Chapter 5
That night, Tim truly slept. He harder and deeper than he had since hearing of Connors death. His body, having been pushed far past its limit, sounded its massive protest as it pulled him into sleep, not allowing him to emerge until much later in the afternoon the next day.
When he woke up, covered in a blanket that Alfred must have draped across his shoulders overnight, it was no surprise that he felt clearer headed and alert… and perhaps somewhat embarrassed at his earlier behavior. Though his fingers itched to continue his keyboard search the moment his eyes opened. He resisted that temptation and journeyed from Cave to Manor to sip on some much-needed afternoon coffee with the estate's butler.
This was, in part, a calculated choice. Tim's mind was still fully enraptured with the puzzle that danced tauntingly in his mind, but it would him no good to further worry the perceptive butler; one who had no qualms about raising his concerns to Dick Grayson, or worse, Bruce Wayne.
So that afternoon, they chatted, and drank coffee, and nibbled on scones, and talked about everything and nothing. And once Tim was satisfied that the butler was satisfied, and importantly, not about to call the Bats home for an intervention, Tim made his way back down to the cave with a third cup of coffee in hand.
Was that manipulative? Tim didn't want to think so.
What was incredible, however, was how a single pull unraveled Red Hoodies carefully obscured identity. Once Tim knew what he was actually for, it made his search a hell of a lot easier. Suddenly, he could pinpoint multiple near encounters with the "Red Hooded Ninja", as he was so often referred to. He'd never done enough to earn himself his own rap page, but he was involved enough in Ra's al Ghul's network that vague references of him popped up often enough.
Tim's suspicions were confirmed when he came across chance satellite surveillance of an al Ghul stealth aircraft that had landed in Los Angeles one week prior. He was only within the frame for a second, but Tim recognized the flash of red that darted across the screen before disappearing. And now that Tim had finally confirmed he was on the right trail, he oriented his efforts towards looking into the al Ghul's latest movements.
He was surprised when that search led him straight to Gotham.
"Why are you here…" he muttered as he looked through CCTV footage of his home turf.
And sure enough, facial recognition surveys pinpointed the masked man right at Gotham's shipyard. Tim looked at the time stamp, April 2nd 2020. That had been yesterday. Tim sped through footage of Gothams's CCTVS and wasn't surprised when he saw a man with black leggings and a red tunic among the workers in the shipyard. It was as if he wasn't even trying to hide himself. Like he wanted to be found.
Tim knew he had to play his cards right. More likely than not, he was walking right into a trap. And when walking into a trap, one needed to be aware of their exit strategy when things inevitably went south.
Tim, therefore, spent the rest of the afternoon detailing multiple possible strategies, if-then scenarios, and when-shit-hits-the-fan plans, when the computer clock finally informed him that it was ten at night. Squaring himself, and sure that he'd thoroughly thought through every possible outcome, Tim rolled his shoulders and stepped away from the massive computer. He'd done all his homework, now all that was left to do was act.
After so many days in civ clothes, Tim relished the feeling of suit on skin as he pulled the flexible fabric over his body. His suit had gotten a recent upgrade in the last year, now comprised of black pants with red accents, a long red sleeve, and a black hood with gold trim. Bruce had designed it specifically with Tim in mind, crafting it just so that the suit complemented Tim's agility and speed. His utility belt had gotten an upgrade too, now capable of carrying all the latest gadgetry that Dick came up with.
And this time, Tim wouldn't be taking the shitty old Bruise-baru. Instead, once fully dressed, and outfitted, he walked the short distance in the Batcave to the emblazoned red motorbike that was parked adjacent to the parking spot designated for Bruce's Batmobile.
The motorbike was a definite upgrade from his civilian go-to vehicle. The sides were a custom painted cherry red. While not exactly street-legal, it's four-cylinder engine boasted a 320 horsepower and could get up to 250 mph if Tim felt daring enough. He hadn't quite yet gotten up that high, much preferring the speed, and safety, of sportscars to bikes, but he'd gotten close.
