"Red."
"Hey Baby Bird, what's shaking?"
"The usual, Hood. What do you need?"
"A better sense of humor, kid."
Red barks out a laugh, shaking his head a little. "I agree, your idea of funny usually involves too many things that blow up."
"Only with people I like, asshole. It's a short list. You should feel honored."
"So glad I'm part of the group, man. Just stoked about it."
"See? All about perspective."
And Red can hear the mirth in that jerk's voice, pictures him grinning like a creep.
"No, really, man. I'm calling to check in on you. Haven't seen you in Gotham for a few weeks. And…" he can hear the guy take a long breath on the other end, "it's been a bad week, you know? Just…thought I'd see how things are on your end." The rasp of a lighter and inhale over the speakers is telling because no way would Alfred deal with him smoking anywhere near the Manor (maybe, mostly, Alfred always had a soft spot for Jason).
Safe house, probably the one near Crime Alley since he keeps the beer stocked , Red thinks automatically. Not that he's in the manner consistently anyway, at least from what Dami says.
"Nothing much to report. Pretty quiet." Other than the ape-shit crazy H.I.V.E thing, but that's was really more of a joke than a real attempt to take over the world. Come on, if you're really going to try using some kind of half-assed particle accelerator to fuck with space/time, pay your electric bill or don't piss off super heroes that can hack your shit well enough to screw with the grid (morons). The ensuing fight had been pretty epic with the light bombs he'd randomly set because, yeah, those just made the party even better. Bart had the time of his fucking life (mental note: big animals that are easily startled are not conducive to a fight in the dark, tell Gar to change into something else next time).
"Uh-hu. How many contusions didja get out of that fight?"
What now? Slowly, Red looks up at the ceiling, his eyes narrow behind the domino. He makes a few keystrokes and the perch comes up clean for camera other than his; he sets the system to do a manual sweep of the Tower for just in case (even though he has the system automatically do it every eight hours).
Another inhale.
"Hood." There's a wealth of meaning there.
"Sensors," the guy says like it's obvious , "ones in your suit. Didn't think you were the only one that could hack a mainframe were you? And, shit, man these are the good ones, like, your people are all kinds of concerned if they're dropping the extra fifty bucks."
"Seriously, Hood—"
"Gotta make sure you're not dead somehow. After you pulled your profile from BI, I got no other way to know if I should sendflowers or not. You feel me, Red?"
And, well, the guy might have a point (not that he'd ever admit it).
"After what happened this week, B is starting on some new protocols, make sure everyone's on the up and up. That includes you, you know. Protocol for keeping better communications, get the 'low on what the shit-heads" (criminal element, Red reads) "are into, new poisons hitting the streets, the usual. He's thinking about doing some bi-weeklies with everyone since it's rough to read everyone's report when you're kicking ass every other night. Meetings would help that or so he thinks."
There's a lot there he's going to get to soon enough. "Hood, what the hell happened?"
"Kid. C'mon. Gotham , right? What didn't happen?"
A brow arches over his domino, but Hood can't see it anyway. "How about something more concrete than that."
"You'd know if you still logged into your non-existent profile and checked-in, asshole."
"Your witty repartee is always fantastic. No joke."
"Yeah, yeah, I'll be here all week. Tip your waitress. Whatever. So, Crane's got some new stuff on the market. Big Wing… He got it pretty bad, trying to get the brat outta the way. It was touch and go for a while."
"Shit," Red's leaning forward in his seat a little. Dick, that recently sent him yet another text message (along with a few emails) asking him to come back for the yearly tag-up, saved Dami and got a face full of instant fear . It's not an unusual thing, really. It might be for Dick since his stint as Batman, he'd been trying to be a good role model for Dami, to be more careful about getting the shit kicked out of him (because security footage gave it away with the slight delays before Dick took a jump into a random fray or against the big bads. He was still trying to be more like the Bat ).
"Yeah, new stuff is potent enough to affect heart rate and shit. B was trying to get a new antidote synthed, but it took time since the formula was totally different. He said something about a new composition."
"He's…okay?"
Another puff of the cigarette. "…Still feeling the after-shocks. You know."
