Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim slouches in the seat at the Batcomputer and watches the security footage, his troubled gaze fixed on the familiar form of Alfred Pennyworth. The aged retainer is moving through the rooms of Wayne Manor, performing his chores as he has for the past forty years with his standard efficiency and attention to detail. The only difference he can see is a subtle pallor in the man’s skin and the occasional red glint of his eyes. Oh, and he no longer has a reflection in any of the mirrors, so there’s that.

This is beyond messed up, even for Gotham. Tim glances at the other monitor, where the text of the chirp that caused widespread panic in Gotham and broke Chirper earlier tonight is displayed in all its creepy glory.

Happy Halloween, Gotham! The monsters in your closets are coming out to play. It all starts tonight and boy, have I got something for you to sink your teeth into. It’s gonna be fang-tastic! But this is just the first act. Hang on for the big finale—it’ll be a scream. HA HA HA!

If there’s one rogue every Gothamite knows to truly fear, it’s the Joker. Some civilians with both sense and a place to go fled the city in the hours after the chirp went out. Others started a riot and looted dozens of stores all over the city. That was about when the vampires started showing up, because of course they did. It didn’t help that it’s a rare clear night and the moon is almost full. Gotham always gets weirder when there’s a full moon, and there are two of them scheduled this month.

Tim makes a face, not wanting to think about that just yet. Instead he studies the message, noting cadence and word choice and comparing it to Joker-related cases they’ve solved in the past. No new patterns or clues jump out at him, just as they haven’t the last six times he read it.

His chatlog with Oracle has nothing new, either, not since her last message stating she managed to trace all the simultaneous duplicate Joker chirps back to a series of dummy accounts set up with darknet email addresses and burner phones. They’re not untraceable, but even Oracle had to work to drill through all those layers of anonymity. She was not happy when the payoff just ended up being an IP for a Batburger with free wifi and wiped security footage.

Ugh, couldn’t it at least have been a coffee shop? The Joker is awful in every possible way. Then again, it’s not like his enjoying the occasional Batburger is new information. Horrible memories of that one time the Joker kidnapped Tim at Christmas and took him on the joyride from hell flood his mind—complete with mowing down pedestrians, threatening to drive into a crowd of children, and shooting the drive-through worker at Batburger because the poor guy couldn’t understand the Joker’s crazy order.

Sighing, Tim rubs his face. Holidays in Gotham are terrible. Especially Halloween. This is only the first Saturday in October, so they should’ve had at least a few more weeks of relative peace. “I know we can never have a normal Halloween, not in this city, but does the crazy really have to start earlier and earlier every year?” 

“Yep,” a deep voice says from right behind him. “Because Gotham’s an actual goddamn hellmouth.”

Tim’s pretty sure he manages not to jump. A loud snort followed by a low chuckle raises a flicker of doubt about that conclusion. Whatever. It’s like three in the morning, the Joker’s loose in Gotham, and there is an actual freaking vampire cleaning the bric-a-brac in the parlor right now—he’s allowed to be a little jumpy.

Stupid Jason.

He turns and can’t help but light up at the welcome sight of his friend. Even though the big jerk is still laughing at having surprised him. “Hey.”

“Hey baby bird, came as soon as I heard. I was busy knockin’ some heads together in the Bowery when everything went down.”

“How’d that go?”

Jason rolls his shoulders in an easy shrug and plops down in the chair beside him. “Eh, not so bad, up until one of the guys I was fighting turned into an actual goddamn vampire and tried to take a bite outta me.”

Tim pivots his chair to look at him, scanning him from head to toe searching for signs of injuries. Nothing jumps out at him, but that doesn’t mean much considering who he’s dealing with. Jason has walked off actual death before and probably wouldn’t consider something like a bite or a light maiming worthy of a mention. “Did he get you?”

He reaches out and twitches the collar of Jason’s jacket aside so he can examine his neck and the skin above his clavicle. He runs his fingertips over it, feeling for concealed damage. It’s unbroken as far as he can tell, although… He leans closer, intent. That’s odd. Jason’s skin is beginning to flush a faint pink. A reaction to the bite, maybe? He starts tugging the shirt down, wondering if the bite is lower.

“No,” Jason says, rearing back and slapping away Tim’s questing hands. “What the fuck, replacement? Buy me dinner first.” He’s still blushing, highlighting a few scattered freckles on his cheekbones. It’s really cute.

“I wish,” Tim mutters, too tired and distracted for his filter to keep up.

“What?” Jason’s head raises to look at him, eyes bright with something Tim’s too much of a coward to name.

“What?”

“I—damn it, you totally said something just now.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “No I didn’t.” He raises his voice to cover Jason’s sputtered protests. It’s definitely time for a subject change. “Anyway, as I’m sure you’ve heard by now, we have reports of over two hundred Gotham citizens being transformed into, well, monsters on the stroke of midnight. Specifically, vampires and liches.” He swallows, looking back at the Joker’s message so he doesn’t have to meet Jason’s eyes. “One of them was Alfred.”

“Fuck,” Jason says, his voice very soft.

Tim closes his eyes. That’s the worst part of all this. Not that the Joker is loose again and winding up for some gruesome joke with an inevitable punchline written in human misery, or the fact that they all dragged themselves back after patrol with no real leads. It’s not even that over two hundred civilians were apparently turned into bloodsucking monsters overnight, presumably thanks to some arcane magic the Joker got his pasty hands on. Vampires and other magical beings are uncommon but not unheard of, so that isn’t what’s throwing him off.

No, it’s that Alfred is one of the people who have been affected.

Somehow, that’s putting him more off-balance than all the rest of it combined. Alfred is supposed to be safe from this kind of thing, shielded from direct involvement in the more dangerous aspects of this side of their lives. He’s a constant, steady presence, always there in the background with a word of advice or a warm meal, and his quiet support is a lifeline for the rest of them amidst the turbulence.

Alfred being compromised feels like putting his foot down for a landing and missing the roof.

“You’ve been keeping an eye on him?” Jason’s gaze is worried, the humor drained from his face.

Tim misses the blush. The corners of his mouth tilt down at the reminder of what he’s been doing since he got back from patrol. “Right now, we don’t know much of anything about whatever agent or catalyst is causing these transformations. We think it’s related to the Joker, but there’s no hard evidence linking him to the occurrences besides coincidental timing and that vague message. Alfred seems to be behaving normally now, which is great, but it’s possible at any point the transformation might advance.” He doesn’t want to say it, but the biggest fear is that Alfred might lose control, his humanity giving way before whatever unknown force is changing him.

Jason seems to understand anyway. He clears his throat. “Should we… like, put him in quarantine or something? I mean, he is a vampire now.” He sounds deeply hesitant, like even he can’t quite believe he’s saying it.

Tim snorts. “Do you want to be the one to put Alfred in quarantine?”

“Well, no—but—”

The sound of a throat being cleared causes both of them to turn. Alfred is standing just behind them, his steps apparently even more silent now as a result of his transformation. It would be creepy except for the old man’s expression of amused tolerance and the innocent tray of tea he’s holding in his hands. Somehow, it’s hard to be scared of someone who’s carrying tea and looks like a kindly grandpa.

The reddish glint in his eyes is concerning, though.

“Excuse me, sirs, but I couldn’t help but overhear your concerns. I assure you, should I feel any strong urge to seek out some poor unfortunate and consume their blood I shall immediately place myself in quarantine.” Alfred sounds so much like himself that it’s almost easy to ignore the pallor and quick flash of fangs when he speaks.

Blushing at having been caught spying on him, Tim nods. “Sounds good, Alfred. And I’m sorry about—” He waves his hand in Alfred’s general direction, a wave of guilt dimming his mood. The fact that an attack managed to penetrate all their security and reach him here, in the heart of Wayne Manor, means every one of them failed at protecting him. They should have been better.

Tim should have been better.

“Nonsense, young man.” Tim looks up in surprise at Alfred’s firm tone. The old man is looking at him with a reassuring twinkle in his eyes, which are only faintly red now. “We’ll have this fixed in a trice and I assure you, I feel quite well. There is no need to worry yourselves over me.” With that, he hands each of them a cup of tea, which Tim knows without even tasting it is prepared perfectly to each of their specific tastes.

Warmth spreads up his fingers from the cup and makes him feel like maybe, things are going to be okay after all.

Alfred watches with an approving air as they both take an obedient sip of their tea. “There you go—good lads.” He pats them both on the shoulder in his best reassuring manner before inclining his head and turning to go.

Tim watches for a moment, curious, as Alfred makes his way back up the stairs. He can’t hear him moving at all.

“Well, at least he seems to be handling this well. How’s B taking it?” Jason makes a face, clearly not expecting anything good. Bruce’s stance on monsters in Gotham is well known. It has been, ever since the night so long ago when his parents were murdered by one before his very eyes.

Tim bites his lip, then shrugs. “He didn’t try to throw him out of Gotham, at least, so it could be worse. He must know there’s a difference between someone being temporarily transformed into a monster and actually being one. He should be willing to make an exception.” Although it’s pretty unfair that his stance on monsters extends to all of them, not just those who choose to engage in criminal activities. If he were more willing to look beyond his own bloodstained memories, he might see that plenty of monsters are law-abiding citizens, or even heroes in their own right.

Yeah, that’s never going to happen. They’re lucky if he doesn’t round up Alfred and all the unfortunate civilians who’ve been transformed and lock them up somewhere well away from Gotham on the off chance they might go crazy and start attacking people on some signal from the Joker. It’s an unfortunate possibility, of course, but Tim figures the trackers the team planted on every vampire they found so far are more humane and should, in theory, give them some warning if movement patterns or vital signs suddenly change.

To be honest, the fact that Batman hasn’t come back to the Cave yet is both worrisome and a bit of a relief. Punching criminals in the face is his therapy of choice, after all, emotionally stunted though it may be. Maybe he’ll manage to work through some of his issues before he comes home and has to face his guardian, transformed into the guise of one of his oldest traumas.

At least Alfred isn’t the exact same kind of monster who killed the Waynes. Although Batman’s prejudice extends to all monsters, he’ll always have a particular loathing for weres.

“Fuck him, if he tries to throw Alfrie outta Gotham he’ll hafta get through every damn one of us first.” Jason scowls, drumming his fingertips on the desk. “Is Nightwing with him?”

“Yeah. He should be able to run interference,” Tim says, feeling hopeful. “Or at least warn us if Bruce seems likely to do something inadvisable.”

Jason nods. “If anyone can help that emotionally constipated old fart deal with his issues, it’s probably Dickie.” His lips twist into something that isn’t quite a smile.

Tim snorts. “Even Dick isn’t that good. If anyone tries to have an emotional talk with B, he’ll just drop a smoke bomb and disappear. It’s like how an octopus reacts to perceived danger by releasing a cloud of ink and fleeing.”

“Dude. You’ve been letting those nature documentaries autoplay in the background while you’re sleeping again, having you?”

Guilty as charged. “Yep.” It’s soothing.

“Hey, whatever works. I’m just glad you’re actually sleeping at this point.” Jason stretches his arms over his head and inhales, then slumps in the seat with a tired groan. “You crashing here tonight, baby bird?”

He’s not planning to leave Alfred to deal with everything alone, well adjusted to this craziness or not. “Yep. Wanna trade off on keeping watch?”

Jason nods, looking relieved. “Yeah. I know Alfred would never hurt anyone of his own free will, and it would damn well kill him if he did it because of some fuckin’ magic spell. Not to mention Bruce and his issues.”

“Agreed. You look more tired than I am, so go ahead and take a rest. I’ll wake you up in a few hours.”

Jason only argues for a few minutes before giving in, leading Tim to revise his estimate of how long the other man has been awake upward by a few hours. He’d never capitulate so easily unless he was running on at least a couple of days without sleep. “G’night, Timbo—I’ll be down to take over in a couple of hours.” He tousles Tim’s hair before ambling over to the stairs. 

Tim takes a sip of his tea and sighs, enjoying the taste and welcome warmth even as he wishes it were coffee. On the monitors, Alfred is polishing the silverware again and looking as energetic as ever. He’s eyeing the corners of the vaulted ceilings with a gleam in his eye like he wants to reach for a duster.