Last, Tim pressed his mask against his eyes. He wondered how he could have ever felt so thankful to take it off only a few days ago; especially when slipping it over his face when it felt as natural as slipping into a second skin. His comms unit, he conveniently turned off. He had no need for Oracle or the rest of his team tonight. And then, finally ready, Tim hoisted a leg over the Robin Bike, turned on the ignition, and hummed to himself as he relished the bike's protesting roar. It too had been asleep for far too long.
The garage doors raised, and Tim took off into the night.
Though he didn't enjoy it half as much as driving a fast car, driving the speedster came easily to him. As it should have after seven years of training. Tim's cape flapped in his tailwind as he navigated Gotham City's streets.
Cars honked at him as he easily swerved around them. When he came up on traffic, he simply pulled into the shoulder lane and passed by. The motorbike whirred beneath him, setting his skin on edge. And though he focused on the road, he couldn't deny that his mind was elsewhere as he recited his multi jointed plan in his head.
Quicker than he'd anticipated, he approached the docks of Gotham City's Shipyard. He didn't want to tip off his position yet, so he parked his motorcycle in some back street alley. He turned on it's defense mechanism, which wouldn't thwart anyone who was truly dedicated to stealing the thing… but would deliver a nasty electric shock to any petty thief who tried.
He then took to the rooftops, using his grappling hook when necessary but mostly relying on agility and acrobatics to travers building to building. His feet were silent as he ran, his body thrilled to see some action after so many days of rest. Underneath, civilians wandered the streets totally unaware of the bird silently flying over their heads.
When Tim approached the shipyard, he slowed, taking a moment to glance at his watch that projected the shipyard's blueprints. Where he'd last seen Red Hoodie on footage was by a warehouse on one of the floating docks, so that's where he decided to start his search.
As he traversed the rooftops, he kept a close eye on the graveyard shift dock workers. He noticed the transition when they went from average Gotham civ to a little bit hardier and rougher around the edges. Which meant he was on the right track.
Tim stopped just short of the old warehouse, crouching low on top of stack of massive freight containers. The building was a basic three-story high building with red brick walls and small glass windows, some of which were covered with plastic, not worth the trouble of replacing. That's what Tim would use to access the building, he decided. But not before he set his watch ready for his "last resort."
Should he need it, Tim had configured a panic button on his watch before he'd left the Batcave. If triggered, it would send his last location, research, and suspicions to Bruce, Dick, The Outsiders, and The Team. Tim knew he was being reckless for going at this alone. But he wasn't stupid, and he knew he'd need some help if all of this went ass side up. He just hoped for his sake that it wouldn't.
With that, Tim aimed his grappling hook for one of the building's support beams, fired, and swung. His aim was true and sure enough in seconds the building rapidly neared his swinging body. Tim put his feet out first, making sure to keep a bend in his knees, landing soft against the brick. One arm tightly holding onto his grapple hook gun, he repelled to the closest window that was covered in black plastic tarp.
Tim leaned in close, listening for any signs of movement on the other side. While he could hear chatter echoing though the building, none of it was close. Deciding it was safe, he quietly shimmied his body through the tarp's unfastened lower corner, retracting his grappling hook as he did so. Just on the other side of the window was another stack of massive cargo freights, onto which Tim landed silently, belly down. From there crawled to the freights edge.
Tim knew that Ra's al Ghul was no longer associated with the League of Shadows, but it was still surprising to see his choice of henchmen sporting semi-automatics as opposed to their typical all black uniform and sword ensemble. Tim didn't think Ghul had had that significant of a change of aesthetic since leaving the league. And that begged the question; what was he doing with for-hire muscle?
Guns or not, at least that would make Tim's life a little easier. He had been rather antsy about taking on a hoard of Sensei-trained professionals. It was why he'd come up with back up strategies all the way up to Plan E. But contract hires? Dispatching them would be cake.
Picking out the Red Hooded Ninja among the crowd took only a matter of moments. Given the warehouse's size, Tim had to zoom in his mask to get a good look; but there the man was, leaning against the far back wall with his heel propped up and his arms crossed. The man silently surveyed the civilian dock workers who were dragging heavy cargo boxes towards the entrance. All of them seemed rather antsy at the for-hire armed guards navigating between freights.
