Chapter Text
Tim
I understand that vigilantes need to work in the shadow of darkness, but for once I’d like to not have to use the extreme dark setting on my camera.
I turn the camera lens to manually focus on the cat that’s grooming itself next to a pile of trashcans. The black cat is partially illuminated by the streetlights at the other end of the alley, so that’s what I use to balance the brightness settings. Batman’s suit is a shade and a half darker than the cat’s fur, but it’s the best I’ve got. I’m not using the scurrying rats behind the kitty—because well, gross—so the black cat is my stand-in for Batman.
I keep turning the lens and I hear the sound of footsteps approaching. They sound like bootsteps.
Is bootsteps a word?
Anyway, the bootsteps are getting louder so I look up, holding my camera up to my face. Through the lens, is Bat—nope. It’s some random guy standing in the alley with a cigarette in his hand. He has his phone in his other hand and he’s talking loud enough to annoy both me and Bat-cat.
The guy laughs at something the person on the other ends says, but Bat-cat has had enough. The kitty hisses and starts chasing the terrified dude all the way down the block.
I laugh as I take pictures of the cat pursuit.
When they’re too far away for my camera to focus, I look through the viewfinder to review the pictures. The light balance is perfect. When Batman shows up—and my meticulous research of Batman and Robin’s patrol schedule means he will show up—I’ll be ready for him.
Two hours later, my ski mask is getting itchy and I’m getting bored taking pictures of the moon behind the building. It’s a really beautiful shot, but I’ve taken every angle I can possibly think of by now.
There’s only so many pictures of the moon that a person can take before they start losing their mind. I’m like, four pictures away from that point.
My decent into madness is temporarily put on pause by the screech of the Batmobile’s tires.
The camera is shaking in my hands as the passenger door opens. I do this almost every night, but it never gets less exciting.
Robin steps out of the car and my camera springs to life. I take shot after shot as the two superheroes exit the car. Batman walks around to the passenger side of the car and puts his hand on Robin’s shoulder.
I’m close enough to hear Batman’s orders.
“You’re on patrol duty alone tonight. Remember what I said.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Robin says tilting his head, “I’ll be on my best behavior, Dad.”
“I’m not kidding, Robin. This is a serious step in your journey. If you prove that you can handle yourself on your own, it means I can trust you with more involved missions.”
“I won’t be alone. We both know you’re gonna drive a block away and stalk me with the engine running.”
Batman laughs, “I trust you, Robin. I won’t be that close, but I’ll be close enough that if you call for backup, I can reach you quickly. And let me remind you again, if you need backup do not be a hero, call me immediately.”
“I won’t need backup. I’m Robin, and being Robin gives me magic, remember?”
“Yes… you do say that phrase an abnormal number of times.”
Robin ignores him. “And when the villainous scum of Gotham city tries to take down magic Robin, they’re gonna be the ones that’ll need to call for backup.”
“…I’m starting to regret the solo patrol decision.”
“Relax. You worry too much Bat-dad. You let OG Robin do this when he was like, 8. I’m way more mature than an eight-year-old.”
Batman pats Robin’s shoulder before getting back inside the Batmobile and speeding away.
Robin starts to do his stretches and I go back to snapping pictures. His red, yellow, and green suit is a lot brighter than Batman’s all black suit, so the colors pop even brighter against the dark alley.
Robin leans down into a lunge stretch with one knee bent and the other leg out straight, with his hands resting on the thigh of his bent leg.
I’ve been taking pictures of Batman and Robin long enough to know that if this were Dick Grayson-Robin, the stretch would end with a one-armed handstand, and his legs in a split, but Jason Todd-Robin isn’t as flexible or flashy.
I’ve taken so many pictures over the years in, all kinds of conditions, and I’ve never come close to getting caught.
On my eighth birthday, I had to hold onto a fire escape railing with one hand to make sure I didn’t blow away, but I still got the shot and I still stayed hidden as the storm rained down on me.
On my tenth birthday, I used a trashcan lid as a shield as bullets rained down on me from a drug bust gone wrong. Still, I held my ground and got the shot without getting shot.
But on this random day, with no gunshots or raindrops, my cover is in danger of being blown by a black cat that has returned to the alley. The kitty stops next to Robin for affectionate fur petting, and then slinks over to my hidden location behind cardboard boxes.
I try to shoo the kitty away, but the feline narc starts to meow and scratch against my cardboard fort.
