Chapter Text
It’s been weeks.
The Bats have been tearing through Gotham’s underworld for weeks, hunting a drug ring rotting the city from the inside. All signs point to Black Mask pulling the strings. Sleep-deprived and bruised, they chase every shipment, break every hideout, interrogate anyone who so much as whispers his name or whose name could be even only remotely associated to Black Mask’s.
But that bastard seems to be a ghost.
He slips through their fingers like smoke, and no matter what they do, no matter how fast they are, how reliable they think the tip-offs are– every sighting ends in empty rooms and unimaginable frustration.
Everything, every CCTV footage, every word on the street, every intuition or logical deduction– every little thing simply ends up leading them in circles.
And it’s really starting to feel deliberate, like he’s baiting them, watching.
The situation is everything but optimal: the family is unraveling, since every tip, every whispered lead, every supposed clue turns them back to square one, leaving them more frustrated than before. Tension thrums in the air like a live wire, nerves frayed.
They’re all snapping at each other way more than usual– short tempers, biting words, grudges simmering just beneath the surface. Everyone blames Sionis, but more and more, they’re blaming each other too.
The previous night, Nightwing took a blade to the ribs. It missed anything vital, luckily, but Bruce and Alfred were firm– three days of total bed rest. Dick hates it. He argued, tried to sneak out, but they held the line. He’s out of commission, and it shows.
They couldn’t get anything done even when everyone was present and at full capacity– so with one man down, the situation has dramatically worsened.
Damian stalks the manor with clenched fists and sharper glares than usual whenever he’s not out. Cass has gone radio silent, off on her own. Barbara barricaded herself in the tower, buried in data. Duke has been surprisingly tense, short-tempered even.
Steph and Bruce are barely speaking– when they do, it’s a fight. And it’s not rare for them not to be on speaking terms, really, but these past few weeks have been worse than usual, to the point that the rest of the family can’t even ignore it anymore.
Every randomized team-up ends in failure, in disappointment, in more anger.
All of them rotate through the city, trading partners, hoping something breaks open.
But nothing does.
Ever.
The silence from Black Mask is maddening. They’re exhausted. On edge. And time is running out. The city’s getting darker, and they’re bleeding into the abyss with it.Gotham’s two major hospitals and the private clinics are swamped– overdose cases, drug complications, all spiking hard in the last twenty days. And every trail leads back to the same thing: the new substance Sionis has a chokehold on.
It’s hitting everyone. The poor, the rich, even children– admitted to the hospitals with burning with fever, tremors, bloody noses, hallucinations. Some even flatline before they make it through the doors.
ERs are war zones.
And everywhere, people are looking to the Bats– eyes full of fear, hope, with silent prayers on their tongues and desperation in their eyes.
Tonight, two teams are out. Spoiler and Robin, and Red Hood and Red Robin– each chasing their own lead in the hope of finally cracking something open. Batman is supposed to go out too in approximately two hours, provided that Alfred lets him.
Predictably, everybody, including the butler, has not been resting properly nor enough ever since this latest emergency situation occurred. It’s the main reason why Dick got stabbed, actually– dead on his feet after the thirty-sixth hour in a row without even getting out of his suit, he’d reacted too slowly when a masked good decided to run towards him at full speed clutching a rusty knife in her hands.
So, as of the present, only two teams are out.
Steph and Damian are on a boat, speeding across Gotham’s dark, polluted waters, harbor looming ahead.
And on the other far, far end of the city, Red Hood and Red Robin move through the warehouse like shadows with fists. Jason leads the charge, twin pistols aimed with precision, while Tim follows, bō staff spinning, each strike knocking the umpteenth goon out cold.
“Nice swing, Red.” Jason mutters as he ducks under a knife. “You planning on becoming a majorette or something?”
Tim flips over a stack of crates, landing a clean kick. “Just focus on not pulling a Nightwing.”
Jason grins behind the helmet. He sways, knees briefly buckling. He catches himself fast, heart racing. His eyes flick to Tim, checking if he noticed– he doesn't think he did.
“Worry about yourself.” Jason adds under his breath.
And despite everything, they move in sync, trading quips and takedowns. Jason slams a thug into the wall with a grunt, while Tim sweeps another off his feet in one fluid motion. Ten bodies, fifteen, twenty. They're breathing hard now, but barely scratched. Jason reloads with a smirk. Tim twirls the staff once, eyes scanning the wreckage.
Both glance around, unconscious goons scattered across the floor.