Tim didn't know what they were transporting, and though he knew it probably wasn't anything good, he ignored it. He wasn't here to pick a fight with Ra's al Ghul, and he certainly didn't want to be the one to tip the scales of the unsteady truce the villain currently had with Batman. Tim had to be smart about this. He'd leave their cargo alone. He was here to settle one vendetta alone.
Tim knew he'd never be able to get the Ninja where he wanted if he were dealing with the henchmen in the process. Thus began his monotonous task of disposing of the for-hires one after another. Tim couldn't use his bow staff in this situation. The electric shock was sure to make one of his victims cry out and alert the others to an intruder. So instead, he opted for the old fashion method. One by one, the hires walked in the aisles below and Tim dropped down, taking them in an unrelenting chokehold, and didn't let go until their bodies slumped in his arms. It wasn't enough to kill them. Tim didn't do killing. But he couldn't promise that they wouldn't wake up with a nasty headache in an hour or so. Then Tim silently grappled back up and dropped the unconscious and unarmed bodies on top of the freights, out of sight from the ground floor.
There was nothing that Tim could do about the dockyard workers who were transporting the cargo, seeing as they were innocent civs, but they at least seemed more likely to run away once trouble started than stay and fight. So, when Tim was satisfied that he'd dispatched enough of the guards, he finally grappled to the last tower of cargo freights and crawled to the furthest edge.
Red Hoodie was right where Tim had left him, head dipped back against the brick… as if he were bored. Suspicion tingled over Tim's skin…
This had been too easy—
The man's head lolled to the side; eyes directed straight at him.
Before he knew it, Tim was throwing a Birdarang. The thing wedged into the far wall where Hood had been standing and erupted into a massive explosion. Tim waited for a beat, then, out of the smoke Hood raced straight towards Tim, leaping onto freights, levers, and trucks to get onto Tim's level.
Tim raised his bow staff as Hood's feet landed on the freight, and sword met staff with a ringing clang. Tim stared down his opponent, both of their arms trembling as their weapons fought for dominance. Hood didn't seem particularly surprised to see him; Tim didn't know what to make of that. But while Hood might have had the upper hand in Tim's small apartment, out here in the open, Tim was in his element. And he wouldn't make it so easy for Hood. Not this time.
Tim disengaged first, twisting his torso sideways to deliver a punishing swing towards the man's abdomen. Hood deflected as he swung upward, the impact causing the blade to swipe dangerously close to Tim's chest. Had Tim been facing his opponent head on, that blow would have split him open, navel to neck. The man was obviously a skilled combat fighter.
But so was Tim.
Without hesitation, Tim pulled his bow staff back and punched the end straight into Hood's solar plexus—hard. Hood let out a grunt as the impact swept him clean off the shipping container's edge. Tim watched as the man fell from the nearly 25 ft from the tower of shipping containers. To anyone untrained it would have been a killing fall, but the man nearly flipped backwards and landed cleanly on his feet, bent knees absorbing the impact. He looked up at Tim, head cocke, as if beckoning Tim to join him. Tim jumped, swinging his bow downward as he met Hood's waiting blade with an arm numbing clatter.
In between the shipping containers the two men dueled, Hood's strength matching Tim's agility. They pursued each other between the aisles, ferocious in their attacks and deflections, the tip of the balance dipping precariously one way… then another. At no point did Hood allow the electric end of Tim's staff to meet its target and at no point did Tim allow Hood's sword to meet flesh. And for the briefest moment, Tim wondered why no one had intervened on Hood's behalf given their deadly impasse. But that train of thought was fleeting when his staff finally connected with the tender joints of Hood's gloved fingers. The sword flew out of the man's hands, landing with a clatter nearly 10 yards away.
Unarmed, Hood changed strategies. He took two stuttering steps backward before running straight at Tim. Tim lifted his staff in defense but needn't have bothered. Instead, Hood launched himself at the shipping container behind Tim, then deftly launched himself upward between the narrow aisle of containers until his hands reached the top edge and pulled himself up the rest of the way. Tim aimed his grapple hook for the overhead beams and followed him upward.