It’s going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

Gotham’s towers rise against the sullen sky like claws, throwing long shadows over the dark city. Searchlights cast their narrow beams, but it’s nowhere near enough to illuminate the ritzy parts of town, let alone the alleyways and maze-like warrens of the Bowery.

No one’s on the streets tonight but the depraved and the desperate. Red Hood’s not sure which category he falls into these days.

“I do not understand why I am expected to patrol with you—surely it would be more efficient for each of us to patrol separately and thus cover more ground.” Robin’s irritable tones and the sound of his grapnel retracting remind Red Hood he isn’t alone tonight.

He sighs inside his helmet, wondering for the umpreenth time how exactly he got stuck babysitting. Isn’t this supposed to be Nightwing’s job?

“You heard the lecture, baby bat. No one gets to patrol on their own until this shit with the Joker dies down.” His lips twist at the thought of that goddamn piece of trash. If they run into him tonight then that’s the end, Red Hood’s promises to do better and six-month no kill streak be damned. The sooner someone puts that animal down, the better.

He won’t lose any sleep over it if he’s the one to do it.

Things have been quiet since the ruckus after the Joker’s first message came out a week ago. Everyone was tense at first, expecting the other shoe to drop at any moment. As the days passed and nothing happened, they all gradually relaxed. They’ve still been keeping watch at Wayne Manor, just in case, but the shifts are only two hours each ever since Cass noticed what he and Tim were doing that first night and voluntold everyone else to help.

It’s not like any of them thinks the Joker’s done yet—hence the paired patrols, and fuck you very much Bruce for splitting up Red Hood and Red Robin just to piss Jason off—but the relative quiet has been welcome. Maybe they’ll get lucky and the calm will last a while longer before the shitstorm breaks.  

A crackle over the comms is followed by Oracle’s voice, damning that hope to hell. “Attention, team, the Joker dropped another message. My search parameters flagged a post that just showed up on Pixtagraph. Based on initial review, it’s the same MO as for Chirper—he used burner phones and anonymous email addresses to set up multiple sockpuppet accounts to post the message simultaneously and flood the feeds to get it trending.”

Well, shit. “What’s the damage?”

“Sending it to all of you now. You should receive it within a few minutes. The post is an image with text. I’m already running a search on the gravestones visible in the background of the photo and have it narrowed down to three—no, two potential cemeteries. The inscriptions on the tombstones are too worn to decipher, but the cypress trees are a match for both locations.”

Batman’s gravelly voice responds. “Send me the coordinates.” A moment later, he speaks again. “Nightwing, you and Red Robin investigate the Gotham Cathedral Churchyard. Black Bat and I will head to the First Families Historic Cemetery.”

Robin twitches, gauntlets creaking as his fists clench, but he doesn’t say anything even though he’s clearly vibrating with the urge to demand the chance to go investigate one of the locations himself. His gaze cuts to Red Hood before darting away. Well, it was his bad luck to get paired with Jason tonight.

There’s not a chance in hell anyone’s sending him anywhere near the Joker on purpose.

“Uh, does this seem like the start of a horror movie to anyone else?” Nightwing sounds like he’s already moving. In the background, Red Hood can hear Red Robin chuckling. He wishes once again he and Red Robin could have partnered together tonight. Patrolling together is an easy excuse to spend time with him and always ends up being a good time. Even if he can never have anything more, that’s enough. Hell, it’s way more than he deserves, considering their shitty history back when he was still seeing green.

“Why are there even so many cemeteries in Gotham, anyway?” Batgirl chimes in, sounding bored. Being on Alfred-watch at the Batcave isn’t exactly the most exciting job in the world. Then again, infinite cookies. He's almost positive he can hear her chewing one right now. Damn, he could really go for one of those. “I’m pretty sure most cities our size get by with one or two.”

Red Hood snorts. “Think about it, Blondie. Why would a city filled with crazies who get their jollies murdering the fuck outta a shitload of people need so many places to stash all the bodies that keep piling up?”

“I mean, do you actually want me to answer that? Because I feel like anything I say will give you an opportunity to make a joke about your death, and then Alfred will give me the face.”

Grinning in pleased anticipation—it’s always fun to make tasteless jokes about his death, especially when Bruce is around to hear it, and he can always make it up to Alfred later—Red Hood opens his mouth, then freezes as a notification pops up in the HUD. Oh, right. Oracle said she’d send out the latest message from Pyscho the clown. On autopilot, he opens the image, grimacing as the screen fills with a closeup of the goddamn Joker. It’s all he can do not to flinch at the sight of that evil madman right in front of his face.

Once the initial shock is past he studies the image, noting the silhouettes of tall, weeping trees and scattered gravestones in the background. Most of the space in the foreground is filled with the Joker’s pasty face, yellowed teeth and rictus grin.

Red Hood stares at those teeth, his nostrils filling with the stench of the Joker’s breath, that mad laughter ringing in his ears as another blow lands with a dull thud and the sharp crack of something breaking—

“Jay!”

“Hood!”

“Todd!”

Multiple voices converge and ricochet through his brain, piercing the memories and jarring him back to a sense of his surroundings. “I’m fine,” he mumbles, reaching up to rub his face and blinking hard when his hand runs into the helmet instead. Right, he’s still out as Red Hood, with—

“Oh, fuck, the kid.” He spins, searching for Robin with a sense of urgency left over from his near-panic attack and almost knocks the poor kid down because he’s right goddamn there behind him. “Shit!” Hood reaches out and steadies the boy, who is peering up at him with an intent gaze, the corners of his petulant mouth tilted down in something that almost looks like concern. “Sorry I scared you, half-pint.”

Robin straightens, lifting his chin and turning away. “I was not concerned.”

Red Hood considers, then decides not to try to argue that. It isn’t worth a katana up his ass if he pisses the brat off. Besides, they have work to do. He frowns, only now realizing the picture of the Joker that started all this is no longer displayed on his HUD. “What the fu—?”

“Sorry, Hood,” Oracle says softly, synths off. They must be on a private channel. “I should have warned you. I took it down as soon as I realized what was happening.”

Part of him wants to be furious at the invasion of privacy, but most of him is just grateful. “Don’t worry about it, O.”

“To spare you the sight again, I can just read you the caption.” She doesn’t wait for a response, immediately reading off, “Having fun yet, kiddies? I know I sure am! The first night wasn’t quite the clustersuck I wanted—and what the holy water was that all about, anyway, vamps? Didn’t wanna raise the stakes and look on the bite side of life?—but I’m sure our NEXT monster will not disappoint. Wanna guess what’s on the menu tonight? This one’s a real brain teaser. Or is it a no brainer? Either way, it’s to die for! HA! Okay, I’ll give you a clue. You know why zombies never eat comedians? Because they TASTE FUNNY! HA HA HA!”

Red Hood blinks, slightly stunned. “Did you really have to do the creepy emphasis?” Not that it was scary to listen to or anything. Something about hearing the Joker’s crazy words in Barbara’s matter of fact, calm voice makes him want to laugh.

“Yes? I mean, it’s possible there’s a clue contained in which words he chose to emphasize. Don’t you remember that time with the Riddler and the—”

He doesn’t want to spend the next ten minutes going down that rabbithole. “Fine, whatever. Thanks, O.”

“Keep me in the loop if you guys see anything. This message dropped later than the previous one. If anything’s going to happen, midnight seems like a good bet considering that’s when the transformations happened last Saturday.”

“Got it. We’ll let you know if we see anything fucking creepy as hell.”

“Perfect.” Oracle signs off with a laugh, and Red Hood turns back to his partner.

“Right, so if shit’s gonna go down at midnight, we got about—” He checks the time, and curses. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Robin has the starlight lenses enabled, but Red Hood can still somehow sense the eye roll. Fucking teenagers. “Seriously, Hood? You were unaware that midnight is in precisely one minute? No wonder Father worries about you so much—you are nearly as bad as Drake. How either of you survives on your own is an endless mystery.”

Red Hood snorts, wondering if he should stifle the automatic joke that pops into his head. Eh, fuck it. “Not like I did. Survive, that is.”

This time, Robin actually reaches up and deactivates the starlight lenses just so Red Hood can see him roll his eyes. “Yes, very amusing. Witness the depths of my mirth.” He gives him a deadpan stare.

Red Hood just cackles. Fuck it, he’ll laugh at his own jokes even if no one else will. His chest starts to grow tight after a minute and he stops, breathless. “What—?” A moment later, an immense pressure brings him to his knees. He fights it as long as he can, then collapses to the rooftop.

“Hood!” Robin is at his side in a heartbeat, knees hitting the roof and gloved hands hovering over him. “What’s wrong? You—” He sucks in a breath and freezes, then rapidly removes one of his own gauntlets and looks at his skin in the moonlight. Whatever he sees makes his face go pale. “The Joker mentioned zombies in his message.” He curses under his breath, then reaches up to disable his comm.

Red Hood groans deeply, feeling like every part of his body just got hit by a truck. He stirs, trying to think through the lingering sense of disorientation. “Uuuurrrgh,” he manages, scrabbling at the rooftop and trying to sit up. Well that didn’t work. Huh.

Robin leans away from him, raising his hands. “No. No no no, you must fight it, Hood! Todd! You are descended from the blood of true ghouls—do not allow this paltry curse to reduce you to some mere horror movie zombie!”

What the fuck? Red Hood shakes his head in an attempt to clear it, then reaches up and removes his helmet. “What the actual fuck are you talking about, kid?”

Robin blinks at him. “You are able to speak.” He sounds way too relieved about something that should be a pretty basic human function.

“Yeah? I can wipe my own ass, too.” In the back of his mind, he can hear Bruce saying the word “language” and as always, it just makes him want to curse more.

“Todd, look at us.” 

Reluctantly, he does. The skin of Robin’s hands and face seems to have taken on a greenish tinge, and there are shadows beneath his eyes that weren’t there a few minutes ago. Hands shaking slightly, Red Hood scrapes off his own gloves and stares at his own green-tinged skin. “No.”

“Yes.”

He blinks, then frowns as doubt gathers. “Okay, so the Joker’s twisted magic hit us and turned us into zombies. Why were you surprised I could talk when you clearly still remembered how? And what was all that shit about true ghouls or whatever?”

Robin fidgets, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Finally, he sighs. “You must never reveal any of what I am about to tell you to anyone. The al Ghul line is descended from actual ghouls who chose to live among humans and blend in. The Lazarus Pits are simply normal geothermal pools we use as a cover for our natural regenerative abilities. Ancient humans more readily accepted the idea of magic granting eternal youth rather than the presence of monsters among them. We defend the Pits not to preserve them for our own use, but to prevent any from discovering our secret.”

What? “Kid, that makes no damn sense. I mean, sure, I can definitely see Ra’s as an actual goddamn ghoul, and the whole assassin thing makes even more sense considering it’s a constant source of food supplies if he’s into that kinda thing—”

Robin grimaces. “He is. My choice to abstain from consumption of meat offends him more than any other, I think.”

Gross. “Okay, that raises your childhood to whole new levels of horror, congrats. But back to the point. You say the Pits don’t really work, right? So why’d the damn thing work on me?”

Robin just stares at him. After a minute, Red Hood shakes his head. “No.”

“Yes.”

“There is no way I’m secretly part ghoul. Willis was Gotham, born and bred, and Sheila was—” He breaks off, confused. He doesn’t actually know all that much about his bio mother’s heritage.

“A distant relative,” Damian says in a quiet voice. “Grandfather and Mother did not realize until her remains were identified in the wreckage after you were killed. Unfortunately, she was closer to the bomb than you and was not sufficiently intact to repair herself. As for you, they were not certain you had enough of our blood to rise, so they kept a watch on your grave.”

Goosebumps rise on his arms and his heart is racing. Holy fucking shit. “Whoa.”

Robin nods, the corners of his mouth tilting down again. “What if Father finds out what we are? He hates all varieties of monster—he shall disown us both.” His slim shoulders are tense like he expects Batman to swoop in out of nowhere to cast them out of the family.

Red Hood isn’t too confident about their chances himself, but the kid’s only fifteen. He shouldn’t have to worry about shit like this. “Dude, it’s just a spell. Even an asshole like B isn’t gonna kick us outta the family over something like that, not when he can probably get Zatanna or Constantine to lift it.” Not that they’re having any luck so far helping Alfred.

