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Chapter Text

Damian was still asleep, his cheek resting against Dick’s shoulder, breathing slow and steady. A reminder that he was still alive. That he would stay alive under Dick’s care. He was currently curled slightly, his arms folded by his chest, and Dick cradled the back of his head with one head, the other hand supporting his behind making sure he was upright against his side. 

He adjusted his grip carefully, mindful of every jostle. Talia had assured him that Damian wouldn’t wake for hours, a result of some kind of sedative, but her certainty had done nothing to help in easing his nerves. Not that she intended them to. Everything she did was for solely Damain’s sake, and his alone.

The process of slipping out of the manor wasn’t difficult. It shouldn’t be for him. In the few years he’s been fostered he already found himself memorizing every floorboard, every window, and every security blind spot that was uniquely designed to target traitors. 

He had come to understand what kept intruders out and allowed for the House of Al Ghul's secrets to remain tucked in.

This time, walking through these halls in the dead of night would feel different. It was under different circumstances after all. 

So it was natural for Dick to remain only more cautious. Wary how each shadow stretched longer in these dimly lit halls. He had heard commotion from Al Ghul’s followers across the room, reminding him that he was still inside. And as far as he was concerned everything was a threat to him and Damian, preventing them from escaping. 

The stillness of the hallways only heightened the tension in Dick’s shoulders, keeping Dick alert.

His boots were silent against the polished wooden floors. He made sure he was aware of every door they passed as if the wooden walls themselves might reveal to Ra’s A Ghul his traitorous intention. 

He made sure not to crouch too much, straightening his posture carefully, when he started to feel a twinge on his lower back. Of course, Damian's weight wasn’t the issue. He wasn’t heavy in the slightest. But it doesn’t help that he’s carrying a backpack full of essentials. 

It included clothes, cash, and hygiene products. (e.g soap, among toothpaste and a toothbrush) Inside contained a smaller bag that included first aid, but apart from 3 water bottles, there was no food. Dick couldn’t fit it all in one backpack. So he was gambling on a chance that he’d find a rest stop or gas station nearby. 

Finally, he made his way towards a door Talia had kept unlocked for them. His pulse was pounding louder than his footsteps but thankfully Damian hadn’t stirred once. 

He’s outside before he knew it. 

What’s next was a bit more tricky. 

Leaving through the front gates would’ve been easy if he didn’t have to consider how he would find anything when there was nothing but an open road for around 40 miles. He couldn’t exactly rely on memory when he hadn’t left the manor in years so he’d have to use his phone for directions. 

Originally his phone didn’t have any sort of sim card, rendering it initially useless. But he had been gifted with a sim card with the promise of keeping Damian safe. 

Nonetheless, he couldn’t simply go on foot, especially not when Talia had instructed him that keeping him safe required him to take Damian and bring him to someone located a little over 5 hours north in Gotham. 

So technically it was impossible to do without some extra assistance . 

His gaze then followed the property. This whole place was enclosed by a stone perimeter wall nearly fifteen feet high, lined with motion-sensitive talons and masked by wild overgrowth. 

If that wasn’t overkill, there was also a guard tower, discreet and manned even in the dead of night, flanking each end. 2 people located in the post with more than one hidden sentry likely crouched in the treetops or tucked into the cliffside, eyes clearly scanning for outliers.

However the left back path was still a viable option. 

It was a service route, used for extractions that allowed for only vehicles to enter and exit. 

Of course that was still monitored, but he could find his way around that…

Thankfully there was no lighting near the exit of the manor that would end up revealing his position just yet. So he used the dark night as a cover to make his way towards where vehicles were parked. Making his way by taking advantage of the artificial light that was used beside the guard towers.

He finally made it far enough to see parked cars, it was clear the single vehicles were used to follow the trucks where Dick had assumed supply shipments were unloaded in the daylight. He wasn’t exactly sure what was being extracted but he knew this family well enough to not question it.  

And that’s when he found a perfect single vehicle. 

He would need to take out the car’s license later but it was perfect. An black jeep, likely armored, likely bugged, but built for the terrain.

And hijacking it required silence. 

He’d first need to unlock the handle to open the rear end seat. Careful, aware that one wrong hitch could trigger a motion alarm, and the guards would descend like wolves. 

He tries un-tangling his hold on Damian, but settled on keeping his head resting somewhere on Dick’s knees as he bent down. 

God forbid Talia found a way to order some sort of Uber for him… 

Of course he shouldn’t put too much blame on her. As shitty as she was, the love she had for her son is what allowed both Dick and Damian to escape with more ease. 

Although truthfully, Dick feels confident he could’ve done this entirely without any of her help. It’s appreciated nonetheless..

Tick, indicated that it was unlocked. He put his bobby pin back in his cargo pants. 

He then carried Damian and let him lie down on both of the rear seats. He made his way inside as well, closing the car door, and maneuvering himself out of the center console so he could sit on the driver's seat.

As he slid into the front seat he made sure to duck low beneath the dash. He considers this a perfect time to take out the knife that had been conveniently in his cargo pants pocket. Using that to pry open some of the car's vital parts in order to find the wires necessary to hot wire the car. 

Tsk, vrm.

The engine gave a low rumble, and the lights flickered to life on the panel. He winced because any noise from the car felt like it would echo across the entire mountainside. 

He waited for a bit, but he seemed to be safe. There was no immediate movement from the surrounding treeline. 

He shifted out of parking and drove, easing the jeep forward, keeping the speed low, just enough to roll smoothly out of the gravel clearing and onto the dirt lane.

It wasn’t far to the checkpoint, but every foot of that distance stretched like wire. He kept his posture relaxed, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the emergency brake. He was simply taking a late-night drive with a drugged kid on his rear seat. Nothing suspicious. Nothing worth checking.

The checkpoint came into view around the bend.

One flickering lamp buzzed above the guard post. The barrier arm stretched across the lane, still down. 

A man stood just outside the booth, leaning on the edge with a cigarette between his fingers. Another figure was inside, watching.

Dick’s jaw tightened.

He slowed the jeep, just slightly, pretending to wait for clearance.

The outside guard straightened.

The one inside leaned forward.

Something in the posture changed. A hand moved toward the panel on the wall, but the barrier didn’t budge.

They’re stalling.

Dick wasn’t taking chances. His fingers twitched on the wheel. He couldn’t wait for them to ask questions.

His heart pounded.

And he gunned the engine.

The tires kicked up gravel as the jeep surged forward. The guard outside shouted something and then the jeep slammed through the lane barrier with a sharp metallic crack. He had broken the lane barrier and made a sharp turn, he was slightly hoping that Damian wasn’t on the floor. But he didn’t have time to check in the mirror. 

Dick didn’t slow, if anything he went over the necessary speed limit.

The road bent sharply downhill, and he leaned into the curve, tires skidding on loose dust and rock. The forest blurred on either side. Ahead was only shadow and speed.

But for now, Damian was safe. And that was enough to keep him driving.

It was a bad time for him to panic that he technically didn’t have any sort of drivers license. Or any idea of how to parallel park. He was relying on his memory with his previous foster family.

He finally glances at Damian with the mirror. He feels his heart rate slow down, Damian is not on the floor. He was still sleeping soundly. 

He slowly releases his foot on the gas, trying to rummage for his phone. His careful not to put his hand in the pocket that had his knife inside. With his left hand, he takes his phone out and tries to slowly type on google maps. 

*

He was about twenty miles out on the road. The sun was beginning to rise in the south east, judging from the way light was beginning to shine on his rearview mirror.

The road ahead seemed to be capable of stretching on and on, everything in front of him remained pretty much empty, apart from grass bordering the roads. 

Meanwhile, the adrenaline that had surged earlier faded into this tense, suffocating silence, punctuated only by the steady hum of the engine, reminding him what he was running from. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, knuckles whitening against the worn leather. Every few minutes, he checked the mirrors. And he was met with nothing. 

No headlights, no drones, and no signs of pursuit.

Not yet at least.

He risked another glance over his shoulder. 

Damian was still asleep, he was now tucked beneath the blanket Dick had gotten out of his bag, his chest rising and falling steadily. 

Dick swallowed and turned back to the road, jaw clenched. Just keep driving. He needs to head towards Gotham and find–

“She drugged me.” The sudden voice startled a curse from Dick, removing any sort of exhaustion and his eyes were more alert. His grip on the wheels flattered and he sighed.

“Yeahh.. sorry you had to deal with that…” Dick muttered awkwardly, his heart hammering in his chest. He steadied his grip on the wheel, breathing through the jolt of panic. “Hey.. you slept okay?”

“...She gave me cocoa.” 

Of course she did. Dick wants to say. The one time she showed any sign of kindness, it was a poison disguised as comfort. A final goodbye, that she herself was too cowardly to complete.  Dick’s jaw clenched tight, his thoughts pounding inside his temples like a relentless drumbeat. It was another addition to the headache that was beginning to form.

He wanted nothing more than to slam his forehead against the steering wheel, to shatter the uncomfortable moment with a sharp, desperate release.

He hated Talia. 

She hated everything she stood for- the way she twisted loyalty into chains. He hated how she was a shadow that loomed over Damian’s voice, making it distant and clipped. It always felt as if he was guarding himself from saying too much. 

But most of all, he hated the ache in his own chest that came from watching Damian hold onto that love for her, so fierce and unyielding, even after everything.

It wasn’t fair. None of this shit was.

Dick’s knuckles whitened on the wheel as he forced himself to keep driving, to stay calm when every nerve screamed to start a fight. 

He feels the weight of responsibility settle heavier within every mile, the knowledge that every decision could mean life or death for Damian. He tries to calm himself.

Damian needed him.

So he swallowed the rage, the helplessness, and the bitter truth that sometimes love was just another kind of prison. And he kept his eyes on the road ahead, pushing forward through the darkness, carrying more than just the boy’s body in the seat behind him.

“Was it any good?”

“Yes… it was nice.” Dick isn’t sure what to say to that. So he says nothing at all.

“Was that the last time I will be seeing Mother?” Dick tries to keep his face devoid of any sort of expression.

“Uh I don’t know..” This time he makes it a point to avoid his eyes in the mirror. 

He bites the bottom of his lips. He wants to come to Talia's defense, as unfortunate as it sounded, insisting to Damian it was for his protection. 

But he stays quiet letting the weight of his uncertainty sink in.

“ Oh .” Damian seems to understand the implication. 

Dick withholds a tired sigh. This was going to be a long ride. 

*

Of course, the needle on the fuel gauge hovered just above empty.

Dick exhaled slowly, steering off the main road onto a cracked, narrow stretch of asphalt. The signage was faded — just the ghost of a gas pump icon clinging to a warped wooden post — but it was enough. 

He followed the winding path through a tangle of overgrowth until a gas station came into view.

The building’s glass windows façade was mostly intact. There were bright LED lights, saying it was OPEN, although it was dimmed and blinked faintly along the roofline.

There were unfortunately no cars parked near or beside the gas station. 

Disappointing. He needed to get rid of this car soon.

Still, Dick pulled in cautiously, tires crunching over broken glass and dried leaves littering the lot. He planned on filling the car’s tank, but he also intended to first take advantage of the convenience store just beside the pumps. 

Damian remained still curled up in the backseat, dead to the world once more.

Dick climbed out, checking everything around the station before stepping onto the cracked pavement. 

The front door creaked as he pushed it open, the stale air hitting him like a wall — mildew, rust, and something vaguely chemical. The place looked abandoned. Shelves half-empty, some collapsed. The humming of refrigeration units long gone silent.

He didn’t waste time.

He grabbed what he could: extra water bottles, a pair of juice boxes, a few energy bars that looked reasonably intact. Behind the counter, he found a cracked plastic bin with basic travel supplies — a half-used stick of deodorant, a sealed pack of wipes, another tube of toothpaste with a 50% off deal that included a cheap disposable razor. He stuffed them in his backpack.

He looked around the counter, the place was clearly open but the cameras were off and there was no one at the counter. He would’ve questioned it longer, but he spotted Advil. 

Dick snatched it, twisted off the cap, and downed two dry. The bitterness coated his tongue, but the pulse behind his eyes already felt lighter.

He knelt behind the counter, unzipped the worn black duffel slung across his shoulder, and began stuffing everything inside. He made sure to move methodically, protein bars pressed flat at the bottom, drinks cradled between clothes, any sort of razor or hygiene products were wrapped in an old spare T-shirt. After he had taken two tablets of the advil he put it in the front pouch, making sure it was within easy reach. 

He quickly glanced around. 

He definitely had space for additional snacks. He wasn’t sure how long it’d be that he’d find another opportunity like this. 

*

Finally he was satisfied, he zipped it closed and slung it over his shoulder again.

He paused, just briefly, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a few crumpled bills. He left them on the counter beneath the flickering emergency light, a small gesture to no one.

He then realized that was stupid and took the crumpled bills back. 

He was a fugitive by now anyways, stealing a bunch of gas station items wasn’t going to do anything detrimental to his criminal life. 

He couldn’t shake off how odd it was that the gas station was empty. But he figured the dumbass register was taking a bathroom break.  And he wasn’t about to jinx his luck. He continues filling up the jeep with gas and surveys the place once more. 

Once it’s filled up, he closes the flap, and gets in the car.

*

Finally he was satisfied, he zipped it closed and slung it over his shoulder again.

He paused, just briefly, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a few crumpled bills. He left them on the counter beneath the flickering emergency light, a small gesture to no one.

He then realized that was stupid and took the crumpled bills back. 

He was a fugitive by now anyways, stealing a bunch of gas station items wasn’t going to do anything detrimental to his criminal life. 

He couldn’t shake off how odd it was that the gas station was empty. But he figured the dumbass register was taking a bathroom break.  And he wasn’t about to jinx his luck. He continues filling up the jeep with gas and surveys the place once more. 

Once it’s filled up, he closes the flap, and gets in the car.

*

Dick kept his eyes focused on the road ahead, the steady hum of the jeep’s engine was anything but a small comfort in the oppressive silence. 

He wishes he could’ve taken it back. Especially with his phone vibrating with sudden noise. It was buzzing sharply against the dashboard.

He glanced down, frowning. The screen flickered, then it went to black. For a second, he thought his battery died.

But suddenly, the screen flashed again, a bright orange, an official government alert filling the display.

EMERGENCY BROADCAST — MANDATORY ATTENTION REQUIRED

The message was interrupted abruptly by static, the signal wavering like a weak heartbeat. The volume was fairly loud. 

Dick’s fingers tightened around the wheel as his phone powered down completely.

“What the fuck?”

He reached to turn off the phone and turn it back on with one hand. 

His pulse quickened. He wasn’t sure what was going on, so he pulled the jeep slowly off the road, coming to a stop behind some twisted pines. 

Dick’s mind raced, a video was playing. 

The phone was still vibrating in his hands. MANDATORY ATTENTION REQUIRED!

He couldn't bring himself to listen to everything, not when his heart beat was practically by his ears in fear of his phone glitching out. All he could hear is the frantic briefings from reporters about an experimental biomedical project gone wrong with a “virus,” the officials admitted. 

It was clear the truth revealing How? When? and Why? we're being left unanswered. They were buried beneath layers of secrecy, but the consequences were bleeding through now. A reporter had claimed that this screwup was “raw and undeniable.”

