Stiles sat outside of the coffee shop, his feet propped up on the table as he watched the hordes of college students line up for their morning fix of caffeine. The sun was unbearably hot compared to the usual grey skies that hung over Gotham nearly every day of the year.

He glanced at his watch. A quarter past two. He looked down the road, a few cars passed by, but no Tim. He bit his lip, like he always did when he was nervous, unsure if Tim would come. They hadn't been friends for long; Tim had no reason to take part in his outlandish requests.

Stiles decided it was time to leave. Tim didn't strike him as a person who would be late. If he had wanted to come, then he would have come already. Stiles slid his feet off the table, ready to throw his trash away. That was when he heard it. An annoying bell that seemed to echo through the street. He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the sound. People were jumping to the sides of the sidewalk in a hurry.

"Wait, Stiles!"

Tim was pedaling hard towards him, waving one hand in the air to try to get his attention. Stiles felt a smile break out on his face. Tim was riding a bright, red bike and decked out in a helmet and all sorts of protective gear.

Stiles braced himself as Tim hit the brakes and glided to a stop. Up close, he saw that Tim's face was beet red and sweat drenched his shirt. "No offense, Stiles, but why did you ask me to bike all the way to Gotham U. when I could have just taken the bus?"

His eyes widened in horror and embarrassment. He patted his bike. "I thought I said bring your bike. I actually took the bus here."

He couldn't really decipher the glare Tim sent his way. He cleared his throat. "I probably should have said that clearer. Are you mad?"

Tim collapsed into the chair in front of Stiles. "No." He said. "I'm just tired. It's been a while since I've taken out my bike for spin. Alfred was the one who suggested all the extra padding."

Stiles choked back a laugh at Tim's misery. It was technically his fault, but he didn't know who else to call.

"Why are we here, Stiles?" Tim asked.

His mood sobered. He pointed to the coffee shop behind him. "My dad was here that afternoon. Getting a cup of coffee before heading out for patrol."

Tim straightened up in his chair. He seemed to put two and two together. "Right before he got the call from Headmaster Hammer."

"Exactly! He got the call at 2:30. What time did our dads get there?"

"3 o'clock."

"So, 30 minutes. The police think they have footage of my dad at Robinson Park shooting Tom Dougherty. However, it would have taken more than 30 minutes to get from the university to the park and back to the academy. It's impossible!" Stiles took a deep breath. "Are you following?"

Tim had a hand on his chin, deep in thought. "I think so. But how do you explain your dad arriving at the academy in 30 minutes when the distance from the university is 20 minutes tops."

"Easy. The pileup on the bridge between Midtown and Uptown. It backed up traffic for 15 minutes that day."

"So, we're here to test that theory." Tim laid his head on the table. "Wouldn't a car have been easier?"

Stiles fiddled with the stopwatch hanging around his neck. "I had a car, but I had to leave it in Beacon Hills." His poor baby. He only hoped Scott was taking good care of her. "I know it's a lot to ask, but you're the only one I trust. If you don't want to, then I completely understand."

Tim stood up, stretching his legs. "Alright, let's go. We're going to have to bike really fast to simulate a car."

Stiles wasn't sure what came over him. If it was the months without an actual friend, or all the crap that's happened to him, but he hugged Tim. He felt him tense under his grip.

"Sorry! Sorry!" He let go, patting down Tim's shirt. "I shouldn't have done that. It's just-you're awesome."

Tim cocked his head to the side. "I guess I am."

"Are you ready?" Tim asked, mounting his bike again. Stiles nodded pulling his own from beside the table.

He held the stopwatch in his hand. "One. Two. Go!"

They shot through the air. The wind whipped against their faces. Stiles was breathing heavily as he followed the route his father supposedly took. His thighs burned. Tim was not far behind with equally red cheeks.

As he passed Robinson Park, he wondered what happened to his father that day. Was he rushing to the academy? Did he make a detour? Could he actually have-no. He couldn't afford to think like that.

He just had to make it -

The chain of his bike suddenly stalled, throwing him over the handlebars. His hands took the brunt of the fall as he landed on the hard concrete with a thud.

