Chapter 1: A World Left Behind
Notes:
Chapter title from: Fallout, by UNSECRET, Neoni
Chapter Text
GothamPrince: It has been awhile since you messaged. Are you well?
GothamPrince: Duat?
GothamPrince: I am still here. If you need me.
GothamPrince: Be safe.
Chapter 2: Changing of Times
Notes:
Forgot to set this to be multi-chap, and yes, the first chapter was supposed to be that short. I was being a tease, but I can't tease for long lmao.
Have some more. Love y'all! <3
The fic title and the chapter title come from the same song: Fallout by UNSECRET, Neoni <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tucker had tried not to get involved. What Stagg Industries was doing behind the scenes didn’t affect his paycheck, and so it shouldn’t affect him. The fact that they were involved in shady business was just a part of living in Gotham.
Who wasn’t involved in something shady, really?
Stagg Industries was Tucker’s “legit” job, the one that he used as his main income, the one he could tell people he worked at. It paid the bills, and between it and Sam’s myriad of part time jobs in various non-profits and Danny’s muralist job, they did pretty well. Tucker and Danny both took a couple night classes, though Danny had some classes at the local university for astronomy and the history of human spaceflight. Sam worked in too many online classes that changed too often for Tucker to keep up with.
Beyond their legit jobs though, they all had various other jobs that shifted in legality depending on the moment. Tucker had mad hacking skills, he might as well get paid for it. He was picky about his jobs—he didn’t want to help an actual villain of course! But hacking into security systems to provide proof of a cheating husband or catch an employee that was on their way to becoming a villain were simple but well paying jobs that went towards their savings.
Gotham was a stopgap. A place to hide.
(Amity was far, far away from the rest of the world. News traveled slowly in and out of it, and connections beyond the town limits were always difficult. Despite this, there were ways they managed to find things beyond Amity, beyond the ghost attacks and the GIW. It wasn’t easy, but they managed to join some forums, ones that discussed heroes and villains and rogues—and how to survive them. Quietly, cautiously, they gave and got advice. Miraculously they made connections. Found people who seemed to understand living in a town full of insanity, even if they were careful never to say what, exactly, they dealt with.
It’s part of what drew them to Gotham when they needed to leave. How they knew it would be a place to hide.)
Danny’s scars were still raw edged and red. Sam eyed people’s intentions with a wariness that ached like thorns.
Tucker had set up the security in their apartment himself, had placed every camera, wrote every line of code, and changed the passwords with a level of paranoia that would make Batman concerned.
All this to say, Tucker should not have gotten involved.
But there’s only so much he could ignore at Stagg Industries. Only so many times he could keep his head down and carefully bypass projects that were nothing but trouble.
It started with an email that he shouldn’t have been CC’d in.
It ended with the Bats on his ass
Notes:
Be sure to check out Myc's art!!! Links will be added to my end note shortly.
Chapter 3: See The Shadows Rising
Notes:
HI FRIENDS! Have another chapter. <3
Chapter title is from Fallout, by UNSECRET, Neoni
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Duat: I hope you don’t mind the direct message, but I was wondering if you could expand on something you posted about?
GothamPrince: If I minded direct messages, I would have turned off the ability to have strangers do so. What do you need me to clarify?
Duat: Lol, that’s true, but still. And it’s about your post on places for persecuted metas to hide?
GothamPrince: It is a list of safe cities for metas facing unfair persecution. It is not a list for criminals to escape due punishment.
Duat: No, no I get that, sorry. I’m just wondering why Gotham is on there? Like…I thought it wasn’t the best place.
GothamPrince: You think Gotham is unsafe for metas, due to rumors about Batman, yes?
Duat: …well yeah, I thought he didn’t like them in his city?
GothamPrince: I know not what Batman has actually said, nor where this rumor originated, but Batman has been part of supporting meta rights via the Justice League. With everything that goes on in Gotham, I cannot believe he’d have the time to banish every meta from the entire city.
Duat: I guess you’re right, that’d be kinda hard to do. Just one of those things you hear on the internet, I guess.
GothamPrince: Indeed. Is that all you needed?
Duat: Yeah, I was just curious.
GothamPrince: Very well. Feel free to message again if you need anything else clarified.
Duat: Sure man.
In Tucker’s own defense, he hadn’t expected the Bats to know it was him! He thought he’d covered his tracks well enough. He may have been in Amity Park for most of his life and cut off from the latest and greatest in the tech world, but he’d caught up!
Mostly.
There were still things he was discovering, new techniques, new systems, and coding styles, but he was good. He knew he was.
Whoever the Bats had in their corner, whoever they had lurking in the web, was better.
And what a kick in the ass that was.
(There’s things he could have done, abilities he could have leaned into but—there are paths he can’t trust himself to take.)
He supposed this is what he got for not staying out of it. But it’s hard to regret it when his bosses were getting what they deserved.
It doesn’t change the fact that he’d rather not get caught.
But, well, unlike Danny, Tucker’s abilities have nothing to do with neat, practical things like invisibility or walking through walls.
It’s really making his attempts to keep ahead of the Bats rather pathetic though. He’d made sure not to be in the building when Stagg was invaded by authorities. From what he’d seen, it wasn’t regular cops that stormed the building either, but some government authority that lingered between the FBI and the CIA and worked with the Justice League in some capacity.
Which, in hindsight, made sense—Stagg was working in direct violation of some pretty hefty, shiny new human rights laws. And honestly, some older, but just as important ones.
He really didn’t want to know where they’d lock everyone up, how they’d run interrogations, how they’d determine who was involved and who wasn’t.
Tucker had done everything to erase himself from the company. He’d hacked his own bank account to change where his pay stubs had come from, he’d backtracked that and changed the information in the IRS’s databases. He’d erased himself from Stagg’s databases, their email, changed his name in every mention, no matter how small.
As far as the Bats, the Justice League, Stagg Industries itself, was concerned, Tucker Foley had never worked for Stagg Industries.
And yet there’s a Bat on his ass.
Tucker ducks out of the narrow alley he used as a shortcut, and he slips into the crowd that’s going down into the subway. He has no intention of getting on the subway, but it’s a good place to try and lose a tail. If all else fails, Danny had told Tucker and Sam that the subway tunnels were a maze, with abandoned rails and unused stations.
Tucker’s not stupid—there’s no way he can beat the Bats in their own city, no matter how much scouting and plans they’ve made since they came here. The best idea they’d had was not to get on the Bats’ radar at all.
They were always bad at following their own plans.
GothamPrince: That outburst in the server seemed unlike you. Are you well?
Duat: …Well that was kinda anticlimactic.
GothamPrince: I do not know what you mean.
Duat: I figured you were messaging me to tell me I was in trouble or something for that. A server timeout. Something. Since you’re a mod and all.
GothamPrince: I am not a babysitter and I do not manage timeouts or such things. I am a mod as a resource, and to shut down conversations if necessary.
Duat: Fair enough. I’d say I was sorry, but I’m really not.
GothamPrince: PoisonIvyIsHot has been a problem before. Their opinions are uninformed and seem to come from an uneducated mind. They seem to like picking fights. I fail to see the reason you would need to apologize for shutting down such a conversation. The username alone makes me want to ban them.
Duat: …yeah that’s fair. Also, I think that’s the most polite way I’ve ever seen someone call someone else an asshole.
GothamPrince: They’re an asshole. But you did not answer my question: are you well?
Duat: Pfft. Lmao. And yeah, Prince, I’m alright. Just been a rough day, and I snapped a bit.
GothamPrince: I believe such a thing is understandable. Would it help to know that they are on their last strike with the mod team? I have provided evidence of their previous transgressions and lack of willingness to consider outside perspectives. They have stated such ill-informed opinions before.
Duat: Yeah, it does. And like, how have they lasted this long if they’ve stated the same bullshit before? Meta rights might still be in progress or whatever, but saying all metas are dangerous and should have to be registered is bullshit.
GothamPrince: The mod team is…lenient and tries to see the good in those who join. They wish to educate. An understandable, if sometimes frustrating stance. I have been trying to get them to see that some people simply do not wish to learn. I apologize that it has taken this long for them to realize.
Duat: No. I get it. It’s hard to write people off. And you don’t gotta apologize for them. You’re doing what you can. It’s good they aren’t just tossing people out for the slightest thing, ya know?
GothamPrince: That is a prudent point. And thank you.
GothamPrince: May I…ask you what may be a personal question?
Duat: …sure, but I get to tell you it’s not your business if I’m not comfortable with whatever you’re asking.
GothamPrince: Of course. We are both a part of several places that boast resources for metas, as well as civilians who live in dangerous or active cities for superhero activity. I will not ask of your situation, but you pay very close attention to all the resources and advice. And I find myself wondering if you are safe. There are some groups I know of that could help, if you need something more immediate.
Duat: How did you manage to ask a question without actually asking, lmao. I’m good, Prince.
Duat: The situation is…well it is what it is. And the server and the forums have been good to help with my paranoia. The world’s a wild place, ya know?
GothamPrince: It certainly is. I am…glad to know that the server helps. I was skeptical of such a thing, but the community that has been built is rather astounding.
Duat: It’s pretty insane. I forget that people can be kind, ya know? Good to see it.
GothamPrince: It is a refreshing reminder. I find I need such things from time to time. It is…easy to dwell on the atrocities of the world.
Duat: Lmao no joke dude. All you hear is the bad stuff, nice to actually see some good. You’re a part of that too. You’ve got some of the best advice, ya know.
GothamPrince: …that is kind of you. Thank you.
Still, if he can get down in the tunnels, there’s a chance he can lose them. He warned Sam and Danny before he pulled the plug at work, and then again when the Bats got on his ass. If things go well, Danny might be able to pop into the tunnels and snag Tucker a get out of Bat-jail free card.
Carefully, Tucker works into the crowd. It’s elbow to elbow, with the rush of people trying to get home. He clocks the security cameras, and notes that only about half of them seem to be functional. He’s still cautious when he uses a particularly thick part of the crowd to pull off his easily spotted beret. He should be in a blind spot for the cameras, even the ones that seem non-functional.
There’s a group of burly people ahead of him, and if he were a betting man, Tucker would bet they’re part of the enforcement for some shady businessman or even part of one of Gotham’s many gangs. He’s careful not to look at any identifying marks, and to not seem like he’s paying them any mind. He uses them as a block as he yanks off his third-hand jacket, and flips it inside out. Sam had switched out the ruined lining and made the jacket reversible.
He doesn’t have anything to change his build or even disguise it, but he slouches a bit to blend into the crowd better, using the jacket’s collar to hide his face. The probably-enforcers move on, and Tucker uses the gap they make in the crowd to slip around and move towards an unused track. He’s trying not to make it obvious that he’s eyeing up the deep abyss of one of the abandoned tracks that runs through the still active station.
As good as the Bats are, moving unnoticed through a crowd this large in full costume has to be a little difficult, right?
Tucker was part of a hero/vigilante’s entourage for a long time, he knows some of the logistics that go into it, and it’s not as easy as it looks!
“Tucker Foley,” a voice intones, far too close. Tucker catches the flare of a cape, yellow bright in the corner of his eye, and just barely hears the creak of kevlar.
He doesn’t wait, doesn’t even pause to see who, exactly, is behind him. He dives into the black of the abandoned line he’d been edging towards and crashes into the dark tunnel. And this, this is one of the few things he can claim, one of the things that Amity left her mark on.
There’s not a single light that’s still working in this tunnel, not a flicker of light left to be had beyond what stretches in from the station—but Tucker can see anyway. He’s not stupid, he knows that whatever Bat is behind him has night vision, can see just as clearly as Tucker can. But that’s tech.