And, yeah. Yeah he did. They all had their gauntlet by fire, residual moments caught in that trippy, drugged-induced haze of their worst fucking nightmares (his dad screaming while he died; Kon's soulless eyes while the hand still reaches; the 'Haven crumbling below his feet; twisted, mangled corpses around him…). Hell, years later and he still has his moments. A lot of them.
"He's not okay then." Red goes on, and something changes, Hood becomes Jason, Jay, because there's something different in his sigh.
"It was…close. Closer than anyone would have liked."
"Crane's working with biological weapons now, not just psychedelics."
"Traces of something else organic."
"…Fuck. Gotham's going to have a dream team going." Again. Man, those ones always sucked. Not just one crazy fucker running around with huge weapons, but a slew of them. Fan. Fucking. Tastic.
"Maybe. It's not cool, that's what I can tell you." Then the soft wahh of the clip coming out of the .45 Glock, working back in like Jay's hands need something to do. A brow arches over his domino, but Hood can't see it anyway.
"Then…BB had a bad one, got pretty chewed up. B is in Hong Kong to check her out since Big Wing's somewhat okay."
What? What now!? "Sonofa—what?," Red spits out because Cass , "why the hell didn't you call me? I would've been in Gotham—" or on my way to Hong Kong .
Now the tone is tired, not snarking back at him. "Just like B said, Baby Bird. We're not trying to get a soldier. We're trying to get abrother . Feel me?"
"That's fucking irrelevant, Hood. Nightwing's down, B's out of town, and that's a pretty good reason to call in someone else."
"Me and Demon Wonder can handle it for the time being. Besides, if there was some way for me to know what you were up to or what cases you were on or if you were, you know, bleeding out like a motherfucker or whatever, then I could have seen for myself it was good to call your ass in, right?"
Red throws up his hands. "Really? Tell me a time that you've called and I haven't shown up . You. Complete. Dick."
There's a chuff on the line, "remember what I said about breaking the old conditioning, Tim?" And there go the pseuds right out the window, "I meant that shit. Not fucking around with you."
"You don't need a damn profile in BI to pick up the phone, Jay."
"No, I sure as shit don't, Timmy, but I'm done making those old mistakes."
And just fuck he's already getting a headache . He can feel the lid of his left eyes twitching under the domino and briefly wonders if it's time for his aneurism to hit just from dealing with these asshats .
"So, you're not calling me unless it's to check up ? That right?"
"Yeah, me and the Bats got it straight, even the brat. Time to stop sending the wrong message so you might start coming into town without riding a case and shit. You come when you want and we'll be here. You wanna jump in on what we're into, that's gotta be your call."
And that's just…fuck. Even Dami, dammit.
Red sucks in a breath because—
"Don't do it." Hood cuts him off mid-thought, talking through his exhale of smoke. "Don't come here because you think it's the job. You do you for the moment. Me, the brat, and BG are working it night by night."
"There's more." Not a question.
"Maybe. What part of 'I'm not making those mistakes' didn't sink in, Tim?"
But Red's already maneuvering in the system to accesses the Batman Inc. mainframe (two months out of it doesn't make him rusty), covering his ass and his IP with some pretty nifty re-directs and encryptions (O will know it's him anyway, but he just likes giving her a run for her money because he still can ).
"So, tell me about the H.I.V.E douche bags. What did they want this time?"
"You want me to tell you about my cases but won't tell me about Gotham, huh?" It's a little bitter, but hey, he's not looking to be coddled. Red doesn't need that shit; he's got his own back now.
"I'd rather you tell me then break in your mainframe and read about it myself. I'm a guy that likes to listen, Baby Bird, you know?"
That makes an abrupt laugh jerk out of his chest because Jason. Really, just Jason. But, he did make promises, didn't he?
So, Red multi-tasks, uses another admin log-in to get around the authentication processes, generating a token to see how easy it is since there were people out there a lot better than him (Vic is such a douche-bag and won't disable the alarms because reasonsand "Gar has a point about you, Tim, you just need to be cool with them trying to take care of you and shit" and no fucking thank-you, Vic, Red takes care of himself just fine and eventually he will crack Vic's twenty second change encryption swap and then hack the guy's eye so Honey Boo-Boo plays for the next five days straight, just watch out when that shit happens, man.).
