,” Barbara added, “the rest of Gotham doesn’t even realize they’re on the board.”

“They’re playing checkers,” Bruce said, voice low, “and he’s playing chess. Keep tracking him. But don’t intervene.”

“On it,” Barbara replied.

Jason grabbed his helmet. “I’m going to check in on him. I’ll let you know if I learn anything useful.”

× 

There was a knock at the door. Tim didn’t need to check. The weight of Red Hood’s presence was unmistakable — like tension in the air before a storm.

He pressed a button on the desk. The door clicked open.

Hood strode into the main area of the workshop, boots thudding lightly against the concrete. He rapped his knuckles against the wall. “Evening, Zero.”

Tim didn’t look up. Instead, he handed over a sealed box. “Here. Phones. Distribute them to low-tier criminals.”

Hood took the box, one brow lifting behind the helmet. “Come again?”

Tim finally glanced at him. “You pass them out, people assume we’re working together. That keeps the small-time guys from targeting me. And in return, you get partial control of the network I’m building. Mutual leverage.”

There was a beat of silence.

Tim turned back to the glowing blueprints on his screen. “The new servers are already built. I’m relocating them tomorrow. This is just the contingency phase.”

Jason stared at him for a long beat, then looked down at the box in his hands. “You’re turning street rats into your shield wall.”

“I’m turning fear into infrastructure,” Tim corrected flatly. “That’s how you control people. You did the same when you showed up with that duffel bag of severed heads, remember?”

He turned back to his workstation, grabbing a few scattered components.

“Lackeys are terrified of losing access to data and secure networks. They’ll flock back to me no matter who I’m allied with — because of my reputation. And once they realize they can run under me for protection? They’ll start ignoring their bosses' orders. All I have to do is exist and stay useful.”

Jason let out a low whistle. “Remind me never to end up on your bad side.”

He turned and headed for the door, the box tucked under one arm.

×

“Oracle?” Jason asked into the comms as he leaned against the wall of a shadowed alley.

“Go ahead, Hood,” came Barbara’s voice a few seconds later.

“Zero’s cooperating. I’m helping him distribute encrypted phones to low-level criminals.”

“...That’s a sentence I didn’t think I’d hear so soon,” Barbara muttered. “Anything else?”

“In about two minutes, you’ll get an email from him. It’s a full data dump on that murder suspect from a few days ago — footage, maps, even facial recognition matches.”

A pause. Then, “Huh. Not bad. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Don’t thank me,” Jason replied. “I'm just the middleman” 

“Currently you're our only link with Zero.” She said, “and he seems to trust you” 

× 

Jason had just finished distributing the last of the phones when a message buzzed through.

A string of numbers.

No context. No label.

Just a cold, precise sequence.

He stared at it for half a second before a creeping dread coiled in his gut — the kind of instinct you didn’t ignore.

He didn’t waste time asking questions.

Jason moved fast, boots slamming against pavement as he picked up speed toward Zero’s safe house. The code he’d received still echoed in his mind — no words, no explanation, just numbers and a cold shiver down his spine.

He reached the door, punched in the code, and stepped inside.

Zero was exactly where he expected him — calm, seated at his workbench, tinkering with some device like nothing was wrong.

“God, you're cryptic,” Jason muttered as he shut the door and leaned against the wall. “Who sends a code with zero context?”

“It’s efficient,” Tim replied without looking up. “You’re more likely to remember it under stress.”

Then he turned and held out his hand. “Give me your gun.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “Don’t ever pull that stunt again,” he said, but after a beat of hesitation, he unholstered the weapon and passed it over.

Zero took it smoothly, popping the magazine and checking the chamber with practiced precision. He walked back to the bench and began fiddling with it.

Jason crossed his arms. “What, you a gun expert now?”

“No,” Tim said, not missing a beat. “Just checking if it had any Bat-mods. Would’ve explained the jamming.”

Jason raised a brow but didn’t argue.

“It tracks the number of bullets you fire,” Tim said, glancing up at him. “Typical Bat behavior. Always collecting stats.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah, big bad Bat loves his spreadsheets.”

Tim hummed in agreement but didn’t add anything more. He slid the magazine back in and handed the gun back.

Jason took it, then tilted his head. “You’re hesitating.”

Tim paused, fingers still for just a second. “Can you… stay the night?.... And the day too” he asked, quieter this time. “I just don’t want to be alone.”

Jason studied him for a beat, then nodded. “Yeah. Whatever helps, kid.”

There was a silence, not uncomfortable, just… settled.

“Oh— Jay?” Tim added as he picked up another piece of his project. “We can probably drop the masks. We already know each other outside the whole crime thing.”

Jason let out a low whistle as he pulled off his helmet and domino mask. “You’re full of surprises tonight.”

Tim shrugged, quietly setting his own mask on the table before turning back to his project.

After a pause, Jason stepped closer. “What are you working on now?”

“Upgrading my gloves,” Tim said without looking up. “I want more efficient control over nanotech, a built-in mini computer, and a USB port for server access.”

Jason raised a brow. “You’re putting all that in your gloves?”

Tim nodded. “The USB will run through a virtual machine first — scan for viruses, hidden code, the works. Only after a double-check will it connect to the actual system.”

Jason blinked. “Okay, but… how are you gonna cram all that into a glove?”

“I haven’t figured that part out yet,” Tim admitted. “But I will. I’ll keep experimenting until it works.”

Jason leaned against the workbench, arms crossed as he watched Tim solder something impossibly small. “You know, when I was your age, I just hit things until they worked out.”

Tim didn’t look up. “When you were my age, you’d just been revived by the Lazarus Pit.”

Jason blinked. “How—how do you know that?”

“The League of Assassins has cameras. Surprisingly good ones. And digital records. Also, Lady Shiva told me.”

Jason stared, then let out a breath. “You know what? Fair enough.”

Normally, he hated when people brought up his death. It felt like something only he was allowed to joke about. But the kid said it so flatly, so casually, that it almost made coming back from the dead sound... mundane.

And then it hit him.

The clinical detachment. The way Tim treated death like a spreadsheet entry.

Jason stared at him, a slow, cold twist settling in his gut.

He’d known the kid was self-destructive — you could see it in the paranoia, the isolation, the way he planned five steps ahead like the world was always on fire.

But this was different.

This was a kid who didn’t value his life more than a rat fleeing a collapsing building. Not because he wanted to die… but because he didn’t see a reason not to.

Realizing that Tim barely valued his own life above the bare animalistic instinct to survive — was a different flavor of sour. And it spread into every crevice of Jason’s chest.

All that paranoia, the constant need for control, the careful isolation — it wasn’t about preserving life.

It was about avoiding the process of dying. 

Tim wasn’t afraid of being dead.

He was afraid of the process to getting there. 

Jason stayed quiet for a moment, just watching Tim work — the way his hands moved with precise, mechanical focus. Like nothing said or felt had landed. Like he hadn’t just exposed something raw without even realizing it.