“Fool, do you seriously not comprehend the enormity of our position? We are zombies, at least in part. Monsters. There is no way the tests will miss that once Father truly begins to apply himself, not now that Mother’s glamor over both of us is lifted.”

Glamor? Seems like he’s learning about a whole slew of shitty secrets tonight. “Look, let’s just calm down. We can figure this out on our own. All we gotta do is keep it between us until then, okay?” He takes the risk and drops a hand on the kid’s shoulder, bracing himself in case the little brat decides to bite him. Huh, maybe that nasty little habit is just part of his ghoulish heritage?

Robin looks up at him and nods, then takes a shaky breath. “Very well,” he says, straightening and shrugging off Red Hood’s hand.

The sound of something scuffing on the rooftop sends them both spinning to confront the intruder. The tension doesn’t dissipate even when they see it’s just Red Robin.

“Little Red?” Red Hood blurts out, his heart doing a stupid flip at him being here. “Wait, aren’t you supposed to be creeping around a graveyard with ‘Wing right now?”

Red Robin shrugs and edges closer. “There was nothing there. Once we had boots on the ground, it didn’t take long to realize the Joker’s photo matches the other location. Nightwing wanted to stop by the Clocktower after we finished up to get an idea what kind of patterns Oracle is seeing in the transformations tonight. I wanted to check on you, after—” He trails off, probably not wanting to mention whatever he heard over the comms during Hood’s near-panic attack earlier.

The tips of Red Hood’s ears go hot. “Oh,” he says, shifting and looking away. “Uh, thanks.” He clears his throat.

“Whatever his reasons, he is very much not wanted right now!” Robin steps in front of Red Hood and draws himself up to his full height. “What did you hear?” he hisses.

Oh, right. The zombie shit. If he’s been standing there for a while, there’s a decent chance he overheard at least some of their conversation just now. Well, fuck. Hopefully he won’t go running straight to Batman with it. That doesn’t seem likely, though, not with everything Red Hood knows about him.

Red Hood looks at Red Robin, who tilts his head to one side. “You know, all of this true ghoul business makes the fact that Ra’s is interested in my body even more suspect in entirely new ways.”

“What?” Robin and Red Hood burst out in near-unison.

“What the hell do you mean, Ra’s is interested in your body?”

“If Grandfather has offered to eat you in any capacity, allow me to assure you, you do not wish to acquiesce.”

Red Robin scoffs. “Obviously. Anyway, I’ll keep your secret and do what I can to help you guys. B is… Well, he’s not in the most stable place right now anyway. The last thing any of us needs is him going over the edge because you guys happen to personify his greatest fear and trauma.” They both flinch, and Red Robin winces. “Through no fault of your own, of course. Look, I’ll offer to coordinate the research on your transformations. That way, he won’t see any data that might indicate there’s more at work here than the Joker’s spell. With any luck, we’ll have you turned back to your human forms soon and he’ll never find out.”

“That is… acceptable,” Robin decides after a long moment. “If you agree?” He looks at Red Hood.

“Fine by me,” he says. Of all of them, Red Robin’s probably the one he most trusts to be able to hide something from Batman. Not to mention, he’d be a hell of a lot more comfortable having Tim run tests or whatever on him than have to spend any extended amount of time with Bruce. 

Red Robin tilts his head, clearly listening to his comm. His shoulders slump as he looks over at them. “Well, now we know for sure this isn’t an isolated incident. There are already reports coming in of dozens more civilians being transformed. Mostly zombies and ghouls, it sounds like.” He frowns, clearly already puzzling over it. “I wonder if having some monster heritage makes you more likely to be vulnerable to the spell, or if it’s random? Is it any magical heritage, or just certain kinds? I wonder—”

“C’mon, Little Red, let’s get offa the streets before you dive so deep into your head you don’t even notice a zombie show up and start eating you.” Red Hood waggles his eyebrows with an exaggerated leer.

“Tt.” Robin lifts his chin and strides away. “I refuse to listen to your disgusting sexual banter any longer.”

“What—I wasn’t—”

“Wait, what?”

“Todd, if you even attempt to eat Drake in my presence I shall not be held responsible for my own actions.”

“Hey now, don’t kinkshame me.”

“Jason, what the fuck?”

As he and Red Robin follow Robin into the night, falling easily into their usual comfortable banter as they cross rooftops and swing out over Gotham, Red Hood can’t help but feel a little less freaked out than he did a minute ago. Red Robin’s easily one of the smartest people he knows, Bruce be damned.

If anyone can help fix this mess, it’s him.

Chapter Text

Nightwing is on high alert during patrol on the third Saturday of October. Everyone is tense knowing the Joker’s next message is about to drop. They’ve lucked out so far, with the people who were transformed into vampires or zombies behaving pretty much as normal instead of suddenly losing control and attacking people, but this is the Joker.

There has to be much worse to come.

Zatanna finally had a chance to examine Alfred along with Damian and Jason, and she determined that the spell affecting everyone is most likely cast through some kind of focus object. “Look out for something small and portable,” she told them. “The spell is powered by the user’s energy, possibly the user’s soul itself, although that is much more rare because the consequences are invariably pretty grim. Either way, the user has to keep the focus with them constantly, or the effects of the spell will fade. Unfortunately, I cannot guarantee the effects will not intensify or change over time without being able to examine the focus.”

So, it’s just a matter of tracking down the Joker and taking away whatever he’s using to cast the spell before he manages to implement whatever nightmare escalation he’s planning. Easier said than done.

Whatever comes next, they have to be ready. Dick can’t help but picture Damian and Jason, with their green-tinged faces, thickened, claw-like nails, and worrying new tendency to shuffle when they walk. If either of them loses their humanity and starts attacking people—maybe family members—without their conscious volition, it’ll destroy them. Not to mention it would be highly unpleasant for the rest of them. He grimaces, imagining the two of them shuffling rampant through Wayne Manor and groaning like a bad horror movie. Yeah, best avoid that.

Then there’s Alfred, who he’s pretty sure hasn’t slept since all of this started. No one wants to be the one to ask why he doesn’t sleep during the day or drink blood like most vampires—maybe it’s a quirk of the spell, or a unique quality innate to Alfred himself. At least he seems to be keeping his spirits up, seemingly content to perform his duties and sip his tea like always. Cass is the one staying home with him tonight, so everything on that front should be well in hand. She’s a calming presence and eminently reliable if anything goes sideways. If anyone can subdue a crazed, vampirified Alfred without actually harming him, it’s Cass.

Batgirl pops out of a nearby alleyway and gives him a thumbs up, jolting him out of his thoughts and reminding him they’re on patrol together tonight. “The police are here for the muggers we dropped. Wanna go swing down Tenth and scare the drug dealers?”

“Sure!” Nightwing launches his grapnel and takes off, unable to resist including an extra flip and a flourish. No matter what’s going on in the world, he can always take solace in the freedom he feels when he’s flying.

“Oracle,” Batman’s gruff voice sounds in his ear over the main comm line. “Report.”

Nightwing falls into a comfortable rhythm swinging in a high arc and launching his next line at the apex. Below and to the side, Batgirl stays right with him. He can hear her laughter, vibrant as the eggplant hue of her uniform against Gotham’s dull gray. Below them, drug dealers scuttle into the shadows, spooked by their silhouettes overhead. 

Oracle answers after a brief pause. “Found it!” He can hear a distinct note of triumph in her voice through the filters. “This one wasn’t easy to find. He put it on Friendbook of all places. It isn’t even trending because someone released a video of twenty kittens yawning at the same time and it blew Joker’s video out of the water.”

Nightwing grins. He’s totally looking that video up later—it sounds adorable.

“Robin.” Batman sounds pained. Earlier, he insisted Red Hood and Robin each be partnered with someone unaffected by the spell if they wanted to be allowed to patrol. Wisely, he didn’t try to force Red Hood to accompany him. It sounds like he’s got his hands full enough with Robin, anyway.

“I am merely conducting research,” Robin replies, defensive. In the background, something that sounds suspiciously similar to kittens softly mewing gives a pretty good clue of what he was doing. Nightwing feels a wave of affection for his prickly little zombified brother. He’s so adorable and utterly fails at hiding it, at least from Nightwing.

“You will have time to watch that video later, when we are not on patrol,” Batman instructs.

“Fine,” Robin says in a grumpy voice.

Over the comms, Red Robin snickers and Red Hood snorts. “Seriously, baby bird? Like you weren’t just looking up the same damn video yourself.”

“At least I didn’t try to do it right in front of Batman!” Scuffling sounds followed by whispers and snickers fill the comm, and then there’s a long silence that causes Nightwing’s eyebrow to slowly rise.

Detective skills or not, he has absolutely no idea if Jason and Tim are already an item or if they’re just headed that way fast. It’s a weird place to be. He makes a face and tries not to listen too carefully—the last thing he needs is to accidentally overhear them making out. Ugh, now he’s picturing it.

Batman clears his throat, somehow managing to convey a sense of how done he is with all of them right now. He’s pretty good at that. “The message, Oracle.”

Hearing the Joker’s words in Oracle’s synthesized voice is way less creepy than hearing the madman saying it for himself. She manages to flatten at least half the horror out of the words by speaking in calm, almost bored tones. “Hey there boys and ghouls, I’m back with another breath of fresh scare! Since the zombies failed dismally—they didn’t even rack your brains!—I’m going with a more lively monster this time. Tonight’s fright-or-flight is a real howler, it’ll leave you in stitches. So let’s all have a howling good time! HA HA HA!”

She pauses, keys tapping in the background. “I’m sending the video out to all of you—it depicts the Joker reciting the message in the Saint Genesius Burial Ground located in Old Gotham.”

Over the comms, Nightwing hears Red Robin murmuring something to Red Hood, who mutters back, sounding abashed but pleased. Red Robin’s probably trying to convince him not to watch the video.

Good. Jason should never have to see the Joker’s face again, let alone hear his awful voice. Not after what that insane monster did to him. Nightwing comes to a halt atop the old McAlister Bank near the end of Tenth. “So, we’re looking at werewolves tonight? But it’s not even a full moon!” He gestures to the sky, where the moon is conspicuous in its total absence. “It’s like, the opposite of a full moon! This doesn’t make any sense!”

“Neither does a vampire who does chores during the day instead of sleeping in a coffin and drinks tea instead of blood,” Red Robin points out in a reasonable tone.

“Or zombies who have absolutely no affinity for brains!” Oracle chimes in.

“Why do I feel vaguely insulted right now?” Red Hood mutters. Robin growls agreement.

Batman cuts in. “Regardless, we must be prepared for another course of transformations at midnight.” His voice sounds slightly more clipped than usual and Nightwing jolts as he remembers Bruce’s particular reasons for hating werewolves above all other monsters. Yikes, this isn’t going to be a fun night for anyone. “Robin and I will head to the Saint Genesius Burial Ground to attempt to intercept the Joker or search for any clues as to his current whereabouts. The rest of you, fan out and search the city in grid pattern alpha. Keep the line open and report anything unusual.” At least he sounds like he’s holding it together so far. Hopefully they’ll manage to track the Joker down before he triggers any more transformations.

Orders received, Nightwing and Batgirl move out to begin covering their assigned area. As they swing out, he reflects on how well Batman seems to be handling all this, considering his monster hangup. Since that first night, he hasn’t even come close to losing control. He has even been awkwardly trying to show affection to Jason and Damian instead of treating them differently because of their transformation.

It’s a huge relief, considering the other ways this could have gone. Nightwing would hate to have to punch him in the face for being an utter ass and trying to throw half their family out of the city over something that’s beyond any of their control. There’s no way he’d ever let him treat his grandpa and brothers so poorly.

Anyway, he’s glad it hasn’t come to that. Bruce seems just as concerned for the safety of his transformed family members as he is over the damage they could potentially do, and that’s probably about the best they could hope for from him.

“Hey, what’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?” Batgirl’s bright tones chase away his worrisome thoughts like the sun parting clouds.

Nightwing blinks, recalibrating, then gives her a playful grin. “Well, there was that one time Alfred gave me spotted dick—”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Batgirl says. “Isn’t that a little personal?” She snickers. “First of all, no one needs to hear about the STDs your hookups give you. Second, isn’t it weird to boink someone with the same name as your gramps?”

“What? No. Wait, what?” Nightwing’s brain hurts.