If he can get in too easy, then he's got to start coding more invasive security details and slide them in while O's busy being omnipotent and shit. While he works it, he gives Jason the breakdown and the guy guffaws too because like space/time fuckage is so original. He's as underwhelmed as Red had been, maybe more since he doesn't have the healing ribs to go with it.
"Well, to be fair, Timmy," Jason observes while Red's working to get a back door open. He manages it in an embarrassingly long time (like, six minutes, maybe he's losing his touch), coming to the main screen with new messages from the other crime fighters under the BI flag. "If you'd actually had some sleep and eats before the brawl, you might have gotten out of it better. Just saying."
A brow arches over the domino and, yeah, he needs to work on the sensor net because this isn't creepy at all . Red blows out a sigh through his nose as he quickly scans the message posted on the board from last week:
Out of Towner Protocols: Update
For any operatives in Gotham: log into the mainframe before and after patrol to verify status, enter necessary criminal activities, or report injuries. Help will follow. The emergency number is still applicable if log-in cannot be completed.
For out-of-town operatives: the new protocol requires frequent check-in and record of current status. This protocol is to assure the health and safety of all personnel. A new page Weekly Check-In may be accessed to record all necessary data.
Red blinks once, twice, and then clicks on the new check-in page. Each out of towner has a link and his/her pic by it (that's a terrible shot of Cass in the Black Bat mask, really, when did they take this?) and he picks out Red Robin with… he gapes at the odd domino and his hair everywhere because some asshole got a pic of him from the Unternet and put it on the damn…!
Babs, I am so crashing your shit for this he seethes to himself. Oh yeah, O and Steph were probably laughing their asses off because that suit was terrible and his hair was way too long and just reasons (the hair is still too long but, shit, he almost likes it now).
He click on it by rote anyway and get the error message profile deactivated . It's like one foot is out of Gotham and the other one is just rising to meet it. The realization jars him, more than when he had digs in the Haven, more than when he moved his things out of the Manor, leaving behind sundries that could be easily replaced, more than when he came into the new perch here in San Fran and thought it's not home but it could be.
"Tim?"
Red jerks abruptly because he's never taken the time to think about all that, has he? "I'm here."
"Don't get pissy. I didn't have to get into the vids of your Tower to know, man. We've met before, you realize?"
Oh. "Am I really that predictable?" Red stares at the error message for a long few seconds (some pain is a whole different level than the ribs) before hacking around with the password to get into Black Bat's and scanning her recent activity reports. B had been in doing the same thing, traces of his coding and skirting there as well.
A beat of silence and then Jason is laughing over the line. "Really? Kid, c'mon."
"Guess that answers that question."
"Well, your team has a list of protocols for you, you realize? Specific ones because you are that predictable. But, hey, I mean, really, who named these things? I bet it was Gar, wasn't it? Who names the door code ASSHOLE anyway?"
Red just pauses again, switching screens and putting an extra level of encryption on his personal medical file for just in case since Jay is all about digging and detecting apparently. "There's a story behind it, ask Rave some time. And yeah, I'm aware of their list." No one can see him roll his eyes behind the domino but that doesn't mean he isn't. "They don't try to hide it or anything. It would piss me off if they did."
"They try to take care of you since you can't do it for yourself," and that's just matter of fact and irritating. "Well, the word I'm looking for is don't ."
"I've lived this long, you know."
"Semantics. Take a good long look at the 'why,' kid. Not just you, though; all the Bat soldiers are self-sacrificing asshats. It's part of the requirements or something."
"That and to be able to rock tights, man."
"I had panties, asshole. I would have killed for tights."
"Quit your bitching. No one fired your ass."
"Meh, might've if I didn't die first."
A beat of silence while Red is back in BI, accessing the new checklist this time (a train goes by, it's the safehouse by the East Side). "So, what I'm taking from this convo is that I'm not coming to Gotham even though you need me, and you want me to regale you with how much I'm eating a ton and sleeping eight hours a night. Dick and Cass are totally doing fine, too because why shouldn't they be , right? That about cover it?"