The silence stretched. Jason exhaled slowly through his nose and pushed off the workbench.

“Where’s the kitchen? I wanna cook something,” he said, casually.

“Third floor. You’ll find it,” Tim replied without looking up from his work.

Jason made his way upstairs, finding the kitchen with little effort.

He was relieved to see it was stocked with more than just instant noodles. Nothing fancy, but at least the basics were there.

He threw together something simple — rice and chicken nuggets. It wasn’t fancy, but it was warm, real food. 

When it was done, he brought the plate downstairs and set it at the corner of Tim’s desk without a word.

Tim paused, glanced at the food, then looked up at Jason with a flicker of confusion in his eyes. Like he didn’t quite know what to do with the gesture.

Jason didn’t explain. He just turned and walked back upstairs.

The kitchen was easy enough to clean, but he lingered anyway — leaning against the counter, staring at nothing in particular. Thinking.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, staring at nothing. Maybe ten minutes. Maybe twenty.

Eventually, he made his way back downstairs, quiet footsteps echoing slightly in the concrete space. The soft glow from the desk monitors cast long shadows across the room.

Tim was slumped at his workstation, head resting on one arm, fingers still lightly curled around a screwdriver. The plate Jason had brought down earlier was empty — save for a single nugget sitting untouched at the edge.

Jason exhaled quietly and removed his own jacket — he didn’t really want to snoop around for blankets. He laid it gently over the kid’s shoulders, making sure not to wake him.

He stood there for a moment, watching the slow, even rise and fall of Tim’s breathing.

Then he sat down on the floor near the desk, flipping a knife between his fingers as his thoughts spiraled.

×

Tim stirred sometime later, head still foggy, vision blurry. Something was draped over his shoulders — heavy and warm.

He blinked down.

Jason’s jacket.

He shifted, about to stand, but paused when he saw the older man asleep on the floor beside the workspace. Jason’s head leaned back against the wall, arms crossed loosely, breathing steady.

Tim blinked again, slightly dazed. Then, quietly, he pulled the jacket off and settled it over his lap like a blanket.

The plate of food was still on the desk. Only one chicken nugget left.

He popped it into his mouth and grabbed a nearby energy drink. The crack of the tab echoed too loudly in the quiet space.

Jason jolted upright with a small flinch.

Tim flinched too, the two of them locking eyes across the low light of the workshop.

“…Hi,” he said, sipping his drink innocently.

Jason squinted at him. “You just woke up and you’re already drinking that?”

“Cheaper than therapy and a sleep study,” Tim replied dryly, reaching for his skateboard by the desk.

“You heading out?”

“Soon. I’ll text the girls to meet me there,” he said, already thumbing a message into his phone.

Then he paused, looked Jason up and down. “I could teach you to skateboard.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “No, thanks.”

Tim shrugged and took another long sip. “Your loss.”

×

Not even five minutes later, Tim was skating down the street with Jason trailing behind him on foot.

Jason wore a jacket that was clearly too big for him — the only one Tim had on hand that could decently cover up the Red Hood gear underneath. When Jason asked where it came from, Tim just said, “I stole it from somewhere,” like that explained everything.

They arrived at the skatepark a few minutes later. It was already open. 

Tim didn’t hesitate. He skated straight in, dropping his bag on the bench and heading for his favorite obstacle like he’d done it a thousand times, and maybe he had. 

Jason sat on the bench and let himself relax for a moment, eyes following the easy rhythm of Tim’s movements.

They had the skatepark to themselves for about ten minutes before Steph and Cass rolled in — both clearly more confident than the last time they’d come.

Steph coasted to the bench and flopped down. “Okay, I was way less wobbly this time. That’s personal growth.”

Cass gave a small nod, already skating toward the ramps, focused and steady as she practiced her technique.

Tim finished a trick and rolled up to the bench, catching his board with one foot. “Has Batman said anything about the explosions?”

Steph’s smile faltered slightly. “Just told us to keep an eye on whatever Zero’s doing next. Unless you feel like handing over your evil master plan?”

Jason let out a snort. “He’s just collecting power. He’s gonna grab a piece of the underworld for himself.”

Steph raised a brow. “Wow. Upgrading from Tech Support to Crime Lord. How ambitious.”

Tim shrugged, gliding away and spinning into another trick. “With the amount of cybercrime I’ve committed, I’m already halfway there.”

“Don’t Crime Lords need supply and demand?” Steph called out.

Tim skated back, spinning his board beneath him. “What do you think I offer?”

Jason crossed his arms. “He controls encrypted phones and server access for the lower-tier criminals. It’s nearly a monopoly considering he has the best reputation and best quality.”

Cass skated by with perfect balance, quietly adding, “Power in silence.”

Steph let out a low whistle. “Okay, well… remind me never to piss off IT support.”

“Yeah, don’t piss off Babs or Tim,” Jason added, flicking open a lighter and letting the flame dance. “This is Gotham — even your tech support probably knows five ways to break your nose.”

Tim walked over and sat near the bench, stretching his legs out. “I’m not just IT support. I can fight too.”

Cass rolled up quietly and signed, ‘What are you best at?’

“Bo staff,” Tim replied without missing a beat. “Though I can handle hand-to-hand. I just prefer reach. Swords too, if I have to.”

‘Who taught you?’ she signed next — and something in her posture shifted. Focused. Still. Like she was watching a puzzle solve itself.

Tim felt it immediately. His muscles tensed. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Every survival instinct screamed to grab his bag and bolt.

Jason caught it too. He snapped his fingers once, sharp. “Cass. Aura,” he said, a warning in his voice. “You’re scaring him.”

Cass blinked, then stepped back, her body softening. “Sorry,” she said aloud. “Didn’t mean to. Curious. Careful.”

Tim hesitated, then exhaled slowly. He reminded himself who she was — Lady Shiva’s kid. The one who left the League behind.

“I trained under Lady Shiva,” Tim said quietly, his voice low and even. “But I’m not affiliated with the League of Assassins.”

Stephanie blinked. “Wait— the Lady Shiva? As in world-class assassin, hand-to-hand legend, scares-the-crap-out-of-Batman Shiva?”

Tim gave a small nod. “Yeah. That one.”

Cass tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly as she signed, ‘She taught you?’

“For a while,” Tim said, tone flat. “The first time was part of a deal my parents made with her. The second was my own— just a week. After that, I cut all contact.”

Jason leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowed. “Speaking of… who are your parents? You’ve never told me your last name. And that time on the street, when that guy tried to grab you. You said it was because of your parents. Were you just dodging the question, or was that real?”

Tim shrugged. “Probably my parents. No one knows I’m Zero, not unless you count you guys and Cheri.”

“Even we don’t really know you,” Steph pointed out. “All we’ve got is a name— Tim.”

Jason smirked. “And that you’re a high school dropout who likes photography, skateboarding, and chugs more energy drinks than a college finals week.”

Tim huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s already more than most people know.”

Cass signed, ‘You keep secrets like breathing.’