The moments of the mandatory message had warned of “hostile individuals” who were considered to be the people that were infected with a life threatening virus. They emphasized that they had changed from being brain dead and evolved to something more…. violent. 

It was as if someone’s nightmare was coming to life.

Government officials strongly suggested citizens stay in quarantine and look out for anyone with dark eyebags, along with signs of rotting skin. Urging them to call 911 to report any “zombie sightings”.

Still, as much as the panic clawed at him, his phone was useless and rendering him unable to continue driving which only clawed at his panic. He felt Ra’s al Ghul’s creeping in closer, already able to track his location and kill him off while dragging Damian back in that manor.

For four long minutes, the broadcast continued its eerie loop of static and broken warnings before finally falling silent.

He swallowed hard, forcing down the rising terror clawing at his throat. With a shaky breath, he started the jeep again.

Gotham was just a few miles further.

Chapter Text

They had him moving scrap metal.

It wasn’t glamorous, but he was only fifteen so he’d take what he could get. Besides things were solid since nobody looked too hard at his “ID” since it benefitted both parties. Especially when child labor was labor for half the price of an adult. 

So he’s left to take what he can get. 

Jason’s been at it for four weeks now, loading twisted beams and busted car doors onto a flatbed with a few other guys who kept to themselves and didn’t ask questions.

Which was fine by him. Questions were dangerous.

He grunted, straining as he dragged a heavy axle through the gravel, sweat slicking his shirt to his back. The city was pretty cold, but the effort and visible strain burned hotter than the steam pipes in the alley. 

He tossed the axle onto the pile with a loud clang and leaned against the truck for a breath.

That’s when he heard it.

Two guys across the lot, hunched over a smoke break, talking just low enough to pretend they weren’t scared.

“You hear about the guy from Dock 9?” one of them said.

“Yeah,” the other muttered. 

“Same thing as the others. Fever, then eyes go all weird.Couldn’t even talk by the end of it. Just noise.” He starts making some moaning that stirs a laugh outta the other guy.

Jason’s ears pricked, but he didn’t react. He simply kept his head down, fingers picking at the dirt on his gloves. 

He was bored enough to entertain some middle aged man gossip. Sue him.

“Y’know my folks down south say it’s spreading. It’s some kind of airborne shit.”

“Bullshit,” the first guy replied quickly. The remain quiet after that. The man had been in a hurry to call bullshit, it was like saying it fast enough would make it true. 

He figured that was why he's que to start minding his business. 

Jason went back to work. And while he wanted to write it off as street gossip, Gotham had a hundred urban legends a week, he also knew better. After all half of them urban legends were true. And all of them ended badly. 

But something like this? It felt different. It didn’t feel real.

Still, he didn’t think much more of it. Not until about an hour later.

Luis, the geezer he usually worked the far truck with, hadn’t said a word all morning. That wasn’t unusual, Luis being the quiet type is why Jason hung around with him, but something was off. 

Jason looked over and saw him hunched near the pile, arms trembling like he was fighting gravity itself.

He called out. “Hey geezer.”

Luis turned toward him.

His eyes were hollow. 

Fuck. It was like…like something had scooped the light out of them. His skin looked grayer in the shadows, and when he opened his mouth, the noise that came out wasn’t a word. It was a low, wet groan—like his throat had forgotten how to shape language.

Jason froze. One heartbeat. Two. 

So did Luis.

Then he turned and ran.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t wait for someone to stop him. Just dropped his gloves and bolted through the yard, ducking through scrap piles and leaping over busted bumpers until the city swallowed him back up.

Someone might’ve called out to him, he couldn’t be sure. He was running by a fake name during that job.

But he didn’t stop running until his lungs were on fire and his side screamed with each breath.

He felt sick, his vision blurring before finally slowing down.

It wasn’t after he turned to an alleway near 8th street did he finally reach his house. 

Technically it was less of a house and more of a room. In a abandoned apartment. He walked in since there wasn’t any door and went up the stairs until he reached his door. It was the third-floor corner room in an abandoned complex, bought with a week's worth of cash under the table and paid in silence. 

He slammed the door shut and locked it, back pressed against the peeling wood. His chest heaved.

Whatever was going around… it couldn’t have been airborne.

Could it?

His breath caught in his throat. He could still hear the way Luis groaned—wet, inhuman, like his vocal cords had liquefied. That hollow look in his eyes. The twitch in his limbs. It wasn't just a fever. It was like watching someone unravel from the inside out.

Jason stumbled back from the barricaded door, chest rising too fast. The adrenaline that had kept him sprinting across the city now drained like a snapped IV line. His knees buckled. He hit the ground hard, palms scraping against the dusty floor as the room tilted sideways.

His breath came too fast. Too sharp.

He needed to hold his breath in for like five seconds... then out for maybe seven?

It didn't end up helping for long. His lungs felt like they were collapsing on themselves, crushed by something that wasn’t even there. 

What if he breathed it in? What if it was on his clothes? In his lungs? What if this room wasn’t safe?

The thoughts slammed into him, one after another, piling up until all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears and his own heartbeat pounding like it was trying to escape his chest.

He didn't want to die.

He pressed his back to the wall. Curled his knees up. 

You’re fine. You ran. You’re not showing signs. Not yet.

His vision blurred for a second—then sharpened again as he forced himself to take a slower breath.

Another.

Another.

And another.

The tremors in his hands slowed. His stomach still churned, but the edge of the panic dulled. The floor stopped moving.

He was still here. Still breathing.

Jason pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

What the hell is happening to this city?

He grits his teeth harder, like that might hold him together, but the pressure stings, sharp and immediate. It hurts enough for him to stop doing it.

He needs to focus. 

Panicking won’t save him.

He forces his jaw to unclench and leans his head back against the wall, swallowing past the tightness in his throat. His pulse still thuds too loud in his ears, but there’s clarity starting to cut through the haze.

He needs a plan.

His eyes scan the room, what little of it there is.

He decides to barricade the door to this room. 

He wasn’t sure of the mobility of the people who were deceased, but he figures it’s best to seal off an easy entrance. His window is a possible exit if he needed to leave. 

Jason dropped the deadbolt into place and dragged the heavy metal cabinet across the room. It scraped against the floor, loud and jarring, but he didn’t care. Every noise felt far away now. Like the world had narrowed to a single point: survive.

He braced the cabinet against the door, then shoved a broken chair leg through the handle to wedge it shut tighter. It wouldn’t stop someone determined—but it’d slow them down. And that mattered.

He looked toward the fire escape, his only exit now. It had a retractable ladder which was convenient for coming back to this room.

The window beside it was already cracked from the inside, the glass splintered but intact. He'd been meaning to reinforce it with boards or seal it with tape for winter, but never got around to it. 

Now, it felt like the only thing standing between him and whatever the hell was happening out there.

He could get out that way if he had to. He made sure of it. Cleared the junk from the landing, tested the rusted ladder. It groaned, but it held.

Jason sank onto the mattress in the corner—thin, dirty, and barely softer than the floor—and stared at the barricaded door. His bag was already packed in case he needed to run again. He always packed light.

*

He clearly hadn’t planned for everything. 

Because he needed to piss right now. 

He woke up to realize he’d been holding it for hours, curled up on his mattress with nothing but the distant creaks of the building and his own thoughts to keep him company. But now it was urgent. 

No bathroom in the squat, not unless he wanted to risk the broken plumbing downstairs. 

And he really didn’t.

So he grabbed his coat, slid out the fire escape window, and climbed down into Gotham’s frozen silence.

The convenience store two blocks down was still open, just barely. Fluorescent lights buzzed like dying flies inside, flickering against the condensation on the windows. 

It felt like the whole city was holding its breath.

He slipped inside, keeping his hood low and his steps quiet. The shopkeeper barely looked up—just hunched behind the counter, fiddling with an old radio.

Jason bee-lined to the back, relieved himself, then wandered the aisles with tired eyes. His stomach cramped . He hadn’t eaten since yesterday’s lunch. His hand hovered near a pack of protein bars. He had some money in his pocket, sure, but not enough to buy what he needed . Not with prices climbing and options thinning.

He was just about to slide a bar into his coat pocket when the noise hit.

The static of the radio cracked, then cleared. A voice replaced it—cold and flat, too calm to mean anything good.

“—By order of emergency public health ordinance, all civilians are urged to return to their homes immediately. The quarantine mandate is now in effect for Gotham City and surrounding boroughs. Lockdown begins at 1:00 a.m.—”

Jason froze, still crouched in the aisle. The clerk turned up the volume, muttering something under his breath, distracted.

He didn’t wait for a second chance.

He unzipped his backpack and started sweeping bars off the shelf—peanut butter, oats, anything with calories and shelf life. Bottled water came next. He managed to snag a 2-liter bottles and two smaller ones, cramming them inside like a puzzle. His heart thumped faster with every item. No one stopped him.

Until he zipped the bag shut and heard a sharp intake of breath.

He looked up.

The clerk had turned. Eyes narrowed. Mouth opening.

And Jason didn’t wait. He bolted. Again .

Out the door, across the sidewalk, down the alley. His feet were slamming against concrete. The bag bounced hard against his back, but he didn’t stop until he hit the fire escape and scrambled up like his life depended on it.

Because it probably did.

*

The screen flickered to life, casting a cold blue light across the cave’s jagged walls.

The Batcave was quiet, the usual hum of supercomputers and whirring of automated systems dulled beneath the weight of global panic. 

Monitors lined the wall in asymmetrical arrays, some displaying satellite feeds of a darkened Gotham, others streaming fragmented news tickers in a dozen languages. 

Beneath them, Bruce sat stiffly at the console, cowl still on, cape draped over the back of the chair. Shadows pooled behind him, stretching over cracked rock and ancient stalactites. The only other movement came from the occasional flicker of bats above, disturbed by the digital static.

The League’s holographic conference glowed before him—Superman, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Aquaman… they all projected in pale blue light, grainy and firm.

Hal was the first to speak, arms folded tight. “You know, Batman , a global health crisis might be a good reason to leave your cave so we didn’t have to call you.”

Batman didn’t even blink. “There’s safety in isolation. Especially when you don't know exactly how the virus was able to mutate.”

“ We don’t know.” Hal grumbled, but he didn’t press further. Of course, Bruce didn’t know either. He was simply being rhetorical. 

Superman had leaned forward in his feed, looking tired, but hopeful. “Well we have good news. I found a sample that shows complete viral resistance. We isolated the antibody sequence and synthesized it thanks to HeLa cells. I’ve sent the PDF of the formula to the Watchtower’s main terminal. It should be arriving at your secure line now.”

Bruce’s fingers moved silently over the keyboard. The chemical breakdown illuminated across the center screen. His eyes scanned it in seconds.

“I’m guessing this isn’t a cure.”

“Well technically it’s both, it’s a treatment meant to eliminate the virus’s condition and counteract the tapeworm’s control. However it doesn’t work on the patient zeros.” Superwoman informed regretfully.

“It seems that after 72 hours the body is already considered to be dead. Curing them from the antidote only ends up killing them without the parasite there to host. However it can be considered a vaccine, those who are injected even without getting bite don’t risk becoming..”

“Zombies” Aquaman regretfully supplied. Batman understands the reluctance to use such a fictional word. But in this case. Zombies were very much real.

“It’s viable,” Batman agrees “But if we don’t control the distribution, we risk panic, riots, and loss of the supply before it even reaches the infected.”

Hal’s voice cut in, sharp and impatient. “Yeah, no kidding. So what’s your plan, Bats? Gonna drop it in orbit?”

“No,” Bruce replied. That would be silly. “We built a haven.”

The call went quiet for a beat.

“A heaven?” Diana asked, frowning slightly.

“No, haven ,” Bruce confirmed. “We choose a single location—secure, defendable. Somewhere we can promise food, shelter, and the cure. We broadcast it across Gotham and the other hot zones. People will come to us.”

“You want to bait people into a quarantine zone?” Hal asked, skeptical.

“I want to concentrate on movement,” Bruce replied. “We control the flow. We treat, we screen, we contain. The League distributes from within. Meanwhile, we ramp up mass production through Wayne Pharmaceuticals. I can get facilities operational within forty-eight hours.”

Clark nodded slowly. “It’ll be risky. People might not trust it.”

“They will if the League backs it,” Bruce said flatly.

Superwoman crossed her arms in the projection. “And if it turns into a mob scene?”

Bruce didn’t blink. “Then we make sure the gates hold.”

A silence settled over the call, heavy, but not quite hopeless.

“…I’ll start tracing potential sites,” Aquaman said quietly.

“I’ll get the Watchtower’s med bay ready to receive samples for refinement,” Diana added.

Green Lantern sighed, most likely from the sheer exhaustion of this call. “Guess we’re building a quarantine utopia in the middle of hell.”

“Not exactly," Bruce corrects.. “It's more like building a lifeboat."

He assumes Hal is the one hanging up the holographic call when he hears someone mutterSmartass.

Chapter Text

“We need containment strategies, not chaos,” he said, voice low but strained. “If we jump the gun, we’ll cause more deaths than we prevent.”

Government officials sat at the long conference table, some in uniform, some in suits, none of them at ease. Madam President leaned forward, his elbows on the polished wood, eyes tired and bloodshot.

A general cleared his throat. "With all due respect, ma’am, containment through quarantine failed two days ago. Half the citizens in the eastern seaboard are breaking protocol. People are fleeing cities on foot. There are people outside this assembly right now protesting. They don’t trust our word. If we don't get ahead of this—”

Just then, the lights flickered.

It wasn’t power failing. But a controlled pulse.

When the lights came back on, a new figure emerged. 

A tall figure, cloaked in black, stood half-shadowed behind the projector screen. Gathering every government official's attention. No one had seen him enter. And no one could say how long he had been listening. 

Their security guards were now more alert. 

But he simply stepped forward, slow and deliberate, the edges of his cape softly brushing the floor.

“Three hours,” Batman said, voice like stone.

The Secret Service took his additional steps as an attack and moved instinctively, but the President raised a hand.

“Hold.”

Batman’s eyes swept the room, expression unreadable behind the cowl. No one spoke. And he made his way closer.

“I’ve analyzed the virus’s structure. It’s mutating too fast. That means we won’t have a vaccine path before it spirals again. You’re not dealing with one outbreak. You’re dealing with the collapse of predictable biology. Your priority should not be herding the citizens, you need to stop this virus from spreading.”

He stopped at the end of the table.

“You will need to create a haven. Now . Not a shelter, not a suggestion—an absolute promise to the people. A zone of isolation. It will be protected, reinforced, and medically controlled. One chance for survivability. It will buy us time to help implement the vaccines to the survivors."

Madam President studied him carefully. “You think people will follow?”

“They’ll follow fear. Announce it—national broadcast, every channel, EAS, social feeds. In the next three hours.”

Someone from the CDC tried to interject. “We have protocols, this isn’t how decisions—”

Batman turned to him slowly. “I’m not here to debate protocol. I’m here to stop the spread. Emergency situations should override these protocols."

Then, without waiting for response, Batman stepped back toward the shadows.

“But—wait—” the Secretary of State started.