And Tucker’s always been good with tech.
“Halt!” the Bat calls, voice tense, but Tucker yanks himself around a corner, throws himself further into the maze of tunnels. There’s access points, old maintenance hatches, half built tracks, stations that never opened, others that closed decades or months ago. Gotham rivals New York City for its extensive subway system, and outright beats it in the amount of abandoned sections. Gotham has just about as many abandoned subway lines as it does active, and no amount of research had given the full extent of it all.
Tucker has an idea of where he is, where he’s going—and an idea of where Sam and Danny should be, where they’re going if the Bats make themselves known. They’ve had go bags packed for months, emergency cash, and plans.
Gotham was good to them for a while, let them build up reserves, make plans, recover.
They’d known it wasn’t permanent.
Notes:
<3 I'll be posting chapters over the course of the next couple weeks, so stay tuned! And give Myc some love! His art is amazing.
Chapter 4: Closer, Closer To The Edge of Night
Notes:
SORRY for the delay guys, meant to post this AWHILE ago lmao. Life got lifing.
Enjoy!
Chapter title from Never Say Die by Neoni.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Duat: Hey, uh, sorry for dropping mid convo. Forgot some chores and had to get them taken care of.
GothamPrince: Duat, there is no need to apologize. Nor to lie. We started the conversation after you had finished all your duties. It is fine to have been called away.
GothamPrince: …I must confess I was…concerned. As your last message seemed cut short.
Duat: Sorry I worried you. I’m not.
Duat: I don’t really want to talk about what happened.
GothamPrince: You owe me no explanation. I simply hope things are as…safe? as they can be. Shall we continue our discussion about why, and I quote, “Nvidia is a hoe”?
Duat: OKAY BUT THEY ARE THO. Have you SEEN the prices for graphic cards???
GothamPrince: I have not. I take it they are ridiculous?
Duat has sent five screenshots.
Duat: Look at this bullshit!
GothamPrince: Atrocious.
Duat: THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYING.
This isn’t how they’d wanted to leave—they really didn’t want another person after them, but the Bats shouldn’t care once they’ve left Gotham. In the grand scheme of it, Tucker’s not that important, not that crucial. Stagg Industries is going to collapse, whether it’s by the Bats or the League or whoever wants to take credit for blowing the whistle—but nothing hinges on Tucker.
He’s done what he needed to do, and now it’s just a matter of not getting caught up in the fall out.
Tucker picks a turn at random, concentrating on keeping his breathing steady, on ignoring the growing burn in his legs, the strain of his lungs. He was never a prime athlete, but he’s had plenty of practice in running for his life.
He can still hear steps behind him, knows he’s far from in the clear. He’s got a bit of a mental map going, the bits and pieces they’d strung together echoing in his head. But the Bat’s footsteps are much more sure, and gaining steadily.
Tucker’s hand drifts to his trusty PDA. It’s battered and should be more than obsolete, but it’s his, and well—
Amity left her mark here, too.
A touch brings it to life, and a thought brings up maps, locations, electrical grids, blueprints. His trusty PDA connects to things it shouldn’t have the hardware for, let alone the software.
In an instant, in a breath, Tucker knows where he is, has a signal where feet of concrete and rebar and dirt should make it impossible. It’s still not perfect, there’s contradicting maps and blueprints, but he’s got a goal in mind now. A place to be.
A place to hide.
He ducks to the left suddenly, leaping over tracks and picking up some speed as he darts into a side tunnel. There’s a curse that echoes behind him, the buzz of a comm, and it’s not something Tucker uses often. Not something he dwells on but—it’s much, much simpler than it should be to blur the signal. Connected as he is, he could probably do more, block it all entirely but—Tucker’s no villain, for all that he’s running from the Bats like one.
This tunnel is narrower, full of old wiring and mysterious piping he doesn’t know the function of. There’s access hatches and switches, and the hum of power is low, a buzz against his bones—a call.
One he won’t listen to.
“Stop!” The Bat calls again, his voice a snap, but Tucker’s not about to face whatever tooth breaking justice this Bat feels like dealing out tonight. Tucker did something right.
This time, this time, Tucker saved people.
Duat: You can say no.
Duat: And I know you’re like. A busy dude.
Messages deleted.
GothamPrince: Duat. What do you require? Why did you delete your messages?
Duat: Shit. Sorry to bug you man.
GothamPrince: You are not “bugging” me. Why did you delete your messages?
Duat: Just. Asking something I shouldn’t have.
GothamPrince: I believe I will judge if you “shouldn’t have.”
Duat: I-just wanted someone’s voice. Someone different. To talk about something other than today. You don’t have to. I just. I can’t sleep.
GothamPrince: Allow me to find my headset and a quiet room. While you wait, please pick a topic: My pets, current art project, a rant about the last movie my siblings dragged me into watching, or we can discuss which of the eighteen video games I was told I “have to play” I should start with.
Duat: Thank you. Just-thank you.
He really doesn’t give a damn if the Bats believe otherwise.
His lungs are burning now, his legs going numb at the ankles. Tucker was not built for this part of vigilantism. Of all the things Amity left on them, of course Tucker wasn’t lucky enough to get flight.
It’s only a little further, then he should be home free. With a another push, Tucker breathes in, concentrates behind him, gets a hook into the mask of the Bat chasing him and—
An indrawn breath, a stumble, another curse and Tucker shoots right, using the seconds he bought himself by turning off the Bat’s night vision.
(He could keep it off. He could break the mask, along with the other tech he can feel humming around the Bat. He could do more than he’s allowed himself. He could’ve done more to Stagg. Could have crippled all their systems, could have shut down the entire building. There’s more power at Tucker’s fingertips than he allows himself to think about. He’s good with tech, always has been. His skills were fought for, and learned—he earned every bit of his skills.
He just has a little extra. He tries not to let it go to his head.)
GothamPrince: You did not ask, but I find I don’t mind telling you. I am not a meta, though with the amount of advocacy I do, people tend not to believe me. I do, however, know several.
GothamPrince: I do not expect you to tell me either way. It simply seemed…relevant.
Duat: I have got to stop losing it on assholes in the server.
GothamPrince: You were hardly the only one. GothicDoomed was not shy in her opinions. I am a bit surprised however, LightLurker seemed perfectly reasonable in the few times I’ve seen them interact in the server.
Duat: Guess we hit a nerve or something. But coming into a conversation on how to hide powers from parents with bullshit about “this isn’t like being in the closet or something, you’ve gotta tell your parents for health reasons and hey! This is actually something you were born with!” is stupidly tone deaf.
Duat: and homophobic. So homophobic.
GothamPrince: In a server that’s become home to many metas and a large amount of LGBTQ people, it’s more than tone deaf, and goes into plain stupid. I cannot understand how they expected anyone to agree with them.
Duat: like, I’m glad if they’re lucky enough to have parents who wouldn’t really care if they were gay or meta or whatever. But how the hell have they been in the server for months and not seen people get kicked out, fired, nearly killed for maybe being meta or gay? Did they think they were all lying or something?
Duat: Though the mods coming in with the timeout and the nearly instant ban was good to see.
GothamPrince: Truly they displayed a clear lack of intelligence. Good riddance. The mods decided that they would no longer tolerate such things, and only deliberated for a moment about LightLurker’s ban. I find I am proud of them.
Duat: Lmao, you should be. I hope LightLurker does learn, but it can’t be in the server.
GothamPrince: Not if they are going to be hostile about it, no. I am busy for the next few hours, but would you like to join me as I start a new game?
Duat: I’m busy for a bit too, so that works! And yeah, what game?
GothamPrince: Subnautica
Duat: !!!! HOLY SHIT YES YOU ARE GOING TO LOVE IT.
He keeps running, but now the Bat’s footsteps aren’t at his heels, now he’s got some room. The tunnel he darted down is narrower still, close and old and musty, with stale air and the scent of rust and water. The ground beneath his feet is slick, coated in algae and a thin layer of moisture. He stumbles a few times himself, despite being able to see, but his goal is just ahead, and he can’t give up his lead.
He’s just starting to wonder if the maps were wrong, or if he’d missed a turn when suddenly he bursts into a large room, the narrow tunnel giving way to the larger room in the space of a breath.
It’s huge, two stories and a maze all on its own. There’s dozens of doors, a veritable warren of rooms. Multiple tunnels of varying sizes converge here, with tracks crossing here and there. Part of an old subway train lists on one of the tracks, and it’s somehow, impossibly, covered in graffiti.
But it’s not this that Tucker came for.
The entire section was built to be a control center for both an expansion of the subway network as well as a bolstering of what already existed. There’s a half built mall and food court that takes up part of the space, as well as a mechanic shop that has dozens of tracks leading into it, although it’s hidden behind old garage-style doors, a couple of which have buckled in on themselves. They too, are covered in graffiti.
There’s sleeping tech everywhere, broken bits just waiting for some power—direction. Tucker ignores most of it—he’s not here to fight, he’s here to hide. He heads for the control room, moving fast despite the ache in his everything.
There’s a scuff behind him, the only warning he gets before a body impacts his, and they go tumbling to the filthy ground. Grit and stones immediately dig into Tucker, catch into his clothes and his hair. Air slams out of his lungs, and he’s not one for combat, but he remembers bigger hands grabbing onto him, multiple bodies dragging him down and—
He kicks, tries to get something under him to shove the Bat off of him—he’s so close—but the Bat shifts weight, rolls with Tucker’s failed attempt at shoving him off and gets his hands around Tucker’s wrists.
Tucker’s pinned, breathing heavily, staring up at a mask that’s eyes are narrowed, a face that’s set in a scowl.
And well fuck, of course it’s Robin.
Notes:
As always be sure to check out Myc's fantastic art!! Art Link!!>
Chapter 5: Words Are Weapons of the Terrified
Notes:
Chapter title from Words as Weapons by Seether.
Hihi all! Welcome to another chapter <3 Good to see y'all!
Be sure to check the end notes for Myc's social links, as well as the direct link to the art!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Duat: Alright, so this might be in too personal territory but we all saw that video
Duat: And I’ve gotta know. Are ALL the bats just…like that??
GothamPrince: That may depend on what you mean by “like that”
GothamPrince: And how are the “Bats” too personal?
Duat: Because despite your username, you’ve never actually said what city you’re from. And obviously it’s not my business, and I’m just kinda assuming but yeah
Duat: As for “like that” I mean that effortlessly scary and badass and competent? The one with the freaking sword. Dude. Just dude.
GothamPrince: We’ve spoken of the Bats before, assuming my residence is in Gotham is logical. And correct. I am still confused as to what you’re referring to.
Duat: They’re just cool. And make it look so easy. And I KNOW it’s not, but--it’s nice to see someone who knows what the hell they’re doing.
Duat: There’s not a lot of videos of them. At least where you can actually see them, ya know? So it’s wild to see them so clearly.
GothamPrince: I suppose living here has worn some of the…novelty off. Seeing them isn’t common, not unless, of course, you’re regularly fighting them. Videos are fairly rare, but there’s others out there, if you look. I am still confused about your comments about Robin? GothamPrince: (The one with the sword.)
Duat: yeah I could see that, lol. Makes sense that you’d be used to it, especially with all the research you clearly do for the server and forums. I’ll have to take a look.
Duat: and uh. He fights good, ya know?
GothamPrince: It could be argued that they all fight well.
Duat: I know, I know. But. Swords.
GothamPrince: …Swords indeed.
And the stabby one at that—Tucker’s never been one for combat, never had the aptitude for it but—he can appreciate a good sword. And the talent it takes to wield it. There’s just something about the way swordfights look that Tucker’s always liked, and Robin’s clear competence with the weapon caught Tucker’s eye even amongst the other Bats.