He offered a small shrug. “Secrets keep me alive.”

Jason crossed his arms, watching him closely. “And yet, you’re still hanging out with us.”

“I never said I was smart,” Tim muttered, dry as dust.

“Funny joke,” Jason said, “you're smart” 

Steph laughed. “Okay, so: mystery League-trained skater nerd with trust issues, a caffeine addiction, and a mild death wish. That narrows it down to, like, half of Gotham.”

Jason added with a smirk, “Don’t forget the possibly-dead rich parents who may or may not have ruined their legacy and vanished under suspicious circumstances.”

“Still half of Gotham,” Steph sighed dramatically.

Tim hesitated, then said, “I might share some info… if we have a sleepover in my living room.”

Jason blinked, caught off guard. “You’re inviting us into your living room?”

“We’re invited?” Steph echoed, eyebrows raised.

Tim shrugged, trying to play it cool even as anxiety prickled at the edges. “Jay’s already been in my kitchen. Doesn’t seem like that big a leap.”

× 

The four of them entered Tim’s living room. It was just a small corner tucked behind the kitchen, but Jason realized he hadn’t really snooped around before.

Tim settled onto the couch and turned on the TV, unpausing the Star Trek episode he’d been watching.

Steph plopped down beside him and, with a mock-serious tone, leaned against his shoulder. “You’re a Star Trek fan instead of Star Wars? Here I thought you were a real nerd.”

Tim shrugged, calm as ever. “I like both.”

Cass settled cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, her eyes scanning the room with quiet curiosity.

Jason ducked into the kitchen, opening cabinets and fridge to grab some snacks. The faint rustle of wrappers and clinking of cans filled the quiet space.

Back in the living room, Steph nudged Tim playfully. “So, Mr. Secretive, what’s your favorite episode?”

Tim glanced over, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “The one where they question what it means to be human. Feels… relatable.”

Steph raised an eyebrow. “Wow, deep.”

Cass looked up from the floor, signing slowly, ‘You think about that kind of stuff a lot?’

Tim nodded, then flicked his eyes toward the kitchen. “But sometimes it’s easier not to.”

Jason returned with a small pile of chips and drinks, setting them down on the table. “Well, you’ve got an audience now. Might as well share.”

Tim stared at the TV, letting the silence stretch out. None of his guests felt the need to fill it — they were giving him the space to speak on his own terms.

He sighed, finally deciding to give in. This was cheaper than therapy, and he’d always wanted to trust someone. Might as well start with three bats as the first people he let in.

“My full name is Timothy Jackson Drake,” he said simply.

“Whoa, rich kid alert,” Steph teased, earning an elbow from Cass.

Tim rolled his eyes. “They lost their money and died overseas. It’s not like they were around much, anyway.”

His gaze stayed fixed on the screen as he spoke quietly. “They were home maybe six days a year at most. The rest of the time, they were off doing whatever overseas.”

“They died when I was 14,” Tim said flatly. “That’s when I became Zero — completely by accident. At first, I was just fixing school phones. Then I helped one goon… and that’s how it all started.”

“I can’t believe we were one goon away from not having Zero,” Steph said. “What would you have done without that goon?”

Tim smirked faintly. “Eventually, I’d have taken over Drake Industries and rebuilt it.”

“We were one goon away from a Wayne Enterprises competitor,” Jason joked.

Tim rolled his eyes again. “I can still rebuild Drake Industries.”

Steph grinned. “So you’re not just some tech genius — you’ve got legacy ambitions too.”

Tim shrugged, eyes still on the TV but his voice softer now. “Legacy or not, it’s complicated. The company’s tied up in lawsuits and hostile takeovers. Rebuilding it won’t be easy, even if I had the resources.”

Jason leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate.”

“Eh. For the longest time ever, I've been ignoring the fact I'm the last Drake left. I’m pretty sure the entirety of Gotham thinks I’m dead,” Tim said, voice low.

Without warning, Steph suddenly tackled him into a hug. “Well, Cass and I are never letting you disappear from everyone.”

“Me too,” Jason added simply, his tone steady but sincere.

Tim couldn’t help the warmth that spread through his limbs as he weakly wrapped his arms around Steph, the softness of the moment settling in like a blanket. It felt foreign and fragile — like trust was something he could actually hold onto, even if only for a little while.

Cass, sitting cross-legged on the floor, gave a small, approving nod before pulling a folded blanket from her backpack. “Here,” she signed quietly, tossing it to Tim. “For when you forget to take care of yourself.”

Tim caught it, the fabric soft and warm. He draped it around his shoulders, feeling a little less alone.

Jason carefully reached over, telegraphing his movement and giving Tim time to pull away or move out of the way. But Tim didn't. So he fluffed up the kids' hair. 

Tim just blushed and blinked a bit, it was weird getting affection. 

“Now let's return to our Star Trek binge watching,” Jason said and looked at the TV casually. 

Chapter Text

It had been a couple of days since the sleepover at his house. 

Now, Tim was crouched alone in a dusty, half-collapsed basement just outside Crime Alley — one of Gotham’s many forgotten places. A new server rig blinked dully in front of him, humming faintly as he plugged in another cable.

He’d asked Jason to release another wave of modified phones among the lower ranks of Gotham’s criminal food chain. Zero’s name needed to stay in circulation — whispered on back channels and muttered with just enough fear. Out of sight couldn’t mean out of mind. If people stopped talking about Zero, they'd forget what he was capable of. And forgetting could get him killed. 

He was halfway through plugging in a series of wires when he froze.

Something shifted behind him — quiet, but unmistakable.

A rustle of fabric. Slow. Intentional.

He turned his head just slightly, not rising, just listening. The air was tense, heavy. Tim slipped behind the bulk of the server box, instinctively angling his back away from the door. 

And then — there. A figure entered. One peek around the metal confirmed what he already suspected.

One of Black Mask’s lackeys.

Not just a street rat — this guy had training. He carried himself like someone used to getting his hands bloody.

But Tim wasn’t a street rat either.

He moved his hand, the nanotechnology within his bag spilled out and a split second later he had a bo staff in his hand. 

Footsteps closed in. The man scanned the room.

Tim waited.

Then he struck — fast and low. The staff swept out from the shadows and smashed into the man’s ankles. He stumbled with a grunt, gun already half-raised—

—but Tim was gone from sight. He ducked behind and brought the staff crashing down against the back of the man’s skull. The body crumpled to the floor in a heap, gun clattering uselessly away.

Tim stepped over him, grabbed the communicator from his ear, and crushed it underfoot with a satisfying crack.

He commanded his bo staff back into the bag. 

Then, without missing a beat, he returned to the wires. He had a few more connections to finish before he could leave.

But then he paused.

He couldn’t let this guy report back to Sionis — not after seeing where Zero’s newest server was being housed.

Which meant... he couldn’t leave him here.

Tim stared down at the unconscious man and sighed.

“Of course,” he muttered. “Because dragging a 5’11 brick wall of muscle around Gotham is exactly how I wanted to spend my night.”