“Who’s there kitty? Did you find a rat?” Jason asks, as he walks toward my hiding spot.
‘Hey, I am not a rat!’ I say in silent protest, but before Robin discovers me, a gunshot rings out at the other end of the alley.
Robin whips his head around to face the shooters and perches right on top of my carboard fort. He glances down at me—we definitely make eye contact—but he looks over at the shooters and smirks.
“Hey idiots, didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to shoot when a guy has his back turned? It’s against the rules.”
Robin dodges gun shots as a shooter yells, “There aint no rules when it comes to fightin’, Bat-brat.”
Robin glances at me one more time before he backflips onto the fire escape to draw the gunshots away from me and the black cat. He balances on the railing and flings a batarang at a streetlight in the distance, sending the alley into even deeper shadows.
Robin sighs, “No one told you about the rules? Let me give you a quick lesson, dumbass. Rule number one, don’t try to shoot a flying target. That’ll only end in failure.”
Robin hops off the fire escape railing and using his cape, he flies through the air, landing on his target’s jaw, sending the guy down to the ground with a loud cry of pain.
Robin uses the guy’s face as a springboard and backflips into the air, positioning himself to land a flying kick to another guy’s face. It’s a move he learned from Dick-Robin, and he does it perfectly. He winds up to do it again and I have to get a picture. Maybe I’ll send it anonymously to Dick’s Bludhaven apartment. I can’t include a return address, so I’ve gotta make sure it doesn’t look like a ‘gift’ from a villain.
I take a few pictures, but I know I can do better. Robin broke the streetlight earlier, which means I have to adjust the settings for the new shadows. I give a quick twist to the lens and spin the white balance wheel at the top of the camera as Robin aims his grappling gun at the fire escape, so he can swing back.
I’m at the perfect angle to catch a picture of the grappling gun firing, and action shots are my absolute favorite to take. I don’t want to miss the shot, so I’ve got to take rapid fire pictures before, during, and after the grapple line connects.
My stealth, rapid fire shots turn into blinding flashes of light that look more like strobe lights.
I must have accidentally clicked on the flash when I did my quick adjustments!
Robin’s grappling line hooks onto the railing successfully, but the flashing lights blind him and he swings erratically, heading into the path of the side of the building.
I race out of my hiding spot and grab him so that he doesn’t slam into the wall.
The pupil-less eyes of his domino mask narrow to tiny slits as he squints.
“That doesn’t count as saving me, stalker boy.”
I pull him on top of me, moving him out of the way of renewed gunfire. I squeak out a grunt of pain because he’s a lot heavier than I imagined. He’s kind of crushing me.
Robin sighs, “Okay. That might count as saving me.”
He presses the side of his domino mask—maybe activating a sunglasses setting?
More gun shots ring out and now that Jason can see, he takes over the hero duties much better than I did.
He tosses a smoke bomb at the attackers and uses his cape to shield me from the bullets, even though I’m pretty sure his cape isn’t bullet-proof. He shoots his grappling gun at the roof’s ledge and we zip line out of harm’s way.
I cling onto him as tightly as I can so he doesn’t drop me from the ten-story height. I bury my head against his chest and whimper because ziplining up a ten-story building is terrifying.
“Hang on and don’t puke,” Robin orders as he grapples from building to building. Every so often, between buildings, he switches from grapple swinging to running on building rooftops, but it’s all too fast and all too high.
Every time I moan against his chest he snaps, “Don’t you dare throw up!”
When the Nausea Express comes to a stop, Robin points, “Sit on the ground and put your head between your legs. It’ll stop the I’m-gonna-puke-my-guts-up feeling.”
I follow his orders and with my head down between my legs I mumble, “Does this count as the ground if we’re on the roof of a 30-foot skyscraper?”
“Don’t think about how high we are. That’s gonna make you feel sicker.”
I put my fist over my mouth and belch against my hand. I’m not sure if the mouth hole of my ski mask is large enough to handle projectile vomit.
Robin waves my camera in his hand.
“You have five seconds to tell me why I shouldn’t break this. Who are you, what’s your name, and why are you talking pictures of me?”
I lean my elbows on my knees.
“Um, that might take more than five seconds.”
“You just wasted two, Photo-boy.”