Batgirl starts laughing so hard she almost falls out of the sky. “Sorry, I just couldn’t resist. But spotted dick, seriously?”

He shakes his head. “It’s a real food, I swear! Alfred’s always serving us these traditional things with names that sound like social disease symptoms. Rag pudding? Toad in the hole? Clapshot? Do any of these sound at all appetizing to you?”

“Oh my god,” Batgirl says. “I’m sorry I asked.”

“Head cheese,” Red Robin contributes unexpectedly over the comms, sounding vaguely traumatized. “Eton mess. Mucky dripping. Rumbledethumps.”

“Now you’re just making things up,” Batgirl says with a skeptical head tilt.

“Neeps,” says Red Hood, his deep voice not quite covering the sound of snickering in the background over the comms. “Tatties. Black bun. Jellied eel. Bubble and squeak. Skirlie. Bloater.”

There’s horrified silence for a moment, and then—

“Groaty dick,” Batman’s voice intones.

“Oh my god,” Batgirl whispers, awed.

Nightwing starts laughing, then breaks off as another voice speaks out over the comms.

“I say,” Alfred says, sounding mildly amused. “I had not realized all of you paid such careful attention to the recipes I shared over the years. I suppose I should take this as a veiled culinary request for those items. Very well, ask and you shall receive.”

“Alfred—” Batman says, only to be interrupted by Cass.

“Cooking now.”

Nightwing looks at Batgirl and shrugs. Apparently, they’re going to be stuck eating a lot of traditional English food over the next few days. Eh, could be worse. Everything Alfred makes is delicious. Spotted dick and all.

He resumes swinging, speeding up to make up for lost time. There’s still a lot of area to check, and midnight’s getting closer. Actually—he frowns as the bells of a nearby church begin to toll. It’s here.

As he launches the grapnel for his next swing, he takes a moment to wonder what would happen if someone were airborne when they started to transform. Boy, that probably wouldn’t end well. Of course, the thought isn’t even finished forming in his mind when he hears Steph yelp behind him and starts to feel a little funny himself.

Oh, crap.

He feels his body begin to shift and change, a strange tension tightening unfamiliar muscles, and watches as his uniform falls and puddles on the ground far below. That’s odd. Apparently he’s now naked. Well, at least he isn’t falling?

“Huh,” he says, then tries to frown because his mouth doesn’t feel quite right. Frowning is a complete failure because the muscles in his forehead don’t seem to work the way they used to, either. Hmm. He catches sight of movement out of the corner of his eye and turns quickly, only to almost fall out of the sky in shock when he catches sight of his own wings pumping. “Wow,” he whispers, delighted, and immediately starts to circle higher. At least his voice still works, presumably thanks to whatever capricious magic is shaping this spell.

“Get back here, you little featherhead!” Batgirl cries from far below.

Belatedly remembering her presence, Nightwing circles back down. “Oops. Are you okay?” She must have fallen all the way to the ground when the change hit them. “That was really unexpected.”

“I’ll say,” Batgirl’s voice answers as an enormous shadow peels away from the darkness below and moves toward him.

“Holy shit!” he yelps, fluttering upwards again. “What the crappedy crap are you?”

“I’m not sure, but this is fun! Look how high I can jump!” Her form—four legged, covered in thick, luxurious hair, and the size of a small pony—suddenly leaps high in the air to land atop a nearby building.  

“Oh my god,” Nightwing whispers, fluttering after her and alighting on the rooftop at her side. Now that he can see her clearly, he’s pretty sure he knows what she is. “You’re a dire wolf! That’s awesome!”

“Aw, and you’re a cute little robin! That’s adorable!” She snuffles at him and almost knocks him down with her huge wet nose.

They only have a few minutes to marvel at the changes before the others converge on their position. “Oracle was monitoring everyone’s vitals and let us know when you two went haywire,” Red Robin reports as he lands near them, then takes a hesitant step back. “Uh, it is you, right?” His gaze flicks back and forth between them. “Can you even understand me right now?” Red Hood touches down behind him and watches them, his stance wary.

“Yep!” Batgirl says in a sunny voice, taking one huge step toward him and grinning. The movement exposes her three-inch-long, gleaming, sharp teeth and looks significantly less friendly than she probably thinks it does.

“Eep,” Red Robin says, eyeing her with visible distrust and edging back. Red Hood reaches out and gently scruffs him, drawing him back and nudging himself protectively in front of him.

Aw, they’re adorable. They must be dating… right?

Nightwing can’t help but chirp a cheery little song, his heart lightened by the display of affection. They’re so cute. He imagines their dates, which probably involve talking, watching movies and discussing their hobbies, sharpening batarangs, bonding over pizza, maybe occasionally holding hands and blushing like the awkward virgins they both definitely are and will always be—

Robin shows up at that moment, landing a few feet away and then grimacing as he takes in the scene. He’s holding Nightwing’s uniform and what looks like the tattered remains of Batgirl’s uniform in his arms. “Pah, why couldn’t Drake have been the one to transform into some dumb beast? If I have to listen to his appalling sexual banter and obvious foreplay with Todd for one more evening—”

Nightwing’s brain breaks a little. “What?” His little brothers and the words sex and foreplay do not belong in the same sentence. Adorable crushes are all well and good, but he’s not comfortable with the idea of them making it much past first base. It’s too weird when he still thinks of them both as the dorky little kids they were when he first met each of them.

“Todd keeps threatening to eat Drake, and I assure you, he does not mean in the traditional zombie fashion. More’s the pity.”

“Oh my god. Who taught you those words?” Nightwing automatically tries to reach out and cover Robin’s ears, but in his current form the action just results in his fluttering and getting his legs stuck in his little brother’s hair.

Robin swats at him. “Grayson, I am fifteen years old. I know what sex is.”

Red Hood turns on him, frowning. “Who the fuck told you what sex is?” he says, his hands bunching into threatening fists.

Nightwing twitters with as much menace as he can muster. It isn’t much.

Robin rolls his eyes. “School curriculum and the internet taught me, if you must know.”

If anything, that just increases Nightwing’s alarm. “Which parts of the internet? Dami, which parts? Answer me!”

“Web MD, not that it is any of your business. If you have nothing of importance to discuss, I have no desire to remain here. I see you are both well and assume the others will arrange your transportation back to the Cave. I must return to Father—we are still investigating the graveyard and I merely came to ensure you were unharmed.” His little brother tuts and raises his grapnel gun, launching himself off into the night before they have a chance to grill him more.

At his side, Batgirl is laughing so hard she’s collapsed into a small mountain of shaking canine, huddled on the rooftop. “This is the best thing ever,” she gasps after a moment.

“I mean, she’s not wrong,” Red Robin says with a mischievous little smile. He seems way too comfortable tucked under Red Hood’s arm like that. They have to be dating already.

Nightwing opens his beak to ask them what the heck they’re hiding it for. Don’t they know he’ll support them no matter what?

“Shit,” Red Hood says, spotting the movement. “He’s redirecting the overbearing big brother shit our way. Let’s scram, baby bird!” Without waiting for a reply, he launches his own grapnel and takes off, Red Robin clinging to his side. Both of them are laughing hysterically as they disappear into the night.

Left behind, Nightwing sighs.

“What are you doing, dumbass? Go after them! You’re a bird now, or did you forget?”

At Batgirl’s words, he lets out a surprised little tweet and then takes off. Okay, so he totally forgot. Whatever, he’s only been a bird for a grand total of twenty minutes. There’s an adjustment period. He flutters after his little brothers, who let out surprised curses and try to speed up. As it turns out, they can’t outfly an actual bird.

Or a determined dire wolf the size of a pony.

“Holy crap!” Red Robin yelps as Batgirl leaps onto the rooftop he and Red Hood just landed on with a single determined bound.

She gives him a terrifying grin and wiggles her entire body. Nightwing considers, then decides he’s not going to be the one to tell her that her tail is wagging. “So, the two of you are a thing now? When did this happen?”

“Meep,” Red Robin says, eyeing the edge of the building like he’s considering throwing himself off it.

Nightwing flutters over to perch on Red Hood’s helmet. Maybe if he’s physically on one of them, it will anchor them in place. “Or are you a thing? I really can’t tell and not knowing is driving me crazy.”

Red Hood bats at his helmet as Nightwing scrambles around on his slippery perch, trying to avoid his huge hands. “What the—don’t you fuckin’ dare take a shit up there, you little birdbrain!”

“I would never!” Nightwing says, injured. He wouldn’t. At least, not without good cause.

“Why would you even think that?” Red Robin demands. It’s hard to tell in the dim lighting, but it looks like his cheeks are flushed. Aw. Nightwing should have pity on his adorable, awkward little brothers and their obvious crushes.

He doesn’t. “Because the two of you are all over each other all the time? I mean, you flirt constantly. Even when you’re doing things that are the opposite of sexy, like reading autopsy reports while eating street food.”

“We do not!” Red Robin says, shaking his head. “Besides, what does that even mean? How does someone flirt while eating street food?”

Red Hood looks at him in a pitying way. “Baby bird, I’ve seen you eat a fajita cheesesteak. It’s fuckin’ obscene.”

“As if the way you deepthroat chilidogs isn’t equally pornographic,” Batgirl shoots back.

Nightwing tilts his head. “Actually, I was referring to the way you both go after the last slice of pizza like two sharks fighting over the same delicious, delicious seal pup.”

“Dude.” Batgirl sounds appalled. Red Robin is just staring at him.

“Grayson!” Robin’s voice over the comms makes him jump. Whoops.

“Uh, sorry Little D! Just a simile, I swear no seal pups were harmed in the making of that joke.”

Robin’s grumbling trails off as he presumably gets back to work. Thinking of which… “I guess we should probably head back to the Cave and get started on those tests now that Batgirl and I have been affected. Based on our reactions so far it looks like tonight’s spell is just as harmless as the previous two in terms of actually causing people to become violent.”

Batgirl eyes Red Robin and Red Hood for a long moment, then sighs. “I guess that makes sense. I totally want to keep teasing them, though.”

Nightwing snickers. “No reason we can’t do that in the Cave, right?”

Red Robin whimpers. Nightwing ruffles his feathers and preens. Tonight doesn’t seem to have gone too badly, after all. The Joker’s latest escalation hasn’t caused untold havoc and damage, he has actual wings to play with for a while, and he’s got a chance to tease his little brothers. Plus, if Bruce starts acting like a jerk about any of this, he can totally take a crap on his head and then pretend it was an accident. Win-win. Hopefully Batgirl’s dire wolf form doesn’t push him over the edge. It should help that she’s got her own place and won’t be around all the time. Also, her sunny personality is the exact opposite of the sneering evildoer who murdered the Waynes. Even their shifts probably aren’t that similar, considering Steph is more the size of a pony than a normal wolf.

Yep, things could definitely be worse. Nightwing chirps merrily as Red Hood sighs and relocates him carefully to his front pocket before beginning to make his way back to the Cave. “How can you even talk in this form, anyway?” he mutters as he cups one hand protectively over Nightwing’s small body.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Nightwing says, feeling buoyant and happy.

“We’re running out of people to leave on Alfred-watch,” Red Robin mutters, clearly focused on the case again. “At this rate, there might not be any humans left in Gotham by the end of the month.”

They fall silent as they make their way back across the city, each pondering that thought. Maybe that is the Joker’s grand plan—turn everyone into the monster they have so long claimed him to be. If so, it doesn’t seem to be working. His spell only affects the outer form. All of the previous transformations have just resulted in confused office workers and baristas showing up to work despite having been changed into ghouls, vampires, zombies and liches. Now a stream of werewolves and other types of were-creature will presumably be joining that throng.

As they cross the Sprang headed north toward the Manor, Nightwing spots what looks like a gorilla chatting calmly with a couple of foxes, a tiger, and a wolf in front of the coffee shop on Adams Ave. All of them appear to be confused but calm, all things considered. He’s pretty sure he hears the gorilla complaining about the latest political scandal. None of them seem to be upset or even mildly thrown off stride by their sudden transformation.

Ah, Gotham.

It’s a hell of a place, but it’s home.