"Who was talking about bitching? I could be calling you every night, Tim."
"Yeah and asking me shit like," Tim glares at the screen, "Number 4: have you sustained any serious injuries in the last forty-eight hours? Do you need assistance? Or, Number 8: have you taken anti-toxins in the 90 days? If so, which ones? Special Note: it is advised that you take new doses of anti-toxins every thirty days to attempt maintaining a consistent immunity." Bullshit. Ask the guy without a spleen about immunities.
Jason laughs a little, "dude, that's all O. Talk to her, not to me."
"This is an every night thing? Seriously, Jay? Some of us have day jobs."
"Well, some of us do reports and shit, call around to others so everyone knows that flowers aren't necessary. Did I mention that already?"
"Sure did."
"Then I'll say it again. Answer the phone once a week to talk about something that has to do with you , with Tim Drake and how he's not getting seriously fucked up without anyone knowing ."
And, oh yeah, there's more under that since this is all too much emphasis in one phone call. Someone's been talking to the Bats behind his back, or someone's been hacking a little too deep. Red's voice goes a little softer, full of steel. "Be straight with me, Jay."
" Kid . This ain't hard to figure out and after the long string of shitty nights we've been having, it's not a bad idea."
"I—" this should be about the cases he's working, about the data he's collecting, about the new information he's uncovered, none of this should be about whether or not he's eating or sleeping or hurt or…
"All right, Detective, test the waters then." Just as smooth as can be, Jason kicks right into his thoughts, "answer the damn questions and see if they're bullshit. When was your last fight or patrol? You've been in San Fran for two weeks or so, right?"
"Gang fight, last night," his brain is a little numb because he has no idea how this convo turned or why he's humoring Jason at all.
"Okay, injuries?"
"Bruises, nothing major."
"Yeah? Good for you, Baby Bird, nice work. Okay, when's the last time you ate?"
Uh… "Yesterday before the Titans left." What was yesterday…? Was that yesterday? Close enough.
The rasp of the lighter again, "get some fucking take-out or I'm calling Chinese and having it delivered to your Tower, asshole."
"Yeah, okay," whatever…Chinese did sound pretty good, actually.
"When's the last time you slept?"
And the ghosts come out of his unconscious mind, hovering over his line of vision, his chest gets tight all over again. "Saturday morning, about five hours," one of the Titan's mandatory movie days because they're all mother-hens and he can't do shit about it but deal.
"It's Tuesday, man. You get that, right?"
It is…? "Yeah, yeah. You want the truth or do you want me to lie? I slept eight full hours last night and had a three course dinner. Satisfied?"
"No, dick. Remember what I said? The whole 'stop being a pain in my left nut' talk?"
"I didn't—"
"No, you didn't. You didn't need to. See why the check-in is a good thing for people like us? You're just the case-in-point. One of us calls you every day because you forget shit like 'oh, days actually end, huh? Who knew?'"
"Smart ass."
"You already know it. We've met."
"I'm sure as hell not doing this every day, Jason. Not even with you."
"Here we are again, Tim, once a week. Be straight with me and I'll be straight with you, that's how this has gotta work. I'm not screwing around with a second chance. It's part of my nature. Besides, you back out on the deal and I'm gonna have to come up to San Fran and see for myself. Me and Dick aren't going to sweat embarrassing you in front of the kiddies. Like, at all."
"Yeah, I seriously do not want that." Don't come here.
"Then don't be a shit about this."
Red's frown is epic. Once a week. Once a week and he could keep moving forward. After a long moment of thinking, of calculating the possibilities of how much a phone call could hurt, of what kinds of concessions he would be needing to make to keep up his side of the deal anyway, Red finally takes a deep breath.
"Message received, Jay. The fam wants to know if I've got it together."
"No, dumbass. We want to know you're not hour 60 with no sleep and ready to pass out because you haven't eaten for days. I will seriously have Big Wing make borscht and force feed you, don't try me."
"God, man, that's fucked up," Red can't even control the horrified look on his face because oh God that shit is nasty even when Dick doesn't make it. "I think that violates the Geneva Convention or something."
"You dick," Jason just says fondly, "that's why you're on the short list, you know? It's not everyone that gets a personalized threat."