With a quiet groan, Tim grabbed the guy by the leg and began dragging him out of the room.

It took some effort, but he managed to haul the man up from the basement and across the street into a different abandoned building.

There, he tied him up in a dark corner, using tightly braided wires as makeshift rope. Not the most elegant solution, but it was sturdy — tied properly, wires could hold better than cheap zip-ties.

He patted the guy down and disarmed him, collecting anything sharp or loaded. He ended up holding a pistol for a moment before tucking it away in his bag.

Then he waited.

Sitting on an overturned crate, Tim stared across the dim space at the unconscious body like a silent judge. He didn’t move. Just watched.

Eventually, the lackey groaned and began to stir. His head lifted weakly, eyes squinting at the figure in front of him.

“…Zero?” he asked, genuinely confused.

Tim tilted his head, voice dry and modulated by the vocal scrambler. “Wow. Can’t even recognize me anymore?”

The guy blinked. “You look different. Boss said you didn’t wear a domino mask.”

“Well, I do now,” Tim said coolly. “Looks like your boss needs to update his files.”

He leaned forward slightly, letting the weight of his gaze settle.

“And I’d like to keep it that way.”

The lackey squirmed against the wires binding his wrists. “You’re making a mistake, you know. Black Mask doesn’t forget this kind of thing.”

Tim didn’t answer. He just stared, the soft hum of the servers across the street still lingering in his ears.

The lackey grunted again. “What— what is this? A warning? Are you gonna monologue or something?” 

“You wish I would monologue and drag this out.” Tim said dryly. “I want to know how you found me.” 

The lackey smirked. “Please. You think we didn’t keep tabs on where your tech pops up? You’re flashy, Zero. Even when you think you’re being subtle.”

Tim didn’t move. “You came alone?”

The man gave a short laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

That set off a flicker of unease in Tim’s chest, but he didn’t show it.

“Let’s say I did come alone,” the man continued, shifting slightly. “What then? You gonna kill me? You don't have the guts.” 

Tim didn’t answer. He stood up slowly and walked over, crouching just far enough away to stay out of range. “No. But if you tell Black Mask about the servers, I’ll lose leverage. I can’t afford that.”

The man tilted his head. “Funny thing about leverage,” he said, voice low and steady. “You only have it until someone pulls the rug out.”

Then suddenly, he twisted hard, yanking his hands apart — wires strained and snapped, not all, but enough. Tim’s eyes widened.

The lackey surged forward, still partially bound, using the sudden burst of movement to tackle Tim off his feet. They crashed to the ground, old concrete knocking the breath out of Tim’s lungs.

“Should’ve killed me when you had the chance!” the man growled.

Tim rolled with him, kicking out and shoving the man’s shoulder to the ground. His fingers scraped across the floor as he commanded the nanotech again. He soon grabbed a hold of his staff again and in one swift movement and swung it back.

The lackey lunged again, hands still tied together but forming a crude bludgeon of his own. Tim parried, shoved him back — and swung.

It was meant to knock him out.

The staff cracked across the side of the man’s skull with a dull, wet thud. The metal end dug in just enough to splinter bone — blood splattered, and tiny fragments of skull scattered across the floor.

He dropped instantly.

Tim froze.

Chest tight and lungs burning, he slowly lowered the staff. The man didn’t stir. A thick stream of blood leaked from his temple, pooling dark and fast beneath his head.

“Shit,” Tim whispered. He stumbled forward and dropped to his knees, checking for a pulse even though it was evident the man was dead. 

Nothing.

He stayed there for a second, heart thundering in his ears, fingers still pressed against cooling skin.

It was supposed to be a knockout.

He staggered back until he hit a wall with his back, standing slowly, eyes locked on the body. He’d been trained for this. He knew what a killing blow felt like — but it hadn’t felt like one until it was.

He looked at his hands. Then the staff. Then the blood.

“Damn it.”

This was going to complicate everything.

And worse — he wasn’t even sure it scared him anymore.

His knees buckled, and he slid down the wall, collapsing into a heap on the cold concrete. No — no, he was scared. His hands were trembling. His vision tunneled in and out, his breathing shallow and uneven.

The adrenaline was wearing off. His body felt cold.

Shock. He was going into shock.

Of course you are , he thought bitterly. You just killed someone.

His hand trembled as he reached for his comm. He didn’t want to call anyone. But he didn’t have a choice.

“Hood?” he said, his voice raw and shaky even through the modifier. “I need help.”

The silence on the line didn’t last long.

“Zero?” Jason’s voice cut through — sharp, urgent. “What’s wrong?”

Tim stared down at the body, his breath catching in his throat. The air reeked of blood — metallic, suffocating. His chest was tight, and he couldn’t swallow. His mouth was dry, his tongue felt like sandpaper. His whole body trembled.

“Zero, talk to me. What’s going on?” Jason’s voice came again, more insistent now.

“Uh…” Tim managed, the sound barely more than a breath. He wasn’t sure if this was real. His thoughts were slow and scattered, everything felt distant. “I need help… getting rid of a body.”

The words sounded foreign coming out of his mouth. Heavy. Too heavy.

Jason said something — sharp, probably a question — but Tim didn’t register it. Instead, he whispered, voice cracking, “I… I killed him.”

There was a beat of silence. Then more words from Jason, but Tim couldn’t focus. His hands had curled into fists, gripping at the fabric of his own clothes, then at his arms, then at nothing. His fingernails bit into his skin.

It was cold. Too cold. And he couldn’t stop staring at the body. At what he’d done.

“Tim,” Jason said suddenly, firm and commanding. “Close your eyes. Right now. Only look up at the ceiling.”

Tim obeyed without thinking. His eyes snapped shut. His voice wavered. “Okay—”

“Good. Breathe. You’re gonna be okay. Just breathe,” Jason said. “Now tell me where you are.”

Tim inhaled shakily. “Server setup spot… 3... Across the street…. Abandoned building..”

“I’m five minutes away,” Jason said quickly. “I’ve got this. Stay on comms with me.”

Tim nodded even though no one could see it. “Mhm…”

“Don’t look away from the ceiling,” Jason said again, gentler now. “And keep breathing. I’m almost there.” 

Jason’s voice buzzed in Tim’s ear, but it barely registered. All Tim could do was breathe, slow and uneven, his eyes occasionally opening up to the ceiling beams like an anchor.

He didn’t know how much time had passed — it blurred — until a flash of red filled his vision.

The red helmet.

Jason.

He said something, voice low and steady, but Tim couldn’t make out the words.

Without hesitation, Jason moved to him, lifting Tim off the ground and carrying him behind an old crate. He sat him down carefully and wrapped a jacket around his shoulders — heavy, warm, grounding.

Then he snapped his fingers right in front of Tim’s face. 

Tim flinched, the lenses of his domino mask flicking open wider in surprise. Jason was no longer wearing his helmet. He was crouching in front of him. 