At the top, Hood was waiting for him. Tim shouted when the fine point of a throwing knife grazed his cheek. He gritted his teeth, tasting blood as the warm fluid dribbled down to his chin. Releasing his grapple hook, Tim landed on top of the hollow containers with a thud. If Tim had known any better, he could have sworn that Hood was crowing behind that mask at the inflicted injury, but Tim wouldn't give him the satisfaction of wiping the blood away. Such superficial injuries were familiar to him. Instead, he rushed for the man in a burst of speed.
If Tim had thought that not having a weapon would put Hood at a disadvantage, he was quickly proven wrong. In fact, the man seemed stronger without the thing in his way. He attacked Tim in a flurry of punches that found every possible opening. Tim fought off the flurry of upper cuts, elbow hooks, and crosses. Most, Tim was able to deflect, but some inevitably found their mark and delivered punishing bursts of pain on Tim's still bruised abdomen. Briefly, Tim's mind flickered to a very distant memory of being pummeled in a training yard—
Then, Hood changed course, and Tim's head wrenched to the side as fist met chin. Eye's sparking with lights, Tim felt the staff leave his fingertips, and heard it clatter onto the floor below. And for the first time since their encounter, a terrible thought crossed Tim's mind, he could lose this fight.
He had to adjust his strategy. But how?
Tim held his arms up to deflect the incoming blows, but his stamina was fading fast. So, it would seem, was Hood's; his breaths heaved as he threw punches and kicks into Tim's waiting blocks. But Tim had a feeling that the man would be able to hold out longer than him…
An idea struck, crazy but possible. It all depended on the other man letting hubris get the better of him. And Tim had a feeling it would. Slowly he backed up to the container's edge, balance teetering over the considerable drop.
When Hood's kick came, Tim was expecting it; but that didn't make it hurt any less. Suddenly he was tumbling in the air; fighting every acrobatic instinct he had to roll into the fall as the ground rapidly approached him. He hit the ground with a thud, air wheezing out of his lungs at the impact. From above, Hood leisurely jumped down after him, sure of his win.
Tim took his chance, rolling to his side as he swung his leg out, clipping Hood's still airborne legs and sweeping them out from underneath him. The man fell gracelessly, masked face slamming against the concrete floor with a sickening thwack. Still crouched, Tim reached for the staff that he had purposely fallen next to and struck a punishing jab into the man's ribcage.
Then he clicked the on switch.
Hood bellowed in both pain and rage as the electric pulse coursed through his body. His muscles spasmed grotesquely.
Tim stood up, chest heaving with wheezing breaths as he did so. Hood meanwhile tried to sit up onto his hands and knees. The man's chin tipped upward when he felt the tip of Tim's staff beneath it.
"Take off your mask," Tim snarled. He hoped he looked imposing and in control when all he really wanted to curl up from the pain. He steadied his shaking breaths.
Hoodie merely batted the staff away and adjusted his feet to stand— he crumpled to the floor when Tim slammed his staff into his abdomen.
"I'll only say it one more time. Take. Off. Your. Mask." Tim held his staff out at the ready, the electric tips flickered in warning.
Hoodie huffed from behind his mask, and ignoring Tim, once again tried to adjust his feet to stand. Tim pulled his arms back, ready to deliver another blow—
"That's more than enough," a commanding voice rang out over the warehouse walls as a bullet exploded at Tim's feet. Ignoring the clear warning, Tim jabbed his bow staff back into the man's neck, forcefully jutting it up. The man stayed still this time, sitting on his knees as the staff's blunt edge hovered over the deadly juncture between carotid and jugular.
Tim didn't kill, but he hoped his own warning was clear enough.
Through the nearest entrance, a woman walked through the warehouse doors. She was tall, clad in a slick black suit with a daring V open over her chest. Her brunette hair was pulled loosely over her shoulder. The high heels of her boots clicked against the floor as she strode in. In tow, two bodyguards dressed in the Infinity Island apparel that Tim was accustomed to seeing, crowded in close behind her, ready to defend their master.
Tim knew Talia al Ghul when he saw her.