There was no point, the lights flickers and he crashed into a window.

He was gone.

No door opened. No exit was seen. 

Just an absence where he had been standing seconds ago.

The room erupted with stunned whispers. But the President stood, gaze hardening as she reached for the emergency communications phone.

“Draft the announcement. He’s right. We move within the hour.”

Outside, somewhere in the distance, a low thunder rolled through the storm clouds above D.C.

*

“What else are you hiding from us?” She hollered beside the temporary blockade zone.

The streets had been blocked with makeshift fencing and yellow tape, guarded more by confusion than authority. 

Just beyond the city limits, dozens of people had gathered, pressed close under the gray weight of the evening sky. Some wore masks, some clutched phones with dead signals, and others just stood, waiting for answers that never came. The only way people were able to tell the accurate time was with an analog watch that read 2:00 pm EST. 

“It's a cover-up,” another voice added. “The hospitals are full because they’re experimenting on people. That’s what this is.”

People are shouting, demanding answers all at once from the people who stand with bullet vests. People who were not even sparing a glance towards them. They looked ahead and held their shields higher.

An older man pounded the side of a transport truck that hadn’t moved in hours and was blocking them from entering in further. 

“What else are you hiding from us?!” he shouted toward a line of suited officials who refused to meet his eyes.

“They knew about this days ago,” someone muttered to the man. 

“They’re gonna leave us out here to rot.” a woman said, holding her sign I HOPE THIS BITES YOU IN THE ASS. 

Suddenly the suited officials held their rifles. The people fall into a hush silence, mostly disbelief. 

A few of them wondered if they were planning on shooting them into silence. Instead, the man shifts his aim towards an individual who is not holding any sort of sign. Instead they have a sunken expression and a low growl.

BAM.

The individual did not fall to the ground. In fact its eyes glazed over as blood trickled down its forehead. It let out a haunted moan.

Everyone screamed.

Soon the controlled protests morphed into chaos. 

“Get away from him!” someone screamed.

“Oh god, he’s turning—”

“Don’t touch him!”

One woman fell to the ground in the midst of everything. She was inches away from the infected individual. It seemed to realize this as well when he started making his way towards her.

She couldn’t help but cry, tears streaming down her face and she braced herself for what was coming. She looked around, wide-eyed. Alone.

This was it.

A blur of movement. A ripple in the crowd. And suddenly, a black shape landed beside her.

Batman. 

His cape whipped behind him as he knelt by the infected, one gloved hand already on the man’s back, steadying him.

“You’re not done yet,” Batman said. His voice cut through the panic like a blade.

He looked up at the crowd. They could hardly listen to him as they all ran, making their way back to their cars. So he focused his attention towards the woman.

“In 3 hours, the government will post word of a haven, an isolation unit. I suggest you make your way to Mount Vernon’s Square area.” He starts tying the infected man, and the woman remains on the ground. She can’t really believe this is happening right now.

Before she can say much of anything, he disappears. 

She stays on the ground a bit longer, fear taking away her ability to do anything but tremble.

She’s still alive.

*

Tim is a bit worried. 

Ever since the lockdown was officially announced, he’d been on his own for the most part. 

It wasn’t too bad. The quiet had a way of stretching out time, making hours feel like days. 

His parents had left just before things got bad, he couldn’t remember exactly when , and they hadn’t made it back since.

He wasn’t sure where they were, and that was the part that really got to him. 

He hoped they were okay, clinging to that thought like a raft. 

He had tried calling them several times, at different hours of the day, but the calls either rang endlessly or went straight to voicemail. 

Not even a text had come through. No check-in. No explanation. Just silence.

He didn’t want to panic, but the longer it went on, the harder it was to hold onto rationality.

And a part of him, he hated to admit it, was also afraid of being home alone for this long. Not because he was scared of the dark or anything childish like that. It was the real-world stuff that started to creep in: 

What if someone tried to break in? What if someone thought the house was empty? The thought stuck in his chest like a splinter.

Still, if Home Alone had taught him anything, it was that keeping up appearances mattered. 

You had to make it look like people were still there. That meant lights, movement, noise, anything to break the illusion of emptiness. 

So Tim did what he could. 

He turned on the light in his parents’ bedroom upstairs and left the living room lights glowing too—those were the two rooms with the biggest windows facing the street. He made sure the blinds were drawn, just slightly tilted to give the impression of privacy, but not abandonment.

KNOCK.

It isn’t urgent or loud– in fact it hardly sounded like a knock. 

But the repeatedly thumping on his door felt just… wrong. 

Fear freezes him in place. And his heart thumps like it wants to bolt from his chest. For a moment, he can’t move. Can’t think.

He looks around the hallways before slowly making his way towards the sound.

He swallows the fear, and forces himself to move closer toward the door, reminding himself that panic won’t help. 

Maybe it’s someone checking in. Maybe…it’s his nanny.

“Is…is that you, Nanny?” he calls out, his voice trembling. He needs some sort of stool so he can peek through the doorhole. He can’t find anything useful so he gets two pillows from his couch and tries stacking them. 

It sorta works. He’s able to recognize the grey curly hair. 

Relief swells in his chest. Of course it was Nanny. She must’ve come to check on him. 

He was so happy he almost unlocked the door. 

Until he remembered when he called out to her, he hadn’t received any response.

There’s no answer. Just silence.

“Nanny? Are you there?” he asks again, louder this time, but still, no response. The quiet feels heavier now—wrong somehow.

He leans closer to the peephole and whispers, “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

But the only thing he hears is the slow ticking of the clock behind him.

*

He decides not to open the door. 

He feels awful for not letting Nanny in, but when he realized she should’ve had the keys to enter herself he feels more inclined to stay holed up in his room. 

He still hears thumps on the door, they're slow but loud enough for him to hear it from over here. He looks around for his phone and notices announcements being made by the government people. 

He has to google a few of the words but they tell him about a place safer than his house. He breathes out a sigh of relief. 

Maybe they’re waiting for me over there! It makes more sense now, they obviously couldn’t go back to the house since it was dangerous. So they were making their way to the safe haven in Gotham City. 

With that resolve Tim feels a bit more braver. He decides that he should pack a couple of clothes and essentials before heading out. He has to remove his blanket because it’s too thick to bring, so he settles for a hoodie and extra sweatpants. Now it’s a bit easier to carry on his back. 

KNOCK.

He flinches, almost forgetting about the Fake-Nanny. He looks down at his phone, it had no service but maybe…

He dials 9-1-1

He waits for around 5 minutes before he hears another person’s voice.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“uh…hi..there’s a zombie on my porch.” Tim mutters, keeping his voice low as if the Fake-Nanny could hear.

Normally if someone were to say this a week ago, no one would’ve taken this seriously. Fortunately the dispatcher understands that he’s referring to the virus. 

“What’s your address?” He tells the dispatcher. She assures him she will be sending two fully armed officers his way.

“Do you... know the infected person?” Tim nods before he realizes she can't see that.

“Yeah.. she’s supposed to be my nanny.”

“What’s your name?”

“Uh.. Tim.. Tim Drake.”

“Are you home alone right now Tim?”

“Yeah.. my nanny was supposed to be… uh here?”

“Okay Tim, my name is Baraba. Can you tell me where you are right now in your house? Are you closer to your door or far away?”

Tim scrunches his face, technically he’s in the living room where the windows are a view to his front porch. Thankfully the blinds are closed. 

“Yeah.. kinda close..”

“Okay Tim–”

He doesn’t hear a thump this time, he hears a crack. Repeated cracks against the window which end up jinxing his luck.

For a moment he just stands there, his phone almost slipping from his grasp. The 9-1-1 dispatcher, Baraba , is probably talking to him right now but he needs to move. Like now .

He hears another moan, so he quickly grabs his backpack and phone and runs back upstairs to his room. 

Once he’s in, he locks the door,

He leans on the door, letting his back press against it as he takes deep breaths.

He waits a bit before putting the phone towards his ears.

“..Tim? Hello, can you hear me Tim?”

“uh..sorry. I’m upstairs in my room now. I think..” Tim swallows a bit trying to still his trembling hand.

“I think.. It’s inside my house now..? It broke my window but I dunno..” He trails off wondering if he’d be able to hear the zombie’s moans from here.

“Okay Tim, the police will be on their way shortly. I’d like you to stay on the phone in the meantime, okay?” Tim nods, breathing out a sigh of relief.

“Okay.”

*

As promised two police eventually come. Tim thankfully hadn’t interacted with the Fake-Nanny, but one of them promised he’d be safer now.

Since he wasn’t living with any adult the police decided to bring him into the police station, in hopes of calling one of his relatives. Tim guessed the only reason they were taking this much measures was simply because he was a nepo baby. 

Despite not being arrested, they technically had to bring him in the back of the police car. Tim didn’t mind, but he didn’t like the idea of not being able to exit the vehicle unless someone pulled it from the outside. 

He ended up feeling grateful for that distance when he noticed that the two police weren’t fully armed. There had been a gap of skin between their elbows and a thinner piece of clothing to give them more mobility. 

Tim didn’t realize it until one of the officers stopped complaining about his stomach and stopped talking entirely. The driver didn’t make any eye contact with the guy, but he seemed to be almost speeding while dodging past cars who couldn’t hear the siren.

When he lunged, Tim flinched. 

He had been targeting the driver who used his left foot to try and create more distance. His foot was off the accelerator so it started slowing down.

The driver unbuckled his seatbelt and used his right foot to also kick him. 

It didn’t do much but freed both his legs. He left the car, and went around to unlock Tim’s door.

“We need to run.” Tim nodded, glad he had returned his phone to his backpack, now he had both strapped on and was running as fast as he could.

Chapter Text

Adult-speak was hard. 

Tim had been under the impression that we implied both him and the remaining officer. However the office seemingly kept his feet planted as the infected officer crept closer. He shouted off coordinates that kind of made sense.

Go to the Headquarters… tell them I sent you.. something something Gordan… 

Most likely they would’ve made sense if he wasn’t an insanely sheltered kid who has never gone outside. The most he’s even bothered is looking at his parent’s balcony and looking for Batman at three am. 

So… he’s kind of screwed. 

He’s not sure he understands why the officer refuses to run alongside him staggering behind to face the incoherent officer. But he’s noticed a familiar pattern occurring with people closest to him. The distance before the inevitable parting. It’s fine. Tim knew to some extent that it’d probably be for the best. He was good at being by himself.

And with that said, he’s decided to completely ignore the officer’s instruction. 

He tried asking a passerby one time, Do you know who Gordon is? But he was met with a defensive bark and the response was mean, encouraging him to keep his mouth shut afterwards. 

He’d have to figure out this Gordon guy later. Especially since he’s come to the realization that he’s technically homeless.

He’s still holding on to his backpack with his essentials but he doesn’t think it’d be safe to open it in the middle of the street.

He was quite literally in the middle of nowhere. The street signs were mocking him, he couldn’t even make out anything with the faded lettering. It didn’t help that it was too tall for him to read properly– he could hardly call what he was doing navigating. He was more so aimlessly wandering. There were a couple of towns but a handful of them had an emphasis on adults. So Tim walked past them. 

*

Jason had barricaded himself in what used to be a real estate office, he was on the second floor. Just now placing wood in the top of the windows, and letting a bit of room out in case he needed to exit. Paired with a forecast stairwell, that was inconveniently locked to the ground so he couldn’t roll it up to prevent anyone from climbing. 

It was the kind of place with motivational posters still clinging to the walls and mysterious stains on every corner. Not exactly fortified, but good enough.

A part of him was glad he smuggled a couple of snacks, he’d be able to stretch it for a good week, 2 if he tried rationing. But he wanted to be able to get some sort of energy. Malnutrition exhausted him and it became a slow kind of dying for him. 

He'd stopped keeping track of the days. Time moved weird when you were hiding from corpses that refused to stay dead.

But it wasn’t the infection that made his fingers curl tighter around the rust-dulled kitchen knife. It was the creak of a window. His window.

Jason moved fast for someone who hadn’t slept in two days. His heart was thudding loud in his chest. Knife in hand, back to the wall, he needed to shove and stab. Just shove and–

And then.

Oh.

A kid.

Small. Eight, maybe nine? 

His heart didn’t get the memo yet, it was thudding erratically and he could only tighten his grip. 

He needed to get it together. It’s just a kid. His backpack was nearly the size of his torso. He stared at the kid’s dirt-streaked face wondering if he was infected. 

He seemed to have frozen in place. His wide eyes locked on Jason’s blade like it might jump out and bite him on its own.

The two of them stare at each other. 

Jason didn’t lower the knife. Not yet. He couldn’t really be sure of anything, and he really didn’t want to die. 

The kid’s bottom lip wobbled. His fingers clenched the window frame in white-knuckled panic.

Then he burst into tears.

Loud, sudden, snotty sobbing, he moves his head but it accidentally thuds against the wood that Jason placed. Jason winced and the kids cried harder. 

Jason slowly lowers the life near his side and makes his way forward. The kid misinterprets his caution step and flinches backward, his foot missing the rung of the ladder outside.

“Shit—!” Jason lunged forward, knife clattering side on the floor as he reached through the window. He caught the strap of the backpack just in time, yanking the kid forward with a rough, panicked pull.

Jason hits the floor, his knife right beside him. The kid is on top of him letting out a small hiccup.  Jason wheezes, moving the kid to the opposite side of the knife. His breath had been briefly knocked out of him and all he could do was gasp.

Now both of them no longer stare at each other, staring at the wall whilst breathing hard.

The kid hiccupped through his crying, curled into himself on the dusty carpet floor, still shaking.

Jason sat back, running a hand over his face. His pulse was still thundering and his head was beginning to pound. He hadn't moved that fast in days.

“…What the hell were you doing climbing up here?” Jason asked finally, voice hoarse.

The kid didn’t answer. Just rubbed at his eyes with a grubby sleeve and sniffled. His cheeks were red and wet, nose running. He was about to shrug it off until the kid started blubbering. 

“I…I thought it was empty,” the boy stresses in between hiccups. He coughs and the crying stops as he fumbles to explain himself. “I just… wanna sleep. I…I wasn’t gonna steal or nothing. I promise.. I..”

Jason stared at him, then at the window, then at the kid again. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in longer than Jason had. His clothes are too thin for the cold, eyes sunken, dirt ground into every crease of his skin. 

But he also didn’t look like he was from the slums at all. He was walking contradiction. Sure, his face was dirty but his teeth were perfectly white. Not to mention shoes were from a fancy kind of brand, despite them having a couple of scratches. 

There’s no way he could’ve stolen them himself. Or else he’d be stupid to wear them so freely  without expecting them to get snatched. 

Jason exhaled slowly, pressing his palm against his forehead. “Christ.” He was still a kid, regardless if he was from the slums.

The kid looked up, wary. “Are you gonna…?” He looks at the knife beside Jason.

Jason hesitated, he wanted the kid to trust him. But he didn’t want to remove his only source of comfort. 

He hadn’t let himself consider what might happen if he had to share his food, his space, his quiet.

But the kid was still crying. Still trying to wipe his face with trembling hands like it mattered. Still sitting where Jason had pushed him fallen, like he expected to be killed.