“There you are,” Jason said, the ghost of a smirk in his voice. “Still on Earth. Mostly.”

He pressed Tim’s staff into his hands — clean now, or as clean as it could be. The weight of it was familiar. Comforting.

“What’s your name?” Jason asked gently.

Tim answered automatically, the grip around the staff tightening like muscle memory. “Timothy Jackson Drake.”

“Alias?”

“Zero.”

Jason nodded, the helmet tipping slightly. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” Tim replied.

Jason tilted his head. “Still look fourteen, though.”

That cut through the fog like a knife.

Tim’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing as he shot Jason a glare. “Hey!”

Jason let out a quiet breath — something close to a laugh. Relief, mostly.

Tim blinked, the brief spark of irritation quickly melting away. He looked down at his staff, then back up at Jason — hesitating. “What do we do about the body?” he asked, voice quieter now.

Jason studied him for a moment, silent. His eyes betrayed nothing, but Tim could sense the hesitation — not uncertainty in ability, but in what Tim was ready for. “What do you want to do?” Jason asked.

Tim paused, adrenaline drained, mind finally catching up with everything. 

“...We should send a message to Black Mask.”

Jason nodded slowly, listening without interrupting.

“We should decapitate the body,” Tim continued, his voice steadier than he expected. “Leave the head somewhere public. Somewhere loud. A light pole. Somewhere Sionis or the press won’t miss it.”

Jason didn’t flinch. “I’ll get to it,” he said simply. As he stood and turned, he paused — just long enough to glance back.

“And remember,” he said, voice low and calm, “it was self-defense. Kill or be killed .”

Then he disappeared from Tim’s line of sight, his footsteps fading.

Tim sat still. Jason’s words circled like a storm in his head.

Kill or be killed.

His grip tightened around the staff. That phrase — it should have comforted him. Justified it. But it didn’t settle. It echoed, circling back again and again.

Because the part that scared him the most wasn’t the killing.

It was how easy it had been.

Just a little more pressure. A slight adjustment. A swing fueled by adrenaline — and the skull cracked.

Taking a life wasn’t some epic threshold. It wasn’t loud or dramatic.

It was quiet. Brutal. Simple.

And once you did it, there was no way back.

It was a one-way border.

And Tim had crossed it.

He stared down at his hands. At the bo staff.

He blinked. His breath caught.

Then he gripped the staff tighter… and let it go.

He was still himself.

He’d made a fatal mistake. But he wasn’t lost.

Not yet.

He gripped the staff again.

“I’m never accidentally killing anyone again,” he said under his breath, each word like a promise hammered into steel.

Killing out of necessity — if it truly was the only option — that he could live with.

But carelessness? A misjudged blow?

Never again.

Never . 

× 

“Today we’re standing at the corner of Crime Alley and Old Gotham,” the reporter began, the camera panning slowly across a dilapidated building now surrounded by police tape. “The corner building behind me was vandalized sometime last night. Most notably — the severed head of one of Black Mask’s henchmen was found impaled on a flag pole out front.”

The screen briefly cut to a grisly still of the scene before returning to the reporter.

“Police suspect the act was carried out by none other than Black Mask’s longtime rival — the Red Hood.”

The screen transitioned to a new segment as the reporter continued “And in typical Gotham fashion, we now turn to a self-proclaimed vigilante and villain expert — and local conspiracy theorist — whose video on the event has already gone viral on YouTube.”

The clip rolled. The backdrop was everything you’d expect from a conspiracy theorist’s lair — walls covered in maps, newspaper clippings, tangled red string, and far too many thumbtacks. The speaker wore a hoodie and stood in shadow, deliberately hiding his identity.

“Recently, Zero cut ties with all of his previous associates — Black Mask, Penguin, Two-Face, the whole gang,” the hooded figure explained. “He even [censor] blew up his old server hubs as a giant middle finger goodbye.”

The camera zoomed slightly as he turned and yanked a photo of Black Mask off the wall, holding it up.

“So what probably happened?” the conspiracy theorist’s voice crackled a bit. “Black Mask sends a goon after Zero. Zero, who’s now teamed up with Red Hood. Hood steps in to protect him. The goon ends up headless. Message received.”

The clip cut off abruptly.

Back in the studio, the news anchor cleared their throat, a bit too quickly. “And now, in lighter news — let’s take a look at Gotham’s weather.”

Jason whistled low as he shut off the news on his phone and glanced over at Tim. “You told me you had a guy who could make it look like I did it. Didn’t expect a full-blown conspiracy nut with a yarn wall and a YouTube channel.”

Across the room, Tim didn’t look up. He was hunched over his workbench, carefully adjusting something with a screwdriver “He was my classmate. Back when I still went to high school.”

Jason raised an eyebrow.

“I used to do conspiracy theories with him. For fun,” Tim continued, casually. “And I still enjoy them, honestly. Even after I dropped out, I kept in touch. Feed him crumbs now and then. So when I passed along the details, he was more than happy to do the rest.”

Jason leaned back, arms crossed. “He was just broadcasted on the news.”

“Exactly. Makes it harder to tell what’s fact and what’s smoke.”

There was a pause. Then Jason said, “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Tim finally glanced up, expression flat. “You already are. But you're useful, so…”

Jason laughed — an honest, rough sound — and tossed him a wrapped protein bar. “Eat something, you terrifying little cyber cryptid.”

Tim caught it with one hand and turned back to his work, smirking faintly. “Thanks, Dad .” he said sarcastically. 

Jason choked on a laugh. “Don’t ever say that again.” 

Tim worked in silence for a few more minutes before placing everything down and pushing away from the desk.

Jason watched him. “How do you feel?”

Tim glanced over. “Hm?”

“About killing someone,” Jason clarified, voice quieter now. “How do you feel?”

Tim shrugged, a small movement. “Shaken up, but… not as bad as before. I don’t think I can handle killing someone accidentally again.”

Jason nodded, taking that in. “I’m here if you need to talk.”

“I’ll be okay. But thanks for the offer,” Tim said, grabbing the protein bar. He unwrapped it and ate quickly, then reached for his gloves. “The prototype’s almost done.”

“Speaking of prototypes,” Jason added, “Batman’s interested in seeing some of your tech.”

Tim froze mid-motion. His hand hovered over his glove. “Why?”

“He wants to deepen the alliance. You know — I’m a Bat, you’re working with me. That makes you part of the picture.”

Tim didn’t answer right away. He pulled on the glove slowly, thoughtful.

“I’ll think about it,” he said at last.

Jason nodded, grabbing his gear. “I’ll head out. Text or call if anything happens.”

Tim gave a half-wave. “Bye, Jay.”

×

The call woke him.

Tim blinked slowly at the screen, barely conscious, and accepted it without checking the caller ID.

He didn’t say anything — his brain was still booting up.

“Zero. Black Mask is attacking,” Jason’s voice came through, sharp and urgent.

Tim jolted upright, instantly awake. “Where?”