It’s not something he really wanted used against him, but well.
He made his choices. Now he has to live with them.
At least it’s not the GIW.
“Tucker Foley, we have some questions for you,” Robin says, voice stern, with a slight accent.
Tucker laughs, though it has nothing to do with humor. “Yeah, I got that. Can you settle a debate I had with a friend first, before you drag me to whatever holding cell in some undisclosed location has my name on it?”
Robin’s brows furrow. “I have no intention of taking you to an undisclosed location. What debate could you have possibly had that I can solve?”
Well then, Tucker muses. Looks like they don’t plan on vanishing him, at least.
“Your sword,” Tucker says, gesturing with his chin. The movement makes him just that much more aware of the rough ground beneath him, and he’s really trying not to focus on the scent of the stale air around them. “My friend and I were debating on whether it’s a full katana or a wakizashi that’s at the maximum length.”
Robin’s eyes widen a bit, and he cocks his head slightly.
GothamPrince: There’s limited video and photos, with varying perspectives and distances, it’s nearly impossible to tell how long the sword truly is.
Duat: I know but there has to be something else that we can use to tell the difference? Google says that a katana is 24 to 31 inches long and that a wakizashi is 12 to 24, so there’s a little overlap. There has to be something else, right?
GothamPrince: There’s many small differences between them that would be hard to see in the few videos that are available. But I maintain that it must be a katana, the blade seems long enough.
Duat: You just said it’s hard to tell in the videos! Plus, Robin looks a little on the shorter side, he could be making the blade look longer simply by comparison.
GothamPrince: It’s hard to tell, yes, but not impossible. And there’s some videos and stills of Robin next to some of the other vigilantes, and he is not that short.
Duat: Someone’s defensive. Got a celebrity crush?
GothamPrince: Of course not! Don’t be ridiculous.
Duat: Teasing, teasing! I still think it’s a wakizashi
GothamPrince: It is a katana!
“It is a katana,” Robin says after a long pause. There’s the thinnest thread of exasperation in his voice. “Wakizashi are typically one-handed blades, the katana is two-handed.”
Tucker sighs. “Well, guess I’m just on a losing streak then.” He wonders vaguely if he can tell GothamPrince about his own encounter with Robin—and that Prince was right. The gloating might honestly be worse than whatever’s staining his clothes right now, but at least he wouldn’t be facing down a Bat.
And where there’s one Bat, others are sure to follow.
“It was foolish to run,” Robin says, and it’s just a little smug. Tucker makes a face, before blowing out a long breath. His heart is still pounding, and the unknown of this entire encounter isn’t helping.
A bit of fury winds through him, even though he knows it’s useless. “Whatever, man, can you blame me for it? And I don’t get why you’re after me anyway! I’m the one who handed you everything wrapped in a bow! I tracked down everything you needed to bring Stagg down, and I’m the one getting chased halfway across the city?” Tucker bears his teeth, leaning up as much as he can with arms pinned. “I’m not some saint, but I’m not the bad guy here—why don’t you make sure all of Stagg’s scientists are locked up tight? They’re the ones who wanted to turn metas into pin cushions!”
Tucker’s voice echoes around them, pinging off every surface, ringing in Tucker’s ears. He’s damn near shaking with anger, and it’s only years of self control that makes it so every dormant computer, every bit of circuitry around them isn’t lighting up with the force of it.
Robin, for his part, seems mostly unaffected, other than the slight widening of his eyes and the way he cocks his head. He says nothing for long, long moments.
“Why?” Robin asks after a long, long moment. “Why become a whistleblower? You do side jobs, hack into databases, work with criminals. Why blow the whistle on Stagg?”
Tucker snorts and flops back onto the ground. “Have you seen Gotham? If I refused all the jobs that were from criminals, I’d have nothing.” His heartrate bumps up again though—if they know about his side jobs, if they know who he’s worked for, then they’re digging. If they’re digging, they may already be at the apartment he shares with Sam and Danny—he can only hope they got out.
They don’t need anymore stress and his gut twists at adding to it—but he had too.
He’d seen what they’d wanted to do, what Stagg had been willing to do and—
He couldn’t sit by. He couldn’t let it happen. No one said a word when the GIW started up.
Tucker closes his eyes, swallowing down the panic that wants to rise—hands on him, cold, cold faces, no way out.
Sorry. Someone had whispered, like it made a difference, like it changed what was happening, like it stopped the horror that ate through Tucker. Sorry. Like it meant a damn thing.
Tucker opens his eyes, his fury down to an ember and exhaustion coating his bones.
“As for why,” Tucker says, voice dull. “If not me, who else? They’d kidnapped people, had plans for more. Kids. Babies. Snatching from hospitals, from the streets, orphanages. The government ruled that metas couldn’t be compelled to do tests or register or submit their DNA for study. Stagg didn’t care, they wanted to study metas like bugs, and no one was stopping them.”
“So you’ll hack for criminals but you draw the line at human experimentation? How noble.” The judgment, the sneer in Robin’s voice rekindles the fire of Tucker’s fury.
“Oh, and I’m sure you’re a fucking paragon,” Tucker snaps out. “Or haven’t you noticed that vigilantism is technically illegal? If you know who I’ve worked for, you also know who I haven’t. I don’t really see the problem in hacking into a billionaire’s illegal offshore accounts and giving the money to the people he screwed over—who cares if they’re criminals themselves? Gotham—hell, the world is filled with bad people, but there’s shades. I’m not going to help the fucking Joker—but one of his henchmen? Who cares? Maybe he’ll stop being a henchman if he’s got the money to feed his kids, or maybe he’ll just use it to bankroll some job or other. I told you already I’m not a saint. Besides, most of my jobs were just finding out if Jim was cheating on Sandra or not, are you really going to give me hell for that?”
“Illegal or not, at least I know how Gotham works,” Robin snaps back. “Outsiders interfering is how things get out of hand.”
Tucker’s knuckles skim the rough ground beneath him, his hands curling without thought.
“So what, I was just supposed to sit on my hands and let Stagg do what they wanted?” Tucker scowls. “It’s not like I tried to fight them, I just handed the information over. You shouldn’t have even known I existed, let alone known I was the one who gave you the info.”
Robin rolls his eyes. “We’ve been watching Stagg for weeks. Oracle watched as you erased yourself from their systems.”
Well fuck.
“Fuck,” Tucker says. Oracle. That must be the Bat’s tech person—and what an apt name. Tucker’s good, and there’s things he could do to make himself better. He could bypass a lot of coding, bend the tech to himself but—it’s a slippery slope, that kind of power. He’s not Danny, not Sam, and he worries, what would happen if he lost himself.
(He remembers the Scarab Sceptre, the thrill of power, the greed. The way he wanted, needed more, and it didn’t matter who stood in the way. What stood in the way. And he knows that it’s part of the Sceptre’s power, to corrupt, to dig in and find those greedy little pockets that live inside everyone but—it’s not a risk Tucker’s willing to take. He will not use his powers for more than a little boost, or a desperate trick. He won’t.
Even if it means he’s at the mercy of the Bats.)
“You are good,” Robin says, and Tucker snorts, a grin spreading across his face. He looks up at Robin and wiggles his eyebrows.
“Baby, I know I am,” he says, and it’s a joke, a bad one, but really—
What does he have to lose at this point? He’s caught, Sam and Danny had to have fled by now, and whatever the Bats have in store for him can’t be any worse than the GIW. It’s probably, honestly, better. At least the Justice League doesn’t think he’s something inhuman. Something to be pulled apart.
Robin’s face spasms, not in disgust but in surprise, followed by what Tucker can only describe as a hard reboot.
“Batman is waiting,” Robin says, voice slightly chilled.
“Oh, what a mood killer,” Tucker says, as Robin shifts, pulling Tucker up. “Do me a favor, and don’t tell me what’s stuck to my back. I’m burning these clothes the first chance I get. Do you guys ever think to mop down here? Giant shop vac? Also, what questions could you guys possibly have if your all powerful Oracle already knows my everything?”
“Not everything,” Robin says, and there’s something buried under the words, something Tucker can’t parse.
“Great. Wonderful.” Tucker supposes he should just be glad that Robin hasn’t slapped Bat-Cuffs on him. “So okay, back to my debate—is it possible to have a wakizashi that’s as long as the shortest katana and if you did, how would you tell the difference? I wouldn’t mind sources, my friend likes his facts laid out and like, respect, ya know?”
“Why do you insist upon this discussion?” Robin asks, and under the bite of it he seems genuinely confused.
“Because you’re frog marching me to the fucking Batman and I’m using the conversation to try and not panic,” Tucker answers readily. He’s not here to fool anyone, really. “And we were debating over your katana, so it seems appropriate to ask you.”
Robin’s silent for a long, long moment. They’re back into the narrow confines of the tunnels, and the whispers of the tech, and the escape route he’d planned start to fade out.
Sam and Danny have got to be long gone. Hopefully they won’t try anything stupid, or brave, or stupidly brave. There’s really not a lot that Batman should need from him. His carefully laid plan to avoid detection is ruined, and there can’t be much they don’t know.
Silence reigns for a long, long time, and Tucker’s heartbeat ratchets up with every step he takes.
“Wakizashi tend to be slightly wider,” Robin says finally and his voice is—different. Less formal and it niggles at the back of Tucker’s brain. Like something familiar. “They are meant to have a tighter balance point and are used more often in kendo. A one handed blade leaves your other hand free and allows for a different style of combat than a katana. They are better for close combat, especially indoor combat, as their blade is smaller.”
Robin continues to speak as they walk, and—it’s soothing to listen. Soothes some of Tucker’s nerves, and gives his often overactive brain something to focus on rather than the upcoming meeting with the damned Batman.
GothamPrince: I know it has been awhile, however you did request that I keep you up to date on my pets. I have rescued a litter of kittens. I worry for one of them, he is not very strong. I am doing what I can, but he has much to get past.
Attached: Four photos of four different kittens, roughly three weeks old. The last picture is of a small orange and white kitten, whose eyes are stuck shut.
GothamPrince: I hesitate to name him. I wonder if you have any suggestions?
GothamPrince: He has survived the night. Maybe he’ll be okay after all.
GothamPrince: It has been a week, and this kitten has proved me wrong. I still am unsure of what his name should be.
GothamPrince: Here’s some updated photos. They do not like to be still, I apologize for the blurriness.
GothamPrince: I have named him Bastian. I hope you are well, Duat.
Notes:
Life got a little on the wild side, sorry for the delay!
Direct link to the art he made for this fic!!! Art Link!!>
Chapter 6: Hard Evidence Is Power
Notes:
HI YES I AM ALIVE.
Sorry y'all, life really life'd on me. But I should be able to get this fic updated completely soon. <3 Thanks for you're patience.
Title from Free by Tommee Profitt, SVRCINA
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They go a different way out than how Tucker entered before. It’s hard to tell at first, what with all the tunnels twisting together and largely looking the same, but Tucker’s sure they're on a different route.
It becomes clearer when they hit a staircase—no subway station in sight, just a narrow staircase that leads up to a door.
Well, Tucker muses, at least the Bats do well to lean into their aesthetic. The whole city is perfect for the Bats, to the point where it’s hard to tell how much they’re leaning into it and how much is just a product of presumably living here. Growing up here.
Fighting here.
How much of Amity still lives on Tucker’s skin? How much does he drag around? How obviously Other is he?
And what the hell does the big bad Bat of Gotham want with him? He did something good, surely that should be enough for them. Even if they know what he did, what work he’s done, it can’t be worse or more important than everything else. Then everything Stagg Industries alone has done.