“What a waste of time.” Jason breathes out, “Think we can leave these idiots to GCPD?”
Tim shrugs. “I think it's best to wait for the cops to actually get here.”
A nod. Jason presses the side of his helmet twice.
“Oracle speaking.” Barbara calls from the other side.
“Hey, we’re done. We need GCPD to get here as soon as possible, we got–” he stops for a quick count, “We got twenty-one of Sionis’ men down. I think two of them may need an ambulance.”
“Three.” speaks Tim, crouched next to a man whose temple is bruised, courtesy of an accidental bō blow to the head. He pries one of the man’s eyes open, hissing at the blown pupil. “Shit.”
Jason squeezes Tim’s shoulder, a weak attempt at comforting the brother before he crashes out– which the family can’t afford now of all times.
“Three ambulances.”
“Got it, I’ll send the emergency services your way immediately. Is Black Mask–”
“No, he’s not here.” Jason says into the comm, one hand pressed against the helmet, the other on his hip grim, “The tip-off turned out to be a red herring. Again.”
On her side of the comm, Barbara clicks her tongue, frustration palpable. Jason can almost hear her gnawing at her thumb nail.
“Damn it. I’ll– okay, alright. The GCPD and ambulances will be there in eight. Are you and Red safe?”
“We’re good, thanks.”
And Jason– he’s almost tempted to tell her about the tingling in his hands, about how the vision in his left eye is definitely too blurry for comfort. Roy’s voice booms in his head, sharp and scolding– but he brushes it off.
He’s fine.
Just like everyone else, Jason hasn’t been sleeping, and it’s hitting him hard now, fast and heavy, like a weight he can’t shake. That’s it, that’s simple sleep deprivation, and nothing more.
He feels like death warmed over, sure, but he figures he can hold out just a little longer. If all goes well, he’ll be in bed within the hour, too. The tingling will pass. It has to.
He’s not even cold, and that has to count for something– he’s always cold when it happens. He clenches and unclenches his gloved hands a few times– it’s not that bad, he’s okay.
“–d? Hood, are you there?”
Fuck.
“Yes, Oracle, I’m here. Sorry. We’re both okay. Not going to lie, we could use some rest, though.” he breathes out, shakier than he’d like to admit.
“As soon as you’re done with GCPD, go home. I managed to get in contact with Orphan, so I’m sending her and Signal out later. You and Red have–” a pause, filled with fast, skilled fingers clicking on a flat keyboard. “You both have sixteen hours off once you get home.”
A hum. “Spoiler and Robin?”
“Still out. Batman will join them soon. Nightwing will be joining Red tomorrow–”
Jason cocks an eyebrow, “Nightwing has been cleared already?”
“Huh, not exactly, but he’s still his usual stubborn self and the wound does look significantly better already. So, yeah, he’ll be joining Red and you’ll be joining Batwoman.”
He hums. “You know it’s bad when she agrees to work with us.”
There’s a soft, exasperated chuckle on the other end. “Pot, kettle.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
Teal eyes shift to Tim. “How far out did you say the police are?”
“Six minutes now. I think it’s– oh, wait a second. Oracle speaking. Yeah? Yes. Alright, I'm sending you the coordinates.” There’s rustling, more keyboard noises. “Just– Hood, I got Robin on the other line, I need to go. Call me if you need anything. Oracle out.”
Jason sighs, exhausted. His head hurts.
Tim looks one second away from dissociating entirely, and the fact that Jason can tell that despite the domino says a lot.
“Red, he’ll be fine.”
“I whacked him in the temple with my bō staff.” Tim screeches, low.
“I know, but that shit was not on purpose. Besides, he’s breathing and his colour looks okay. Stay focused.”
Tim stands, fists tight as his sides. “This is the fifth warehouse this week alone. Fifth. And it's not even Wednesday yet.”
Jason whirls around and immediately regrets it– he has to blink hard to will his eyes to stop wandering on their own, vision blurring. A sharp throb blooms behind his eyes– familiar, creeping. He sighs, jaw clenched.
“I mean, maybe if you and B stopped double-checking every corner like nervous mothers at the playground, we’d actually catch the guy instead of wasting our time with these low-lives.” he mutters, foot pushed against a goon’s back, turning him around.
“Oh, I’m the problem now?” Tim spins on him. “I’m not the one kicking down doors like it’s a demolition derby. Subtlety ever cross your mind?”
Jason steps in closer, chest heaving. “We’ve been doing this for weeks, Red. I don’t have time to tiptoe. And you know that these idiots wouldn’t keep spawning if B would just let me deal with them the right way.”