“North of Crime Alley. I need eyes — Oracle’s out for the night.”

Tim muted the call and scrambled out of bed, bolting downstairs. His socks slipped on the last step, but he caught himself on the railing and kept moving.

He slid into his chair, booted up the workstation, and reconnected. “Give me a sec to get on comms,” he said before hanging up and pulling on his mask.

A moment later, his voice crackled into Jason’s earpiece. “Red Hood, building on your left. Sixth window, third floor — sniper nest.”

Gunfire popped on the other end. “Good to have you on the grid, Zero.”

“I’m only here for a minute,” Tim replied, fingers flying across the keyboard. “Activating Plan D.”

There was a pause. “I don’t remember what that one is,” Jason admitted.

“Don’t worry about it,” Tim said with a grin. “Just watch.”

× 

Jason leaned against the wall, waiting for instructions. But the comms had gone quiet on Zero’s end.

“Zero?” he prompted.

“You can move in,” came the eventual reply. “I’m working on something. I’ll ping you if there’s heavy resistance ahead.”

“Roger that,” Jason said dryly, the sarcasm thinly veiled. Still, he moved forward, quick and practiced, dropping a few goons with clean shots as he approached the warehouse Black Mask had fortified.

Above him, the streetlights flickered ominously.

Jason pressed his back to the warehouse entrance, listening. Inside, chaos was brewing.

“Boss? What were the orders?”

“Hello? Boss?”

“Larcy, we need a command!”

“Does anyone have orders?!”

“No, the comms are down!”

“Radio’s fried too!”

Jason let out a low chuckle, tapping his comm. “Zero, was that you?”

“Redirected all their channels into a digital void,” Tim said calmly, a hint of pride in his voice. “They’re yelling into static.”

Jason grinned behind his helmet. “You’re terrifying.”

“Live to be terrifying,” Tim replied dryly. “The lights inside will go out soon. As soon as you enter: three at your one o’clock, eight more spread across ten and eleven.”

“Advancing once the lights cut,” Jason confirmed.

×

Tim slipped on his gloves. The prototype wasn’t fully ready yet, but it had a built-in computer and USB interface — enough to work with.

He moved his hand, and the nanotech responded instantly, flowing over to him like liquid metal. A moment later, he put on his domino mask, and his bo staff materialized in his grip.

He could control the battlefield from his portable computer — but this time, he needed to step in personally. He couldn’t just leave all the physical work to Jason. If he did, people would assume he was just hiding behind Red Hood.

And Tim Drake didn’t hide. Not anymore.

He was done being just the tech guy. He could fight — and he could bring his tech with him.

He left the safe house, heading straight for Black Mask’s territory. No more hiding.

“Zero, where are you going? I can hear movement,” Hood said over the comms.

“I’m heading into Black Mask’s turf. I want to hit him where it hurts.”

“Zero—”

“No, Hood. Listen. I know the risks. I know what I’m doing. I’ll stay on comms, and I’ll call for backup if I need it.”

There was a pause.

“Then tell me where you're going. I want to be there — by your side,” Jason said.

Tim hesitated. He wanted to prove himself. But he also wanted backup. And more than that, he wanted to trust Jason.

“East end of Sionis territory. Red building with the busted antenna.”

“I’m on my way,” Hood said. 

× 

Jason reached the building first, eyes scanning upward just in time to see Tim climbing onto the rooftop with practiced ease.

“What’s the plan?” Jason asked, not because he doubted there was one — but because he knew Tim always had one.

“I’m cutting power to the entire block,” Tim said, already pulling up a glowing holographic keyboard. “Then we hit Sionis in his office. Fast and direct.”

Jason blinked behind his helmet. “That’s risky.”

“Exactly,” Tim replied, meeting his gaze. “Sionis expects us to play it safe. Stall. Corner him slowly and give him time to mount a counterattack. But nobody expects the ‘unprepared’ side to charge first.”

Jason paused. “That… makes a terrifying amount of sense.”

“We hit now. Either we take him down, or we shake him enough to break his grip.”

Jason gave a short nod. “Alright. I’m in.”

Tim’s fingers danced across the virtual keyboard. A few silent seconds passed — then the entire block went dark. Streetlights, building windows, interior security systems — all blacked out in a heartbeat.

Jason cracked his knuckles. “Let’s raise some hell.”

Tim glanced at him. “I’ll go in first. Comms on. You move in as backup the second I call for it — or if it sounds like things go sideways.”

Jason gave a short nod. “You got it.”

There was a beat of hesitation — just long enough to show Tim was thinking it through — then he turned and moved toward the building.

He double-checked the small pocket, making sure the nanotech was secure. No bo staff in hand, nothing overt to signal he was armed. He wanted Sionis to think he was vulnerable. An easy target.

Let him believe he had the upper hand.

Only to be the one left losing in this battle.

Or maybe it was war now.

Either way, Tim wasn’t going to let Sionis win — not when Red Hood had his back.

Zero moved swiftly in the shadows, his steps silent as he made his way to Black Mask's territory. He chose the rooftop as his entry point — an unassuming route that would keep him out of sight.

With practiced ease, he scaled the building, moving fluidly across the rooftop. The access door was unlocked, a sign that Sionis wasn’t expecting an intruder tonight.

Tim stepped into the stairwell, his hand instinctively brushing his pocket to ensure the nanotech was still secure. He descended quickly, and without a sound, entered the office.

The office was dark — as expected.

What Tim didn’t expect was Black Mask calmly sitting in his chair, stirring a cup of tea like he had all the time in the world.

Their eyes met through their masks.

“Nice to see you again, Zero,” Sionis said smoothly. “I figured you were coming the moment the block lost power.”

He paused, pointing the teaspoon at him like a conductor’s baton. “You’ve always been predictable like that.”

Tim stayed silent, momentarily caught off guard.

“Ah, right. Come, sit,” Black Mask gestured to the chair across the desk.

Tim hesitated — then crossed the room and sat, stiff but composed.

“No need to be so tense, Zero. We’re old acquaintances, aren’t we?”

Zero leaned back, arms crossed, trying to look unbothered. “I’m not here to catch up. I don’t crawl back even to my high school exes.”

Black Mask’s eyes snapped to him with sharp focus. “I’m not offering you an alliance. I’m suggesting you should want one.”

He reclined in his seat, voice smooth as poison. “In fact, I’ll even forgive your little team-up with Red Hood.”

Tim tilted his head, voice dry beneath the sarcasm. “Already missing the servers?”

“You’re hard to replace, I’ll give you that,” Sionis said, tapping the side of his teacup. “You were the best I had — managing intel, keeping the Bats off my back.”

“So what’s the offer?” Tim asked, leaning back. “Crawl back to you, fix your broken systems, and in return… what? You don’t kill me? Forgive me if I’m not buying it after the batarangs and that goon you sent after me.”

Sionis waved a hand lazily. “He was disloyal anyway.”

“So it shouldn’t matter if he’s headless now,” Tim replied evenly, watching for a twitch. “Shame it wasn’t me who did it, huh?”