Nerves crackle over his skin, and Robin pauses for a moment, voice fading out. Tucker lost track of what Robin was saying not long after the katana versus wakizashi talk, and had simply let his voice flow over him.
He’d paid just enough attention to egg Robin on, while most of him was focused on not panicking.
Robin stops and Tucker almost fumbles the next step.
“Relax,” Robin says, and it’s half an order, half something that’s almost a plea. “Batman is…blunt, but not unkind.”
Tucker barks out a laugh. “I’ve heard what he does to criminals—”
“From what you’ve said,” Robin interrupts sharply. “you’re not much of a criminal.”
There’s a part of Tucker that for one hysterical second takes offense to that. Another part that feels an almost dizzying sense of relief. Everything he’s tried to do is working then—every temptation he’s avoided, every time he’s locked the bolt on the abilities he refuses to let rule him, has worked. He doesn’t come across as the villain.
He’s still going to face down Batman but maybe he’ll escape unscathed. Unknown.
“Sure did chase me down like one,” Tucker mutters, for lack of anything better.
And because he still doesn’t know what’s on the back of his clothes and he’s so, so better off not knowing. He’s allowed to hold a little grudge about that.
“You were the one running,” Robin says, unrepentant.
“I was being chased,” Tucker sputters. “Of course I ran!”
“I said to stop,” Robin says, starting forward again.
“Oh, and how often does that actually work for you?” Tucker demands, following behind him.
“One has to have some hope,” Robin says solemnly, but with a hint of well-hidden humor.
“I think you might have better luck hoping for it to rain money,” Tucker says, catching up to Robin. It’s a mild surprise to find himself looking up—only just barely, but Robin is taller.
Tucker, being the mature basically adult that he is, chooses to believe that it’s the boots on the Robin suit.
“It rained money last month,” Robin says, so confidently that it takes Tucker’s brain a moment to reboot.
“It did not,” he protests, running through his list of Shit Gotham Has Pulled since they’d arrived. Raining money was not on that list.
They’d have been to that fight scene so fast if it had been.
“One of Cobblepot’s warehouses blew,” Robin explains. “He’d been keeping cash there to keep it out of his bank accounts—the area was covered in coins and destroyed bills.”
Tucker doesn’t respond for a moment, trying to work out if Robin is fucking with him or not.
“You’re fucking with me,” he says, finally, and the smirk on Robin’s face should make Tucker angry—instead he kind of wants to see more of it.
Robin shrugs, elegantly. “Believe what you will.”
“Are you flirting babybat?” A voice calls out, and Tucker is abruptly slammed back into reality. He jerks, spins, and meets an impassive red helmet. The man—Red Hood—taps the side of his helmet. “Comms were open.”
Tucker goes abruptly cold. Comms. Of course. All that talking—it was just to get information.
Any sense of camaraderie he’d felt from Robin was simply a front.
“I do not flirt on the job, Hood,” Robin snaps back, and Tucker somehow goes colder. How much had Tucker given away? How many conclusions had they all made?
You’re not much of a criminal—but had Robin meant it? Was it truth or…
Movement, black on black and the barest flutter of heavy cloth, and Tucker turns in time to see Batman step from the shadows.
He’s tall, taller than Robin, and built on a wide frame that’s obviously corded with muscle. Tucker grew up around Jack Fenton—he knows strength when he sees it, but this is far more controlled than Mr. Fenton could ever manage. Batman knows every ounce of his strength, where Mr. Fenton could accidentally walk through a wall or crush handles when distracted.
Red Hood, too, is big, wider and maybe taller than Batman. Comparatively, Robin’s almost small, if it weren’t for the straight line of his back and the confidence that follows in his wake.
Batman’s gaze is locked firmly on Tucker, and it’s a good thing that Tucker’s feeling about as warm as the Far Frozen right now, because it lessens the effect of Batman’s stare.
“Batman,” Robin greets easily, sliding closer to Tucker. To make sure Tucker’s not going to run? There’s nowhere to go. Five minutes ago having Robin close might have been something akin to a comfort, but instead it itches along his skin like a threat.
“Robin,” Batman says, his voice as deep and gravely as Tucker expected. Batman inclines his head, takes in the other person in the room. “Red Hood,” There’s something there, buried in the name, and Batman’s voice is just a hint softer.
Red Hood shifts, a little tense. “Old man,”
“Mr. Foley,” Batman says, and Tucker feels his back and shoulder tighten.
“The one and only,” he manages, ignoring the slight look that Robin sends him, almost confused.
“If you would follow me,” Batman says, and sweeps away towards a few doors that linger deeper into the gloom of the building they’re in. Tucker has no idea what it was or where they are, really, but it’s clear they don’t expect to be interrupted here. Just a few minutes ago, Tucker probably would’ve made a joke about undisclosed locations and how this very much counts and so what, exactly, does Robin plan on doing to make up for it?
He doesn’t dare make the joke, not when it’s easy to see that Batman did not intend for his previous sentence to be a question as both Robin and Red Hood follow with ease.
It’s clear Batman expected to be obeyed.
It’s not clear where he stands with Robin. With any of them.
Robin keeps close, and it tears at something in Tucker—where is the truth and where is the lie? It’s also irritating to notice the little details about Robin—the sharpness of his mask, the muted, yet still clear colors on his suit, the familiar green, yellow, red hidden in streaks and stripes around his costume.
The little cat keychain that hangs discreetly from his belt.
They’re all things Tucker wants to question, wants to poke at, but he’s said too much, given too much away. It’s all a weapon, and Tucker forgot that.
A door thunks open, scraping slightly against the aging carpet of what looks to be an office. Batman sweeps in, leaving the door open behind him. In moments, they’re all in the room. There’s a couple of chairs, an old desk covered in dust, a window that probably hasn’t been opened for longer than Tucker’s been alive and then some, and a filing cabinet that’s been shoved over, a couple of the drawers are open and spilling yellowed paper from their depths.
Batman gestures to a chair, as Robin and Red Hood range around him. Tucker sits, the cold melting away into nervous dread.
There’s a bit of silence as everyone settles in.
Tucker’s never done well with weighted silences and he knows, okay, he knows, it’s a tactic, that sometimes silence gets more results than threats or bodily harm but he can’t stop the flood of words that break free.
“Not sure I can tell you anything you don’t already know,” Tucker starts, and he still feels like he’s missing something, but he continues. “If this Oracle was literally watching everything I did at Stagg and knows who I am, there’s really nothing I can clear up for you. Plus, I explained most everything else to Robin and I’m sure you heard that,” —oops, that was a little bitter—“so this just seems like a waste of everyone’s time. I cannot stress enough how much I want to burn these clothes, so if we could skip to what you need from me, that’d be great.”
He’s pretty sure that Batman raises an eyebrow and he’s not entirely sure what noise Red Hood makes—it’s muffled by his helmet—but Batman pulls a couple things from his utility belt and sets them on the desk.
“It isn’t your whistleblowing of Stagg that I’m interested in,” Batman says, which throws Tucker for a complete loop. He looks closer at the objects that are on the desk—and can’t stop the blood from draining from his face.
A scrap of red and black fabric, layered over armor and integrated with tech.
A thin bit of metal, white with lurid green accents, a familiar symbol etched in the metal, bold and loud.
Another scrap of fabric, this one almost impossibly white, with white thread just barely raised from the surface spelling out GIW.
Tucker swallows, and it’s too late to pretend that he doesn’t know what they are. Too late to pretend he’s unaffected, not with static building in his ears, and panic like a bird’s wings in his throat. He’s pretty sure he knows where these items were found.
And he remembers things he’d prefer not to.
GO! A voice shouts, and an impossibly strong hand shoves him into the speeder, his green-covered hands slipping on the metal.
Val—
Go! I’ll be right behind you.
The door hissing shut, and his hands suddenly pressed onto—into—his best friend, desperately holding him together, even as green and red mixed and spilled over his hands.
“Tucker,” Robin, Robin’s talking to him, is in fact right in his face, one hand gripping Tucker’s shoulder.
Tucker swallows. “Where did you get those?”
Robin frowns, but eases back.
The objects are no longer on the desk.
Batman holds his silence for a moment, and Tucker can’t even begin to guess what he’s thinking.
“We found them,” he says finally. “We were looking into the organization that Stagg Industries was working with on their meta experiments. We linked it back to a town in Illinois, and found evidence of some sort of fight. An escape, and an abandoned craft.”
Tucker’s heart is loud loud loud in his ears.
The fucking GIW was involved with Stagg? How the fuck had Tucker missed that link? How close had he been to leading the GIW right to Gotham?
Right to Danny?
“It seems this GIW didn’t get the message about the new Meta Protection Laws,” Robin says, still so close, but no longer touching. Tucker both misses the contact and is relieved that it’s gone. “They practically had the town on lockdown…and were looking for three very specific people.”
GothamPrince: Here’s some updated photos of Bastian. His siblings have all been adopted, but I find myself reluctant to let him go.
GothamPrince: I find myself more and more worried about you, Duat. The Meta Protection Acts have gone into effect and to say it’s been chaotic would be an understatement. There’s even been government organizations that have been raided for breaking the laws already, and some corporations have gotten into trouble for discrimination.
GothamPrince: I hope you, and whomever you were protecting are both safe. If you have a need of me, please do not hesitate.
Tucker lets out something that might, to someone, be a laugh. “And they weren’t shy about letting you know who, I’m sure.”
“Not even a little,” Red Hood says, his voice artificially deepened by a voice changer. “Gotta say, I’m impressed at how much you managed to piss them off. You and your friends must have really pissed in their wheaties.”
“Hood,” Batman says, but it’s less a reprimand and more a sigh. Hood snorts, and makes it obvious he’s rolling his eyes despite the helmet covering him. But he crosses his arms and says nothing more.
“They claimed to have a loophole in the laws,” Robin says, almost careful. “Something about how they protected the living—not the dead.”
Tucker’s heart stutters and the lights overhead give one damning flicker.
“You’re a meta,” Batman says, and it’s not even in the same universe as a question. “Your powers allow some control of tech and coding. But the GIW claims it is not the result of a mutation—but rather a contamination.”
Some control rings in Tucker’s head—and it takes everything he has not to light the whole building, wake the sleeping computers left broken and abandoned, the fine tuned tech and coding that he can feel in the bat’s suits, the lights out on the street, the control panel of the subway train passing underneath them—
“Ghosts,” Robin says, just on the edge of disbelief. “Ghost Investigation Ward.”
“Believe it or not,” Tucker says. “Think they’re crazy—I’m crazy if you want. But ghosts are real. And if you were in Amity Park, you know it already.” There’s no way around the truth—the GIW isn’t subtle, and frankly, neither is Amity Park.
If someone didn’t see at least one ghost, it’d be a shock.
“It would seem that while the GIW is incorrect in many things, ghosts existing is not one of them,” Batman intones, and dammit if they know all of that already, why the fuck is Tucker here?
And why haven’t they heard from Val?
Red Hood snorts. “Ghosts really shouldn’t be a shock at this point.”
Robin sighs. “I suppose not. I was simply unaware that it had been proven in this case.”
“I did just return,” Batman says, and Tucker’s heart stutters. He was just at Amity? He slams forward in his chair, ignoring the aborted movements from both Robin and Red Hood.
“Valerie Gray,” he says, desperation burning. “Do you know if a girl named Valerie Gray is alright?”
Batman pauses and something in him softens. “Yes, she’s fine. She was our…tour guide, if you will. You should be hearing from her soon, as the Justice League should be removing the last traces of the communications blackout that the GIW had set up.”