“No,” Jason muttered. “I’m not gonna fuckin’ kill you… or throw ya out there.”

The kid’s eyes widened.

Jason sighed again, pulled the chip bag from beside his sleeping bag, and handed it over without really looking at him.

“Don’t eat too fast. It’ll scratch your throat.”

Jason sat cross-legged on the floor, grabbing the knife and tucking it under his mattress. 

*

The kid, Tim Drake, was currently curled up in the corner. Eating his lays. He had fallen asleep pretty quickly once Jason promised to not kill him. And now he was curled up across from him eating his lays chips slowly.  

“Look, kid,” Jason said finally, breaking the silence. “I can’t keep you here.”

Tim looked up, he stopped chewing for a moment to stare.

“It’s Tim.” He reminded him.

Jason sighed, “Ok.. uh Tim. This place… it’s not safe long-term. I’ve been lucky, but I’m planning on leaving real soon. Standing in one place isn’t good.”

“You're kicking me out?”

“I’m not kicking you anywhere,” Jason sighed, he wasn’t sure how Tim even knew about the infected people and wasn’t sure how he could explain it to him. 

It became obvious when he announced himself with his last name that he was a well-off, sheltered kid. Still, he couldn’t help but get attached to the kid. “But I can’t babysit you. I’m barely keeping myself upright. I…”

He trailed off. There’s no way he could really explain to him how fucked this situation was. 

Tim stared at him, silent. 

Maybe guessing that this conversation held some sort of weight. 

Or maybe just scared to speak.

Jason rubbed his eyes. 

“Do you know Gordon?” Tim finally asks, tilting his head a lil.

Jason couldn’t help but wince.

“‘Course I do. He’s a cop.” 

“He your uncle or what?” Tim shakes his head.

“He’s just someone, the nice officer told me to run over and find him. I don’t know where he is though.”

“You think he can help?”

Tim shrugs. 

“What do you think”

Jason looked at him, then out the window at the gray light of early morning.

“Ehh it’s worth a shot.”

*

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Tim whispered, arms crossed tight over his chest.

They stood in the middle of a silent street, surrounded by the skeletal remains of suburbia. The early-morning fog curled low, muffling their steps. Jason crouched next to a scratched-up red Honda Civic, tools in hand.

“Of course not dipshit. But broad daylight is perfect. Everyone’s awake at night nowadays,” Jason muttered. “Paranoia. Patrols. Looters. But five a.m.? That’s basically a dead zone.” Hah, dead zones.

Tim didn’t seem to share his ironic humor regarding their zombie apocalypse situation. 

Tim looked around nervously. “Still feels like we’re gonna get shot.”

“Only if I mess this up.”

“…You ever done this before?”

Jason glanced up. “Tim. What do you think?”

“…Maybe?”

Jason grunted. “Close enough.”

With a short snap, the door popped open.

“Whoa.”

“Get in,” Jason ordered, sliding into the driver’s seat first and ducking under the steering wheel. Wires came next. Regardless of how Jason answered the question, it didn't look like he knew exactly what he was doing… until the car suddenly choked, clicked, and rumbled to life.

Tim flinched. “Holy crap.”

Jason allowed himself a brief, grim smile. “God Bless Honda Civics.”

He threw it into drive. Gravel crunched under the tires as they pulled away from the curb.

Tim watched the sunrise stretch over the road ahead. “So… we’re really doing this.”

Jason didn’t look at him. Eyes on the road. Jaw tight.

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess we are.”

*

Night pressed in around them like a tightening fist, thick and heavy with the smell of wet pavement and exhaust. Dick and Damian had managed to put a few more miles between themselves and the direction of the League’s last known presence, but the quiet of the outskirts was unnerving. Too still. Too empty.

Dick’s eyes were burning again, vision blurring at the edges despite his attempts to blink the strain away. 

He rubbed the heel of his hand against his brow, feeling the tender ache of sleep deprivation deep under the skin. Naturally, Damian didn’t miss the way Dick had been straining himself awake.

“You look like someone punched you,” the boy muttered, narrowing his eyes.

Dick huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well.. evil never sleeps.”

Damian wasn’t exactly amused. He rarely was, but he at least held his tongue on the obvious implication that the Ra’s were evil. Instead he studied Dick with a sharp glance. 

“You should sleep.”

Dick doesn’t respond, not registering it clearly until Damian pinches the back of his shoulders, it’s not a mere pinch either. He gets his nails under his clothes and twists. Dick can’t help but grimace and curse out.

“I said, you. should. sleep.”

“Shit! I heard you for the first time.” He groans, trying to remember the exit number in order for them to make their way out of the highway. 

“Sorry, Dames. Just.. give me a minute.. I'm just…busy right now.”

Damian looked away, his jaw tight. 

He clicks his tongue and stews for a couple of moments before blurting out.  “We don’t have a plan because there isn’t time for one. You know that. Grandfather won’t stop until he finds me. He won’t stop until he drags me back.”

Dick felt something twist painfully in his chest. God he sounded so miserable. He fucking hated those sons of bitches.

“Hey.” He tries fixing his rearview so he can see him a bit. “We will figure this out. Together. But we need to be smart about where we go next. We have a plan, we just need to work out the kinks.”

Damian’s brows knit. “Then where do we go? I didn’ think we’d risk taking the direct path to Father’s house.”

“Right,” Dick said, letting out a long breath. 

“Bruce’s place is obviously the safest spot once we actually get there. But we can try throwing them off.”

Damian’s gaze flicked toward the dark highway ahead of them. “So you want to go the long way.”

Dick nodded. “Metro City is far enough out of their expected radius. If we double back from there, it’ll muddy the trail. Your mom would think that it's stupid  to make a detour three cities over just to reach Gotham. They expect us to fight our way through.”

Damian didn’t respond immediately. He pressed his lips thin, thinking. Calculating. “It’s cowardly.”

“Extremely,” Dick agreed. “But safer.”

“And long,” Damian added.

Dick smirked. “Yeah. That too.”

Damian crossed his arms, cape stirring in the wind. “You can barely keep your eyes open. How long do you think you can last before you collapse mid‑stride?”

Dick lifted his hands defensively. “I’m not going to collapse.”

“You nearly crashed this car twenty minutes ago.”

“I forgot which  was the accelerator for a moment,” Dick muttered.

“A moment too many.” Damian’s voice wasn’t mocking now. It was quiet. Steady. “Grayson… If we do this, if we really go the long way…then you need to sleep. Otherwise you’re going to slow us down. Or get hurt. And I…” Damian’s swallowed. “I don’t want that.”

Dick blinked at him, taken off guard by the note of vulnerability threading through the boy’s tone. He couldn’t exactly face him, he needed to make a left, right now.

Still he softened. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I swear we’ll park near some Target and I’ll crash. But for 4 hours max. We’re not as far as I’d like us to be by tomorrow.”

Damian hesitated. His fingers curled at his sides. But finally, he nodded. “Fine.”

*

As luck would call it, the exit that Dick turned to had a rest stop nearby. Dick parked the car and dimmed the headlights, turning the whole car off and locking it. 

Dick guided the car into one of the empty parking spaces, easing off the gas and letting the engine quiet into a strained, tired rumble. His own eyes felt the same—strained, tired, ready to give out. He dimmed the headlights, letting darkness settle around them, then shut the engine off completely. The sudden silence pressed into the cabin, warm and heavy.

He locked the doors automatically, fingers lingering on the key fob longer than necessary. Maybe it was paranoia, maybe instinct. In their situation, both were useful.

Only then did he glance over at Damian.

The boy was slumped against the passenger door, arms folded, chin dipping closer to his chest every other second. His eyes were half-lidded, blinking slow and stubborn—too proud to admit he was exhausted, too wired from fear to allow himself to sleep easily.

Dick felt another pang in his chest. 

“I’m gonna be turning the car engine off, so put on some of the blanket.” Dick said softly.

Damian’s eyes snapped open, as if he were pretending he hadn’t been seconds from dozing off. “I was meditating.”

“You were snoring,” Dick corrected gently.

Damian’s cheeks flushed with irritation. “I do not snore.”

“Sure. Whatever lets you sleep at night.” Dick smiled and Damian's scowl only deepened.  

He reached for the lever at the side of his seat and reclined it slowly, the old mechanics clicking faintly in the quiet. “Ooh-kay we’re taking a break.” 

Dick felt his eyelids grow heavy, but not before he noticed Damian lean just slightly toward the center of the car. It was subtle, but Dick couldn't help but smile. 

“I solemnly swear not to make any more dumb driving decisions.”

Damian’s whisper was small, almost swallowed by the dark. “You better not.”

And slowly, carefully, they both began to drift off–

“Wait.”

“My seat’s not leaning too far back to you is it?” Damain groaned.

“Just sleep Richard.”

The two of them are a bit stiffly positioned, but they manage to fall asleep fairly fast.

Chapter Text

It was hard to give danger a distinct feeling. 

Nothing had felt wrong to him. Dick, busy focusing on the warmth of sleep, feeling his senses dull whilst exhaustion swallowed him whole. His vision narrowed to a soft, dark silence.

Until he felt a hand repeatedly tap on his shoulder.

A whisper, tight and urgent, right in his ear:

“Grayson. Wake up. Now.”

Dick jerked awake so hard his vision doubled.

“Whu—Damian?” He tried blinking slowly but he didn't sleep enough for any crust to form between his eyes.

But Damian wasn’t looking at him.

He was staring through the rearview mirror, eyes narrowed to predatory slits.

“There’s a car,” Damian hissed. “Behind us. It stopped.”

Dick blinked away the bleariness and followed Damian’s gaze.

A pair of headlights glowed faintly in the mirror—too steady, too close, too intentional.

Dick’s pulse spiked.

“Did they get out?” he whispered.

“I heard footsteps,” Damian replied, already straightening, fingers curling like claws. “Soft ones. Stalking. They weren’t infected steps.”

That woke Dick fully—adrenaline rushing through him like fire.

“Seatbelt,” Dick said. “Now.”

Damian obeyed without argument.

Dick turned the key, praying the engine wouldn’t choose now to die.

It roared to life—loud.

The headlights behind them suddenly flared bright.

“Go!” Damian snapped.

Dick did.

The tires screeched as he slammed the accelerator, gravel spitting behind them. He tore out of the parking space and barreled down the exit lane, heart hammering in his throat. Damian braced himself, eyes sharp on the mirror.

The other car surged forward.

Dick pushed the car harder. The engine whined like it was begging for mercy—thin, strained, furious.

“That car is faster,” Damian said, voice calm despite the tension.

“Yeah,” Dick muttered. “Hold on tight.”

The chase blurred into a blur of headlights and shadow—Dick weaving through parked vehicles in the parking lot clipping barriers, pushing their poor, overworked engine to its absolute limit.

The pursuing car kept coming.

Fuckin’ hell, who were they?

Damian’s grip tightened on the door. “This is unsustainable. The fuel—”

“I know!”

Another sharp turn, another desperate swerve, and finally—finally—the headlights behind them skittered sideways. A metallic crash echoed down the highway.

He saw the body fall out through the mirror, but he did not believe his eyes when the body looked…naked?

Damian exhaled, the sound tense and shaky, they were okay. There was no reason to bring up whatever the hell he just saw.

Dick didn’t slow until the other car’s lights vanished entirely. 

Until they were alone again.

Only then did Dick allow himself to ease off the gas. The car quieted into a rattling, exhausted rumble. He still had a good 3 hours before he really needed to get gas.

Damian leaned forward, staring at the fuel gauge with a tight jaw.

“That speed,” he said quietly, “cost us.”

Dick followed his gaze.

Damian’s expression hardened. “We cannot do that again without refueling.”

Dick rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, I know.”

They drove in silence afterwards. And Dick tried substituting sleep for long blinks.

*

“Look.. it’s not that I don’t wanna play I Spy with you… no seriously.. I’m just.. I’m just trying to concentrate on the road right now.” He clicks his tongue in mild frustration after missing a turn while Tim huffs and pressed his face dramatically against the window side.

Jason checks his side view mirror before making a sharp u-turn to compensate for missing a turn. He came to the conclusion that he made the mistake of letting Tim sit in the passenger side alongside him.  

Tim had to be, like, four-foot-nothing, yet he was just getting tossed around with every turn he made. He felt like the swerve sent Tim’s frame sliding across the old seat like a ragdoll, making Jason wince. Jason vowed to be more careful from here on out, adjusting his speed and determined to not turn him into some human slingshot.

“Let’s play 2 truths and 1 lie then!” Tim insisted, turning to face Jason again. 

The only reason Jason can tell Tim is doing any of this, is because he angled the rearview mirror towards Tim's side so he can appropriately make eye contact, rather than turning away from the road. 

“Why?”

“It's better than I Spy because that way you're not looking around to find something…”

“And I’m running out of two player games…” Tim confesses sheepishly. And now it’s Jason’s turn to huff out an amused laugh.

It wasn’t as if there was anything wrong with this game, he’d played this with some kids in high school before he dropped out. He just.. things felt abnormal. 

It was abnormal how mundane things were going right now. He knows he shouldn’t try jinxing anything but everything feels so bizarre he wonders why Gotham isn’t giving the apocalypse atmosphere he had expected. Has Gotham just always been like this? 

“Ok.. uh.. I’ll go first.” Tim pauses for a bit.

“Okay okay, I got it. Uhh, my favorite color is green, i have an uncle in bludhaven, and my parents are all the way in italy right now!” Jason bites his lips squinting at the road, and letting out a hmm to let Tim know he’s thinking.

Jason doesn’t exactly want to label Tim.. but he definitely screams rich kid. In fact he probably confessed to him a while ago when he had called his home a manor. Butt are they not rich enough to fly him out as well? It didn't make sense.

The uncle seems totally random so he picks the uncle as a lie.

“Whaaattt! You totally got it right!” Tim laughs, amazed.

“Okay okay it’s your turn now.”

“Uhh,” Jason winces, he doesn't really have anything interesting that wouldn’t factor in as ‘too depressing for a kid to hear’ He tries to go for something light.

“My favorite color is red, I live alone, and I’m 15 years old.” Tim whines.

“Waittt yours is too hard!” He stops talking for a bit, possibly trying to figure it out. 

“Okay.. I know you do live alone” He murmurs. 

“You’re not 15!” He accuses, before waiting with a bated breath. Jason laughs at his anticipation. 

“You got me.. I’m only 14..” 

Tim cheers and insists they go on for another round. Jason agrees, it’s easy enough. Spending time with him that is.

He’s not sure when he’s gotten attached enough to consider entertaining him but it’s too easy to fall into this childish space. He can’t help it, he’s having fun. 

*

Bruce’s mind raced beneath the cold glow of the Batcomputer. He was in deep shit right now….

He had always prided himself on understanding Gotham: its rot, its corruption, the thin membrane of civility stretched over its chaos. But this was different. 

His plans for “The Havens”: sanctuaries designed to shelter everyone in the midst of the virus spreads, were instead full of the privileged while the rest of the city tore itself apart.

He had never factored into his calculations. Now, with their unveiling imminent, a new kind of race had begun: a race for survival, one the wealthy had already started long before the poor even knew it existed.

More than half the people in Gotham City were being infected.