Red just sighs and shakes his head a little, "I know , man. I mean, it just makes my life when you give me a bomb in a box. Just, warm tingles all over."
"Yeah, that's how we show we care, Baby Bird. All right, all right, big brother talk over. One of us is calling you once a week if you don't call first. Deal with it." And, as much as it's a little too much like control, like make sure he isn't fucking up something vital, he's got little choice because Jay doesn't screw around with I'll come to you threats.
Jason sighs on the other end, sounding worn, "…and, shit, one last thing, Tim."
"Hit me."
"Dick…wants you to come the HQ, wants you there for the yearly."
Red's brows furrow over the domino, "uh-hu. I've already gotten the message. Like, four of them. Not going to happen yet."
"You need time. I get it. But, he's pretty on about it, so I don't foresee him giving up the bone. Just FYI."
"Thanks, Hood. I'll tell him to fuck off myself. Red out." He ends the call before something more starts Jay on another tangent of really uncomfortable, almost-kind-of-in-his-own-messed-up-way-of-showing-he-was-concerned spiel. Because, yeah, Jason Todd was one of those guys that if he didn't give a damn, he didn't call to attempt to make nice.
Twenty minutes later, an angry guy from the place down the street had to wait a little too long for regular dude, Alvin Draper, to hit the elevator to the ground floor. The muttering about the wait goes in one ear and out the other while Tim stares down at him with furrowed brows and a whole lot of what's this about now ?
He briefly wonders if he may have just triggered an attack by opening the door (but it's cool, he's got the remote in hand buried in his hoodie; one press and the lasers are going to start coming into play; the mini computer under his sleeve is already set with the ground traps, so eh, try it angry dude). Then the guy is shoving a bag, a big bag, of take-out right in Tim's chest with the receipt stapled to it before vanishing on his beat-up scooter, completely ignoring "Alvin's" protest that he hasn't ordered anything and that this is a mistake (but really, it's a huge Tower, how could anyone get it wrong ?).
The smell of Chinese food hit him like a punch and his stomach rolled. He sighs to himself but takes the feast back upstairs and eats out of cartons while still looking around BI for the recent reports in Gotham. In terrible restaurant person scribble is "I don't fuck around, asshole." Cute. In a creepy, stalkery (thanks, Bart) kind of way. But, just dumplings. Mad amount of dumpling and he's demolishing the carton of vegetable fried rice like you read about, not bothering to look away from the screen until his chopsticks are hitting the bottom of the carton.
He can see where the week has been shit because there's the usual activity and then the breakouts from Arkham (seriously, they should just build a new place because getting out is like oh, let me just wiggle this bar that's already been taken out twenty times before ) in the last two weeks since he's been gone. Crane is still on the loose, and Ivy, who has really made a hell of an effort to stay the fuck away from crime and the Bats in general, agreed to have a talk with Robin about the compounds found in the new Fear Toxin. Robin's notes are sketchy (because, well, he's a little shit), but Tim is pretty shocked to read how the kid actually believed she was honest when she claimed she didn't give Crane any of her old formulas. She gave him the address of an abandoned warehouse she used to do testing, told him some of the crates with her previous mixtures might still be there, and if so, that's possibly where the organic side could have come from.
The kid was going to investigate soon, put up his findings.
He and Dick were on for tonight.
Dick, who almost died. Again.
And he…he wasn't supposed to go, to be in Gotham because of the good fight. He was supposed to do his own thing wasn't he?
He eyes the Red Robin icon for a few sickening seconds and closes his eyes. It's dangerous to consider this (what part of you already lost this once hasn't sunk in?), but he's the strategist, isn't he? He's got to have a plan, he's got to have alternatives and prospective. There are ways to make this look like a good thing when he's really waiting for the real reason the Bats are keeping a closer eye on him comes to light ("I want my son back" but was I ever really? Dick is, Jason is, Damian is...). So if the Bats need to have a contingency, then so should he.
When he finally stands up, gathers the leftovers to go in the fridge (and probably not get touched), the Red Robin icon is active and Oracle is going to be pissed that she's not getting into her own mainframe for a few days.