Tim opens his mouth to say something– and he does, be does say something, but Jason isn’t listening anymore.
He removes his helmet and pinches the bridge of his nose, looking miserably exhausted. His vision swims, cold sweat slicking the back of his neck, soaking his nape as the rooftop tilts slightly beneath his feet.
Tim is still rambling, and Jason does not understand a single word of what he says.
“–having this stupid conversation right now, okay?! I'm tired of your crap. So shut up and– Hood?” Tim calls, expression shifting.
Jason’s shoulders have dipped, just a little– it’s barely noticeable, really, but this time Tim catches it.
“Hood, are you hurt?”
“I’m not– I’m fine.” Jason says.
He inhales and exhales in a way that Tim knows well– to quell nausea. Tim frowns.
“I– I think I just need to rest.” he continues, “Oracle, huh, Oracle told me we have sixteen hours off, starting from the moment we get to the Cave to get checked out.”
The other momentarily averts his gaze from the goon, one eyebrow raised. “You’re coming to the Cave too?”
And Jason wishes he could go back in time, just ten seconds, and shut up before telling on himself.
Everyone is always required to check in at the medbay in the cave after patrol if they get injured. That’s just the rule. But Jason– he has never liked rules, and this one especially grates. He’s always been the type to ride out poisonings, gas-induced delirium, fevers, concussions– whatever, on his own. He patches himself up in one of his countless safehouses, away from the cave, away from them.
But that changed when the family found out about his Pit-related predicament.
Much to his irritation– and thanks to Roy being a goddamn traitor– he’s no longer allowed to do that. Now he’s supposed to follow protocol. Like everyone else.
Unfortunately for Jason, Roy has access to every one of his hideouts now. Every single one. So even when Jason tries to disappear, to deal with the pain alone, Roy always knows. And Roy always tells. The family shows up not long after, breaking into his safehouses with a disturbing amount of efficiency, dragging him back to the Cave whether he likes it or not.
Which he doesn’t.
At all.
He’s only gone in willingly once, though. Four months prior, during a long, seemingly never-ending stakeout, he started feeling off– dizzy, woozy, heavy-limbed.
He doesn’t remember saying anything, actually, but it must have been pretty evident, since Bruce insisted on driving him back and did so without Jason even putting up a fight. After spending the ride muttering reassurances, insisting that it was just a nasty headache, slurring through half his words, he’d promptly collapsed onto the cold concrete floor the moment he stepped off the Batmobile. A perfect faceplant, bloody nose, minor concussion and forever-wounded ego and all. Jason– he pretends he doesn’t remember that part, thought.
Now, however– now he’s not that bad off. He thinks. He hopes.
After all, his limbs feel mostly solid– maybe a bit tingly, maybe a bit numb, but that’s about it. And his head is– clear enough.
He’s walking fine. Talking fine. Thinking fine. So he’s–
“–sure you’re okay?” Tim asks, watching him a little too closely.
Ah. Oh.
“Shut up,” Jason mutters, helmet back on. “I’m peachy.”
Tim stands, hands held out tentatively. “Hood. Are you about to–”
“No. None of that. I’m coming to the Cave because someone needs to make sure you rest. You look like a zombie.”
The youngest rolls his eyes behind the mesh lenses. “Says who.”
Jason rolls his eyes, too, arms crossed. The distant wail of GCPD sirens starts up, echoing through the alleyways just outside the warehouse.
“And that’s our cue. Let’s get the fuck out of here, shall we?”
Tim exhales, “Finally.”
So they run, boots pounding against the dirty floor.
Jason moves beside Tim, lungs burning, chest tight. Each breath feels shallow, his vision swimming slightly as they move. He shakes his head, trying to clear the dizziness, but it lingers. His legs pump beneath him, steady but distant, like they belong to someone else.
He swears under his breath, slowing just a little, dropping back.
Instantly, Tim turns, ready to speak, concern on his face, “Hey, are–”
“Keep moving, I got you covered!” he grunts, cocking a gun to emphasize his words.
Tim nods and presses on. They dart through the warehouse’s long corridors, dodging crates and shadows, moving in sync.
It takes a few minutes, sirens now close. Jason thinks he may cry when he spots the exit door. So he slows down, now jogging more than running. And despite this, he realises that he’s cold.
Shit.
His head pounds. Jason doesn’t even notice Tim by his side.
“Hey, you good?”