Whereas Central Gotham had less than 5 people who were infected. 

He saw it now more clearly than he wished to admit. A virus that now ended up condemning the less fortunate.

The moguls, the officials, the military elites—they had been preparing access routes for weeks. Their private servers ran faster, their resources pierced deeper into the encrypted chatter. Once the announcements became public they were the first ones there.

This was an issue for people who didn't have the ability to make an impromptu trip to their capital city. 

Fuck. 

Every time Bruce got close to a breakthrough, he found someone with more money or more institutional reach had beaten him there.

For all his wealth, for all his influence, Bruce had never felt further behind. His fortune wasn’t leverage here; it was a reminder of the gulf dividing Gotham’s classes. 

His money couldn’t be thrown at this problem without worsening the injustice at its core. This wasn’t a test of strength or detective work. It was a test of access, and for once, Bruce Wayne’s access wasn’t enough.

His privilege, once his most reliable weapon, now stood at odds with what Gotham needed.

Batman was starting to become a costume.

He shoved back from the console, the sound sharp in the cavernous hush. He doesn’t give this place a second thought. The cave he had once come to fear is now adapted into an environment he’s able to control. An environment that Batman can control.

So thinking like Bruce Wayne wouldn’t save anyone. 

Thinking like a billionaire would only replicate the problem. He needed to think like Batman, stripped of wealth, stripped of expectation, guided only by necessity and resolve. 

Batman didn’t solve problems by buying status and influence. He solved them by breaking systems open and fighting the evil that’s rooted inside. 

He turned away from the monitors and toward the suit. 

The people who needed the Haven most were the ones who would never reach it in time: families trapped in gridlock, workers without access to the networks that whispered early warnings, whole neighborhoods still offline from the initial outbreak. 

They deserved a chance. Batman meant to give them a chance and fight for the people.

But the challenge ahead wasn’t just about maneuvering physical barriers…it was also about countering the ideology that the Haven existed to protect the few. If the wealthy were using influence to get ahead, Bruce would need to use his in the opposite direction: to level the field, to reroute opportunity.

As he pulled the cowl over his head, a new clarity settled in. The key wasn’t simply helping people discover the Haven’s location. It was ensuring the right people learned it in time. 

Gotham’s elite had changed this system to allow it to preserve themselves. Batman would use that same system to subvert them.

If he couldn’t stop the powerful from reaching the Haven first, he would make sure they weren’t the only ones who did. 

He needed to create more havens, in every single city.

And what he really needed to do was suck up his pride and give Green Lantern a call back

* 

Jason pulled the old Honda Civic into the parking lot of a small convenience store. 

The place looked like it hadn’t seen a customer in days. The windows were cracked, the door hung crooked on its hinges, and most of the shelves inside were knocked over. Empty chip bags and broken cans were scattered everywhere—like someone had flipped the whole store upside down.

“Looks like somebody got here before us,” Jason said.

Tim pushed his glasses up nervously. “Yeah… like, everyone.”

Jason popped open the gas door of the Civic. 

“It’s fine. We just need enough gas to keep moving.” He found a small generator behind the store, tipped on its side, and managed to siphon a little fuel from it.

Once the tank had a bit in it, Jason shut the door and looked at Tim. “Okay. Time for you to learn.”

Tim blinked at him. “Learn what?”

“How to drive.” Jason tapped the top of the Honda. 

Tim frowned. “But I’m ten.”

“I know.”

“And this car is hot-wired.”

“I also know.”

Tim sighed. “This feels like a really bad idea.”

Jason crossed his arms. “That’s why we’re practicing here. No cars, no people, no traffic. Just us.”

After a moment, Tim gave in with a quiet, “Fine…”

“Don't worry, it's just like playing Mario Kart!...Have you…played Mario Kart before?”

That was a multi-player game so Tim shook his head no. 

Jason brushed it off and insisted he'll be fine as they climbed into the Civic. Jason showed him the pedals first, guiding his foot to the brake, then the gas. Tim pressed each carefully, like he was afraid the car might explode.

“Good,” Jason said. “Now the wheel. Just turn it a little.”

Tim tried small turns left and right. The car rocked slightly, but he kept his hands steady. After a few minutes, he started smiling a little.

“This isn’t too scary,” Tim admitted.

“Told you,” Jason said, sounding proud.

They kept going for a while—Jason explaining simple things, Tim trying them out. But after a bit, Tim’s face tightened.

“Uh… Jason?”

“Yeah?”

Tim squirmed. “I, um… I gotta go. Like, now.”

Jason let his head fall back against the seat. “Seriously? We just started.”

“I knoww, but I can’t help it!”

“Alright, alright fine,” he said, making a shoo-ing motion with his hands. “But make it fast, alright? An’ don’t wander off. I'm not teachin’ you how to drive just to lose you in some nasty bathroom.”

Tim hummed in agreement and hurried out of the car toward the messed-up store as Jason watched him go, shaking his head.

*

Jason noticed the car before he heard it,  a black jeep rolling into the spot beside them. The second it halted, something prickled at the back of his neck. 

Instinct. Habit. Trouble. Whatever it was, he was instantly alert.

He let the moment hang, eyes locked forward, listening. Tim was all the way in the bathroom, the likelihood of them reaching him wasn’t possible, but his words faded into a muffled background buzz as Jason tracked the movement outside: a door creaked open, someone stepped out.

He paused, breath held.

Through the corner of his eye, Jason saw a figure circling around their black jeep—young, but moving with the kind of exhaustion that made every step look like it weighed a hundred pounds. 

Except… it didn’t look like a person. He looked like a half-dead shadow masking itself. It’s back was hunched, their eyes sunken, breathing ragged, clothes hanging off him like he hadn’t slept or eaten in days. 

Jason’s mind went straight to the worst explanation.

It’s a zombie. It’s a zombie. It’s a fucking zombie. 

He swallowed hard and reached under his seat, rummaging for anything with weight, anything he could use if this turned into a threat. His fingers closed around cold metal. 

Okay. 

Okay. Good. At least he wasn’t going in blind.

He quickly steps out and makes his way toward the person. Half expecting to hear grunts and zombie groans. Instead he hears an actual voice.

“Who the fuck are you?” He tries to keep his voice hostile and clutches onto the trigger.

“Shit. Shit.” The person mutters slowly, turning around to face him.

“I— my name is Dick. I’m sixteen years old and… and… I’m—” He tripped over his words, panic pushing them out faster than his lungs could support. 

“You can’t hurt him, please.” Dick coughed hard, the sound scraping at his throat. His knees buckled, and Jason tightened his grip on the gun. Every instinct screamed He’s sick! It’s him or them right now. He needed to move..right now.

“It’s just—” Dick wheezed, stumbling the last step toward the passenger side door. “I’m just…”

Whatever he had left to say was cut short when he collapsed. Not exactly a faint—but more like surrendering towards gravity. Dick twisted just enough draw attention away from the back car, where Jason can only assume him is. 

He also managed to knock the gasoline out of his gas panel so it falls to the ground dripping.

Jason freezes in this moment, his not exactly sure what to do. He didn’t..look like a zombie yet. But it was only a matter of time, was he hiding another infected inside? Fuck.. he needed to get him and Tim out of here. 

Every option spun around his skull until it made him dizzy.

His fingers trembled with resolve and just as he was about to pull the trigger he hears a scream that puts him to a stop.

Tim’s scream.

Jason’s blood went cold.

All his indecision evaporated in an instant. Whatever was happening, wherever this was going.

He didn’t have time to think anymore. 

Which ended up fucking him over. 

*

Fuckin’ hell. 

Dick had lost years of training in an instant, instinctively cowering at any interaction. 

Fear took over his body, he’d immediately assumed it was someone sent by Damina’s grandfather.

Shit. Shiiiit.  He shouldn't have been more alert.

He curses towards himself. He’d been trained better than this. 

You should’ve prepared. You should’ve planned this out. You should’ve known someone would be here. You should’ve known he’d have a weapon.

Every step the kid made towards the truck felt like he was waterboarding. Fear seized up and his insides felt like he was underwater. His muscles burned. His lungs felt like they were full of gravel. He coughed and wheezed out.  He wasn’t even sure how he was still standing.

Oh. wait. He’s not standing anymore. His knees were aching and pressed against gravel. 

Fuck. Fuckk. He had to do something. Anything. He hadn’t gotten a chance to do shit yet, he still needed to keep the kid safe.

As soon as he saw Jason’s eyes narrow, saw that shift in posture, the one that meant danger, meant target acquired, Dick’s mind spiraled. This was it. 

Holy shit.

You’re so stupid, Grayson. You should’ve brought a weapon out of the jeep first. You should’ve scouted first. His car had to have arrived before yours. You shouldn't have let yourself get this weak. Fuckin’ hell.

Before he can berate himself any further he hears a wail. It pierces through his thoughts, he hears a scream. For a second, his heart drops and he mistakes it for Damian's but it’s too far away. 

When the kid’s attention flickered, just for a second, Dick saw the glint of metal in his hand. He saw exactly where the threat was, and he knew what he needed to do. 

Just then, instinct took over.

Even exhausted, half-conscious, with his skin burning with something akin to a fever, Dick moved. A clean snap of motion. Fast enough that it surprised even him.

His foot slammed forward, knocking the weapon clean out of the kid’s grip, sending it clattering under his jeep. He then shoves the kid back causing him to stumble backwards. 

The sudden movement sent stars bursting behind Dick’s eyes. His knees buckled, vision tilting sideways, since he abruptly tried to rise to his feet before the kid could. He stayed up long enough to choke out.

“Your not fuckin gonna do shit to him—”

His voice cracked, humiliatingly weak, but he couldn’t stop now. 

This was just a kid, and he came to the conclusion that it was someone completely unaffiliated with Ra Gul’s. He just needed him to hear him, to understand he wasn’t a threat, that Damian wasn’t either.

“I’m not— I can’t— my name is Dick… I’m sixteen… I’m—” He rambled, unable to stop the panic from spilling out for the third time. A lifetime of drilled-in survival instincts screaming at him to humanize yourself, make them hesitate, make them see you’re not an enemy.

“Okay! Okay fine! Truce! Truce!” The kid gasped, trying to get up on his own. 

“The.. that scream. I need to check on Tim… I uh..” The kid bites his lip still staring at Dick with wide eyes. A coughing fit ripped through Dick, harsh enough to scrape his throat raw. It only makes Jason squint and scooch away from him.

“I’m Jason, alright?”

Dick feels a bit too relieved and agrees a bit too easily. 

“Okay Jason” 

“You’re not.. infected are you?”

“What?”

*

Tim is washing his hands, when he hears the first groan.

Then another.

Then a thump.

He freezes.
Look up at the mirror.

A corpse-like face stares back from behind the cracked bathroom window.

Tim doesn’t even scream at first. He just… wheezes. A way that can only be equivalent to a moment when a soul leaves the body.

The zombies are slowly inching towards him.

He then hears the chorus of groans.

He frantically opens the door, he hadn’t even realized there were other people in the stalls. 

“JAAAAAAAAAASOOOOOOOOOON!” He takes off running. 

*

He shakes it off the odd interaction and makes his way toward his old Honda Civic. He needs to turn it around, get it started again so Tim can make a clean getaway.

As he approaches the car, his heart sinks. He turns the key, the engine sputters, and then… nothing. The damn thing won’t start. Something fucked in the car, be it fuel pump’s, or some sort of hotwiring on his part. Regardless, it’s dead. Jason curses under his breath. 

It’s a pile of junk now. 

“Shit.”

Dick’s eyes widened. 

“Jason just get in.” Dick calls out, suspiciously with a level of charisma he shouldn’t get away with after bossing him around like this. But Jason doesn’t really have enough time to exactly question him. He gets in the passenger seat, and Dick remains on the outside, continuing to finish loading the car with gasoline.

“Jason?” Damain blurts in confusion. Jason can’t help but feel guilty in knowing this kid has probably just woken up from a nap, missing the whole threatening scenario. But they don’t exactly have time to catch up. 

“We’ve got company,” Dick explains, already kicking the door open. “Do keep up Dames.” 

Damian flips him off. Dick isn’t even looking the kid’s way but he laughs. 

“Wait.. wait.. Tim’s..fuck.. I need to find him" Jason curses and opens the passenger seat and runs off to the convenience store. But not before he hears the kid question,

“Who the hell is Tim?”

*

Jason barrels toward the hallway of the store and he notices Tim beside the checkout. He's screaming his lungs out whilst running.

“WHY ARE THERE SO MANY—WHY IS THIS HAPPENING—WHY—”

“GET IN THE TRUCK!” Jason grabs him by the back of the shirt and practically yeets him toward the vehicle, the back door seemingly already open for Tim. He shoves him in and slaps it shut. 

The swarm grows fast; too fast.

Dick, is shouting for Jason to hurry up and get in the passenger seat. 

Jason leaps in, slams the door, while Dick floors the gas.

No one talks.

No one breathes.

Finally Dick whispers, “We barely made it.”

Tim mutters, softer, “I thought that was it.”

Jason keeps his eyes on the road, jaw tight.
“Yeah. Me too.”

Tim wipes his face. “I think I peed a little.”

“I think I peed a lot,” Dick mutters.

That’s when they see him.

*

A dark figure drops directly into the road ahead of them. Dick slams the brakes so hard everyone whiplashes. The figure then disappears.

It isn’t until Jason looks to his window’s side does he realize the figure jumped. 

Revealing what he saw to be a black cape, paired with an eared cowl. 

Dead silence.

“…did anyone else see that?” Tim begins.

“Yes.” Damian snaps.

“I think…  I think I pissed myself again,” Dick whispers.

But it looked like him, like Batman, but just for a second.  Jason stares silently at the empty road.

Holy fuckin’ shit.

*

“Soooo…uh sorry for trying to kill you. I thought you were one of those infected.”

The atmosphere has been pretty quiet and awkwardly tense so Jason figures it’s best to apologize to the randos giving him a ride.

“Water under the bridge,” Dick waves off almost cheerily, as if he hadn’t almost sent Dick near the verge of a panic attack.

“Rightt.”

Awkward silence resumes.

“So where are you guys headed? Damian and I are making our way to Bludhaven so we can drop you off wherever."

“Do you know Gordan?” Tim asks his seat right behind Jason, right as Damian asks.

“What’s an infected?”

He notices Dick doesn’t answer either of those questions, until he realizes Dick is giving a pointed glance at Jason.. As if he’s hoping he can explain it.

“Wait… do you guys not know about the outbreak.” He mutters in disbelief.

“Uhh no?” Dick supplies unhelpfully. 

“Is it related to this Jim?” Damian asks.

“What? No, no Jim’s a cop.” Jason feels like their fucking with him a little but they both looked geniune. 

He explains to them the infection that’s began to spread and it’s similarity to a zombie apocalypse.

“Shit.”

Dick doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t exactly reveal what he’s thinking but he does miss the Bludhaven exit, almost deliberately.

“I guess we’re making our way to the outskirts of Gotham City.”

“What? You completely missed it then.”

“Uh.. we’ve been making a detour. It’s Damian’s first roadtrip, but it might be time to go home.”

Jason doesn’t exactly believe him, but it’s none of his business. 