He laid there in shock. A couple of people came over to see if he was alright. He heard Tim arrive, throwing his bike to the side. "It's okay, I got it." Tim said, shooing everyone away. "Are you okay, Stiles?"

Stiles pushed himself off the ground on shaky arms, and sat up against the wall behind him. Tim kneeled down in front of him, taking his scraped hands and inspecting them.

"It doesn't look too bad. Your bike is another story."

Stiles pulled his hands away and grabbed his head in frustration. "I can't do anything right. This was a complete waste of time."

Tim sat next to him and sighed. "It wasn't a complete waste. Your plan just had a few kinks in it."

"A few? I should have known it wouldn't work! If only I had my Jeep-"

"It's a start. Don't let yourself get down. No one said it was going to be easy."

Stiles appreciated the pep talk but couldn't help feeling disappointed. He just needed a victory. Even a small one.

"How long did we take anyways?"

Stiles looked at his forgotten stopwatch. Fifty minutes. "Wow, we pedal pretty slow."

Tim laughed, throwing his head back. "I'm sure my brother Dick would have said he could do it in twenty."

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "Is your brother Superman?"

"He likes to think he is. By the way, how did you find all this out? I thought the cops had all the evidence on the down low?"

Stiles coughed into his fist. "I may or may not have looked at Parrish's computer. He's a trekkie fan so it wasn't hard to figure out his password is live long and prosper."

Tim squinted his eyes. "I'm starting to think trouble just looks for you, kid."

"Hey, I'm not a kid! You're only a year older than me." Stiles pouted.

"How about we race to the library? Last one there pays for lunch."

"You're on."

"I wish I could find what I was looking for, Ajax."

He rewinded the footage again. Ajax's head drooped onto the mattress. "I know, buddy. I'm tired too, but we can't stop. Dad's counting on us."

The footage revealed nothing new. Tom was eating lunch in his patrol car. His dad approached from the rear. Bang. Bang. Tom's head slumped over.

Stiles wanted to pull his hair out. He was trying to explain the impossible. It was his dad's face, but he knew that it couldn't be him. The man in that video showed no remorse. He had a coldness that his father was incapable of.

He pulled the covers over himself as a sudden draft of cold air chilled the room.

"Stiles." Someone called from the hallway.

"Parrish?"

"Stiles.''

It sounded a lot closer than before. Stiles whipped his head left and right. That was definitely not Parrish's voice.

"Who's there?" He asked. Ajax was now fully awake. His tiny teeth were bared.

"It's okay. No one's here." Stiles petted Ajax even though he was unsure himself.

Scrrreeecchh.

Stiles recoiled at the sound, pressing his hands to his ears. The noise was like fingernails on a chalkboard. Ajax leapt off the bed. In his haste, he knocked the laptop to the ground and darted out into the hallway.

Stiles let go of his ears. They were still ringing, but the noise was gone.

"Ajax?"

He could still hear the dachshund barking somewhere in the house. Taking his lacrosse stick, he clambered out of bed and down the stairs. In the dark, it was hard to see and even harder not to swing at every shadow. He opened every closet expecting something to jump out at him.

"Hello? If anyone's there, then I have a weapon and I'm not sure how to use it!"

He suddenly tripped on a tiny body that let out a yelp, his lacrosse stick flying out of his hands. "Ajax, oh my god! I'm sorry!" He picked the puppy up and squashed it in a tight hug. "I'm a horrible person, but why were you walking right in front of me, boy?"

Ajax licked his face, completely oblivious to the fact that Stiles almost punted him across the room. "I guess no one's here. I must be more tired than I thought."

He carried Ajax back up the stairs, depositing him on the bed, and picking up the laptop. A quick inspection showed no scratches or cracks. He would have been a dead man.

Stiles paused as he caught sight of the footage. His dad's eyes were glowing. He hadn't noticed that before. The impossible was staring right at him.

"Ajax, I found it!" Stiles bounced on the bed in excitement. It was finally something!