“I’m more annoyed Red Hood beat you to it,” Sionis said, turning theatrically toward the window. “We both know you couldn’t kill anyone. Not really. No guts. No edge. You’d hesitate. Hit like a kid you are.”

He turned back to face Tim, eyes narrowing behind the mask. “That’s why you hide behind men like Red Hood.”

Tim didn’t respond immediately. He sat still, quiet. Let the weight of Sionis’s words settle. Let the man feel like he’d landed a hit.

But Tim knew the truth.

He had killed that goon.

And it hadn’t been hard.

“Still doesn’t mean I’d ever go back to you,” Tim said calmly.

Sionis exhaled through his nose — half sigh, half sneer. “Red Hood’s a temporary storm. Loud, dramatic, destined to burn out. His little empire? It’ll crumble. You? You need structure. Legacy. Fear. Me.” 

Tim let the silence stretch, just long enough to make Sionis wonder if he was actually considering it. Then he smiled, slow and sharp behind the mask. It didn't matter that the man couldn't see it. 

“You’re right about one thing,” Tim said. “Red Hood is loud and dramatic.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the chair’s arms, posture relaxed — calculated. “But he’s also effective. You noticed that, right? Not many people survive pissing off both the Bat and the mob. He’s still standing.”

“Barely,” Sionis snapped. “You’re gambling on a dead man walking.”

Tim tilted his head. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m betting on someone who already knocked out one of your teeth and is coming back for the rest.”

Sionis’s jaw twitched. For a second, the mask of calm cracked.

Tim stood slowly, stretching like he had all the time in the world. “Besides. I didn’t come here to negotiate.”

Black Mask blinked. “Then why are you here?”

Tim slowly and deliberately stepped toward him. For once, he didn’t feel a trace of fear. Only purpose.

He stopped just in front of Sionis, leaning in close enough to see the first flicker of uncertainty behind the villain’s mask.

“I was setting up a bomb with a drone,” Tim whispered.

A split second later, the floor beneath them shuddered violently as an explosion rocked the building. Cracks spiderwebbed across the walls and floor.

Sionis surged forward, reaching to grab him—

But he was already too late.

The window behind him shattered as Red Hood came crashing through, gun raised. A shot rang out, and Black Mask screamed as the bullet tore through his hand.

Sionis stumbled back with a snarl, clutching his bleeding hand. His other reached instinctively for the gun at his hip—

But Red Hood was already moving.

Another shot rang out. The weapon skittered across the floor.

Tim didn’t flinch. He watched, eyes sharp behind the mask, as Jason stalked forward, gun still trained on Black Mask.

“Surprise,” Jason said coldly. “Courtesy of your favorite tech support.”

Tim stepped to the side, letting Jason take the lead. His voice was calm. “Your servers? Torched. Your comms? Hijacked. Your men? Disoriented and leaderless.”

“You’re done,” Jason added, kicking Sionis’s legs out from under him. The man hit the ground hard, gasping.

Black Mask tried to spit something back, something cruel and smug—

But Tim cut in, tone ice-sharp even through the voice modifier. “You should’ve known. I don’t hide behind Red Hood.”

He crouched down, just enough for their masks to meet at eye level.

“I work with him.”

And for the first time, Black Mask didn’t have a retort. Just shallow, angry breathing.

Jason let out a low whistle. “Damn. Remind me never to piss you off.”

Tim stood up, pulling a flash drive from his belt. “You’ve said that before.”

Jason chuckled. “Then I’ll just make sure I stay on your good side.”

Tim dropped the flash drive in front of Sionis. “That’s your full criminal record. Along with all the evidence tied to it. You’re going to turn yourself in to the GCPD or—” He glanced at Red Hood.

“—I’ll find you,” Jason finished, voice cold. “And leave you six feet under. Permanently.”

Tim didn’t wait for a reaction. The job was done. No more words needed.

He turned, stepped through the shattered window, and disappeared into the dark — leaping effortlessly to the next rooftop, shadows swallowing him whole. 

× 

 Tim was perched on a rooftop across from the wreckage of Black Mask’s office.

Below, the GCPD had blocked off the streets, scrambling to deal with the fallout.

Behind him, Red Hood landed with a heavy thud, his footsteps deliberate as he walked over and crouched beside him.

“B-man’s nearby, if you feel like introducing yourself,” Jason said, voice low.

Tim didn’t look away from the scene. “What now?”

“We’re just getting started,” Jason replied, and held out a juice box.

Tim took it silently, puncturing the straw and sipping without a word.

“There are still plenty of villains left,” Jason continued. “Gotham doesn’t run out of problems. But for now? We take over Sionis’s ops. Keep the pressure up. Keep moving forward.”

Tim hummed quietly in agreement.

Jason glanced at him. “You did good, Zero.”

Tim blinked, clearly surprised. He turned to look at Jason, but didn’t say anything.

Jason looked away, giving him the space to sit with the words.

After a moment, Tim let out a soft, almost reluctant, “...Thanks.”

A peaceful silence settled between them until Tim stood, crumpling the empty juice box in his hand.

“Let’s go meet Batman,” he said calmly.

Jason stood too, brushing dust off his pants. “Don’t have to go far.” He tapped his comm. “Don’t scare him.”

Bruce landed behind them with a soft thud.

Tim turned, blinking as he took in the figure of Batman in person — larger than life, but somehow quieter than expected.

Jason nudged Tim lightly. “C’mon. B-man doesn’t bite. But hey, if you want, you can bite him.”

Batman let out a familiar grunt.

Tim gave a small, awkward wave. “Hi. I’m Zero.”

“It’s good to meet you, Zero,” Batman said, steady and unreadable. “You’re notoriously hard to get a hold of.”

“I try,” Tim answered without missing a beat.

Batman studied him for a long moment, unreadable beneath the cowl.

“You did good work tonight,” he said at last. “Tactical. Efficient. You minimized casualties.”

Tim didn’t respond right away. Compliments always felt like puzzles — like he had to figure out what they really meant before reacting.

“I had help,” he said eventually, nodding toward Jason.

Jason gave him a brief, approving glance.

Batman didn’t look away. “I’ve seen your digital signature on half the security breaches in Gotham over the last year. Oracle flagged you as a ghost — someone smart enough to stay off our radar. That takes skill.”

Tim shifted slightly on his feet. “Are you gonna arrest me?”

Jason tensed at that, but Bruce only answered, “No.”

Tim blinked.

“We don’t waste potential,” Bruce said simply. “Especially not the kind that can blow out a city block and still leave the paper trail clean.”

Tim exhaled, just once. His shoulders dropped half an inch.

“I'm not joining your team,” he said, carefully.

“I didn’t ask,” Bruce replied.

Jason gave a low chuckle. “That’s Bat for ‘we’re inviting you anyway.’”

Batman didn’t confirm it, but didn’t deny it either. “If you want resources, access, or backup, the offer is there. You’ve proven you can operate independently. That’s respected.”