Tucker slumps back in his chair, ignoring how it protests at the sudden movement. Relief isn’t a strong enough word for what he’s feeling. The communications barrier the GIW had set up had Tucker’s bane. Nothing he’d tried, nothing he’d found, had managed to break it. And with all the ghost shielding, weapons, and guards, they hadn’t been able to get to the power source either. The shielding prevented him from simply overriding it with his…abilities, and with the increased hunting from the GIW they hadn’t had the time.
(And then everything had gone to hell, hands on him dragging him down, Danny captured, Sam bleeding and screaming, all their plans in ruins—)
“Then you know everything,” Tucker says, and it’s a shocking thing to not have a secret to his name. To have nothing he has to hold close and quiet within him. The Bats know all his secrets.
Well. All of them except Danny’s and that one has lived with Tucker so long he barely recognizes the weight of it.
So what do they want with him?
“Not quite,” Batman says, and Tucker laughs without humor.
“What could you possibly not know?” he wonders.
“You escaped,” Robin says, out of the blue, like he’s just put some of the pieces together.
Tucker looks at him with some surprise. “Duh,”
Robin gives him a look that’s as dry as the desert. “I meant why did you escape? What changed to make it so it had to happen?”
Tucker shrugs, tries to add a little annoyance, a little sarcasm to the movement.
Sam’s much better at faking body language.
“The GIW was getting a little too much, to the point where any power was because of ghosts,” Tucker explains, and it’s not totally a lie. If the Bats believe that he’s a meta and that the “corruption” the GIW talked about was nothing more than the babbling of madmen, then Tucker’s not going to dissuade that. “Like you said, I’ve got some power over tech, knew some friends with other little things and well.” He shrugs again and here’s hoping they don’t dig any deeper. “Seemed like time to get gone.”
There’s no point in mentioning the GIW’s labs, the experiments, the way they ripped Danny open—if they haven’t found the labs yet, they will. And hopefully they’ll be smart and destroy them. Hopefully they won’t look into the green splatters, the ectoplasm, the research on ghost physiology. Hopefully they keep ghosts and humans as separate things in their minds.
Tucker’s hoping for a lot, really, but it’s about damn time he was owed some good luck.
But that’s a lot to ask of Bad Luck Tuck.
Robin makes a small tt noise, and stalks over to the desk, placing his hand in the middle of it.
“The reaction you had to the objects here, and your concern for Miss Valerie Gray, do not line up with simply deciding to leave. You escaped,” Robin says again, an emphasis on the word that Tucker can’t parse. “There is leaving, there is running away, there is breaking out, and then there is escaping. They are not necessarily the same thing.”
“Does it really matter?” Tucker asks, anger sparking. The electrical sockets in the room spit sparks as if to match his mood. “We left, we’re here, and now Amity’s free of those bastards. Case closed. Let’s not act like you care about me, here. You just want to make sure I’m not going to cause any trouble in your city. I’m a threat to be assessed, a case to be resolved and set aside.”
Robin blinks, and for the first time that Tucker’s seen he almost seems to shrink on himself.
“It isn’t that cold,” Red Hood says, dragging Tucker’s attention from Robin, but he catches Robin moving to fiddle with the cat keychain even as he eases back from the center of the room. “There are times where it is, I won't lie and say some things aren’t just cases. Aren’t just a threat to stop and lock away. But this isn’t. Something went down, something that made you run to the otherside of the country and into a city that’s far from friendly. One that’s rumored to hate metas—and yet here you are. And despite that, you still chose to blow the whistle on Stagg. You didn’t even know they were connected with the GIW. We don’t see that kinda thing often, people helping to help.”
Red Hood chuckles, moving to lean against the desk. “And then you gave Oracle one hell of a runaround while you erased yourself from existence. Not often O has such trouble when it comes to tech. So it’s a little curiosity yeah, a little assessing the situation, not so much a threat. But it’s also fixing something we missed.”
Tucker frowns. “It wouldn’t have mattered if you knew about Amity. The Meta Protections weren’t signed yet, and they are correct that them being dead is kind of a loophole. Legally, you couldn’t have done anything.”
Robin’s derisive snort echoes in the room. “As you pointed out before, vigilantism isn’t exactly legal. The dubious legality of what they were doing does not stop the fact that it was simply wrong. You are no lab rat.”
Duat: Do you think if the Meta Acts fail to pass, they’ll at least have decent cheese for the lab rats they’ll be making out of metas?
GothamPrince: The Acts will pass. There is nothing to fear.
Duat: Okay. But that doesn't answer my question.
GothamPrince: I do not know what quality of cheese is used on lab rats.
Duat: I could hear the sigh you made. I want you to know that. I heard the sigh. Allll the way over here in the Midwest.
GothamPrince: Am I not supposed to sigh over ridiculous questions? You will not have to find out if they have decent cheese or not.
Duat: Never said I was worried about me.
GothamPrince: Regardless. It will not be something you will know, either from personal experience or from stories.
Duat: Gonna come fight them yourself? Set your utter hoard of animals on them?
GothamPrince: I would never use my innocent pets as weapons.
GothamPrince: Besides, there’s much better things to use in this house.
Duat: That…that’s ominous as fuck.
GothamPrince: Indeed.
Duat: …I don’t know why I expected an explanation.
Tucker swallows—white, white walls, the stink of ecto mixed into a nostril burning concoction with the addition of antiseptic and bleach. The hum in the walls that promised pain, and the screams that echoed from everywhere and nowhere.
Red Hood tenses, even as Robin’s eyes narrow.
“They took you,” Batman says, and fuck Tucker’s lack of poker face.
He jerks a shrug. “They didn’t do much, and like you keep saying, I escaped.”
“It wasn’t you they wanted,” Robin says, nearly muttering to himself. “You haven’t asked about your roommates, Sam Manson and Danny Fenton—”
Tucker heaves up from the chair, this time not bothering to stop the surge of the lights, the hum of tech waiting for an order. It nearly shakes the room, but he can’t stop it.
Won’t, not for them.
“Don’t touch them.” he snaps out, his voice just a touch too deep, too mechanical to be human, to not be a threat. But Danny’s been through enough. Is still recovering, and as long as he has Sam, they can get through most anything.
Tucker failed Danny, failed Sam once.
He won’t do it again.
“Easy,” Batman, standing, hands up and empty. Robin, braced, but sword undrawn. Red Hood, tense, hand on a gun but only watching. “Easy, Tucker, they’re okay. Black Bat followed them to make sure they were alright. We believe they’re waiting for you on the edge of Gotham.” Batman grimaces, lets out a low sigh. “I should have been clearer—you are not in trouble. This isn’t meant to be an interrogation. We’re concerned about what we missed, and what an entire town suffered because of the League’s ignorance. We’re also concerned that if the GIW are attempting to exploit an apparent loophole in the Meta Protection Acts, others may do the same.”
Adrenaline and power shake through Tucker, making Batman’s words take long, long seconds to parse. He takes even longer, longer than he’s comfortable with, to ease back on what he can feel around him. In him.
He swallows, breathes in, breathes out. “Funny way of starting a conversation, chasing me down and recording everything I said.”
“We never claimed to be socially adjusted,” Red Hood says, and despite it all, Tucker almost laughs.
“I did not record it,” Robin says, sounding almost offended. “I opened my comms just before we entered the building, as a response to my…colleagues checking in. They were asking if we were close.”
“Can you blame us for getting a little worried, babybat?” Red Hood asks, hand falling away from his gun. “The only thing we got from you was a quick message that you were on your way with Tucker.”
Robin wasn’t recording. The Bats weren’t listening.
Fuck, he’s so turned around right now, he doesn’t know what the hell to make of all this.
“I think,” Batman says, eyes sharp. “That a break may be in order. It has been a very long day. I would like to speak with you on more of the details of the GIW, and how exactly they used the existence of ghosts as a loophole to strip rights from living people. There’s no need for you and your friends to leave Gotham, not if you would prefer to stay, or at least not leave in a rush.”
Tucker blinks, feeling like he’s getting whiplash. “You’re just…letting me go?”
Batman flicks an almost imperceptible glance at Robin. “It was never my intent to capture you. Things got out of hand, and I apologize. We will speak tomorrow, after you have had a chance to shower and relax.”
“Okay.” Tucker furrows his brows. “I don’t…know where I am, actually.”
Robin noticeably winces.
“I’ll get you home,” Red Hood offers, and Robin bristles. “We aren’t too far, and while the Batmobile has seen worse, my bike’s easier to clean.”
What the actual fucking fuck is happening. There’s still something missing here.
Warily, he nods. “There’s no need to spread whatever the hell I’ve got on me. Thanks.”
Red Hood shrugs. “Least we can do, and we’re not far from your place. Think you can call your friends back?”
Tucker shrugs, because yeah probably, but Sam’s going to be pissed about this whole thing.
“Good enough, let’s go,” Red Hood says, and Tucker can’t stop himself from glancing back at Robin, who looks like he just swallowed something nasty. He’s fiddling with his cat keychain again—but this time, Tucker notices there’s two cats hung from the chain. One black and white, looking full grown and the model is larger than the second cat. The second cat is smaller, with proportions that look kitten-like, and is much smaller than its companion. This one is orange and white, with fluffy fur.
The last glimpse of Robin Tucker gets is him fiddling with his keychains, looking pensive.
Notes:
It's been a minute, so make sure to check out Myc's art and give him some love!! It's amazing art!
Direct link to the art he made for this fic!!! Art Link!!>
Chapter 7: A Gambler Tempting Fate
Notes:
I have utterly no excuse for not posting this ages ago.
Enjoy!
Chapter title from Giants by Neoni.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Robin,” Batman says after Tucker has left. Damian’s stomach twists with the word.
“I know, Batman,” he says, gripping the hard plastic of Alfred and Bastion’s miniatures tightly. “I thought—and he was running—and B—Oracle found all the people he’s hacked for…”
Batman sighs, and in an instant, despite the location and the cowl still firmly over his face, it’s not Batman standing there, but his father.
“You were worried about him,” father says, coming around the desk and placing a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “It’s been weeks since you’ve spoken. It was admirable to not hack into his profiles to see who he was, Damian, and I know it was tempting. It made it a shock, when this all came out. But from the sounds of it, what Tucker needs, what they need, is safety.”
“And I made them feel unsafe,” Damian says, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. Oracle digging into Stagg’s whistleblower had simply been part of the mission to stop them. But it…it had all come tumbling out.
Tucker was Duat.
Duat was Tucker.
And Duat had come here, come to Damian’s city…and never asked for help. For advice. Hadn’t said he was okay. And Damian knows that whatever happened—and it doesn’t look good—Duat didn’t owe him anything. Still doesn’t.
But it had been so hard to listen to Oracle list the things Duat—Tucker—had done in order to survive. And he’s no fool, he’s seen time and time again good people going bad, has seen them forced to choose survival over morals and watched good men fall. Gotham’s better, it’s so much better, but it can still chew people up and leave nothing but desperation and hate.
The idea of Tucker falling to that, losing himself, getting caught up in Gotham’s corruption, pissing off the wrong person and ending up dead or worse—
Damian had been a little reckless, he supposes, in the face of it.
There’s not many people Damian would call a friend in this world. Not many people who Damian chooses to spend his time with.
Duat was…interesting. His passions were spoken of easily, and yet he still took the time to understand Damian’s interests, to listen and ask questions. Damian never bored of their conversations, and…
Well. Found himself wondering if they could meet. Someday. In real life. He’s met many people in the communities that have sprung up across the internet, had interesting conversations, frustrating ones, stupid ones. Met tolerable people and not so tolerable ones.
