Chapter Text
It was a relatively quiet night in Gotham. Usually Robin would appreciate this, but tonight he would welcome any distraction from the chattering of his brothers in his ear.
“C’mon, Damian—”
“No names in the field, Nightwing.”
“—Robin, we just want to know how your first week at college was!”
“It was fine, just as I told you every day after classes.” He was already starting to wish that he had moved to a dorm instead of staying at the manor, even though it would make his job as Robin more difficult.
“He wants details, baby bird. Like which classes you enjoy or if you’ve made any friends yet.”
“Ha! That’s a funny joke, Red. You know it takes way more than a week for people to warm up to Demon Spawn.”
“I was being optimistic!”
Robin grit his teeth. “Classes are acceptable. The other students act just like my peers at Gotham Academy did.” By that, he meant watching him while his back was turned and either avoiding him or approaching him looking for connections to the rich and famous. “Now will the three of you focus on patrol?”
“Not so fast kid. I want to know why you didn’t go to any parties this weekend. You’re in college, you’re supposed to live it up!”
“I’m turning off my comm now. And don’t call me ‘kid,’ Hood, we both know I’m more mature than you.”
“Batman wouldn’t like that.” Nightwing's attempted reprimand was halfhearted, as if he knew he had already lost the battle.
“Then it’s a good thing Batman isn’t on patrol tonight.” Before Nightwing could respond, Robin pressed a button on the device in his ear, cutting off the voices and leaving him with much-welcomed silence. He didn’t feel too bad about it, knowing that Oracle could override his settings if something urgent came up.
He enjoyed the peace as he ran across rooftops and grappled between buildings, on alert for suspicious sights and sounds from below. This was his first patrol in two weeks; his father had benched him so he could “have time to adjust to this major transition in life” or something. Either way, Robin was glad to be back in the field.
As soon as he landed on the next roof, he glanced over the edge and was met with a somewhat strange sight. Two men were zip tied to poles along the side of the building a few yards apart. They were alternating between yelling at each other and looking around the alley, as if trying to spot something. He was about to jump down and investigate when a flash of light in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned silently, only to see a young woman who was definitely not there when he first landed.
A quick scan revealed that she was wearing a skintight suit that was gray around her torso and upper thighs but black along her arms and legs. There were pink accents along the suit, which matched the pink ties holding up her black hair in two—what did Stephanie call them?—space buns. Her mask was also pink, which offset her bright blue eyes. Something wrapped around her waist and dangled behind her, almost like a…tail? The black pendant that hung from her neck caught his eye, but he couldn’t make out anything special about it. What was most concerning, besides the fact that she was unfamiliar and therefore an unknown, was the fact that she was holding a gun.
Still in the shadows, Robin pulled out a birdarang and flung it at the woman. It hit her hand—though it didn’t pierce her suit, he noted—and she dropped the gun with a surprised cry. As she turned, he threw a bolas at her legs, hoping to catch her quickly. She leapt into the air, narrowly avoiding it, and simultaneously unwrapped the tail-like object from her waist and whipped it towards him. It connected around his ankle and she pulled, yanking him off his feet. Rather than hit the ground on his back, he used his momentum to maneuver into a back handspring, forcing her to unwind her—was that a jump rope?—lest he rip it from her hands.
As he landed in a defensive position, out of the shadows now, he heard her gasp. “Robin?”
She stuck her arms out in front of her, palms facing him in a placating gesture. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea it was you! I thought someone was attacking me!”
At her words, he dropped his fighting stance, though he remained wary. “To be fair, I was.” He narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”
“Oh!” She gave him a blinding grin. “You can call me Multimouse.”
That explained the tail. “Really? You chose a mouse theme?”
Multimouse glared. “Like you can talk, little bird.”
“It was a legacy mantle, I didn’t choose it,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. “Anyway, why are you here?”
She shifted her weight on her feet and clasped her hands behind her back, almost as if she were nervous. “Haha, well, I’m new in town, so I thought I’d go for a quick run, see if anyone needed help, you know, the usual.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And is that why you have a gun?”
“What?” she asked, confused, before a flash of recognition lit up her face. “Oh! That?” She pointed to the gun lying off to the side. “I took that off one of those guys tied up in the alleyway. They looked like they were fighting, and he had just pulled it out when I showed up. Luckily I was able to knock them out before he could use it!” She flashed him another bright smile.