"Found what exactly? All I've found is a sixteen-year-old boy snooping through my work laptop. Which, by the way, can get me into serious trouble. How did you get in anyway? You know what. Don't tell me. You're grounded for a week." Parrish stood with his arms crossed in the doorway. Stiles cursed his luck. Parrish must have come home early. His face showed clear signs of irritation.

"Grounded! You're not my father!" His blood was boiling. What right did Parrish have to ground him?

"I am your guardian! It's my job to keep you safe. This, this is not healthy." Parrish took the laptop from him and placed it under his arm.

"No. No. No! Just look at it, Parrish. His eyes aren't right. They're glowing. That has to mean something. Please!"

Stiles, for the first time, was tempted to blurt out everything about the supernatural. Werewolves, kanimas, druids, the works. The only way for his father to be at two places at once was if there was something else wearing his face. Something that must exist to explain it all.

"Listen, Stiles. The police have combed through everything. It was a sunny day. It could have been a glare."

"It's a frame job and you know it! Why don't you care?"

"Of course I care, Stiles! Your dad is the closest thing I have to a father. Glowing eyes don't mean anything. I know you want your dad back but obsessing over this case won't help."

"I hate you!" Stiles stormed out of the bedroom and down into the living room. Parrish was treating him like a little kid. He was practically an adult.

He noticed Parrish's phone on the coffee table. Curiosity got the better of him and picked up the phone. Two missed calls. Both unknown. If Parrish wanted him to stop snooping, then he shouldn't have left his phone out in the open.

He peered over his shoulder, making sure that Parrish wasn't in sight. He dialed the number. After a few rings, someone picked up.

"Hello?"

"Is this Officer Jordan Parrish? From the GCPD? "

It was a woman. Stiles hesitated. He could call for Parrish but-

"This is he." He said in his best imitation of Parrish's voice.

The woman sighed in relief. "Finally! I've been trying to reach you. My name is Vicki Vale and I work for the Gotham Gazette. I know this will sound a bit strange but I have vital information regarding the Stilinski case. I heard you were the person to talk to. "

Information about his dad. Information that could prove his innocence.

"Hello? Are you still there? "

"Yeah. I'm still here. What information do you have?"

"Not over the phone." She said quickly. "You don't know who can be listening. "

Stiles froze. He needed that information. "What if we met? Gotham Academy, maybe? In 30 minutes?"

She didn't say anything for what seemed like an eternity. "Okay. I'm in Midtown. I'll try to get there as quickly as possible. "

Stiles hung up the phone and ran out the door. "I'm sorry, Parrish, but I can't sit here and wait."

Nights weren't usually this quiet. Tonight, Stiles Stilinski was heading towards Gotham Academy. His gut told him that this wasn't a usual occurrence.

"You can't stay put, can you?" Bruce said, tracking Stiles' phone.

He set course for the academy. Tim was at home finishing a major project. Tim wouldn't, couldn't, understand his motivations for keeping an eye on Stiles.

Jason had been a good kid, but he had hit a little harder than Dick ever would have. He had always gone a little too far. When his mother had been taken by the Joker, he didn't think; he only saw red.

From the brief interactions he had with Stiles, Bruce knew that he was impulsive. Smart. With an obsession, it was all a recipe for disaster if left to stir. He didn't need another Jason. Alfred thinks he is trying to atone for his mistakes through Stiles. He might be right.

"You're a little young to be Jordan Parrish. Who are you?"

"Stiles Stilinski. John Stilinski is my father."

Vicki Vale. A reporter for the Gotham Gazette. Bruce Wayne was an enigma to her. Batman was an even bigger one. It looked like Vicki was under the impression she was meeting with Officer Parrish.

"I should have known. I was suspicious when you said we should meet at the academy. This information is dangerous, Stiles. I can't discuss it with you."

"Why not?''

"Because you're just a kid!"

"Can everyone stop calling me a kid! Don't I deserve to know the truth? My dad was taken from me for something he didn't do. I go home every day and he's not there; I have no idea why."

Bruce could see the same hurt that plagued Dick and Tim when their parents died. Their need for answers. For truth.