But Duat was the one he wanted to keep up with, chat over silly things with, make the effort to start and continue conversations with.
Duat was one he’d considered a true friend, despite having no idea what he looked like.
Father squeezes his shoulder, bringing Damian’s gaze back up.
“You messed up,” Father says, but it’s not unkind. It’s still a dizzying relief, even now, years removed from Nanda Parbat, to know that messing up is acceptable. That mistakes do not carry punishment that’s based in pain and blade-sharp words meant to cut him smaller. “It happens to the best of us. The question now is what you do next.”
“I need to apologize,” Damian says, and he’s known that since he tackled Tucker and met eyes filled with fear and frustration.
“Yes,” Father agrees.
Damian slumps, just a little bit. “It will be difficult to explain my reasoning, as he does not know who I am.”
“Identities do make these things harder,” father agrees, face set into sympathetic lines. “but hardly impossible.”
“I will have to wait for them to settle back in,” Damian realizes, even though he wants to go now.
Father raises an eyebrow, amusement bleeding into his face. “I believe this a good time to practice patience.”
“Tt.”
Tucker takes great pleasure in burning the clothes he’d been wearing, and much, much less pleasure in explaining everything to Sam and Danny when they make their way back to their shared apartment. Tucker’s showered by then, and has dumped the ashes of his clothes into the trash.
It’s not an easy conversation, explaining that the Bats have figured most everything out but the fact that Danny’s a halfa. They seem to be under the impression that they’re all metas.
Contamination, Tucker remembers Batman saying, like he wasn’t sure if he believed it. Better for him not too. Better for them to be classed at Metas, for them to be protected by these news laws.
None of them of them are eager to find out if being exposed to an extra-dimensional substance thanks to an illegal portal that leads to a dimension full of ghosts is something that’s not quite covered by the Acts. They already know the whole ghost and dead thing has some wiggle room.
Not for the first time, Tucker thinks of GothamPrince. He’d debated a lot on whether or not to ask him for help, or at least some advice. But Prince had done so much, was doing so much. Beyond his work in helping people across the country—the world—with resources and tips and curating safe places for them (albeit online), he did charity events and rescued animals, and went to school. Tucker didn’t want to saddle him with more, or worse, put him in the line of fire should the GIW appear.
It had honestly taken a bit to even realize how long it’d been since he’d last messaged Prince. With everything that happened—Danny’s capture, Tucker and Sam’s brief capture and subsequent escape, the fight out of Amity, the Speeder crashing, Danny being so hurt—Prince’s messages had fallen to the wayside.
Tucker hasn’t even opened any of the forum sites he used to visit frequently, let alone checked Discord. He’s not sure what would be worse, a ton of unread messages from Prince…or nothing at all.
And now, with the Bats on their asses, even if not for necessarily bad reasons, Tucker doesn’t want to pull Prince in, get him caught in the crossfire. Prince lives here, Tucker’s not going to make the Bats interested in him.
“So we just…wait for the Bats to show up at the window, or something?” Danny asks, voice a little muffled with his arm as he’s sprawled out on the couch. Even laying down he’s holding himself carefully, obviously in pain after the mad rush to the outskirts of Gotham and the worry that had eaten at them while they waited for Tucker to either show up or contact them.
“I’m more interested in hearing from Val,” Sam snaps out, angrily making food. “At least then we’d be able to confirm their story and know that Amity might actually be safe.”
“I don’t think they were lying,” Tucker says, knowing it probably won’t even put a dent in Sam’s fury. Indeed, her scoff is vicious.
“Whatever,” she snaps, banging pots around. Whatever she’s cooking, he hopes it’s not something easily burnt. For all that she’s flinging pans around, she’s not really paying attention to what’s in them. Or how long they’ve gone since getting stirred.
“Sounds like they want to shore up some loopholes,” Danny says after a long while. He shifts carefully, pulling his arm down from his face. “Keep the GIW or anyone else from snatching people into labs.”
“Sounds like,” Sam snarls, “they want to cover their asses.”
“Covering their asses,” Danny says mildly, “covers ours.”
Sam slams a pot down particularly hard, but says nothing.
“I guess we’ll see,” Tucker says, and neither of his friends respond.
GothamPrince: I did something…reckless today, and wounded a friendship. It’s…complicated, and I am unsure of how to explain myself, but I need to apologize.
GothamPrince: I’m not quite sure of how to, given there’s some things I simply can’t explain. But I must.
GothamPrince: I hope you are still well, Duat.
GothamPrince: I hope you can forgive me
Previous message deleted.
It feels like no time at all has passed when there’s a knock on the window. Despite the odd location, the knock is perfectly polite.
Tucker shares a glance with Danny, while Sam glares at the window and pointedly walks away from it without opening it, despite being the closest.
Danny shrugs, and Tucker goes to open the window.
It’s a bit of a surreal sight, to see a vigilante—who can’t fly—literally hanging off their building just outside their window.
Nightwing grins at them. “Hi! Nice to meet you. Are you comfortable with us coming in, or would you like to meet on the roof?”
“Roof,” Sam says instantly, firmly.
Nightwing doesn’t seem to notice her tone. “No problem! Meet you up there.” With a surge of muscle, Nightwing pulls himself up, braces his feet and leaps, heading to the roof.
“Show off,” Sam mutters, even as Danny chuckles. It takes them a few minutes to gather their shoes and to put on some extra clothes, but in a few minutes they’re on the roof.
Tucker finds himself unsurprised to find not only Nightwing but Batman too.
He doesn’t see Robin, and doesn’t know why it’s such a disappointment.
Batman nods to the three of them.
“Thank you for meeting us,” he says, his voice just as deep and gravely as Tucker remembers. Sam’s lips twist.
“That voice can’t be good for your vocal cords,” she says and Tucker merely closes his eyes in resignation. Nightwing, however, doesn’t bother to hide his laughter.
“I’ve been telling him that for years,” he agrees, and it lifts some of the tension, but not all of it.
“We’ve done some more digging on the GIW,” Batman says, all business, save for the small look of exasperation he sends Nightwing. Danny stiffens at Tucker’s side. “there’s some language in the Acts that will need clarification, given the loopholes that the GIW used. The communications blackout has been lifted on Amity Park, and resources have been sent to help with repairs and medical treatment.”
Hearing from Valerie the other night, and finally being able to contact others from Amity Park had been one hell of a relief. Tucker supposes it was worth getting chased down and tackled.
“Then what else do you need from us?” Sam asks, her voice barbed.
Batman shifts his gaze to her. “One of the main loopholes the GIW claims makes their…research legal is that those of Amity Park aren’t metas, but either ghosts or ecto-contaminated beings. Given the readings we’ve taken from Amity Park, some form of contamination is present, but meta powers can manifest from such exposure. However, we don’t want to put ghosts in the position of being fair game either, nor do we need more people opening portals to other dimensions in their basements.”
Danny, shockingly, laughs. Tucker can only blink at him in surprise.
“Oh, Ancients, fuck it.”
“Danny don’t you—” Sam’s threat comes too late, light glows just below Danny’s chest, spreading out. Shock roots Tucker to the ground—they’d discussed the possibility that the Bats might figure it out, connect Phantom and Danny, that they might have to prove that Phantom—Danny—was a hero.
As far as Tucker knew, they hadn’t planned on revealing it.
But besides them now stands Phantom, and it’s the first time since they had to run from Amity that Danny’s transformed.
Tucker swallows as he takes in his friend, the next thing he has to a brother.
Phantom’s hair is still white, but it’s wispier than it should be—Phantom himself is thin at the edges, his eyes a duller green than they should be.
The DP logo is still bright on his chest—but there are scars echoing out from it, pulsing faintly green.
“Danny,” Tucker whispers, and he’d known Danny was still recovering, that he took a blow that nearly killed him, permanently.
It’s one thing to know.
It’s another to see.
“Oh,” Nightwing says, eyes wide behind his mask.
Sam’s moving, suddenly, pushing past Tucker and standing in front of Danny and it’s instinct to mirror her, to protect Danny as viciously as Danny protects them.
“You won’t touch him,” Sam bites out, and he knows half her fury is directed at Danny himself. “You want to make sure no one can fuck around with ghosts or make portals, fine, but you won’t touch him. Do whatever legalese bullshit you need to, make a cover story, keep Amity Park on the downlow, but you don’t get him.”
“You don’t get us,” Tucker corrects, and lets the hum of technology burn through him, listens to the call of it all. “I won’t fail to protect him again.”
“Tucker—”
“Shut up,” Tucker and Sam say as one, not turning to look at him.
“Ghost and human,” Batman says slowly, and it’s both terrifying and fascinating to watch him put the pieces together. “The ghost boy they wanted. I see.”
“Ghosts aren’t monsters,” Danny says, and fuck, Tucker can hear a bit of strain in him. Transforming probably wasn’t the best idea, for a number of reasons. “But some of them can’t be trusted. I know the Zone. I know how to keep the peace.”
Batman nods. “I understand. I will work with the League’s lawyers on the adjustments needed to close some loopholes, and the Ghost Zone will be added under the same protections that other discovered dimensions have. Ghosts may not technically fall under the Meta Protection Acts, but there are several acts that protect extraterrestrials and other species such as Atlanteans. We will make sure you are covered.”
“Just like that?” Sam demands.
Batman gives them a bit of a smile. “Just like that. We came here to make sure we had all of the facts, and to clarify the GIW’s obviously biased research. The three of you seemed to be very involved with everything that happened in Amity Park.”
Tucker snorts, even as his heart still feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest. “It was hard not to be.”
Nightwing smiles. “Makes sense, considering.” He cocks his head at Danny, who’s still behind Tucker, though Tucker’s starting to think it might not be necessary. “Is there anything we can do to help with your recovery?”
Danny lands, the sound of his feet hitting the ground is much, much more solid than Tucker’s used to. An arm swings over his shoulder, and it’s instinct to wrap his arm around Danny in return, and he feels Sam echo the movement. Danny weighs almost nothing in his ghost form, but Tucker can feel a bit more to him this time. At the same time, he also can feel the thinness to the edges of his form, the buzz of ectoplasm struggling to hold form.
He’s braced and ready for when the rings form again, when Phantom’s hazmat suit bleeds back into loose pajamas. Danny slumps on them, letting out a long breath.
There’s no secrets left to their names, but—
It feels like there might be help. Like there might be hope.
“Yeah,” Danny says, his smile wry and tired. “Yeah, I think we could use a little help.”
Notes:
The art for this is just as fantastic as before. Give it a look!
Chapter 8: You're On the Run (Your Time is Up)
Notes:
We inch ever closer to the end of this fic. Two more chapters, I believe?
Chapter title from: MUTINY by Neoni
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tucker’s exhausted when they get back to their apartment. Batman is thorough, and had taken all their questions, their concerns, and Sam’s attempt to find the catch, the limit to their desire to help in stride. Batman then had come back with things they’d never thought of, had long dismissed as possibilities.
They might be able to go home.
It’s a wild thought, as wild as picking up their phones and seeing messages from people back in Amity and realizing it’s not a fluke. Amity is free.
Danny heads to bed, exhaustion etched in his face. Tucker convinces Sam to join him—he just needs a minute to breathe. To process.
In an instant, everything is different.
He tries to relax on the couch for all of five minutes when the apartment simply becomes too stuffy, too much, and he wants air.
The air in Gotham is inevitably full of smog, but it’s better than nothing. He finds himself back on the roof, but he heads for the opposite side from where they’d talked to the Bats. There’s a little place, tucked between old chimneys and half broken A/C units, that gives him a place to sit with his back pressed to something.