Chapter Text

Tim analyzes the Joker’s latest message, searching for any clues in the audio or encrypted in the media file. The Joker’s messages have all been disappointing so far, providing little in the way of hints as to where he is or what his ultimate goal is besides general mayhem. It’s unusual for him to avoid confrontation, which means everything’s likely to come to a head eventually. Probably in the most dramatic way possible.

The Joker would never skip the grand finale, after all, and his preferred audience always seems to include Batman. Tim stares at the screen, a pucker in his brow as he considers the message content. The newest video appeared on TickTalk almost ten minutes ago and shows the Joker lounging with one arm draped over the shoulders of a weeping angel memorial statue at the Kane Crypts.

Making a face at having to see the Joker’s creepiness in action yet again, he presses play. The things he does for this job…

On the monitor, the insane clown slaps the unfortunate weeping angel on the back. “Buck up, chump—things are just gonna get worse from here.” He winks, then flashes his trademark forced grin and addresses the camera, madness burning in his empty eyes. “Welcome back to the show of your lives, Gotham! So, maybe the last one was a bit of a flop, too—I admit, I should’ve known the weres wouldn’t last long without the full moon. But hey, you got to enjoy the mayhem for a few days before they changed back, right? And I heard a cop got bitten, so it’s not a total loss! HA HA HA!”

Tim snorts and rolls his eyes. Apparently the Joker’s intel isn’t perfect. Detective Bullock had to get rabies shots because he was bitten by a sewer rat the size of a dog. Those things are vicious and diseased, but not magical and definitely not the result of the Joker’s dumb plot. People have to get rabies shots for rat bites all the time, Gotham being what it is.

On screen, the Joker elbows the angel and slaps its back again, chortling. “But don’t boo me off the stage just yet—I’ve got something even better that’ll really lift your spirits tonight! So let’s really get in the spirit and do what comes supernaturally!” His face twists in a cadaverous grin and his voice drops to a rough whisper. “Tonight, Gotham, I can see right through you, and you don’t have a ghost of a chance.” His red lips stretch in a painful-looking grimace no one sane would ever compare to a smile and he starts to laugh as the footage cuts out. “HA HA—”

Tim shivers, and it has nothing to do with the creeping cold of the Batcave. This is the fourth Saturday in October, and midnight is less than fifteen minutes away. He glances to the other screens, checking the status of the others on patrol while keeping an eye on Alfred, who is upstairs humming a pleasant tune as he mixes the batter for midnight cookies.

Batman is partnered with Robin again while Batgirl and Black Bat are flying together. There was a huge argument earlier over whether Nightwing and Red Hood—both of them affected by the magic and thus potentially compromised—should be allowed to patrol at all, since the team is rapidly running out of team members unaffected by the spell to partner with those who are. Eventually a compromise was reached and they reluctantly agreed to keep a private line to Oracle open at all times, just in case.  

At this rate, they really are going to run out of members of the team to keep an eye on everyone who’s been affected by the Joker’s spells. Although, Dick and Steph changed back to normal a few days ago as the full moon waned and the tests aren’t turning up any lingering effects so far. Maybe Bruce will relax the rules and take them off special status soon.

Knowing him, probably not.

Tim huffs a quiet laugh. At least the Joker doesn’t seem to have everything in hand, considering the way the weres changing back to normal seems to have taken him by surprise, too. His disappointment at the various monsters failing to wreak havoc seems genuine. By those indications, it looks like his plan is already going awry.

“Nightwing and Red Hood, report.” This is the fifth time so far tonight Batman’s gravelly voice has spoken over the comms with that command, and Nightwing and Red Hood immediately begin complaining about him babysitting them.

Yeah, there’s no chance B’s taking anyone off special status until this thing is over. Tim sighs. With any luck, no one else will be affected tonight and they’ll be able to make things work.

There’s so much to do. He still needs to figure out a long term solution for concealing Jason’s and Damian’s heritage from Bruce. Whatever subtle glamor Talia and Ra’s put on the pair of them to hide it before is gone for good now, blasted away by the Joker’s spell. The genetic markers are visible now and will show up the next time Bruce performs a genetic analysis on either of them. Which he might do at any time, because lack of boundaries and invasive surveillance is practically his love language.

Ugh. Maybe he can get in touch with Pru and see if she knows anything about the magic the al Ghuls use to conceal their heritage, and they can just reapply it to Jason and Damian for now until they figure out something better. Maybe they can find a way to deactivate the ghoul heritage somehow, so it won’t show up? Jason’s samples from back when he was Robin look completely human, the ghoul aspect apparently not having been activated until his death.

Except if they did that, maybe the next time something happens to him, he won’t come back.

No. Tim grimaces, unwilling to even imagine the horror of losing Jason. That’s unacceptable. Whatever Bruce’s prejudices against monsters, they can’t possibly be worth putting Jason at unnecessary risk. They’ll have to find another way.

Thinking of Jason, his mind briefly touches on the tension between them lately, which he fully blames on the way Steph and Dick decided to tease them about their supposed relationship last week. Ugh. It’s not really surprising that they picked up on his crush, but it sucks that it’s made things weird with Jason now. He’ll just have to do a better job hiding it from now on, to avoid making things even more uncomfortable between them. Hopefully the others will let it go in time. 

Tim bites his lip, mentally switching to another track while that problem keeps turning in the back of his mind. Besides all of that, he’s been spending some of his time researching the family trees of others in the city who have been affected by the spell. What he’s found so far is fascinating. Ten percent of the affected people have known monster heritage, if only a trace in some cases. That fact lends weight to his theory that the spell is more likely to affect people with some magical ancestry. About half of them aren’t sure what, exactly, their magical heritage is, but for the others, what they transformed into matches their ancestry.

Now, if only he could figure out what conditions might predict the other ninety percent of transformations—the people with no magical ancestry, like Alfred, Dick, and Steph. If he could figure out a commonality among those cases, it would make it a lot easier to figure out who else could be at risk going forward. He might even be able to develop some kind of protection against the spell. 

Tim does his best not to dwell on the fact that he, Cass, Babs, and Bruce are the only ones left who haven’t been touched by the magic. The chill in his heart spreads like ice as his mind worries at the content of the Joker’s message and informs him that if he does change into a monster tonight, it’s almost certainly going to be the form of a ghost.

Great.

Ghost would be the most useless transformation yet. At least Alfred is still able to do all his usual activities, as are Jason and Damian. Steph had a few days without opposable thumbs, but she made up for it by terrorizing bad guys with her nightmarish form, giving Black Bat rides across the rooftops, and shedding fur all over the Batcave.

Even Dick got to enjoy flying for real and pooped on Bruce’s head.

If Tim changes into a ghost, he won’t be able to use computers or do anything. He couldn’t even drink coffee. The idea of being intangible is a special kind of terrifying to him, considering how much of his child was spent unseen, unheard, and unmissed. Shaking his head, he pushes that uncomfortable truth away and releases a shuddering sigh. What are the odds of it happening, anyway? He needs to focus on doing what he can to solve the mystery, not worry about the aspects he can’t yet control.

He turns to the other screen, checking a map of Gotham City with each burial ground flagged. It’s overlain by models showing the waves of transformation which have occurred each Saturday night this month, as tracked by location-linked social media posts and Oracle’s cameras. Two of the waves are centered around each of the cemeteries which have appeared in Joker’s messages so far—the First Families Historic Cemetery and the Saint Genesius Burial Ground. Another wave of transformations, the vampires from the first night, is centered around the Gotham Cathedral Churchyard.

Oracle’s efforts over the past weeks to establish complete surveillance at all of Gotham’s numerous burial grounds have not gone well. Something seems to be interfering with her tech. Ugh, magic sucks.

Chances are, the next wave of transformations will ripple out from the Kane Crypts, where the latest message was recorded. All of the Bats are stationed in and around the burial site to search for the Joker. Logically, the epicenter of the spell’s effects must be where the spell focus was when the spell was triggered. And if the spell focus is physically present when the spell is triggered, it stands to reason the Joker will be there, too.

Goosebumps rise on his skin as he glances at the clock and sees that it’s midnight. Each previous wave of transformations began in the vicinity of a graveyard, and then spread out to eventually cover all of Gotham. The time difference between the first and last transformations recorded in each wave was only about five minutes.

Tim hears a soft drumming sound and twitches, then feels ridiculous when he sees it’s his own fingertips on the table. Whoops. He’s wound up so tight right now, he’s not sure he’ll be able to get anything else done over the next five minutes. Well, whatever. Once the spell window passes and nothing happens, he’ll just dig in again and do whatever he can to help solve this thing. The heritage link is interesting and could potentially help suss out the Joker’s ultimate plan, since the mayhem and gore he was expecting along the way seems to be off the menu.

Good thing Gothamites are so jaded and used to this kind of crap. No one seems to be buying into the Joker’s attempt to turn them into monsters and watch them all tear each other apart.

Tim takes a deep breath and forces himself to focus. Nothing’s going to happen, he tells himself fiercely.

Leaning back in his chair, he thinks out loud, trying not to notice the tremor in his voice. “We’re coming up to another full moon next Saturday night—the second full moon of the month, happening on October 31^st. That has to mean something. Some kind of culmination or escalation of the spell, maybe.” The fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he imagines nightmare scenarios like all of the transformed people losing their autonomy and succumbing to the monstrous instincts planted in them by whatever dark magic the Joker is wielding.

Frowning, he wonders what the final wave of monsters will be. Every weekend, the waves of transformation have all been the same general class of monster. Vampires and liches the first weekend; zombies, undead, and ghouls the second; weres of all kinds during the third; and this weekend—Tim’s vision goes hazy for a moment.

He sighs and reaches up to rub at his eyes because he’s clearly been staring at the screen for too long again. Then he freezes in shock because holy shit his hand just went through his face. “What the what?” he yelps, leaping to his feet. Oh god, it actually happened. He’s a ghost. The fact that he overshoots and rises a few feet to hover in the air does nothing to soothe his general sense of terror and alarm.

Neither does Cass, who chooses that moment to drift through the wall opposite him as calmly as though she gets turned into a ghost every day. She’s semi-transparent and seems to be wearing a floaty white gown.

“Cass?” he croaks, then feels relieved that he can actually speak. He hadn’t even gotten around to imagining the horror of being locked in an insubstantial form, unable to use his voice to communicate. “You’re a ghost, too?” He looks down at himself and is relieved to see he’s wearing a ghostly version of the sweats and t-shirt he was wearing when he transformed. The actual clothes are still lying on his chair in a sad, huddled little heap.

She shakes her head. “Wraith.”

He blinks, not really sure what the difference is there. Taxonomic classification of semi-mythical monsters has never been one of his particular interests. “Wait, how do you even know that? Am I a wraith?”

“No.” She tilts her head. “Wraith because of what Shiva did to me. Killed me, cursed me to wraith, raised me again. Wraiths are made. Ghosts are born.”

There are so many concerning things about that statement, he doesn’t even know where to begin. “We’ll come back to that first part later, because it smacks of untold trauma and I think we’ll need to be solid for that. Can’t drink margaritas like this. Can we?” He glances down at his see-through body and shudders. Yeah, probably best to wait on the margaritas. “As for the second part—what do you mean, ghosts are born?”

She opens her mouth and then closes it, looking conflicted like she always does when she’s having trouble finding her words. “Ghosts… can only become, when born,” she tries.

He frowns, trying to parse out what she’s attempting to get across. “Only people with some kind of magical heritage including a genetic propensity to become ghosts can rise as ghosts after they die?” he guesses.

Cass looks relieved. “You have,” she says, nodding.

He thinks if he were flesh right now, the bottom would be dropping out of his stomach. “What do you mean?” If he has some kind of ghostly heritage, wouldn’t that mean at least one of his parents could have turned into a ghost after they died? If so, where are they now?

She looks down, the corners of her mouth tilting down. “I am wraith, so I see. Your mother.”

That’s…

Well, Tim’s not really sure what he feels about that right now. “Wait, you knew I was part ghost? Why didn’t you ever tell me?” His eyebrows draw together. “And why didn’t you let me know about my mother?”

Her expression darkens. “She not say nice things.”

Considering everything he remembers about Janet Drake, he’s willing to accept that as an explanation. Knowing Cass, she didn’t appreciate the doubtless blistering stream of invective every time Tim did something Janet found disappointing. Which was probably all the time.