I wave my hands in surrender, “No no no. Please don’t break my camera. I haven’t transferred all the pictures into my laptop from this week. I have a shot of Batman ducking a punch on the ledge of a building and the giant full moon is in the background and it’s like one of the best pictures I’ve ever taken.”
Robin lifts an eyebrow but thankfully stops swinging the camera, “The best picture, huh? And you didn’t back it up. You always have to backup your files. Everyone knows that. Amateur mistake, Stalker-boy.”
“You don’t have to keep calling me stalker-boy.”
“What’s your name then?”
“I need to keep my identity secret, like you. I’m wearing a black ski mask, so you can call me… Black Mask?”
“Yeah. That’s not gonna happen,” Robin says as he scrolls through the pictures. “Are all your pictures of me and B?”
I bite my lip, catching the edge of the ski mask, “Yes. On that memory card. There’s a transit strike so I couldn’t take the bus to Bludhaven this week, but I take photos of Nightwing too.”
Robin continues to scroll through the library of Batman and Robin photos.
“My God, Stalker-boy. How many pictures do you have of us?”
“Can I answer that question when you don’t have something priceless and easily breakable in your hands?”
That gets a smirk from Robin. He looks from the Batman and Robin gallery to me.
“How many pic—wait, did you knit that ski mask yourself?”
I’m really glad my face is covered because I can feel myself blushing. I want to answer with a confident ‘I knitted this myself from an online knitting tutorial. All superheroes make their own suits’.
Instead, I answer with a weak, “I did.”
“Dude, villains wear ski masks. It’s not appropriate.”
“Oh yeah? It’s more appropriate than wearing shorts in the middle of winter.”
Robin frowns, but then starts laughing.
I try to grab my camera, but he reaches his arm all the way up. Even when I jump, I’m not tall enough to reach. That’s not fair!
Robin laughs as I struggle.
“If you’ve been taking pictures of the Bat team for years, I bet you have pictures of Nightwing in that God-awful Discowing costume he used to wear.”
“I do,” I grunt, jumping higher—but still not high enough, “The Discowing costume was still way better than the scaly panties he used to wear.”
“The scaly underoos! I’m so glad I didn’t get those hand me downs.” The white eye parts of the domino mask turn into little crescent moon shapes as he laughs. “I like you kid. Let’s get something to eat, cuz I’m starving, and then and I’ll decide if I’m gonna tell Batman about you or not.”
_____
The Crime Time Diner in Crime Alley isn’t the first place I would pick to eat, but it’s a place where no one asks us questions when a kid in a ski mask and a kid in a Robin suit walks in, so I guess that’s why Robin picked it.
Robin tells the waitress that he wants a booth in the back, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by me that he chooses to sit on the side of the booth that faces the door.
This place is the sketchiest restaurant that I’ve even been to, but with Robin as my lookout, I feel completely safe.
The woman taking our order smiles at us, “What can I get you two?”
Robin orders a plate of cheese fries and a soda, and I just ask for coffee.
When she leaves, Robin scoffs, “If you’re gonna leave the ski mask on, you might want to ask for a straw to drink that coffee.”
“I have to keep my identity hidden.”
“Not really,” he says as he rubs his thumb against the condensation on the side of his water glass. “I’m 100% sure that you know who I really am, so it’s only fair if I know who my stalker is.”
I guess if you can’t trust Robin, then who can you trust?
I yank off my mask quickly—like a band-aid—and Robin doesn’t react at first. But recognition floods his face all of a sudden, and he gasps, “No way. You’re—you’re the kid that lives next door!”
“You don’t know my name,” I deadpan.
“Of course I do. You’re… John.”
“Nope.”
“Nick.”
“Not even close.”
“Tom?”
“This is getting embarrassing.”
Jason rubs his forehead and my heart sinks. I kind of thought he would know…
“Tim Drake,” Jason says with a smirk. “C’mon. Did you really think I didn’t know who you were, Stalker-boy?”
Our server returns with my coffee and Jason’s cheesy fries.
As I add milk and a few ice cubes from my water glass to my coffee, Jason sighs.
“How many pictures of us do you have in total?” he asks.
When I look up, Jason’s tossing fries in his mouth with one hand and scrolling through my camera gallery with the other.
I take a big exhale before I answer, but I play it off like I’m blowing on my coffee to cool it down.
“Not counting the pictures I took tonight because some are probably out of focus, some are repetitive and I’ll end up deleting those and some are of the black cat…” I pause to pretend like I have to think and the number isn’t literally off the top of my head, “… excluding tonight’s photos I have forty two thousand, nine hundred and eighty three, point five photos.”