He fiddles with his phone, feels the pulse of his PDA, and leans back with his eyes closed.
It’s been a little harder, lately, to keep his powers under wraps. To ignore the call of tech. It’s been harder since before the chase in the sewers, since even before their desperate run from Amity Park. The power is building, like Danny’s, like Sam’s, and he’s both terrified to embrace it and terrified to hold it back.
With Amity Park being free, with the chance to go back, he might be able to indulge a bit, let himself actually explore his abilities. It would hardly be the weirdest thing that Amity Park has seen, no matter what the extent of them ends up being.
And Tucker’s been hiding for a long, long time.
But still, fear curls its claws in him. There’s so much unknown going on. The GIW is no longer a threat, and it’s a foreign thing to not need to be on alert, to be ready to run. They have escape plans that are…useless now. Pointless.
Nightwing had made an offhand comment earlier, about how they had choices now. Places they could go. Things they could do.
Gotham is great and all, he’d laughed, but now you guys can go explore other places, see other things.
Tucker hasn’t thought about what he wants to do in…years. It’s all about protecting himself, Sam, Danny, Jazz, Amity Park.
He doesn’t even know where to start thinking about the future. About doing what he wants.
Impulse has him opening his phone, and for the first time in months, checking something other than his bank account and the latest update on the Gotham Villian Radar App that keeps people up to date on the latest breakouts and attacks. His phone has been used for nothing but survival lately. He hasn’t even played the stupid egg farm mobile game he’s been denying an addiction to.
Opening Discord unleashes a flood.
There’s dozens of pings in various servers, announcements and personal @’s alike. His DMs are filled. With a sigh, he starts going through them. There’s people in here he considers friends, and he can only imagine his months of radio silence had left them…concerned. He checks in with a small server he’d made with friends, and the second he starts typing messages appear.
It takes a long hour to go through his servers and to begin to dig through his DMs. There’s a friend in Central City that’s sent him a picture of various critters he’s found nearly every day since Tucker went offline. Another somewhere on the West Coast who’s sent him the latest and greatest in tech, the pros and cons, and articles about upgrades and discontinued things. Still others who have messaged sporadically asking how he is and talking about mundane things.
It’s another half an hour of that before he can’t ignore the elephant in the DMs anymore.
GothamPrince has left him over 400 messages, and Prince isn’t one to waste his time.
Tucker swallows as he clicks on Prince’s icon—a stylised black crown with a litter of kittens sleeping in it—and has to scroll up to where he last replied.
Chewing a bit on his lip, Tucker sets to reading. Prince was—is—a good friend, and leaving him out of the loop, while being in his city, had felt odd. Not talking to Prince had felt like losing something vital and precious. His talks with Prince were bright spots in the dark, and Tucker likes to think he provided some of the same back to Prince. They’d talked more than once over voice, sometimes to talk over frustrations, other times simply to hang out. Tucker had fallen asleep more than once to Prince playing a game, while Prince had done so during Tucker’s long winded talks.
Prince was a friend.
(No matter how much Sam teased him.)
He reads through, and—some of it is concerns about him. Some of it is wishes for his safety, that things are okay. But some of it Prince simply talks like he expects Tucker to answer at any time. A lot of it is pictures of his pets, grumblings about his siblings or people at school. Still more of it is bitingly sarcastic behind-the-scenes bitching about idiotic things people have said or done in some of the servers he mods, or wild takes on Tumblr or Reddit. Scathing retorts on political bullshit.
Tucker finds himself laughing or rolling his eyes, hearing Prince’s voice in every line.
He’s missed this, missed Prince, and can only hope that Prince will forgive him for vanishing.
He’s just getting to the end, to the newest messages (which, to his utter shock—and guilty delight—are from a mere two days ago) when a foot scuffs against concrete near him. It’s not Sam or Danny, since the apartment lies still and quiet a few floors beneath him.
The buzz of tech is familiar though, and Tucker looks up to meet Robin’s gaze.
There’s something itching in the back of his head, something he feels he’s missing, but he lowers the phone and cocks his head.
“May I join you?” Robin asks, gesturing besides Tucker.
Tucker shrugs. “Go for it.”
Robin nods and sits, and for long, long moments nothing is said.
“I wanted…” Robin starts, falters a bit, continues. “I wanted to apologize. I acted on impulse, chasing you the way I did. I…reacted without all of the facts. Made assumptions. I’m sorry.”
Tuck blinks, feeling a flicker of surprise. He…hadn’t realized how much an apology would mean. It’s been so rare in his life that people take responsibility for their actions. That they care when they’ve messed up.
But maybe that’s because of how skewed his perception of people as a whole has become after dealing with the GIW for so long.
Robin’s fiddling with his cat keychains again.
“Apology accepted,” Tucker says, and some tension bleeds out of Robin’s shoulders. “I imagine that you’ve gotten pretty used to reacting on your instincts, in your line of work.”
Robin nods a bit. “Yes. It does not mean my instincts are correct. Or that running off without all the facts is a good idea.”
Tucker snorts. “No, but no harm done.”
“You had to burn your clothing.” Is Robin teasing him?
Tucker laughs. “Alright, some harm done then. It wasn’t my favorite shirt or anything, so it could’ve been worse.”
“I can give you money to replace them, if you need.” Robin says, and Tucker could swear he’s heard that faint accent before.
He waves Robin off. “It’s fine, we’re not struggling, really. Gives me an excuse to see what terrible shirt I can find in the thrift store and try to buy before Sam notices.”
Robin’s lips quirk. “Spoiler does much the same, along with Nightwing. They enjoy finding truly atrocious clothing and have no shame in wearing it.”
Tucker tries to imagine Nightwing in some bright, overly patterned shirt and finds it’s not as much of a stretch as he thought it would be. He snickers, and he only has a vague idea of who Spoiler is, but two vigilantes running amok in a thrift store must be quite a sight.
Except, they probably don’t go as their alter-egos, and he knows they have names beneath the masks, that they have lives beyond punching criminals and chasing down rogues, but it’s hard to imagine. Easy to see it with him, Danny, and Sam. Easy to find the line between what they did to protect the town, themselves, and what they did on their off time. But after a while one bled into the other. The line blurred. They didn’t feel like heroes, or even really vigilantes. Just a group of teens, trying their best against a world that had rapidly changed around them.
The portal may have affected Danny in the most obvious way, but the effects to everyone else, and to Amity itself has rippled out in ever increasing waves.
He still has to wonder how much of a mark Amity has left on him. How much he’ll always carry with him.
What passes for a breeze in Gotham teases by, bringing with it a small hint of fresh air. Or, fresher, at least. There’s the whisper of tech in Tucker’s bones, a sense of what lies sleeping below him. Active tech hums along his skin, bright and energized. The sounds of the city are a distant rumble, with not even a siren close enough to worry about. It’s as silent as it ever gets here, and Tucker finds himself comfortable with it.
“They ever drag you along?” Tucker asks, ignoring the slight lull in the conversation he caused by his own introspective thoughts.
Robin very clearly rolls his eyes. “Once or twice, but it’s not a game I find much use in.”
“That’s the point though,” Tucker insists. “It’s not about use, it’s about some harmless fun. It doesn’t hurt anyone to buy some truly ugly clothes.”
“I disagree, as someone who has to look at their ugly clothes.” Robin’s exasperated tone makes Tucker laugh, even as it pulls at memories.
“You can’t actually be injured by looking at ugly clothes!”
“Have you not heard of eyestrain? Have you seen what they expect people to wear? Some of it is blinding in the sunlight, one could run into something!”
“This is Gotham, what sunlight!?” Tucker demands, making a useless gesture as the night sky. Well, not entirely useless, as the moon is impossible to find and there’s not a star to be seen.
Robin waves a hand. “There are enough street lights and such to still make it an issue!”
“Well if finding ugly clothing isn’t your idea of fun, what is? Collecting cat keychains?” Tucker gestures to the ones on Robin’s belt, and Robin’s hand closes over them on reflex.
“They aren’t…really collectibles. It is a tradition, started by the first Robin, to carry a good luck keychain of some type. They are usually animals, and I have chosen cats.” Robin speaks softly, head turned away.
Tucker's eyes widen a bit—that was not what he’d been expecting. That’s…something between the Bats, a tradition, a habit, a charm to keep close. A little superstition in a dangerous city, and probably not something they advertise as something they do. Every bit they give away of themselves can be used against them. There are rogues here, villains here, who won’t hesitate to use anything they can against the Bats. Many of Gotham’s worst villains play with minds, mess with perceptions.
And this is obviously a touchstone, a ritual almost, passed from Robin to Robin.
“That’s pretty cool,” Tucker says, and it feels lame, but he’s unable to find the words he wants.
Robin smiles faintly. “I thought it was…stupid, ridiculous, and more when I first heard of it. A waste of time and space. Useless. They were not weapons, they had no function—what was the point?” Robin looks back at him. “I learned otherwise.”
Tucker reaches into his pocket, and it’s not the same, this has a function, but only because he’s made it have one still.
“This has been with me through…everything.” he says, holding out his well battered PDA. “It shouldn’t even function anymore, really. There’s better, faster things out there but…” He shrugs.
“But that isn’t the point,” Robin finishes, carefully unclipping the cat keychains. They trade objects, Robin making a slow study of the PDA’s many scratches and marks, while Tucker rolls the small plastic cats between his fingers. They’re obviously made in the same style, but the black and white cat’s figure is…older. A little more worn, colors a bit dull and dingy. The orange kitten is obviously newer, colors brighter.
Something catches Tucker’s eye, and he looks closer at the bottom of the orange and white kitten.
Bastian, an engraving reads.
I have named him Bastian—
Something clicks. The familiarity of Robin’s voice, the way the cadence and the accent seemed familiar. The easy way they fell into conversation, like they were simply picking up from where they’d left off.
Prince’s insistence that Robin’s sword was a fucking katana.
The entire damned walk from where Robin had tackled him up to where Batman was, the way Robin spoke of random things, seeming to know how to distract Tucker.
Of course he did.
He’d done it before.
—I acted without all of the facts. Made assumptions—
—It is a list of safe cities for metas facing unfair persecution. It is not a list for criminals to escape due punishment—
Things are rapidly falling into place—with all the digging into Tucker, they must have found his Discord. From there, the link to Prince’s—Robin’s—profile would be easy to find, the messages laid bare. Without all the facts, without knowing what had happened, Robin could’ve easily jumped to the conclusion that Tucker had used the resources Robin provided to create more problems in the city he fights to protect. Combined with the months of obvious worry he’d had, only to find that Tucker was in the same city as him, and hadn’t said anything?
Well, running him down and tackling him in a maze of abandoned subway tunnels makes much, much more sense now.
“It looks like I owe you an apology,” Tucker says slowly, heart pounding. There’s something else in Prince’s messages, an obvious care, and Prince isn’t one to waste time.
Prince has never once said something he didn’t mean.
Robin’s brows furrow. It’s kinda cute. “For what?”
Tucker sucks in a breath. Lets it out slowly. The pace of his heart doesn’t slow.
He hopes he’s not reading this wrong. Prince made it clear how little he tolerates things, people, that waste his time.
And it took more than time to write to Tucker continually, to think of him consistently enough to keep conversations going without someone else speaking back.
“For leaving you on read for…oh, nearly four months.” Tucker says, aiming for casual.
It does not come out casual.
Robin freezes.
Notes:
Thanks y'all, love the love you have for this!
Chapter 9: Finish Up What I've Begun
Notes:
Okay I lied, one more chapter, lmao. This is it!