In light of that, it isn’t so surprising Cass never chose to bring this up with him before. “Okay.” He pauses, a new wave of horror rolling through him. “Wait, she isn’t still here, is she?” He does not want to have to face his mother right now. Or ever, really.

Cass shakes her head, giving him a gentle smile. “No. Went to watch her favorite digs last year.”

Phew, that’s a relief. The last thing he needs or wants is his dead mother critiquing his life choices. Terrible they may be at times, but they’re his, damn it.

The roar of an approaching engine interrupts them and they both turn to watch as the Batmobile peels into the Cave, screeching to halt near the Batcomputer at a crazy angle. The door swings open and Batman stumbles out, then charges toward the computer. He’s speaking rapidly into his comm and Tim realizes with a jolt he hasn’t been able to hear the comms since he was transformed. His comm unit is lying on top of his clothes, which still lie pooled in the chair he was sitting in before the transformation.

Batman stumbles to a halt in front of the empty chair, staring at it. His mouth twists as he reaches out a shaking hand, barely touching the material of Tim’s worn band t-shirt before jerking back. “Tim’s gone, too,” he says into the comm in an awful, hollow voice. He stares, then buckles to the ground as his knees seem to give way. He reaches for the shirt, dragging it toward him and cradling it to his chest. His shoulders are shaking.

Tim clears his throat, feeling both touched by the show of emotion and tremendously awkward. “Uh, hey B,” he says.

Batman’s head whips around to face him. After a long moment, he reaches up and shoves back the cowl as though unable to believe unless he sees them with his own eyes. “Tim? Cass?” He rises to his feet, the empty shirt tumbling to the ground. “Are you alright? Are you in any pain?” He reaches out a hand for them and then freezes, clearly realizing he won’t be able to make contact.

Cass shakes her head and gives him a soft smile, drifting slowly forward. “Fine. We’re fine.” She reaches out and pats him on the arm, making him jump, eyes wide.

“I felt that! You can still interact with matter?” His eyes narrow, an analytical expression crossing his face. He clearly wants to do experiments to determine the extent of their abilities.

“How come I can’t do that?” Tim complains. He would still be able to do his research, and wow, he could pull off the most amazing pranks while he’s like this if only he could go solid when needed.

“Practice,” Cass tells him, making him wonder how long, exactly, Lady Shiva kept her in this form before raising her back to life as a human. His horror at what his sister has endured is only matched by his amazement at the awesome, kind person she somehow became in spite of everything. “Concentrate.”

He frowns in concentration, trying to imagine his hand is solid as he reaches out to Bruce. “Huh,” he says, pleased at the sensation of physical touch. Then he really looks at what he’s doing and blushes when he realizes he’s poking at a bemused-looking Bruce’s forehead with his index finger. “Oh, sorry B.”

Bruce’s lips curve in the faintest suggestion of a smile and he shakes his head. “No, it’s fine.” He reaches up and rests his hand on Tim’s, his other hand closing over Cass’s on his arm. “I’m just glad you’re both still here.”

The Cave fills with the roar of multiple engines as Red Hood, Nightwing, and Batgirl all ride in, parking their motorcycles right by the Batmobile. A self-driving car pulls in after them and Robin disembarks before slamming the door and stomping toward them. “I know how to drive myself, you know.”

“No,” several voices chorus. Robin’s lower lip protrudes in a petulant frown that everyone ignores as they converge on the group by the Batcomputer.

Red Hood’s eyes are locked on Tim. “You’re really okay, baby bird?” he says, crowding up close and hovering his hands over him like he wants to check him for wounds but knows it won’t do any good in his current state. “Fuck, baby, when I heard Blondie on the comm panicking because Cass just disappeared, that sucked balls, but then you weren’t answering and we thought you were gone, too—”

Tim reaches up and concentrates so he can take Red Hood’s hands where they’re still hovering in front of him. “I’m really okay, Jay,” he says, squeezing gently. His nonexistent heart gives a surge of relief at the evidence that no matter how weird things are between them right now, Jason still cares.

“Whoa,” Nightwing says, reaching out to try to poke at Tim’s forehead. His finger goes right through. “It’s like you’re just making part of yourself tangible right now. How are you doing that? Is this going to be like that unchained melody scene from Ghost?” He smirks and winks. “Should we give you two some privacy?”

Tim bats ineffectually at his hand. It feels weird when things pass through where his head should be. “Quit it!”

“Boys,” Bruce says with a long-suffering sigh.

“Did you guys end up finding anything at the graveyard?” Tim asks, suddenly remembering they’re in the middle of a case.

Shaking her head, Batgirl makes a face. “Nope. There was no sign of the Joker in or around the graveyard, and then we were all caught up with the drama of making sure you guys were okay.”

Bruce frowns. “I am beginning to suspect there is a time delay on the Joker’s device—one which allows him to record his message, trigger the spell, and then make his escape while the timer, as it were, ticks down prior to spell detonation.”

Nightwing nods slowly. “Makes sense. So, next time we stake out every graveyard in Gotham he hasn’t hit yet a few hours before the show? That way it doesn’t matter if something shorts out our surveillance equipment because we’ll be there to catch him in the act.”

Bruce’s lips twitch into an almost-smile. It’s infinitely more appealing than the Joker’s, but somehow, just as threatening.

“Cool,” Tim says, experimenting with how much of himself he can make solid as he leans into Jason’s side. Jason obligingly wraps a big, beefy arm around him and tucks him in closer. He feels warm and safe.

Maybe being a ghost isn’t so bad after all.

Chapter Text

Red Hood shifts his weight and tries not to jump at shadows, his fingers twitching with nervous anticipation. He’s standing under a flying buttress on the side aisle roof of an imposing gothic cathedral overlooking a darkened cemetery. As if that’s not enough, it’s Halloween, the second full moon of October is rising blood-red through the pollution, and the goddamn Joker’s on the prowl.

It’s gonna be one hell of a night.

At least he finally got to partner up with Red Robin again. They haven’t been able to spend much time together without the others around over the past couple of weeks, and it’s starting to chafe. Red Hood’s romantic interest there might not be returned—and that’s something he’s starting to wonder about, considering the way Tim blushes whenever Dickwing or Blondie decide to tease them—but Red Hood would sure as hell like a few minutes alone together to figure things out.

After the transformations last weekend left Batman as the last field operative unaffected by the Joker’s spell, the tightass finally loosened his damn restrictions for tonight and started letting them patrol with whomever they damn well please. Even occasional allies like Catwoman—literally, now—and most of the birds of prey are affected. It seems like damn near half the population of Gotham has fallen under the sway of the Joker’s spell. It would be hilarious watching all of the zombies, vampires, and various weres and ghosts thronging through the streets, driving to work, and generally going about their daily business if it wasn’t so terrifying. The thought of the Joker’s spell evolving and overriding people’s free will is a nightmare.

Yeah, okay, so he can maybe understand B’s position there just a bit.

He snorts. Chances are, the old man found a way to bug their uniforms so he can spy on them constantly. He’ll swoop to the rescue if the spell takes a turn for the worse and they all start craving human flesh or whatever.

Red Hood will have to spend some time digging out all the spyware later and then plant it on a bunch of random criminals for Batman to track down. That’s always good for a laugh.

“Where is it?” Red Robin whispers, his semi-translucent shoulders visibly tense. Red Hood glances over and then edges around a gargoyle downspout, nudging right up against him to get a good look at what he’s doing. It looks like he’s clicking through social media websites on his wrist computer, running through everywhere Joker already posted a message and then trawling the web for other social media sites. He’s even checking Fizzfeed articles and old, almost defunct websites like Livespace and Myjournal.

Damn, that’s some dedication. Although…

He tilts his head. “Don’t you and Oracle already have a shitload of alerts set up for Joker’s next message? And anyway, he’s gonna hafta show up here in person at some point to set off the spell, right?”

The Joker’s destination tonight is obvious—there’s only one cemetery left in Gotham that he hasn’t hit yet. The Gotham Cemetery, where the Waynes are buried. The Bats have all been stationed at various points around the cemetery for the past way the hell too many hours, keeping watch, and he’s starting to wonder how much longer they’re going to have to wait.

“Yes, but what if we missed something? This is probably the last night of his attack, so whatever happens is going to be huge. What if—” Red Robin continues to swipe at the screen, his lips tight. After a moment, he sighs. “Ugh, this is taking too much concentration. Catch.”

Stifling a curse, Red Hood darts out his hand just in time to catch the wrist computer as Red Robin’s hands suddenly lose cohesion, allowing the device to literally slip through his fingers. “Jesus, baby bird, give a guy some warning.”

“I did,” Red Robin says with an all-too-innocent smile. The smile slips as he gestures toward his eyes. “It’s having to keep my face solid enough to hold on the dumb mask. That’s tiring me out even more than I expected.”

Red Hood stifles his first urge to reach out and let the other man lean on him to take a quick break. Yeah, that’s probably not going to help, considering. Fucking Joker.

Stupid Batman and his stupid rules about concealing their identities. They’ve got to get this goddamn spell lifted, and fast. Not only are Tim and Cass stuck in a ghostly state Zatanna says she can do nothing to fix without access to the spell focus, Tim’s status means his ability to run interference on the testing side of things is running thin.

It’s only a matter of time before Bruce figures out Jason’s and Damian’s secret. They’re lucky he’s been too distracted searching the city for wherever the Joker’s been holing up between appearances for him to study every facet of the spell on them. Once they find the Joker, Batman will transfer his full attention to getting everyone transformed back. He’ll figure out pretty damn fast that Jason and Damian aren’t fully human, now that the Joker’s spell has blown through whatever magical glamors Talia and Ra’s put on them way back when to hide their true nature. 

And then—

He shakes his head, breaking off that line of thought. No. They’ll end this tonight, and he’ll never have to see the look of absolute rejection in his dad’s—no, in Bruce’s eyes when he finds out the truth. Well, no more than he already has. Bruce always gets a really judgy look on his face whenever he finds out Red Hood shot some asswipe who had it coming, but he comes around in the end, especially since those asswipes started ending up in the hospital and not the morgue.

If he finds out Jason and Damian are truly the monsters he set out to fight so long ago…

It won’t end well.

“Damn it,” he mutters, turning Red Robin’s wrist computer in his hand and awkwardly beginning to swipe through the screens. Anything to distract him from thinking about finally being thrown out of the family for good. “Where the hell is his stupid shitty message, anyway?”

“You won’t find it,” Batman’s low, gravelly voice says from right behind him.

“Fuck!” Red Hood yelps, then clears his throat and pretends he totally didn’t jump just now. He shoves the wrist computer in his pocket. A soft clatter draws his eye to where Red Robin’s mask just hit the ground.

“Oops,” Tim says, sounding completely unrepentant. “You startled me.” He beams, looking much more comfortable now that he isn’t concentrating to keep himself corporeal enough to wear it. He’s fucking adorable, standing there in the soft-looking sweats and worn t-shirt he was wearing when the Joker’s spell took effect.

He doesn’t look anything like a vigilante. It makes Red Hood want to wrap him in a warm blanket and bundle him up somewhere safe. He’s pretty sure it’s making Batman want to develop mask-glue that will stick to ghosts.

Batman doesn’t react, but Red Hood still has the impression the man is suppressing a tired sigh. After a moment, Batman refocuses and stares into the graveyard, his distinctive silhouette looming against the darkness like one of the twisted stone gargoyles which line the rooftop. “I suspect the Joker is giving me the last message in person.”

Red Hood makes a face. “Awesome,” he says, following Batman’s gaze to the cemetery. Of fucking course, that’s the moment the Joker’s high-pitched laughter rips through the stillness and assaults him. The helmet doesn’t feel like any protection at all.

“Hood,” Tim whispers, pressing their shoulders together. The sensation feels good, grounding, and he leans into it. There’s only a slight sense of guilt over the effort he’s got to put in to make himself solid enough for this.

Batman, of course, left the rooftop the moment he spotted the villain. When Red Hood turns to look, he’s already landed in the graveyard and is stalking toward the Joker.

The bastard is running his thin, pale fingers over a very familiar tombstone, an exaggerated expression of mock-sorrow on his cadaverous face. Just as he finishes caressing the worn letters of Martha Wayne’s name, Batman’s fist slices through the air toward his head. The Joker dances back, grinning like this is the highlight of his shitty, evil night. “Ooh, Batsy, didn’t your parents ever teach you any manners? Oh, wait, they never had the chance!” He sweeps an arm toward the headstones and cackles at Batman’s wordless growl.