“Alright then, you can drop us off somewhere near the police station then.” Dick easily hums in agreement. This whole situation is incredibly weird to say the least. But Jason’s not exactly about to make a fuss over it.

Chapter Text

Tim was snoring, cuddled alongside Damian. Dick had been surprised when he glanced back, but Jason didn’t know either of them well enough to feel surprised. 

To him, they just looked like kids; reasonably just tired out of their minds. 

The black jeep jostles a bit, but nothing wakes them up. Dick is obviously about to lose his mind, he keeps yawning hard enough for tears to pool at his eyes. Jason is too anxious to sleep, it felt hard to relax when he hardly knew any of them.  

So Jason’s eyes stay open, he ends up spending most of the night staring out the window. And Dick’s restless movements beside him are the only signs that he hasn’t crashed this car and killed them all.

Jason thought he’d be the first one of them to talk, hoping to muster up the courage to offer driving for the night instead, half worried Dick might crash this car. But it ends up being Dick who breaks the silence. 

“Are you and Tim.. brothers?” The question catches him off guard, they don’t look alike in the slightest. He turns behind him to double check. 

Yep, nothing alike.

Tim's hair was a bit of a lighter brown while Jason’s hair was completely black. He turned away from Tim to sneak a quick glance at Dick. He hadn’t exactly realized it before but they ended up sharing the same characteristic. 

Same black hair, same pale blue eyes. Shit, they could try and pass for twins.

Jason realized he hadn’t answered Dick’s question so he turns his attention back to the window, “Nah, he ended up sneaking his way towards my apartment and I almost stabbed him.” Dick snorts. 

“So I guess I shouldn’t feel special?” Jason smirks, turning away from the widow to face him again.

“I already apologized, haven't I?” He whines. Dick laughs quietly.

“I’m not holding anything against you I swear!” His smile says otherwise but Jason lets the subject drop and the two of them follows an easy silence until Jason asks him,

“Are the.. two of you guys related?”

“Nope,” Dick says it like he’s attempting to keep it upbeat– but he kinda falters halfway through. 

“Damian’s family… they’re not exactly the best, y’know?” His voice is low, almost hesitant. 

“So…I guess…they’re not really family. But… he’s still the closest thing I’ve had to a brother.”

Jason glances over, he supposes he could relate to that. But he doesn’t share that part of himself yet. Instead he asks him other questions,

“And yours? Were your parents…?”

A tight smile curls on Dick’s lips, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He grips the steering wheel tighter, not exactly out of anger but as if the motion is almost protective, shielding something inside him. 

“They were the best,” he whispers, voice barely audible. The words hang in the air, heavy and fragile.

Jason feels the shift in the space between them and instantly regrets asking. 

“I’m sorry,” Jason mutters, his voice softer than usual.

Dick shakes his head, a small, sad smile breaking through. “Don’t be. Talking about people I love... it’s never a waste.” He pauses, then, almost as if it’s something he’s been holding in, adds, 

“But..I don’t know. Sometimes it just feels like I’m bringing up things that should stay in the past.”

Jason’s brow furrows. “You mean, like… your old man?” Was there an informal phrase to refer to someone’s mom? Old woman? 

Dick nods, quiet for a long beat before he speaks again. “Yeah. He…I miss him.” He shifts in his seat a little.

“Anyways Damain’s dad is some like estranged millionaire. His mom told me to go to him, but it’s more like I’m here to drop him off like some postman. ” His voice cracks slightly, but he forces himself to keep going. 

“I’m probably never going to see him. His dad would definitely look at me funny and be done with it.”

Jason’s gaze sharpens, and without thinking, he leans in a little closer. “Well, I’m a street rat,” he says, a wry grin tugging at his lips. “So welcome to Gotham.”

Dick’s lips twitch into a smile, a quiet, almost grateful thing. "Thanks." His eyes flicker to the side, the smile fading as he looks out into the dark.

"I wasn’t really lying about the road trip part, he needs to meet his dad eventually. But I was hoping to drag this on for a bit." He admits sheepishly.

Jason watches him, the weight of his words settling in the space between them. 

“You don’t need to drag this on, especially when you look this tired. Who cares if he thinks you're some circus freak? Damian knows you better than him.” Dick ends up yawning in this exact moment but he smiles sheepishly. 

“Maybe you’re right.”

For a moment, they sit there in the stillness, neither of them saying anything. But in the quiet of the jeep, with the night pressing in around them, it feels like they’ve said everything they needed to.

However Jason feels the need to add.

“Do ya think we can swap spots? I can’t really fall asleep and let you drive knowing that you look like the undead right now.” Dick looks surprised before quietly laughing.

“I guess it would be good to trade places to try and cover more time. Try not to crash our only car, alright?”

*
 

BATCAVE — LATE AT NIGHT 1:00 AM EST

He opened a channel.

Batman:
“Infection rates over sixty percent in the Narrows and the East End. The Havens have been compromised. Only the wealthy have access. They’re using the rollout to isolate themselves.”

He hears a low whistle interrupting him through the comms.

Green Lantern:
A pause.

“Sounds like you’re asking for help.”

Batman didn’t blink.

Batman:
“Yes, I am.” Batman said quietly. “The Haven system can’t stop at major cities. No centralized hubs. No capital-controlled rollout. We build at the neighborhood level, block by block. Fortresses that can rise in hours, with mobile teams backing them. A fully distributed network. Everywhere.”

Green Lantern:
“Should I feel honored you haven't hung up already?”

Batman:
“We can mock each other later.”

Green Lantern:
“I wasn’t mocking.”

Another pause. 

“…Okay, maybe a little mocking.”

Batman allowed the silence to speak for him.

*

Alarms pulsed again. Red. Relentless.

On-screen, wave after wave of infection clusters bloomed across his city. 

People weren’t dying, they were mutating. Their minds dissolve into docile emptiness. Not zombies. Not monsters. Something far worse; people trapped inside their own bodies.

The vaccine existed.

They had everything they needed to put a stop to this.

But it wasn’t in the right hands, or the right neighborhoods.

Batman:
“This is just a hunch but it’s possible the Haven locations were leaked early. Privately. Selectively.”

Green Lantern:
“By who?”

Batman:
“People with access.”

Green Lantern:
“You’re saying you built a lifeboat and they turned it into a yacht?” (tone meant to be interpreted as teasing)

Batman could only sigh. 

*

Bruce Wayne had believed in the Havens.

He had, naively, thought he could build something immune to corruption.

The rich always got there first.
They always heard warnings before alarms.
They always traveled faster, filed earlier, learned sooner.

Tonight, Batman wasn’t being outsmarted.

He was being out-accessed.

And for the first time in years, wealth felt like the wrong tool. Like armor on the wrong battlefield.

So he needed reinforcements. 

*

BATCAVE — LATER AT NIGHT 4:38 AM EST

Green Lantern streaked into the Batcave in a blaze of emerald. The light dimmed as John Stewart touched down, eyes sweeping the cavern.

“You look like hell.”

“Good,” Batman quips. “I need to blend in with the rest of the city.”

John shook his head.

“Alright. What’s the plan?”

Batman turned toward the holographic map of Gotham, glowing red, block by block. Not metaphorically. Literally.

“We redistribute access. We destroy the exclusivity pipeline. We decentralize the Havens completely. Instead, we’ll be making the vaccines more public in hospitals and pharmacies and we’ll round up all the infected in the meantime.”

“Are you sending the vaccines globally?”

“This is a global issue. Right now we’re just focusing on Gotham, but this will end up becoming global to prevent this from happening again.”

John folded his arms.

“And you want my constructs to replicate Haven infrastructure on-site?”

“Yes. You handle temporary structures and shielding. I coordinate supply chains. We’ll need Flash for delivery. Superman for airborne evacuation. And Wonder Woman for data rerouting.”

He hesitated. 

“I can’t build these fast enough alone.” Bruce admits.

John’s expression softened, just enough to let Batman know that he was sold.

“About time you figured that shit out.”

He extended a hand.

Batman took it.

*

“Alright, one question.” He tilted his head.

“You said the wealthy controlled the access routes. How are you planning to… re-route them? 

Politically, and logistically: that’s messy as fuck.”

Batman’s voice dropped an octave.

“I’m not negotiating with them. I’m not appealing to them. And I’m not asking permission.”

He triggered a command on his gauntlet.

The hologram shifted, Haven blueprints, their secure channels, transport systems, vaccine pathways were now reprogramming themselves in real time.

“I’m overriding their servers. And I’m releasing the Haven coordinates publicly; to every device in Gotham. That way they serve no upper hand.”

“You’re gonna piss off a lot of powerful people.” He shrugs. 

“It’s a bad habit.” He says with a helpless shrug, Green Lantern discreetly coughs out, shameless bastard before looking away. 

He kinda deserved that.

*

INSIDE THE BATMOBILE — LATE AT NIGHT 1:00 AM EST

“...Then we’ll leak the vaccine information. It’s already being mass produced by Alfred as we speak.” He explained in comms.

“And after that?”

As engines roared to life, Batman answered without hesitation.

“Then distributed towards every city.”

The Batwing tore through the night. His batmobile's engine revved up as he turned up the accelerator. 

Behind him, a streak of green light followed.

*

Flash delivered vaccine doses in a blur. Wonder Woman rerouted emergency channels, blasting the Haven’s location to every street. Superman airlifted the worst cases to safety.

By dawn, the infection curve had begun to bend.

For the first time since the outbreak began, Gotham wasn’t actively dying.

And he wasn’t fighting alone anymore.

Gotham had been given a second chance.

This time, everyone would get access to it.

And Batman intended to make damn sure of that.

*

No one expected it. 

Not the panicked city officials, not the exhausted hospital staff, not even the citizens who had long ago stopped believing Gotham could give them anything except disappointment.

Late-night pedestrians stopped as emergency vans rolled in, hospital banners unfurled, and streetlights flickered with the surge of portable generators. 

Pharmacies unlocked their back entrances. Volunteers hauled crates of supplies across cracked pavement. Doctors in worn scrubs set up triage tents between shuttered storefronts.

And at the center of it all stood Batman, cape snapping in the wind as data streamed across his visor.

He surveyed the chaos, then spoke into his comm:

“We redistribute access. We dismantle the exclusivity pipeline. Starting tonight, vaccine availability is moving into every hospital, and every pharmacy. We’ll coordinate the rounding up and isolation of infected cases.”

People emerged from their apartment windows drawn toward the strange, glowing shelter.

A little boy tugged at his mother’s coat.

“Is it safe?” he whispered.

Batman didn’t hear him, but the answer echoed all the same when Wonder Woman’s voice rang from the Haven’s speakers:

“Open to all! No cost, No ID required!”

For the first time in decades, Gotham obeyed instantly

*

BACK IN THE BATCAVE — NOON 3:00 PM EST

The news broadcasts traveled faster than infection. Footage of Gotham’s glowing dome replayed in endless loops across the world—crowds flooding in, Lantern light guiding paramedics, the Flash arriving with vaccine coolers like a streak of red lightning.

Two days later, Diana forwarded Batman a message from a community organizer in Metropolis. 

“We saw what you built.
We need one too.”

Then Blüdhaven. Coast City.

But the requests weren’t coming from presidents or health ministers.

They came from street clinics.
Mothers.
Union halls.
Teachers.

People whose governments had failed them long before the outbreak did.

Batman read each message, jaw tightening hard enough to ache. Gotham’s Haven had been designed as a stopgap, nothing more. But the world didn’t need another stronghold for the rich.

They needed a space where the vulnerable could walk in without proving they deserved to survive, a basic dignity their hospitals and pharmacies should have offered all along.

*

Back in the Tower, Diana stood before a six-point hologram, the light washing gold across her armor. 

“Batman can’t run every hospital under these new regulations,” she said. “But a team can.”

 She titled the file vaccine distribution protocol. 

Batman would oversee logistics, including street grids, supply lines, and local threat assessments. 

Green Lantern would handle containment, isolating infected clusters with precision constructs. 

Flash would manage vaccine distribution at inhuman speed, working alongside paramedics, delivery drivers, and local volunteers to ensure doses reached every clinic and pharmacy efficiently. 

Superman would provide stabilization, heavy transport, and global lift capacity. 

Local medical leads would run the clinics while community communicators served as neighborhood anchors, providing trust and real-time information. 

It was not hero-run, Wonder Woman reminded him, it was hero-supported. 

Batman studied the blueprint, his eyes narrowing behind the cowl, and then he nodded.

*

This only served to piss off powerful people of course.

They hated that their private clinics, their priority vaccine lists, their exclusive escape routes suddenly meant nothing. They hated seeing the poor treated first. They hated seeing their privilege dim under Lantern light.

One senator declared Batman “an unauthorized medical actor.” He wasn’t exactly wrong, but it wasn’t like this vaccine wasn’t approved by government officials. They just had a problem with Batman giving it. 

A pharmaceutical lobby filed a lawsuit claiming the Havens were “disrupting controlled supply chains.”

Corporations demanded regulation.

Governments demanded oversight.

Reporters cornered Batman outside a hospital construction site. But Batman wasn’t administering these himself, he was just giving hospitals the space for professionals to do it themselves. 

*

The virus managed to hit Metropolis’s lower districts like wildfire, crowded streets and narrow alleys where ambulances could barely pass.

But the vaccines reached them first. Flash darted through alleyways with coolers strapped to his back, handing vials to community nurses and local volunteers. Lanterns reinforced collapsing rooftops during sudden storms, sealing leaks with emerald sheets. Superman cleared debris from blocked roads so families could reach improvised triage points.

By dawn, the Metropolis Haven ran entirely on local hands. And the world saw it. The headline spread everywhere:

METROPOLIS JUST NARROWLY AVOIDING A CRISIS! 

*

They’d been able to get this done in under a week, Batman sighed making his way toward the Batcave to report all of this work and Green Lantern floated beside Batman, watching him re-explain how the past 4 days have gone. 

“Never thought I’d see the day you became a humanitarian,” Lantern said.

Batman didn’t look up.

“I’m not.”

Lantern raised a brow.
“Oh?”

“Humanitarian efforts help people when systems fail.”

Batman tightened a bolt.

“I’m rebuilding the system so it won’t fail.”

Lantern stared at him. But not before he bursted out laughing.

“Careful, Bruce. That almost sounded optimistic.”

Batman almost smiled.

Almost.

*

SOME GAS STATION — BARELY MORNING 12:00 PM EST

Jason slumped into the passenger seat, finally letting himself sink against the cracked leather. It had been five days since they’d had to abandon their hotwired car, and they'd made it! 

And Gotham City looked just as lovely as ever… 

The streets were littered with debris, overturned cars, and the faint smell of decay that clung to everything. 

It was home, really.

Jason hadn’t realized it but they probably reeked—several days without a proper shower, every one of them coated in dust, sweat, and whatever grime this apocalypse had left behind. 

Jason pulled his jacket tighter around him, trying to see if he could even smell anything.

Dick was outside, crouched at the gas pump, moving with the casual confidence of someone who’d handled far worse. 

They had stopped at a convenience store that appeared to be actually open.

Not to mention there was another car that had just made their way behind him, unlike the last few ransacked locations, someone had actually managed to keep this place running despite the apocalypse.