"Fine. I'm not showing you this so you can get your own brand of justice. I've spoken to too many families left without an explanation. What you do with this information is up to you."

Vicki took a vanilla folder out of her bag and handed it to Stiles. He scanned the contents. His hands were shaking.

"Where did you get this?"

"An informant in the FBI. Hey! Where are you going? I need that back!"

Stiles mounted his bike and sped off.

Bruce dropped down from the ledge he was perched on.

"Batman. Why am I not surprised?"

"What did you show him, Vale?"

"Only what he wanted to hear."

"What if goes after those responsible? He's inexperienced. Rash. He could get himself killed. Did you think about that?" Bruce asked, anger bleeding into his voice.

Vicki frowned, pointing a finger into his chest. "Don't you judge me, Batman. You're not the one who has to sit with the victim's families. Their loved ones get taken from them for no reason at all. His father could get life for this. He deserves the truth."

She took another folder out of her purse. "Here. A good reporter always makes copies. If you're worried about the kid, then you need to find whoever did this first."

Bruce flipped through the folder. "It says here Tom Dougherty was a dirty cop turned informant for the Feds. Why wasn't this in the system?"

"I heard that there was a massive cover-up. Tom was going to testify against the mob next month."

"Which mob?"

"The Falcone Crime Family."

"Mario."

Air. He needed air.

His lungs were burning.

"Somebody help me! Somebody! PLEASE!"

He screamed despite knowing that nobody could hear him.

The darkness surrounded him on all sides. He was so cold.

Jason was buried alive.

And every night it would be the same. The pain. The dark.

Jason scratched and pushed at the wood which seemed like concrete. He needed to get out.

With a hard push, one of his hands punched through the wood. Dirt rushed in. He waded through the dense soil, making a mad dash for the surface. The first thing he saw was the moon's light. It was a light in the darkness.

Jason crawled over the mound, coughing up dirt, and took a deep breath of air. It hurt but it was a refreshing feeling.

He rubbed his eyes clean. He knew what was behind him. He didn't want to turn around.

"But you have to," a voice inside him beckoned.

This was how the dream always ended. This was how he awoke.

With dread, he turned.

Here lies Jason Todd. Beloved son.

Jason woke drenched in sweat. He hated when he dreamt. That moment was forever replayed in his mind. Since his encounter with the meta beast, it had become more intense. He picked up the ring from his nightstand, closely examining it. Gotham Academy. The beast might not be the only one out there. He needed to hunt them and quickly.

He picked up his cell and dialed his contact.

"Hello?"

"Scarlet, I need information."

"What is it you need? I can go with you, I promise-"

"No." Jason massaged his temples. He couldn't involve Scarlet. It was too risky. He didn't know enough about how to destroy these creatures. ''Just shut up and listen. I need the locations of any new metas in Gotham. Especially near Gotham Academy."

"Oh, ok." He heard her typing away. "There are no meta reports, but there has been a report of a wild animal near Gotham Academy."

This was it. He hung up, grabbing his gear on his way out the door.

Jason arrived at the Gotham Academy a short while later. The school was quiet except for the janitor, who was power washing the floors of the cafeteria. He made his way over to the football field. It was empty. Jason unholstered his gun. The sighting had been an hour ago; it couldn't have gone far.

"Hey, motherfucker!" He taunted, banging on the benches. "You've come to the wrong city!"

Silence.

He walked through the field. Nothing was in sight.

Woooshhhh.

Jason froze. He felt something sharp prick his neck. He brought his hand up and pulled a dart from his skin. What the hell?

Nausea overcame him and black spots entered his vision. He moved to call Scarlet but his arm was limp, unable to move.

"Lookie here, the wee bat took the bait."

"Who are you calling a bat?" Jason growled, falling to his knees. The man kicked him in the stomach. Jason grunted.

"Not so strong now, wolf killer! The boss will like to see ya."

Another pair of arms grabbed his shoulders and dragged him through the field.

"Baby bat! Baby bat!"

The melody rang through the field. Jason's limp body was thrown into the back of a van.