“You have over forty thousand pictures of us?! Wait, how do you have point five of a picture?”
“There’s a horrendously out of focus picture of Nightwing doing a quadruple somersault, but it’s my favorite move of his so I can’t bear to delete it. I’ve actually developed it into a physical picture. My camera has physical film in it so I can either keep the digital copies or develop the negatives in my dark room. It’s a top-of-the-line camera.”
Jason mumbles, “Yeah. You live in Bristol. You’ve got the cash.”
His finger stops scrolling as he pauses to stare intently at the viewfinder. I lean over the table to see what picture has his undivided attention and it’s a picture of the Joker. Even looking at it upside down, a chill runs up my spine. I can’t even imagine how Jason feels.
“You took this picture this week?” he asks. I pretend not to notice that his voice is shaking.
“Yeah. It was during Monday’s patrol. Batman went out solo. The police scanners said the Joker was sighted, so I wasn’t surprised you weren’t on patrol that night. He’s back in Arkham, though. Batman caught him really fast.”
“B, just told me it was a slow night and it’d be better to stay home and do homework,” Jason whispers.
There’s a long stretch of silence before Jason looks up at me and asks, “Do you have any pictures of us unmasked?”
“No, of course not!” I yell, causing Jason to flinch. “I would never compromise your identities like that. Although, there was this one-time Batman took off his cowl because he had to give you CPR and he thought no one was around. I didn’t take a picture. Anyway, he pulled down the cowl and it was really traumatizing. Batman shouldn’t be unmasked.”
“Traumatizing?”
“Absolutely. Imagine one of the characters at Disney World taking off their costume heads. Like, Winnie the Pooh taking off the head of his Pooh suit and a billionaire businessman is inside.”
Jason tries to sound smug, but he’s laughing too hard to pull it off, “That’s what you get for stalking our every move, kid.”
“I don’t stalk your every move. I never take pictures whenever you go for a pee break. I close my eyes too, because privacy.”
Jason frowns, “Vigilantes don’t take pee breaks.”
Before I can argue how dumb that is, Jason’s posture stiffens and he mumbles, “Shit,” as his head tilts toward the door.
He pulls something out of his utility belt and shoves it in my hands.
“Put that on. Quick,” he orders.
I look down at the cloth in my hands and—it’s a domino mask!
Jason growls, “Stop fan-boying and put it on!”
I press the mask to my face, and it sticks on instantly. I squeal, but Jason shushes me.
“Robin? Shouldn’t you still be on patrol?”
That’s Batman’s voice from behind my shoulder.
Jason waits for Batman to loom menacingly over the booth before he answers.
“Slow night, B. I think all the drug dealers and car jackers went to bed early. I figured I’d grab a bite to eat before the boredom killed me.”
Batman crosses his arms over his chest and nudges his head in my direction, “Who’s this.”
“A kid that knows some things about a drug case I’ve been following,” Jason says casually. “He’s technically narcing, so I gave him a mask because if anyone recognizes him talking to a Bat, they might retaliate by trafficking him.”
“Oh, God,” I gasp, “That’s terrible. I don’t want to be sex-trafficked.”
Batman clears his throat.
“Good thinking, Robin.” He turns his attention to me, “Do you have a safe place to stay tonight? I know a shelter you can stay at if you feel you’re in danger.”
“I’m fine sir. Thank you for asking.”
I see an opening, so I quickly take it.
“In fact, I need to get back home because if I’m late, my ailing mother might miss her dose of medication and die. So, bye.”
I grab the camera from a stunned Jason’s hands and race out the door. I definitely can’t outrun Batman and Robin, but I’m really really good at hiding. I run into the parking lot next to the diner and crawl under one of the parked cars, wedging myself close enough to the back wheel that I’m perfectly hidden, yet I can still see Batman and Robin looking around frantically to find me.
After a quick fruitless search, they give up and walk away.
The car I picked has a boot on it—meaning the owner isn’t coming back for it anytime soon—so instead walking through the streets of Crime Alley and risk getting trafficked, I make myself as comfortable as I can, and sleep under the parked car for the night.
And even though I’ll wake up with the pattern of the gravelly asphalt on the side of my face, because I’m using the ground as a pillow, this is still, totally, the best day ever.