Chapter title from: Still Here by League of Legends, Forts, 2WEI, Tiffany Aris
Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“You don’t have to confirm anything,” Tucker says quickly, holding up a hand. “I’m not trying to figure out who you are or anything, I just—made the connection and I am sorry for not telling you where I was or if I was okay. Things just got so wild so fast and I didn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire. I knew you’d drop everything to help me if I needed and I just couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt if the GIW appeared or if Gotham, well, Gotham’ed and you got caught up in all of that and I didn’t know you were freaking Robin and could defend yourself—”
A glove over his mouth. “Breathe,” and it’s not Robin talking—it’s Prince.
Tucker tries, clamps his teeth shut to try and stem the words that want to flow out, focuses on the breathing techniques that Jazz taught them and Prince had reinforced.
It takes several long moments, but Tucker manages to find something that might be called composure.
His heart, however, has still barely slowed.
Robin’s hand pulls from Tucker’s mouth, and Tucker has the wild urge to link his fingers through Robin’s. He wants to feel the texture of his gloves, see how their hands fit together.
He swallows a bit—all of Sam’s teasing about being smitten is starting to sound like the logical conclusion.
Robin bites his lip, like he’s searching for words. It also makes Tucker’s attention go from Robin’s hands to his lips and—
It’s a little hard to think, staring at Robin’s—Prince’s—lips.
“I was worried,” Prince says lowly, and it’s hard to tell what he’s looking at with the white outs of the Robin mask, but Tucker can feel his gaze. “I knew there was something more than what you were telling me, and when you stopped responding…”
Tucker grimaces. He can fill in the blanks.
Prince had wondered if Tucker was dead.
Or worse, honestly.
(Tucker knows that there’s much worse fates out there than death.)
“I’m sorry,” Tucker says again, even though the phrase feels useless and weak.
Prince shakes his head. “You didn’t owe me an explanation—”
“No,” Tucker agrees. “But we—we’re friends, and I let you think I was dead or something for months. And then you find out I’m under your nose, and I said nothing.”
Prince sighs. “I understand, though, what you were thinking. You did not want to risk me.” He gives a little shrug, the movement elegant. “You had many things to worry about. I will not blame you for just trying to survive.”
“Even though I was a hacker-for-hire?” Tucker says, trying to tease.
Prince’s snort is accompanied by a roll of his eyes. “I said it before, but you were not much of a criminal.”
“I could be,” Tucker says, half in challenge. Another part of him is desperately shouting shut up!! but he needs Prince, Robin, to understand what lives under his skin. “I could be—I could be dangerous.” he’s shaking a bit, but doesn’t let himself stop. “I could break this city.”
Robin cocks his head. “So could I,” he says, shifting just a bit—and it’s no coincidence that the handle of Robin’s katana is much more visible now, the threat lingering. “I was not raised to care for the lives of those beneath me. Or the lives of those who stood in my way. Mercy was not a lesson that was taught to me, not until I came to live with my father.”
Tucker swallows. “Mercy was not a thing that the GIW thought I deserved.”
Robin hums, low in his throat. “What a match we make—one of us having to learn mercy, the other having it stripped away.”
The laugh Tucker lets out has nothing to do with humor. “No kidding—wait, a match?”
Robin regards him steadily, but Tucker swears there’s color in his cheeks.
“Yes,” he says, and it’s only because Tucker’s watching so closely that he sees Robin swallow nervously. “I believe…that is, it seems we both hold each other in high regard. I would not be opposed to going on a date with you, should you be amicable.”
Prince’s accent is a little more noticeable than before, and while Tucker knows Prince speaks a hell of a lot more “properly” than he does…it seems this level of formality is built out of nerves.
Tucker reaches, and his nerves manifest in the flicking of the street lights below them, and the slight hum that crackles around them. But he takes a hold of Robin’s hands, and he doesn’t know Robin’s real name, doesn’t know the history behind Prince, why he wears the Robin mask, but…
But he’d like to find out.
And it doesn’t feel impossible to share the things that haunt Tucker—and maybe together, the things that haunt them both won’t be so hard to carry. There’s more to Robin’s story than not being taught mercy, just like there’s more to Tucker’s story than having mercy stripped away.
Robin’s gloves are tough things, what Tucker assumes is a kevlar mix is heavily textured, yet flexible, well worn around Robin’s fingers.
They’re warm.
“I’m amicable,” Tucker says with a grin that he hopes hides his nerves at least a little. “More than amicable. Where and when?”
A soft, small smile graces Robin’s face, and Tucker makes it a silent mission to see that smile again. As many times as he can manage it.
“This Friday,” Robin says, half an order, half a question. “There is a small restaurant near Wayne Industries technological progression exhibit, the food is good, and I’m told the exhibit is quite interesting.”
Tucker’s heart flutters a bit. “Sounds great. Is there an art exhibit or something nearby? We can hit that, too.”
Robin’s smile grows just a touch bigger. “I believe we can find something, yes.”
“Then it’s a date.” Tucker declares, and really, honestly, fuck it.
He leans in, slides one of his hands from Robin’s and traces it up his arm to catch the back of Robin’s neck.
Robin leans in, more than willing, and his free hand finds its way to the small of Tucker’s back, gripping fabric as Robin pulls Tucker in.
Their lips meet, and it’s a little clumsy, a little unpracticed, but soon they find the right angle, begin to find each other’s rhythm. Tucker’s nose rubs against part of Robin’s eye mask, and he swears to himself that whoever’s behind the costume, the mask, it won’t change anything. It won’t change this.
Robin presses himself closer to Tucker, his other arm coming up to tangle in Tucker’s hair. And what a brilliant idea, really. Tucker raises his hand and quickly buries it into Robin’s hair. At some point they’ve shifted, and Tucker has Robin pressed against one of the old chimneys.
Tucker’s not sure when, but teeth get involved, and after one particularly hard nip that has every light, car, TV, and more flickering for three blocks, Tucker finally pulls back, breathing hard.
“Think maybe we should do this after I get a little more control,” Tucker says, but it’s nice to see that Robin doesn’t look much more put together.
Robin smirks. “What if I don’t want you to have control?”
Tucker swallows. “Then you best protect me when Batman comes by asking why half the city is out of power and the TVs are staging a revolt.”
“Consider it done,”
Well, with a statement like that, how is Tucker not supposed to keep kissing him?
Red Hood—Jason, his name is Jason—is laughing too hard to be upset by this. Nightwing—Dick Grayson—looks like he’s close to either joining Jason in his laughter or cracking open a bottle of something alcoholic. Red Robin—and that’s fucking Tim Drake—looks impressed and amused. Spoiler—Stephanie Brown—is cackling, while Black Bat—Cassandra Cain—is giving him a thumbs up. Robin—Damian Wayne—stands on Batman’s left, looking smugly pleased, while Batman himself—Bruce!! Wayne!!—looks at once resigned and curious.
Oracle—Barbra Gordon—isn’t physically present, but he can hear her shifting around through the video call that’s open on the Batcomputer behind him. He’s pretty sure she’s fairly amused too, considering the welcome, Tucker, message that had greeted him on the Batcomputer.
“You said you wanted to know how much of a threat I was,” Tucker says mildly, and well, this may not be the best way to introduce himself to the rest of Prince’s—Damian’s—family, but Red Hood had stopped by one night and told Tucker to give the “old man” hell for him. And then Spoiler had cheerfully told him that their family attracts dangerous people, with Black Bat nodding emphatically behind her. Nightwing, for all that he looks like he needs a drink now, had rolled his eyes and said Batman’s a hypocrite.
Which Prince—Damian—had later explained Batman’s dating history and Tucker had decided to go fully over the top.
“Well done, beloved,” Damian says, and Nigh—Dick chokes. Jason wheezes harder, and Tucker’s starting to wonder if someone needs to put the man on oxygen.
“What,” Tucker grins. “Like it’s hard?”
“Legally Blonde reference!” Stephanie shouts with glee. “You’re such a keeper!”
Tucker smiles up at Bruce, who’s looking like he’s starting to find the humor in all this. “I’m told I was invited for breakfast?”
“Breakfast will be served upstairs,” says a prim voice with a British accent. A man in a butler’s suit addresses them all. “No batsuits are allowed in the Manor. I would suggest you all hurry, I made quite the spread.”
“Thank you, Alfred,” Damian says, and it’s echoed by his siblings, even as they begin to trip over each other in their rush to get changed. Dick and Tim need to half support a still recovering Jason.
Bruce himself simply sighs. “I suppose I brought this one on myself. Welcome to our home, Tucker.”
Tucker grins. Batman had given him a bit of shovel talk not three hours after Damian and Tucker’s first date. And it was intimidating, yes, but also sparked a bit of rebelliousness in Tucker. He wasn’t a danger to Damian, but he understood, and appreciated Batman’s protectiveness.
But Tucker’s also a little shit, and hearing about Batman’s disastrous dating history (and hearing from Damian that Bruce had tried to talk to him about choosing good partners, which again was out of concern) had them both willing to cause a little stir.
“Did Robin help you in?” Oracle enquires from behind him.
Tucker turns, grins. “Nope!”
She chuckles. “Good. Come by the Clocktower sometime. If you can get in, we’ll talk.” The screen goes black even as Tucker blinks in surprise, then laughs in delight at the challenge.
Bruce shakes his head, smiling seemingly despite himself. “See you upstairs, Tucker.”
Tucker nods, and follows Alfred towards the exit. Nerves curl in Tucker’s gut. Damian’s spoken of the Wayne Family butler highly. It’s very clear that Alfred Pennyworth is not simply a butler. He’s their family, and Tucker has no idea what the older man thinks of him.
“You make young master Damian quite happy,” Alfred says in his measured tones. They enter the elevator, and Alfred presses the appropriate button before slanting his gaze to Tucker. “Rest assured that if you harm him, no one will find your body.”
There’s not a single part of Tucker that doubts that.
“He makes me very happy.” Tucker says, meeting Alfred’s gaze. His heart is thundering, but he won’t back down from this. “Noted, but it won’t be necessary.”
Alfred simply hums. “One must be prepared in this house.”
Tucker chuckles. “Between the bats in the basement, the paparazzi that love to catch glimpses of the Waynes and the wildness of Gotham itself? I can imagine you have to be. I hope you guys are prepared for ghosts in the walls.”
(He and Sam aren’t full ghosts but what they are doesn’t roll off the tongue as easily as “ghosts” does and well, semantics.)
The elevator opens, and there’s not a sound as the large clock that covers the small entrance opens as well.
“Oh,” Alfred says mildly, leading them out of the hidden passage. “I think this house can manage another ghost or two.”
Tucker catches a flicker of green light deep in Alfred’s eyes, and has a sense of walking through something both invisible and slightly viscous and can’t contain the laugh, nor the spark of green that flares in his own eyes.
“Ghosts and bats,” Tucker muses. “They just seem to go together.”
Alfred smiles. “Indeed.”
(Later, when Tucker’s half asleep against Damian’s side, listening to his siblings tear apart a “detective” show, it’s hard to imagine being anywhere else. Amity Park is rebuilding, both its town and its connections. Danny and Sam are safe. Tucker is safe.
Damian is here, and Tucker can’t imagine not having him. Not having Robin. Not having Prince.
There’s still parts of himself that he fears. Parts of himself that he’s so, so careful with. But Damian’s not afraid of him.
And Tucker isn’t afraid of Damian.
They know each other, the dark and the light, the regrets and the triumphs and—
It’s wonderful to be understood. Accepted.
Tucker smiles as he drifts off to sleep, warm and protected.)
Notes:
And we've come to the end. Thank y'all for being patient with me, and I love all the comments and support <3 It's been great!
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