Well, apparently they don’t have to worry about protecting their identities. Red Hood leans forward, fists clenching, and it’s only Tim’s soft touch that holds him back. “Go with the plan,” Tim says in an urgent whisper, his face pale and so, so beautiful in the moonlight.

If it were anyone else, Red Hood wouldn’t listen, not when he can see his goddamn murderer right in front of him, the voice from his nightmares crooning taunts laced with threat.

This is Tim. He stays put.

Below, Batman and the Joker face off, eyeing one another over the graves of the Waynes. Red Hood knows what’s supposed to happen next. This is about drawing out the Joker’s plan, putting his favorite target in front of him and letting him confess the whole damn thing in his insane efforts to impress his favorite enemy.

None of the rest of them are supposed to move until they’re certain they’ve got the spell’s focus in their sights. Otherwise, there’s too much chance the Joker could trigger a further escalation of the spell—maybe one that affects volition for those transformed—and they’d all be screwed, every single one of them but Batman puppets in the Joker’s pasty hands.

No, the rest of them are stuck on backup duty, waiting until the Joker pulls out the focus and starts whatever arcane ritual or incantation he uses to get the damn thing working. According to Z, this kind of thing usually takes at least a few minutes to invoke unless it’s tied directly to the user’s soul—which isn’t much of a concern here, considering the Joker probably never had one of those—so they’ll have a window to grab it before he manages to set it off.

Of course it makes sense not to put any of them down there yet, not when they’re already compromised and thus more vulnerable. Red Hood knows the plan. He doesn’t have to like it, though.

The Joker grins and sweeps his bony arms out, stretching his hands wide in a showman’s gesture. “Well, now that you’re finally here, we can get this show on the road. Tonight’s the big finale! I hope you’ve been enjoying the opening acts, because this one’s a real treat. Or is it a trick? Oh well, who cares, either way it’s gonna be a scream! HA HA HA!”

“Why are you doing this?” Batman says, playing his part to draw the villain out. “What could you possibly stand to gain from it?”

The Joker snorts. “Don’t ask me rhetorical questions—you know you never like the answers. Why wouldn’t I want to turn the sniveling, bleating herds into something a little more interesting? Now vampires, zombies, weres, those guys know how to have some fun!” He makes a face, thin lips twisting into a deep pout as he crosses his arms with a huff. “At least, they’re supposed to! How the hell Gotham managed to make my monsters boring, I have no idea. Talk about a tough crowd.”

“If you’re finding this so boring, then why don’t you stop?”

“Oh, I’ll never stop. Not before the grand finale! There’s no way that will fail to live up to the hype. It won’t flop like the other acts.” The Joker rolls his eyes. “The ghosts were the biggest disappointment yet—I wanted to see some real poltergeist action, blood dripping down the walls, possessions, the works! And what did Gotham give me?” He makes a face and shakes his head dramatically. “Hundreds of Casper the friendly ghosts. It’s a travesty! I don’t know why I expected better from this cesspit of a city—Gotham’s a vindictive bitch, filled with small-minded, judgemental underachievers! I gave them the tools to be great, and they squandered it drifting around, trying to live their mundane little lives without a thought for my needs, my goals!”

He’s so fucking selfish. He’d throw away countless lives, leave an entire city in disarray, and all to alleviate his boredom. Red Hood’s fingers itch to reach for his guns. He loaded them with real bullets tonight, playing by the rules be damned. What stops him is the knowledge that killing the Joker now might have unpredictable consequences for everyone affected by the spell.

It’s definitely not the thought of Batman turning his back on him for good. Hell, no.

“So what’s going to happen tonight?” Batman’s voice is low, his focus entirely fixed on the Joker. Red Hood wishes he were down there. Whatever’s happening, it’s going to hit fast and hard and soon, he can feel it in his zombie bones. A frisson of excitement thrills through him at the thought that as a ghoul, he’s really fucking hard to kill. He plans to take full advantage of that fact in the coming fight.

The Joker’s lips warp in an ugly smirk. “Oh, you’ll see. I’ve got something extra special in my bag of tricks for you, Batsy—maybe later we can see a real bat out of hell!” He cackles and begins to pace, long limbs carrying him rapidly back and forth and sending a spidery shadow flickering over the graves. His voice lowers to an intimate whisper. “This city is hell on earth, and you know it. So why not embrace the madness and join in on the fun?”

Batman’s gaze follows him, his stillness even more marked in comparison to the villain’s frenetic movements. “More transformations?”

Releasing a peal of unhinged laughter, the Joker shakes his head. “Oh, Batsy, haven’t you figured it out yet? Be your own bogeyman, a devil in disguise. Rip off your human mask and rise up, damn you! Just take a look in the mirror, the real monster was there all along. It’s a grave new world out there, Bats, and your worst nightmares? You’re about to get real up close and personal with them. HA HA HA!” With every word, he gets closer, until he’s standing right on top of the Waynes’ graves staring down the Bat.

Tense, Batman watches him, probably waiting for the Joker to reach for something, anything to give away where he’s hiding the focus for the spell so they can end this nightmare once and for all.

Instead, the Joker just stares at him, manic grin slowly widening until it seems like his face is going to crack in half. “C’mon Batsie, it’s time to unleash your inner beast and succumb to the inevitable. The others all let me down—the sheer banality of their characters infected even the magnificent forms I gave them with boring sanity—but I know you won’t fail me. After all, you detest monsters, don’t you? Hate them with every fiber of your being. It makes sense, of course.” He purses his lips in a moue of false sympathy and shakes his head, dropping his gaze to the graves with a sly smile. “After all, monsters took everything from you. They represent everything that’s wrong with this fucked up mistake of a world.” He raises his head and stares at Batman, eyes glittering.

Too late, everything comes together and Red Hood realizes the full implications of the Joker’s plan. He probably should’ve caught on sooner, but he’s not exactly at his best when it comes to the Joker. “Aw, shitsticks,” he says. “He’s gonna try and turn B.” Cold wind whips at him through his armor as he swings down and out over the tall, wrought iron fence. The soft grass of the graveyard feels strange beneath boots used to pounding pavement.

He isn’t going to make it in time. The look on the Joker’s face—that was triumph. The villain is certain he has Batman in his grip, which means the spell focus isn’t something he has to reach for or do anything involved to activate. Maybe it’s touching his skin somewhere. Fuck, maybe all it will take is a thought to set it off.

Of fucking course all of this was a setup to get at Batman and turn him into one of the very monsters he professes to hate. Why the hell didn’t they figure out a better plan? Stupid, idiotic, self-sacrificing Bruce, putting himself in danger and holding the rest of them back out of some dumbass urge to protect them.

A rush of icy air sends a shiver down his spine and he sees a blurred shape rushing past. Tim, taking advantage of his incorporeal state to try to get there first. Red Hood can see the others as well, converging from different directions. They all probably either figured it out for themselves or noticed Red Hood and Tim moving in and decided to hell with the plan.

It doesn’t really matter either way. None of them end up making it in time.

The Joker’s terrible, ripping laughter hits first. Then Red Hood hears Batman’s voice rising in a pained groan as his form, silhouetted against the moonlit sky, begins to twist and change. Massive leathery wings burst out of his uniform and stretch high overhead. A long, reptilian tail switches back and forth as the creature that was Batman lifts his head and roars.

“Holy shit,” Red Hood whispers as he stumbles to a halt a dozen yards away from the action, smart enough to stay back until they figure out if the transformed Batman is under the Joker’s control. No one else got such a cool monster form. “How come B’s the only one who gets to be a goddamn dragon?”

“That’s not a dragon,” Tim says from where he’s hovering nearby, clearly trying to work out the best plan of attack. “See, it doesn’t have any arms, just wings.”

“So what?” Red Hood never bothered to study fucking dragons—extinct cryptids weren’t part of the curriculum at any of the schools he went to, and literature was always more his area of interest than paleobiology. Maybe he should study up after this, just in case.  

“It’s a wyvern,” Robin says from right behind them, causing Red Hood to twitch.

“Jesus, you take after your daddy way too much. Sneaky little bastard,” he mutters. Robin glares and opens his mouth, probably to say something cutting and snarky.

“You’re both wrong,” the Joker calls out, sounding gleeful. All of them brace themselves as he looks their way. “He’s a Jersey Devil!”

“What the fuck?” Red Hood mutters. At least dragons were real, once—he’s pretty sure the Jersey Devil is supposed to be an urban legend, like jackalopes and drop bears. “That’s really a thing?”

“Apparently,” Tim murmurs, going more translucent and beginning to drift closer to the Joker. He’s probably got a sneaky plan up his sleeve to try to get hold of that focus now that it’s been set off.

The Joker nods, then eyes the wyvern, which still appears to be recovering from the transformation. “I’ve gotta say, I expected it to look a lot weirder. Where’s the goat’s head, and the hooves? And I wanted those tiny little arms! C’mon, Batsy, where’s your sense of humor, your appreciation of the ridiculous?”

The wyvern raises his head and growls, “What…?” The voice still sounds like Batman, but split with multiple notes like a musical chord. It’s an eerie, haunting sound. He freezes, then glances down at himself and begins to shake. “What have you done to me? What am I?” His voice rises in a pained roar.

Oh, shit. Red Hood casts a glance around and meets Nightwing’s eyes. The other vigilante is standing poised in the shadows on the other side of the graveyard, Batgirl nearby. They’re still looking human, which is a relief considering it’s a full moon again. Everyone was worried the spell might reactivate for the weres, but apparently once they changed back to normal the connection was severed. Thank fuck, because Red Hood’s not sure how the hell a tiny little songbird could help in this fight, and there’s no damn way they could’ve kept Dickie home.

There’s no sign of Black Bat, but she’s almost certainly around.

All of them look worried, visibly bracing themselves for Batman to lose it now that he’s been locked into the embodiment of his worst memory. The guy who killed the Waynes wasn’t anything so exotic as a wyvern—just a run of the mill mugger who managed to escape after the murder by transforming into a wolf and ditching the pursuit.

It was still enough to sear into a young Bruce Wayne’s mind that monsters were evil. Right now, it might be enough to send Batman right over the edge.

Fuck.

Ignoring the rest of them, the Joker focuses on his true target. “That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? Monster, hypocrite, failure, which of those words really fits best? Hell, why choose just one? Maybe they’re all true!” He starts to laugh, barely able to choke out his next words. “You know, when I started all this, the one thing I knew for sure was what you were going to turn into. The wizard I tortured for information on this handy little doodad was able to give predictions for how it would work on individuals, and I made him do a reading on you.” He waves a hand and his sleeve slides up, exposing a glint of gold on his narrow wrist. “So I knew you’d be a Jersey Devil!”

Bingo. Red Hood leans forward, working out the best way to get that damn focus off the Joker’s wrist. One way comes to mind immediately and his hand drifts down toward his kris. No one will object to a little light maiming under the circumstances. Probably.

“And the damnedest thing is, I should’ve had him do readings on all your little bats and birdlings, too! Only I got so excited once he told me what you are, the true monster you’ve been all along, I got a little carried away with my questioning and then he couldn’t tell me anything anymore. Oopsie.” The Joker shrugs with a nasty caricature of a bashful smile. “Anyway, it’s been quite a show, hasn’t it, watching all your little kiddies turning into monsters before your very eyes! I couldn’t have planned it better myself. That had to hurt, right Batsy? To see the little leeches all for what they truly are—the same things that destroyed your life, your happiness.”

Batman lets out a distressed-sounding huff and shakes his great head, his wings quivering. Shit. “It’s just a spell,” he tries. “I’ll fix it. I’ll—”

The Joker laughs. “Don’t you get it yet? The spell only works on people who have monster heritage! It can’t create something that wasn’t there to start with.” His cruel gaze sweeps over the gathered vigilantes who stand frozen in a loose semicircle around the graves. “You’re monsters, every one.”

Red Hood blinks. Huh. “Well, shit,” he says after a moment, gaze darting over to Nightwing and Batgirl again as a part of his mind wonders which of their ancestors got it on with a songbird and a dire wolf, respectively. A second later, he realizes magic probably doesn’t work that way. A second after that, he decides to fully troll the hell out of them about it later anyway as vengeance for all the shit they’ve given him and Tim over the past few weeks.