A nod– which he instantly regrets, bile rising up his throat. “M’fine.”
Tim grabs at his wrist and picks up the pace slightly, tapping at his own comm. “Agent A, get the medbay ready. Hood needs medical attention.”
“Understood. Shall I send the Batmobile?”
“Huh,” Tim stalls, eyeing his brother, “How long would it take?”
“Ten minutes.”
He looks at Jason again, giving a sharp tug at his sleeve. “You with me?”
“I told you I’m fine, s’just– my head.” Jason grunts through gritted teeth, one hand gripping at the side of his head, gloves fingers sliding against the dirty helmet.
Jason feels– exhausted, head heavy and thoughts scattered. His body experiences intermittent tingling, and his balance seems off. A subtle wave of dizziness hits, making his surroundings feel distorted. His vision blurs.
Fuck. Please. Not– fuck.
Tim nods. “Okay, send it our way. We’ll be in a nearby alley, I’ll send the coordinates to the Batmobile myself.”
“Got it. I’ll go prepare the medbay in the meantime. Please be careful out there.”
“Always, promise. Red out.”
Tim looks at Jason– he’s walking almost upright, and the answer he gave a few seconds prior seemed coherent and not that slurred, so he slows down the pace. Still, the fact that Jason didn’t stop him from alerting Alfred is bad.
“How are you holding up?”
“Just fine.” Jason murmurs, voice low, pain sleeping through his words.
Tim hums, not convinced. There is only one room left to cross, big and empty– their footsteps echo as they stride towards the big door.
And they’re not even twenty feet away from the door when something shifts, and a small army of armed men appear in front of them. The grip on Jason’s wrist tightens. His body is growing colder, freezing to the point that Tim’s getting goosebumps on his right side, the one pressed into Jason. It’s eerie – a body shouldn’t be this cold, not even when it’s dead, not unless it’s been dunked into the Atlantic, or took a nice dip in the Gotham Harbor on Christmas Eve wearing only spandex, and Tim’s unfortunately pretty familiar with the ordeal.
“It has come to my attention that you’re looking for me.” calls a voice, sinister.
Tim grits his teeth, one hand instinctively moving to his emergency beacon, setting it off. He catches Jason subtly doing the same thing– if anything happens, at least someone will know to come look for them.
The gunmen make way, and Sionis makes his entrance, white suit pristine, an annoying grin on his disfigured face.
“I must say, I don’t appreciate you showing up uninvited.”
“Sionis.” Jason seethes, eyes squinting.
“Red Hood. Red Robin.” the villain smirk, bowing his head slightly. “How shall we do this, gentlemen?”
Tim momentarily lets go of Jason, bō staff in his hands immediately. Jason holds up the gun, his grip unsteady.
If he’s honest, Jason feels a bit distant now– not entirely present, admittedly. But he knows so, so that can’t be that bad. Still, his heart races, threatening to shatter his ribs and break free, and his limbs feel weak, shaky.
He just hopes that the barrel of his gun is aimed towards Black Mask and not towards a random stranger that, to someone with severely blurred vision, looks similar.
A vague, unsettling sensation lingers, leaving him anxious. Tim– he has to make sure that Tim is alright. He glances at his brother and he looks– okay.
Now Tim– he’s not worried about having to face Black Mask’s men, really. But doing so while keeping an eye on Jason and making sure that he doesn’t get killed nor collapses on the floor in a heap and reenacts his death– that kind of worries Tim.
Granted, Jason knows how to look after himself, knows how to make it out alive by the skin of his teeth, and episodes or no episodes, he’s a skilled fighter. But right now, his brother does look like he can barely stand unassisted.
Tim curses under his breath.
“GCPD is here.” Jason calls, startling Tim slightly, and trying to sound as menacing as he can, “Surrender peacefully to them, or get very hurt trying to fuck with us, Sionis.”
“I think I won’t do either of those things.”
“Then get ready to–”
Tim is cut off mid-sentence as the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge. In a split second, his head turns to Jason– he’s visibly alert too.
The floor beneath them lights up in a web of blue, a nasty cackling sound erupting from the tiles.
“Have a good night’s sleep, boys!”
Electricity surges from hidden plates– too fast to dodge. Jason curses, body tensing. Tim barely gets a warning out before the current hits them both.
A blast of hot, searing, white pain. Muscles lock, bodies jerk uncontrollably– Jason falls first, and Tim does too a few seconds later, seizing, eyes rolled back. Both think they scream.
And then it’s lights-out.