Tim considered that for a moment. He looked out over the city, glowing dim beneath the chaos.

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

“That’s all I ask,” Batman said, and then — with a final look at both of them — he grappled away, disappearing into the night sky.

Silence lingered between them.

After a moment, Jason looked at Tim. “Uh, do you want to be alone? Or—”

“I want to think,” Tim said as he started to leave. “See you later.”

“Yeah, see you later,” Jason replied, watching him go.

×

Jason woke to the sound of the alarm shutting off.

Half-asleep, he grabbed the gun from his bedside table, instincts kicking in.

The door swung open, and Roy stepped inside.

Jason kept the gun trained on him.

“Jay, chill. It’s just me,” Roy said calmly.

Jason blinked and lowered the gun. “Who climbed in?”

“Why would you automatically assume someone broke in?” Roy asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jason stared back, unamused. “With my family? Roy, is that even a question?”

Roy shrugged. “Zero climbed in, disabled the alarm, then got confused when he saw me on the couch.”

Jason put his gun down and ran a hand through his hair. “Of course it’s Zero.” He got up, walking past Roy. “Get started on breakfast.”

He made his way to the living room and found Tim sitting on the floor, waiting.

“Could’ve called,” Jason said as he sat down on the couch. “What do you need?”

“Take me to Wayne Manor. I want to show Batman and Oracle my finished glove prototype and nanotech bo staff.” Tim said simply — more like a demand than a request.

Jason rolled his eyes slightly and stood up. “And here I was thinking it was something more dangerous.” He headed to the kitchen. “After breakfast.”

Tim got up and followed him. “What are you having for breakfast?”

Roy was already cooking scrambled eggs.

“Food,” Jason said sarcastically.

Tim rolled his eyes and sat down on the kitchen counter. “And here I was thinking you'd eat nails and gun parts for breakfast.”

Jason handed Tim a juice box. “I'm not giving you caffeine. You’re overcaffeinated at 16.”

Tim rolled his eyes and aggressively stabbed the juice box open, beginning to sip it. “Sure, Dad .”

Jason choked. “I told you not to call me that.”

Roy laughed. “Wow, Jay, I didn’t know you got a new sibling.”

“It’s been a while since Jay became my brother,” Tim said nonchalantly, despite Jason’s dumbfounded look. 

Roy put plates of food in front of both of them “Less talking and more eating” 

× 

Jason drove the car straight into the Batcave — no reason to bother going through the entire house.

He parked and climbed out.

Tim hesitated only a moment before stepping out of the car.

Steph came rushing down the stairs and practically tackled Tim, almost making them both fall. “You could’ve called me for Black Mask ass-kicking!” she said, hugging him before punching his shoulder.

“I was sorta in a rush to get it over with,” Tim responded, trying to break free from the hug to no avail.

Cassandra appeared from the shadows and gently pried Steph off Tim. “Welcome,” she said calmly.

Tim nodded slightly, looking around the cave. “This place looks different from what I imagined.”

“More or less impressive?” Jason asked.

“I thought there’d be more tech stuff,” Tim said simply.

“That’s deeper in the cave,” Steph said with a grin.

Tim rolled his eyes lightly. “Sure,” he muttered.

Jason stretched his arms. “Alright, where’s this tech you’re dying to show off?”

“You’ll see,” Tim said. “Let’s get Batman and Oracle first.”

Cass nodded silently and disappeared into the shadows to retrieve them.

Before long, they’d all gathered in the center of the Batcave.

Jason lounged on the worn leather couch, Bruce was powering up the comms, and Steph and Cass were chatting off to the side. For the first time in a long while, Tim felt… almost comfortable.

The screen flickered to life, and Oracle’s camera came on.

Tim blinked.

It was Barbara Gordon. He wasn’t shocked — if anything, it just made sense.

“Hello, Zero,” she said with a warm but analytical tone. “I’m Barbara Gordon, also known as Oracle.”

Tim gave a small nod. “Tim Drake,” he said evenly.

That made Bruce pause.

He turned, eyes narrowing, brow furrowed — recognition flickering across his face like a ghost from a case long gone cold.

Tim stepped forward, unfazed by the attention. “Right. My prototypes,” he said casually, pulling out his phone.

With a few swift taps, the screen lit up — and then the air around him shimmered.

A quiet hum filled the Batcave as a cloud of microscopic nanobots surged out from the device, swirling around him like a living storm. Within seconds, they latched into place — forming a sleek, matte-black suit over his frame. A gleaming bo staff extended into his hand, its weight perfectly balanced.

He reached into a side pocket and calmly slipped on his mask, the final piece snapping into place.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, the staff dissolved into mist — only to reassemble itself in his other hand, smooth and seamless. Controlled. Precision-engineered.

Tim looked up, mask in place, eyes calm. “So,” he said, “what do you think?”

For a moment, no one spoke.

“Show-off,” Jason muttered, but there was no heat behind it — just a flicker of pride in his voice.

Barbara leaned forward slightly on her screen, eyes sharp behind her glasses. “That’s nanotech?” she asked, already analyzing the cloud of particles with laser focus. “Self-assembling, wireless control, adaptive reformation… You built this yourself?”

Tim gave a small nod. “From scratch. The gloves have a built-in holographic computer, onboard USB, and a virtual machine for virus scanning. Sensors in the palms help control the nanotech. My domino mask includes a neural interface — it improves control response when assembling the bo staff.”

Steph let out a low whistle. “Okay, that’s actually badass. I thought you were exaggerating with the ‘prototype’ thing.”

Cass tilted her head, watching the nanotech shift again — then gave him a quiet, approving nod.

Bruce took a step forward, arms crossed. “Impressive. I’ve known nanotech is the future, but even my R&D division hasn’t made this kind of leap yet.”

Tim just shrugged. “It made the most sense to me.”

Barbara smiled faintly, a spark of admiration in her voice. “Looks like we’ve found the best nanotech expert in Gotham — maybe even the world.”

Steph turned toward Tim, grinning. “So when are you becoming an official part of the team?”

Tim hesitated, eyes flicking briefly to Jason.

Jason met his gaze with a familiar calm and shrugged. “Up to you, kid. You’ve already got a place with me.”

Tim didn’t smile — not quite. But his eyes softened. “Let’s just say… I’m open to discussions.”

Cass glanced at him and signed ‘Today?’

Tim’s expression shifted. “I want something first.”

Jason looked at him curiously, then turned toward Bruce. Bruce gave a short nod. “Anything, Tim.”

“I have a friend,” Tim began, his voice steady. “She’s… mute. After an accident.” He left out the part where it had been Bruce’s fault. “I want her to have a safe place to live. And full medical coverage.”

“Cheri?” Jason asked, quiet now.

Tim gave a small nod. “She was there for me when no one else was.”

“I can do that,” Bruce said without hesitation.

Tim nodded again, “Thank you.” 

“Thank you for trusting us, Tim” Barbara said, “even after some misunderstandings.”