Talia stopped at a safe distance away. She propped her hands on her hips, appraising Tim just as much as Tim was appraising her. Tim couldn't see any weaponry on her. But he knew better than the underestimate someone trained under the former League of Shadows Master. He pressed his bow staff harder into his hostage's neck, earning a annoyed grunt from the man. Well, that annoyance went both ways Tim thought ruefully as he swiped away the itchy blood drying on his cheek.
"There is no need for the hostility, Robin, ward of Batman. We've been expecting you," Talia's scheming and seductive voice rang out clear over the distance.
Tim glanced down at his hostage. Talia referred to him as Robin, but the man had made it plenty clear earlier that he knew Tim's true identity. Had he not told her, or was Talia simply playing dumb?
"Expecting me? Why?" Tim asked.
The woman merely smirked, dark burgundy lipstick curling up at the edge. "Your reputation precedes you, child. My father is quite aware that Batman's third Robin is his greatest prodigy detective, perhaps even surpassing the work of the great Bat himself."
The man at Tim's feet gave a sardonic chuckle. Tim answered by lightly jabbing the staff into his throat. Hoodie let out a hiss.
"So you lured me here." A statement, not a question. Tim's mind raced through his possible exit strategies considering the situation was becoming more unfavorable than he preferred.
"Lured," the woman laughed, "Such a word implies action on our part. No… you did all the work yourself. Our friend over there simply laid the foundation," she nodded towards Red Hoodie. "He's the one who informed us that you couldn't resist a good mystery."
The lightning of Tim's staff flickered threateningly under Hoodie's throat. If Talia was worried about her henchman dancing dangerously close to near fatal injury, she didn't show it. Tim wondered if she could see the crackle of animosity that coursed between them as easily as he felt it.
"I told him to take off the mask,"
"All in good time, Robin. Should tonight go as we hope, you'll be seeing much more of him over the coming days. Masked and unmasked if you wish."
Tim's eyes narrowed, the whites of his mask's eyes flashed, "Explain," he ground out.
He glanced down at his hostage. If the man truly wanted, he could get out of this position, he could. Tim had seen evidence of that strength. But for some reason he stayed still, head now tilted in the direction of his master.
"My father asked me to relay a mission for you. One that serves both of our interests. He," Talia nodded to the kneeling man, "is to accompany you. To be sure that we receive our end of the bargain."
"And you bring this to me," said Tim, "Not Nightwing… not Batman? Seems rather unorthodox."
Talia shrugged nonchalantly, "We needed the detective. And bringing those two into the fray… complicates matters."
Tim's mind churned over her words. He didn't like the direction that this conversation was going, and he didn't trust Talia al Ghul for a minute. But he couldn't leave until he got what he came for. Until he knew. He nodded towards Red Hoodie, "He takes his mask off, then I'll hear you out. That's my condition."
Talia smiled. "Very well," she said as she jerked her head up in ascent.
Tim kept his staff poised at the Hoodie's throat as the man slowly lifted his hands to his face. Carefully, he lowered his red hood, revealing a shock of familiar black hair. Tim felt like he was going to be sick but held still, his finger hovered over the staff's electric shock trigger.
With one black gloved hand poised over the front of the mask, the other deftly unclasped a switch at the back of his head. The stiff leather braces fell loosely by the man's ears. Tim's heart pounded in his chest, his hand holding the staff trembled, occasionally causing the blunt edge to nudge into Hoodie's throat.
Then, ever so slowly, as if relishing that moment, the man pulled the mask from his face and rested it on his lap.
It took every ounce of reliance on Tim's prior training not to falter, not to lower his staff, not to become weak with shock at the impossibility that kneeled before him. He knew it… he knew it—
And yet nothing prepared him to see the man kneeling before him. Black hair still a wild mess of curls falling on either side of his forehead. His face, one both Tim remembered and not, because it was older now and Tim had been cheated out of chance to ever see him wear it. His eyes, once fiery with anger and passion, were still just as angry, but it was an anger iced over. His mouth, dipped into a scowl, one that Tim knew all too well.
Tim's throat was cotton, sticky as he tried to choke out the name that he'd avoided saying aloud for years.
Jason.
This chapter was so much fun to write! Let me know your thoughts, and until next time! - Green