“Fucking hell,” Jason muttered, his voice just loud enough to make Tim flinch. Both Tim and Damian, were still lazily pressing against the left side of the window to see what Dick was up to. 

“Who’s still working in the midst of all this shit?” Jason grumbles, wondering how they’d be able to pay for gas. They had tried combing away their food last night but they had finished the last chip. 

Dick didn’t seem fazed. He wiped a streak of grime from his forehead with the back of his hand and called back to Jason, loud. “It’s fine. I’ll charm her.”

Jason groaned, leaning back in defeat. “Yeah, I’m sure you’ll be able to while we reek like roadkill.”

“Don’t do anything stupid”

Dick smirked faintly. “Relax. I’ve got a plan.” He closes the driver’s side door.

Just then, a gruff woman with a thick Gotham accent made her way towards Dick. Her eyes narrowed the moment she saw him, clearly assessing him.

Normally in Gotham, the gas station attendations prohibit drivers from pumping their own gas, in order to allow for more jobs, making their service mandatory. 

However, it also made Dick’s behavior suspicious since he had no reason to be pumping the gas himself. 

“Ello, how can I help you?” she said, arms crossed, her posture daring him to make trouble.

Dick straightened, taking a deep breath and brushing some dust from his jacket, trying to look presentable despite the five days of grime clinging to him. 

“Regular, please,” he said, stepping forward, forcing a confident tone.

Jason winced from the car. 

He could see Dick subtly leaning away from the worst of their smell, as if hoping the lady wouldn’t notice the odor of weeks on the road. Tim and Damian shifted nervously in the back seat.

Dick gave a faint shrug to Jason through the window, silently saying, I got this. And then, standing tall despite the stink, he faced the cashier head-on, ready to negotiate the awkward reality of paying for gas. 

“Uh.. are you sure? I thought the guy behind me offered to pay.” He explains while easily plugging the gas pump himself, he confidently presses the regular button of the gas in front of her.

“Did he now?” 

Dick nods, when the lady turns to look at Jason he instantly keeps his face neutral.

“Let me just check with him..”

“Of course,” He agrees easily. She slowly backs away from him, trying to keep his eye on him while making his way. He just smiles politely while discreetly unplugging the gas and letting it drip on the ground. He then closes the gas panel, delicately so a click can't be heard.

Just as she turns his back, he calmly makes his way to the car. Gently closing the door, before quickly shifting it out of park and making a beeline towards the exit. 

“YOU FUCKIN’ PEICE OF SHIIII” Her hollering fades out while Dick belly laughs. Jason can’t help but snort in disbelief.

Chapter Text

Tim was no longer curled against Damian’s side. Instead, he was leaning away from everyone, rubbing his eyes like the smell burned. 

Damian had long since declared that he was “going nose-blind,” which Jason insisted was a clinical sign of death.

“Oh my goddd, are you guys still complaining? I’m almost there quit fussing around.” He says making a sharp right turn that makes Jason look back in confusion.

“Dick.. the police station was right there..” Dick sticks out his tongue a little in concentration as he makes another sharp turn left. He continues driving straight after that. 

“Yeah I know, but if Tim's gonna get back to his parents I figured we should call it a night and head to a motel so he doesn’t reek.” 

“A motel..? How do you even know where we’re going?” Tim asks, leaning on the back of Jason’s chair. 

“We’ve using a GPS, it's hidden in the corner on his left side.” Jason explains, he had only really figured out because Dick had explained it to him when he let Jason take the wheel. 

“Yeah, but don’t tell the cops. You're not supposed to drive while using it.” Dick explains.

“I’m pretty sure that’s only for texting.” Tim argues, giving him a weird look. 

“Really? I guess I wouldn’t know.” Dick says with a shrug, and now it’s Jason’s turn to give him a weird look. 

“What?” 

“I just mean.. I haven’t… well.. I haven’t really been to Gotham for a long while. I’ve been in Damain’s house for as long as I can remember. But I wish the state laws were just for using a phone…”

“But you said you're not related to them…” Jason insists,

“Are they your guardians?”

“..no…”

The car goes a bit awkwardly silent after that. Damian hasn’t spoken a single word but even he understands the obvious kidnapped implications.

It ends up being Jason who breaks the silence. “How do you even know how to drive?” 

“It’s…kind of.. I used to have foster parents.. And we used to play mario kart.. Sooo” 

“What the hell is a mario kart?” Damian scrunches his face, meanwhile Tim looks like Dick’s going to crash the car any minute. Jason never really played Mario kart. 

“MARIO KART?”

“Oh.. look hey we’re here.” Dick says with an awkward laugh, making a careful turn right. He bites the curb a little bit, but he’s able to recover. 

Unfortunately, the only parking spots available require him to parallel park.

“Jason…do you.. know how to parallel park?” Jason, in fact, does not.

“Wait can’t you search it up?” 

“I don’t want to use the phone for anything other than the GPS though..”

“Look! That guy’s about to leave” Tim tries to point, everyone’s attention is honed in on the car as he reserves out of his parking space. Dick sighs in relief and make his way but parking straight ahead. 

*

As they parked into the mote, Jason feels his unease growing more and more on how Dick’s going to be able to get them in the motel. 

Dick reminds Damian to get their bag full of essentials and Jason lectures Tim the same. (Even though it was Jason who was about to forget about his small bag)

They follow Dick as he makes his way inside the motel. Jason makes sure to watch Dick talk to the motel attendant, who is a refined old man with a white beard. He stared at him down, clearly waiting for payment. Dick is fairly taller than the rest of them, and Jason thinks he could pull off being 18 if he planned on pretending to be their father. 

Although.. to be honest he’d expected Dick to pull out another random con out of his ass. This time, he’d say something like his father owning the motel.

And here is Dick, smiling like this was the most normal day of his life, reached into his bag and handed him a wad of cash.

“One night stay, please.” He has the gall to add “2 bedrooms.”

Dick finished the transaction, allowing the man to count his money and verify that it was real before handing him the keys to his room. 

Before Dick could even get the elevator open, Jason leaned out and hissed,

“So you did have cash.”

Dick blinked at him. “Yeah?”

Jason’s jaw dropped. “We spent five days smelling like the underside of Crime Alley because you didn’t think to mention that?!”

“We couldn’t risk stopping anywhere unsafe,” Dick said, calm as always. “Fast travel, minimal contact. The cash was for emergencies.”

“Dick,” Tim said quietly, “we are in an emergency.”

Damian nodded in agreement, arms crossed. “I refuse to sleep in the car again.”

Dick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s kind of why we’re here guys. Really, I don’t know why you're so surprised. It’s around 2 hours to Damian’s house and 15 minutes to the station, this was the perfect place to stay at."

Jason muttered, “Unbelievable,” He crossed his arm but didn’t argue further.

“There's only one bathroom when we get there. So we’ll go from youngest to oldest,” Dick says, as they make their way to level 2. Their key says 203 so they're heading to room 3. 

“Then tomorrow morning, we will go straight to the police station and look for Gordon.” Tim gave a small nod.

The atmosphere was starting to feel too serious so Jason smirked, slinging an arm around Tim’s shoulders as they trudged toward the rooms.

“Life’s easier when you admit you’re secretly rich, Sir Dick. Emergency my ass.”

Dick only groaned, too tired to argue. This only allowed Jason to agitate him more.

“Sorry Sir Dick, do you not have time to argue with lowly commoners? Sir Dick please spare a bit of your time. Sir Dick? Sir Dick!”

*

Dick figured a second shower wouldn’t hurt. He tried wiping the sleep out of his mouth, whilst carefully slipping his arms out from beneath Damian, who didn’t so much as stir.

He then grabbed a complimentary towel from the cabinet before heading to the bathroom. Before he fully made his way there, he turned around looking at the second bed where Jason and Tim were.

Jason’s hand was resting on Tim’s right shoulder, and Dick couldn’t help but marvel in how Tim hadn’t woken up already. He figured Tim must’ve developed some sort of way to adapt to Jason’s snoring. He was just laying there with his mouth wide open, sounding hopelessly congested. 

Behind them, their curtains were pulled tight, letting in only a thin sliver of light. It was the only way he was able to discern it was somewhat morning. 

*
When he came out of the shower with a cleaner shirt and the same set of pants, he noticed the others were already awake and pulling off the shirts they slept in. (Dick lent Jason one, so the one he was wearing was a bit bagger since Dick was a coupe inches taller) 

They checked out of the motel at sunrise. Dick had expected complaints, maybe some groaning or at least a few tired faces, but they were unusually quiet. 

There was a new motel attendant and this time it was a perky lady who looked like she was in her late 20s. Dick handed off the key to her, and wondered if the reason why everyone was quiet was because they realized they were all departing soon. 

He couldn’t help but think how bitter it was as he entered his car. 

For the first time everyone buckled in their seat belts in a slow and almost official manner. Dick tried adjusting the mirror and noticed how Tim kept wringing his hands. He hadn’t said much since. And no one made a comment when he made a sharp turn, exiting the motel. 

Damian had always been quiet during the ride, but when Dick sneaks another peak at him his eyebrows are furrowed and he’s purposely inching away from Tim. It hurts his heart a bit. 

As the motel became further and further away it almost felt as if the tension was growing tenfold. 

“Soo.. this feels weird.” Dick broke the silence with a breathy laugh. No one really had anything to say to that so he continued to ramble. 

“Is it crazy if I say that I’m going to miss you guys?” 

“No! No.. it’s not!” Tim insists, wringing his hands. 

“This was nice.. I..you all are nice. I’m glad I got to meet you guys.” It sounds bittersweet when he puts it like that. Like a conclusion, and ending to them. 

“Normally people call the cops when their lives are being threatened. So thanks.. for sticking around.. Or whatever.” Jason huffs. Dick snorts out a laugh, relieved the tension is somewhat disappearing. Even Damian makes a tsking sound, only he insists that this isn’t really the end and he wants all of them to meet his father later on.

“He cannot control me, especially on the chance we may.. See each other.” No one really argues with him, they all bask in the day dream.

He makes another sharp turn recognizing how close the police station really is. Dick can only grip the wheel a little harder.

And for a moment, he wishes he could turn the car around. Take them anywhere else. Somewhere that they just wouldn't have to split up. Someplace they could stay, just a little longer.

But the road stretched on, and Dick made the final turn. 

*

Inside the station, the fluorescent lights buzzed above their heads. They’ve been waiting for a good 20 minutes. One of the officers glances them over up from her desk.

“You’re Timothy Drake?”

Tim swallowed. “Yeah.”

She scanned her clipboard. The shift in her expression was small but unmistakable…pity. She then suddenly stands up.

“I’m so sorry, kid. Your parents…they.. they unfortunately didn’t make it. They were confirmed among the early casualties in the…uh virus spread. Their bodies are currently being sent to Gotham right now, they’re in Paris, London."

Tim didn’t react at first. His face just… stopped. Like someone had unplugged him. Dick stepped closer, reaching for his shoulder, but Tim didn’t seem to feel it.

The officer kept talking, softer now. He could barely make out the rest of it. 

“And with no surviving guardians listed, the city has to place you with emergency foster services until—”

“I’m sorry what?” Jason said before she could finish. “You can’t just take him.”

“It’s protocol,” she replied. “He’s still a minor. Even though the virus was an unfortunate situation, he still needs placement.”

“Was? Whatdayamean was?” 

“He’s with us. We’ve kept him safe this whole time. We can—”

The officer looks a bit caught off guard. 

“The virus vaccine is available and there are hospitals sheltering anyone and giving vaccines right now. Its.. over, all the infected are being secured in a Justice League approved area. I’m afraid that’s all I really know. I highly urge you all to take the vaccine if you haven’t.” The officer can probably tell none of them have taken it, judging by how shocked they are at the news. 

It does explain why there are less convenience stores being ransacked at the moment. However they were able to steal 0.1 liters of gasoline…. 

“And I’m so sorry,” She says, interrupting Dick from his train of thoughts. “But I’m afraid that’s not how it works. None of you are legally related to him.”

Tim took one step back.

Then another.

Then he turned and ran.

“Tim!” Dick bolted after him. Damian followed, shoving past a stunned officer. Jason cursed and sprinted too. Dick was kind of at a loss for words, he knew he should catch up with them but he felt the need to reassure the officer.

“I’m so sorry… it’s just.. this is a lot and…okay..uh we’ll be right back.” She nods, sitting back down at her desk. 

They caught up with Tim in the alley beside the station, his breath shaking, hands pressed against his head.

“I don’t… I don’t know what to do,” he choked out, hiccuping mid sentence. “I don’t have anyone left.”

“You have us,” Damain said immediately.

Jason nodded fiercely, placing a hand on Tim’s arm. “You are not going to be handed off to strangers. That place is fucking shit, also your parents are like fuckin’ millionaries.”

Tim looked between them helplessly. “But legally—”

Jason stepped in front of him, voice low but steady.

“Screw legally. We’re not leaving you in a system that doesn’t even know how to deal with the world falling apart. You stay with us.”

Tim’s breath hitched. “But the outbreak is over. They said it’s over.”

It gets a little quiet after that. Dick hardly knew about the virus infection and it had been wrapped up so soon.. A part of him was still in disbelief.. He couldn’t imagine how Tim and Jason were feeling about it. 

Jason leaned back against the wall, letting out a rough laugh that wasn’t really a laugh at all. 

“Yeah. Funny, right? Everyone just… goes back to normal. Like none of it happened. Fuckin’ gas stations are running like jack shit happened, they didn’t even ask if we were vaccinated.” 

He laughs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “It’s just… spent so long expecting to be on my own that it feels weird the world keeps spinning without me. And we’re not doing this. We shouldn’t have to do this.”

Dick glanced at him. “Jay…”

“I’m fine,” Jason muttered, shrugging off the nickname. “I’m just tryna say that we shouldn't have to entertain their shit. We asked for Gordan and they left us there for like an hour just to tell Tim his parents choked!” 

Tim sniffles trying to wipe his face.

“What should I even do now?”

Jason looked him straight in the eyes. “You can live with me”

“I’m sure Father wouldn’t be opposed to housing us.” Damian pipes in. Jason looks at Dick and they share the understanding of the visible strain about who knows that lies. But Jason ends up humoring him, not exactly arguing but not exactly agreeing. 

“The point is, you’ll stay with us. We figure it out together. No foster homes, no being handed off to pigs who don’t know you. You don’t have to decide everything today. You just have to let us be here.”

Tim didn’t answer immediately.

But he didn’t pull away, either.

Dick wrapped an arm around Tim’s shoulders. Damian stepped closer, protective and determined. And Jason, after a moment, placed a steadying hand on Tim’s back.

*

The police station scrambled the moment they realized Tim was gone.

Fuckin hell. Out of all the Tims in the world it have to be Tim fuckin’ Drake. A.K.A the kid Bruce Wayne's been hounding them about for several days. 

An officer rushed out of the alley, breathless, shouting for backup. Two others began canvassing the surrounding blocks, radio chatter crackling with escalating urgency.