“So, you broke up the fight and took the gun. Now what are you going to do?” he questioned. He was curious to see what her plan was, if only to learn more about her and her abilities.
“I called the police about the two men.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “I’m not a fan of police, especially not in this country, but I don’t know of any other options right now. I was trying to figure out what to do with the gun when you showed up, because I definitely don’t want to hand it over to them.” Her eyes suddenly widened with excitement. “Wait, you probably know how to safely get rid of it! Can you take it?” As she asked the question, she gently kicked the weapon over to him.
He glanced down at it, then looked back up to her. “I can, if you answer a few questions first.”
Her posture immediately changed. Whereas before she stood tall and confident, she now hunched over and grasped her elbows, as if trying to make herself smaller. “Uh, okay,” she said hesitantly.
“Are you a meta?”
Now she looked confused. “A what?”
“A metahuman,” he said, a bit caught off-guard. Everyone in this country knew what metas were. “Someone who was born with or subsequently developed powers.”
“Oh, no, no, I’m just a regular person,” she replied with a hint of nerves in her voice. That made him even more suspicious, but he decided to move on rather than risk spooking her. She already looked prepared to bolt.
“Where are you from?”
“Not here,” she grinned cheekily.
He rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”
Her grin lessened into a smaller, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry for the vague answer, but it’s better if people don’t know I’m here.”
He frowned. “Why? Are you on the run?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not. But I really can’t tell you more than that.”
“Fine.” He pulled out his handheld communicator to check the time and send a message to his family. “Patrol is nearly over, so I can take you to meet the rest of my team to verify—”
The strangled laugh that came from Multimouse prompted him to look back up. When he did, he noticed that she had already put distance between them and kept backing up toward the edge of the roof.
“That’s okay!” she said a little too energetically, with a strained smile. He started slowly moving toward her, matching her pace for pace. “I don’t really want to get involved in your business, and I wasn’t even planning on meeting you tonight, or any night, so I think I’m just going to go—”
“WAIT!” he shouted as she leapt off the roof. He sprinted forward, but it was too late. He leaned over the lip of the roof to scan the street below, but there was no sign of her. She had disappeared.
A short while later, he was in the Batcave recounting the interaction to his brothers, father, and pseudo-sisters as they sat around the debriefing table. This included Cassandra and Stephanie, who had not been on patrol but were intrigued by the appearance of a new potential vigilante.
“…and then she jumped off the roof and vanished.”
“What do you mean by ‘vanished’?” Steph asked.
“I mean she could give Father a run for his money.” He shot the man an amused glance while the others laughed. Bruce just rubbed his temple before speaking up.
“What’s your assessment?”
“Black hair, blue eyes, approximately five foot two—” Dick started humming some old jazz song, but Damian ignored him, “—seemed to be around my age, though I’m not certain about that. Her outfit is made of some sort of reinforced material, seeing as the birdarang didn’t cut through it. Despite her odd choice of weapon, she wielded it proficiently; that combined with her agility and reflexes suggests that she has some sort of combat experience.”
Bruce nodded. “Good. Anything else?”
Damian frowned. “She had a flawless American accent, but she made a few comments that implied that she is from another country.”
Tim leaned forward. “Like what?”
“She said something about not liking the police, ‘especially not in this country.’ A weird emphasis, but not damning. However, when I asked if she was meta, she wasn’t familiar with the term.” He looked at Cass, know that she had the most experience operating internationally.
“It’s not common outside America,” she confirmed.
“She seemed nervous once I explained what the word meant. I don’t think her claim to be a regular person was a complete lie, but I believe she was holding back information, information that she does not want us specifically to have,” he concluded.
“So, what are you thinking?” Jason asked. “A powered object, like the lantern ring? A magic user?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Damian admitted. “The only incidences that point toward anything out of the ordinary are the criminals’ statements that they never saw her and how quickly she appeared and disappeared from the roof.”
Everyone sat in silence for a few moments, mulling over this information. Eventually, Barbara spoke up. “I’ll get a search for the name ‘Multimouse’ going. It’ll start in America, if only to rule it out, and go from there.”
“Thank you, Barbara,” Bruce said. “That’s it for tonight. Go take some showers and get some sleep.” He shot a stern look at Tim, who just rolled his eyes before shuffling off.
“And Damian,” he added, causing his son to pause as he left the table, “good work tonight.”
On the outside, Damian just nodded. But on the inside, the part of him that was still that bratty ten-year-old seeking his father’s approval positively glowed.
Not that he’d ever admit it.