“Dispatch, this is Unit Four,” one of them called in. “We’ve got a situation. Minor scheduled for emergency foster placement has fled the premises. Repeat, the son of Drake is missing. Last seen with two other unnamed juveniles, and one other kid. But get this– he’s also been labeled as missing and goes under the name Ibn al Xu’ffasch. They are all male. Ages uncertain.”

More static.

“Copy that. Are they armed?”

“Not visibly, but they’re fast, coordinated. Could be trouble. They were asking Gordon previously.. should we bring him in on this case?”

The report pinged through Gotham’s internal network, bouncing from precinct to precinct, until it finally reached a channel that wasn’t meant for ordinary officers.

Somewhere far from the station, much farther above Gotham’s grime and concrete, an operative delivered the information to a man. A powerful man. 

Ra’s al Gul, the Demon’s Head

And he won’t stop until your dead

Ra’s al Ghul listened in  without interrupting. He stood with his hands folded behind his back, posture regal, expression unreadable.

“Four boys,” the operative said. “One confirmed as Ibn al Xu’ffasch… however they referred to him as Damain. They appear to be moving together.”

Ra’s didn’t speak at first.

Then a slow, deliberate smile formed.

“So,” he murmured, “It seems the detective’s eldest has not returned home. Not yet.”

His tone held amusement, not concern.

A soft chuckle slipped from his chest, low and dangerous.

“Richard always did let his heart guide him into complications,” he continued. “And the others… bold enough to defy the city so openly. Do the two of these strangers know of Damain’s true origin?” He ponders aloud not expecting any of his people to interrupt. 

He turned away from the balcony, cape brushing the marble floor.

“Keep watching,” Ra’s said. “The League might be interested in children who choose their own fate. Alert anyone we know near the area.”

He paused, eyes glinting with only cold intent.

“And inform me the moment they surface again.”

The operative bowed. “Yes, Master.”

Ra’s exhaled, a satisfied tilt to his head.

“Oh, my grandson,” he whispered, almost fond.

“You’re so stupid.”

The place carries his laughter, deep and echoing, across the valley.

*

The car fishtailed as Dick took another turn too fast, tires screaming against the asphalt. They had barely cleared the police station’s parking lot before everyone started yelling—first at the officers, then at each other, and now at Dick for driving like he was auditioning for the Batmobile.

“Can you not kill us before we even get home?” Tim snapped, bracing a hand on the dashboard as the car bounced over a pothole.

“Do you want to drive!?” Dick shot back. “Because if you want to die in a fiery crash and get us arrested, be my guest!”

“Why are we yelling?” Jason demanded, twisting around in his seat. “We walked out of that station like model citizens—model citizens—and now we’re doing sixty over the limit!”

“That was thirty minutes ago,” Dick said through clenched teeth, knuckles white on the wheel. “And someone had to get us out before they noticed the inconsistencies.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who told them Tim had to take an emotional shit after his parents died,’” Jason muttered.

“It was the first thing that came to mind!”

“A shit?” Tim echoed. “Really? Really?”

“Quiet.” Damian said sharply.

They all turned to him. Mostly wide-eyed, half-insulted, but Dick was half-grateful for the interruption.

Only Damian wasn’t looking at him. He was staring out the rear window, posture rigid, jaw locked.

Dick’s stomach dropped. Fuck. 

“Damian,” he said, voice steadying. “What did you see?”

But Damian didn’t answer with words. Instead, he said the one phrase guaranteed to make every Wayne nervous.

“Grandfather’s men.”

The car went silent. Shockingly silent.

Then Jason broke it with a strangled noise. “Oh come on—are you fuckin’ kidding me?! We just left the police station! They couldn’t have tracked us that fast!”

“They could,” Dick whispered. “They absolutely could.”

Dick checked the side mirror. Black motorcycles. Three of them. No headlights. No plates. 

“Oh great.” Jason muttered, once he noticed them. “Ninjas on bikes. I’m gonna kill myself.” 

“You will do no such thing,” Damian snapped, though his voice wavered. “They are here for me.”

“Well they can’t have you,” Dick said, foot slamming down on the gas. “Talia would kill me.”

“Uhm.. they’re killing us anyway,” Jason said, gesturing towards the guys. “Are you looking at their bikes right now? That shit is expensive.”

Tim’s voice cracked. “I think I’m gonna piss myself.” He was met with the response of: same lowkey and please don’t.

“They’re gaining,” Damian warned, ever so helpful.

Dick kept glancing at the GPS before swerving into the next lane, just narrowly missing a truck. 

Horns blared. But the motorcycles didn’t slow, instead they split, two flanking, and one gaining in the center.

Jason turned, grabbed the nearest object (a half-full water bottle), and pointed it at Damian. 

“Okay, kid. Be honest. How mad is your grandpappy right now? Scale of harmless to ‘death pit.’”

Damian scowled. “He is… displeased.”

“Displeased,” Jason repeated flatly, emotionlessly, “Great.” Tim whispers we’re gonna die-uhhh. 

“Everyone hang on!” Dick shouted.

He cut across two lanes, heading for Bruce’s neighborhood, he makes sure to press on the gas pedal as they make their way up.

Jason cursed. “Are these freaks actual ninjas?”

“Don’t be silly Jason.”

“They’re a league of assassins.” Dick explains for him. It feels like Tim is getting closer to breaking down from pure stress.

They fell into tense silence.

Dick’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Okay there’s no way we can get out of the car without them stabbing us first. We need to miss his house.”

“Assuming they don’t blow up the car first,” Jason muttered. Tim burst into tears.

Damian finally spoke, voice quiet but firm. “I apologize.”

They all froze.

“Whoa,” Jason whispered. “He apologized. Dick, pull over. He might already be dying.”

“I am not dying,” Damian snapped. “I simply regret that you are being targeted because of me.”

Dick swallowed hard. “Hey. We’re family. That’s what we do.”

Jason huffed. “Yeah… well.. if the family includes homicidal grandfathers, maybe we need better boundaries.”

“Less talking, more surviving!” Tim yelled.

Because the lead motorcycle had just pulled up alongside them, the rider raising something—

A blade, catching the streetlights.

Dick floored the car.

“Almost there!” he shouted. “Hold on! When I turn right—everyone duck!”

Jason groaned. 

Just then the blade came down….and Dick jerked the wheel just in time, sending the car swerving into an empty side street.

“Okay, okay, THAT’S IT!” Jason yelled, already halfway out of his seat. “It’s over! We’re crashing into a early retirement home!”

The motorcycles followed, engines snarling.

“Jason!” Dick barked. “Switch with me.”

Jason blinked. “What?”

“Now? While they’re trying to mince our meat?”

“Exactly! Now.” Dick snapped. “I need you to get Tim and Damian out of here.” You saw where the house was, so I’ll buy you guys a bit more time.

“You’re insane,” Jason shot back, bracing himself as Dick took another too-fast turn. “There are 2 of them left! You’re only one person!”

“I can fight,” Dick said, voice sharp and unmistakably final. “But I can’t fight with three of you in the car.”

Tim leaned forward, desperate. “Dick…no…We should stick together.”

“Not this time.” Dick’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second in the rearview mirror. 

“I need you three safe.” Damain refuses to make eye contact with him, this isn’t a goodbye.  He’s just letting Jason know so they can switch car positions. That’s all.

Another blade scraped across the back window.

“FUCK!” Tim hollers.

“We don’t have time!” Damian shouted.

Dick jammed the brakes. The car lurched violently as one of the motorcycles overshot for a split second.

“This corner,” Dick ordered. “Switch. NOW!”

Jason curses the whole time, but he doesn’t hesitate. The boys scrambled, Damain decides to hold onto Tim as an attempt to be comforting. Meanwhile, Jason vaulting over the center console, Dick sliding out the side door before it even fully opened.

The door slammed behind him. 

Jason slid into the driver's seat just as Dick shut the trunk with a deliberate, final thud.

“Dick!” Jason yelled through the window. 

Dick only shook his head and stepped back.

“I’ll hold them off,” he said, voice steady. “Get them to the manor. Mr.Wayne will know what to do.”

“Dick….” Tim’s voice cracked. Damian’s eyes were wide, jaw clenched. Dick can’t help but smile, he looks so cute when he’s trying to act tough. 

“GO!” Dick shouted to Jason. Bringing his fists up as the assassins reappeared, engines screaming.

Jason slammed the gas pedal.

The car peeled away, leaving Dick standing alone in the alley as Ra’s al Ghul’s men descended.

*

Jason was driving like a man possessed.

Tim was hyperventilating, there was nothing Damian could really do to comfort him. 

Even Damian was on edge, he was clutching the door handle so hard it creaked. The manor gates finally came into view, looming but familiar to him. Jason parks the car in front of the gates almost immediately and gets off.

“Openopenopenopen” Tim muttered, ringing the bell.

The gates didn’t move.

Jason hit them with the flat of his palm. “COME ON”

Damian stepped forward, voice cracking, “Open the gates! This is the Wayne estate.. You WILL open!!”

Still nothing.

Jason swore. 

Tim practically slammed his forehead into the intercom button. “Please. Open the gates! It’s—it’s…”

A soft beep and quiet whirr starts causing the gates to open.

An old man stood at the entrance to the manor’s door, he didn’t look like Mr.Wayne. He was bald, with a sliver of silver hair. 

He just… stood there, composed, though his eyes widened just slightly—just enough to betray the shock at the sight of three frantic, shaking boys.

“Good heavens,” he breathed. “What on earth—”

Tim nearly collapsed into him. “Dick—he—he stayed behind—Ra’s men—he—”

Jason swallowed hard. “We need help. Now.”

Damian stood frozen in the doorway, trembling so subtly only someone who knew him well would notice.

Alfred’s expression hardened, it wasn’t  fear, but steel. It caught Jason briefly off guard, he’d assume this old man would be petrified. Instead he tightens his lip. 

“Inside,” he said, stepping back with purpose. “All of you. Quickly.”

As they entered, the manor lights flicking upward in silent welcome, Jason glanced back at the dark road behind them.

He could only hope desperately Dick was still standing.

*

Dick had taken down one assassin. One.

There were at least 2 more. He had miscounted one of the motorcyclists to be dead, when in actuality the motorcycle simply broke.

But it didn’t really matter now. Now, he was getting his ass handed to him.

A blade scraped across his ribs—he twisted, blocked, but another fist slammed into his jaw. He staggered back, breath shuddering, vision splitting at the edges. 

“C’mon,” he panted, wiping blood from his mouth, “you guys used to be harder.”

The assassins circled him like wolves.

Dick’s legs felt like concrete. Every breath burned. His right arm throbbed from taking a hit meant for his throat. He wasn’t losing, exactly. 

Just… losing slowly.

Another kick caught him in the stomach. He hit the pavement hard.

One assassin raised his sword.

Dick rolled, barely avoiding the strike. He forced himself to his feet even though his body screamed. Talia would be losing her shit if she could see him like this. 

“You fuckers.. are not… taking… Damian,” he gasped.

The blade lifted again—

And his vision went dark.

Thankfully that was simply because there was a massive shadow that was dropped from above.

A familiar cape.

The two assassins went flying, crash landing into what Dick can only hope to be their deaths.

Batman moved like a thunderclap. He was in awe of how silent and impossibly fast he was. It felt as if they could in almost a second.

Dick swayed on his feet, blinking up at the huge silhouette in front of him.

“Batman…” he wheezed.

*

Batman crouched in front of him, gloved hands steadying Dick’s shoulders. His voice was low, shaking in the way only someone who almost lost their child could be.

“Dick. Are you hurt? Can you stand?”

Dick pushed Batman’s hand away weakly. “Whu..I..I don’t… need you.”

Batman froze.

Dick grabbed a fistful of the bat’s suit, pulling him closer, desperation overriding pain.

“I don’t need Batman,” he breathed, voice cracking. “I need Wayne.”

Dick’s eyes fluttered. “Mr.Wayne needs.. to go get his son. Damian. He…he’s scared. And Tim..Jason.. and everyone’s just.. just a mess and I can’t—”

His knees buckled.

Batman caught him instantly.

“Dick. Hey. Hey, stay awake.”

But Dick’s head lolled against his chest.

“Take the kids,” Dick murmured, voice fading like a dying radio. “Just… take them home. Wayne.. just please.”

His eyes rolled back, slumping unconscious in Bruce’s arms.

Batman didn’t move for a moment.

He just held his son.

Then he stood, lifting Dick with impossible gentleness, and whispered too softly for anyone else to ever hear.

“I’m here. I’ve got you.”

I’ll bring you home.

*

“—He could’ve gotten killed—”

“—I told you we should’ve turned around! Wh–”

“—Mario Kart.. off all the things–”

Dick blinked, trying to focus. 

The ceiling above him was smooth, cream-colored, but it was nothing he recognized. 

His heart jumped, confused as he jolted up from whenever he’d been laying down.

He sees Tim’s face appeared first. He’s wayyy too close. He can’t help but stare into pale, eyes wide and notice how they’re red-rimmed. 

“Dick! Are you—are you okay?!”

Then Jason shoved himself into view, nearly knocking Tim aside. “What the hell happened?!”

Damian appeared last, standing rigid with arms folded, jaw tight. “Grayson.”

Dick raised a weak hand. “Guys… wait. Just… wait..you’re all talking at the same time.”

They froze, realizing they had overwhelmed him.

“Oh my god, are you hurt—?”

“Should I get help—?”

“Do you not remember what happened—?”

Dick groaned and let his head sink into the pillow. “One at a time. Please. One at a time.”

Jason raised a hand like a student in class. “Fine. I’ll go first. WHAT THE HELL were you thinking? You told me to speed away while those men were chasing us! I can’t believe I listened. What the actual–”

Tim shoved him gently. “Jason. Stop yelling. We’re all panicking, so quit it. He’s alive.” He reminds him. 

Damian’s voice was small, barely above a whisper. “You should not have stayed behind. We could’ve all been killed.”

Dick managed a tired smile. “Yeah.”

Tim asked cautiously, “Do you… know where you are? You looked… really confused when you woke up.”

Dick scanned the room, high ceilings, soft lighting, neatly made bed, curtains drawn. “Uh.. Damain’s house I hope. Whose… whose room is this?”

Damian straightened proudly. “Mine. I insisted you remain here so I could… monitor you.”

Jason snorted. “He means he threw a fit until the old butler guy let him.”

Damian flushed. “I did not—”

Tim whispered, “He did.”

Dick chuckled weakly. “Okay, okay.”

It gets quiet after a moment until Jason exhales.

“Thank god.”

Tim keeps trying to be discreet when wiping his eyes. “I thought… I thought we were going to lose you.”

Damian’s hand landed lightly on Dick’s arm. “Do not ever do that again. Understood?”

Dick smiled faintly, closing his eyes. “Sorry..I’m really sorry. That was a really stupid idea.”

He couldn’t help but love the way they fussed over him, it felt like they were almost brothers. Their concern just felt so unfiltered and he couldn’t help but feel connected and strangely at peace for the first time in hours. 

The way they initiated the hug was a bit awkward. 

There was a bit of a pause before the three of them pressed close against Dick. Their eyes were simultaneously wide, as if making sure he didn’t vanish again.

“Don’t get used to this.” Jason grumbles. Tim just sighs.

“Dude just.. shut up.” He feels someone squeeze tighter.