Neither of them looks surprised. His eyes narrow as he turns to check on Tim, and the considering expression he sees there tells him everything he needs to know. All of them must have known that this is how the spell works, or at least suspected.

That doesn’t matter right now, though. The most important thing is the action unfolding in front of them.

The Joker leers at Batman. “Well, Batsy? Are you ready to join with me yet and really let loose? After all, what’s left in this awful, misbegotten world except to run wild and let everyone in on the cosmic joke? There’s nothing in this world but a crapshoot of disappointment and filth that leads to the grave, so why not have a few laughs along the way? C’mon, just look around you. Nothing but failure and betrayal, after everything you’ve done! Isn’t it time to just let it all burn?”

Batman raises his head, small puffs of smoke emerging from his nostrils. Slowly, he turns his head to look at each of them in turn.

Shit, shit, shit. Red Hood tries not to flinch when that gaze settles on him. At least in this form, he can’t really see the judgement and hatred that’s probably there under the surface. Fuck.

The wyvern’s chest expands like a bellows, clearly stoking up for a blast of searing fire. Red Hood swallows, calculating how far he can throw Robin to at least get him out of harm’s way. No way is he going to just rely on the ghoulish healing factor, not when it’s his little brother at stake. Thank fuck Tim’s still in ghost form—nothing a crazed Batman does should be able to physically hurt him. Hopefully Nightwing and Batgirl will be smart and quick enough to escape while Batman’s going after Red Hood.

He braces himself, ready.

The searing heat hits a moment later, warming his skin even though the flames are, stunningly, directed elsewhere. “What the fuck?” the Joker screeches, dances back from the flames. “What are you doing? I’m on your side, Batsy! It’s you and me against the broken, hateful world, remember?”

Batman advances toward him, head down and wings raised. “You’re mistaken, Joker. I will never be joining you.” Puffs of smoke emerge from his nostrils as he speaks.

“B-but you’re a monster now! Your kids are all monsters! You have no choice, no chance at redemption! You are everything you live to destroy!” The Joker stumbles back, apparently not prepared to deal with Batman failing to follow his predictions.

Another step, and Batman slowly shakes his head. “It shook me when I saw the citizens of Gotham becoming monsters, seemingly at random and beyond my control to stop it or protect them. And my children transforming, one by one. But then…” He huffs a musical laugh. “I realized nothing had truly changed. Gotham was still Gotham, filled with people trying to live their lives, no matter their external appearance. Every one of my children simply adapted to their new limitations and abilities and continued to do everything possible to help others, just as they have always done.”

“So?” The Joker shoots back, tripping and falling backwards. “They’re still monsters, and it isn’t just the spell! It’s them, who and what they are!”

Batman rumbles another laugh, sharp teeth exposed in what might be an attempt at a smile. “If this experience has taught me anything, it’s that true monsters can exist regardless of form. Human included.” He inhales, clearly working up another belly of fire.

The Joker screams and flings his arms over his face, exposing his wrist and the bauble again.

Tim drifts up behind him at that moment—and when exactly did he disappear? Red Hood could’ve sworn he was still standing right there—and grabs the Joker’s wrist, holding it securely. “Now!”

“Yoink,” Black Bat says, materializing in front of the Joker and going solid long enough to slide the bracelet right off his wrist. “Catch,” she whispers as she tosses it to Nightwing, and then disappears as the Joker cries out in rage and flails wildly. Red Robin quickly releases the Joker’s arm and backs off, probably not willing to find out if ghosts can be damaged by wyvern flames.

Batman immediately straightens once both Tim and Cass are out of danger, exhaling safely without releasing any more fire. As the Joker begins to lower his hands, blinking in apparent confusion, Batman steps forward and sits on him, effectively pinning him to the ground with his bulk. There’s silence for a moment as they all look at one another.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Nightwing says, just before everything goes to hell.

Tim yelps and collapses to the ground, suddenly more solid and human than he’s been in the past week. Next to him, Black Bat pops into existence and lands lightly on her feet, looking mildly surprised. They’re both wearing the same clothes their ghost forms had on, which is probably for the best—while Red Hood is very interested in seeing Tim naked, he’d rather it be voluntary and preferably in private. At the very least, he doesn’t want it to be in front of their entire family plus the goddamn Joker.

Neither of them is wearing a mask, but that seems like the least of their worries right now. The spell is clearly unraveling, the focus losing power now that it’s separated from the Joker. Red Hood feels a mild twinge himself, but it’s nothing like his experience when the transformation originally activated. He doesn’t seem to have turned back. To the side, Robin meets his gaze and shrugs. Apparently he didn’t turn back, either.

A grunt draws their attention to the real issue—Batman is sitting on the ground looking dazed, clearly shaking off the effects of becoming human again, and the Joker is trying to make a break for it now that he’s no longer immobilized by a huge reptilian cryptid. Red Hood draws his gun, ready to use any means necessary to stop him and damn the consequences.

In the end, it doesn’t come to that.

“No,” Black Bat says simply, sticking out a bare foot and tripping the fleeing villain, who falls headfirst into the nearest headstone and lies there, flailing slightly. A moment later, he grunts as he’s tackled by the combined force of Tim, Robin, and Nightwing.

Grinning, Red Hood strides toward them. He takes his helmet off and lets it fall to the ground because he isn’t a total asshole. The last thing he wants to do is accidentally give Nightwing a concussion by headbutting him with it.

Nightwing spots what he’s about to do and looks up, eyes widening. “Uh, no need to help, we got this—”

Red Hood snickers. “Don’t mind if I do,” he says, belly flopping onto the pile. He makes sure to aim mostly for Nightwing, not wanting to crush the others.

“Oof,” Nightwing says, sounding winded. “You suck.”

Tim snickers and whispers, “I wish.”

“I totally heard that this time!” Red Hood nudges Robin aside to expose a blushing Tim, who promptly hides his face and won’t meet his eyes. “No take-backsies!”

Tim lifts his head then to blink at him, then eyes him with visible suspicion. “Wait, really? You’re not just joining in on the trolling, are you? Because if you are, that’s really mean and—” His voice sounds hurt, and wow, that’s so far from what’s happening right now. Red Hood needs to make this right.

He leans forward and gently kisses Tim’s forehead, letting his lips linger to feel the precious warmth there. His heart jumps as he fully realizes Tim’s human again, warm and alive and oh-so-touchable. “Not joking. Not about this.”

“Oh,” Tim whispers, smiling. He lifts his face and aligns them better so the next kiss lands on his lips. “Cool.”

“Not cool,” Nightwing says in a very agitated-sounding voice from where he’s still lying, entangled with them on top of the Joker.

“Agreed,” Robin’s voice rises from elsewhere in the pile. “If you would refrain from consummating your newly discovered relationship until after we are no longer present to witness it, I will not be forced to castrate both of you. And while Red Hood’s appendage is quite likely to grow back, Drake’s has no such guarantee—”

“Oh my god,” Tim says, recoiling with a horrified cringe.

“Damn, Robin,” Batgirl says, then whistles in admiration. “Straight for the castration. At least he gave you guys a warning!”

“Uh, guys?” Nightwing lifts himself up on his elbows and peers down. “I think something’s wrong with the Joker.”

“Obviously something’s wrong with the Joker, he’s the goddamn Joker,” Red Hood mutters, rolling his eyes.

“No, I mean he’s gone really still, and kind of glowy?” Nightwing eases to his knees and points down at the fallen villain. The others disentangle themselves and stand back, Robin taking the time to bind the madman’s wrists and ankles just in case.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have all tackled him so hard,” Red Robin says, tilting his head as he regards the unconscious man. He doesn’t sound particularly guilty.

“Maybe we shoulda tackled him harder,” Red Hood says, mutinous.

“I believe it has little to do with the force with which you apprehended him, and everything to do with the nature of the spell he chose to wield,” an unexpected voice says from the shadows. “Apparently, the Joker had a soul after all, and he traded it for the power to wield arcane magic with such precision. The price is coming due.”

Everyone takes a large step back from the Joker, who is now glowing brighter, green and black swirls of sickly light beginning to emanate from his form.

“Alfred?” Batman says, finally recovering from his second transformation of the evening and rising to his feet to look at the interloper. “What are you doing here?”

Alfred steps out of the shadows, and Red Hood is surprised to see the old man’s eyes are still glinting red. “Alfie?” he says, uncertain. “Shouldn’t you have turned back now, too? I mean, we took the focus from him, so it interrupted the spell for everyone else—”

“Ah, yes, I did feel the compulsion fade a few minutes ago. I was on my way to support you, should the Joker prove himself more of a challenge than expected. I know quite a few tricks in this form, although it has been many years since I had need of them.” The old man inclines his head toward the prone form on the ground. “I see now I worried needlessly.”

Batman takes a couple of steps toward him. “Many years since you needed them? You mean—”

Alfred nods, a shadow falling over his face. “Indeed, sir, I was fully aware of my heritage, unlike the rest of you. I deeply regret the necessity to conceal this secret—and that of your own ancestry—from you all these years.”

Batman stands frozen, seemingly unable to find the words to answer that revelation. Tim frowns. “But why? All these years—”

Alfred sighs. “To explain that, I must go back to the beginning. I have served the Wayne family—the Wyvern family, as they were called in the old days before magical heritage began to go out of fashion and most magical beings went into hiding—for hundreds of years. I simply posed as my own descendant with every new generation so as not to draw attention once we went underground. The fact that I am old and powerful enough to resist the urge to sleep during the day certainly helps to maintain the facade.”

He shakes his head, chuckling. “Even with all our efforts at concealment, there were always rumors. I was able to allay my particular requirements through judicious use of donor blood, but the family was rather less successful at hiding. Early sightings of members of the Wayne family constituted the basis for the urban legend of the Jersey Devil. Your Great-Uncle Matthias had quite the predilection for flight, and was spotted in the sky many a time over the years.”

Batgirl frowns. “Wait, so how’d the goat’s head and hooves end up being part of the legend? I’m kind of still hung up on that.”

Alfred shrugs. “I am truly not certain how the horse or goat-like head became part of the legend, although Master Bruce’s grandfather had quite a sense of humor and may very well have intentionally added to those rumors. He used to wander the pine barrens in his wyvern form, caterwauling in the most appalling manner to frighten the villagers, until Master Bruce’s great grandmother caught on and put a stop to it. Most put out at his antics, she was, but I saw her laughing about it later.” He chuckles and shakes his head.

Batman takes another step forward. “Alfred,” he says, his voice almost pleading. “Why on earth didn’t you tell me any of this before? All this time, I’ve been so certain of my stance regarding monsters, and you…”

“Oh, my dear boy,” Alfred whispers, lifting a hand and reaching toward him in an imploring gesture. “I promise, I would have told you long ago, had I been free to do so. Do you recall the time you were a small boy and fell into the cave beneath the Manor, and saw a terrible bat-like creature there?”

Batman nods. They all remember the story about how he came by his fear of bats, which became the inspiration for him to one day don the bat suit to inspire that same fear in others. “Of course,” he whispers.

“The horrible bat-beast you saw was actually your father, who witnessed you fall and transformed immediately so as to have a chance at saving you. He caught you, but in his rush scratched you with his claws and imbued in you a terrible memory of leathery, bat-like wings, pain, and fear. You were inconsolable for days.”

“Oh my god,” Nightwing whispers, sounding horrified. “So they were afraid to tell him the truth?”

Alfred nods, his expression grave. “Indeed. Master Bruce’s parents were so anxious that he might find out the truth and come to fear his own father, they extracted a magical vow from me not to reveal the secret heritage of Wayne Manor. I foolishly agreed, believing they would release the vow in time. Instead… Well. And then they were gone, and I was magically bound never to speak any of those secret truths until such time as Master Bruce found out for himself and thus released the geas.”

A horrible thought occurs to Red Hood. What if the only reason Thomas Wayne didn’t transform to save himself and his wife that night was because his son was there, and he didn’t want to scare him? Fuck, what a mess. Hopefully Batman will never think of that possibility—then again, it’s Batman. He’s probably already thought of it, judged himself guilty, and shouldered the full blame for what happened. Goddamn martyr. 

“Heritage of Wayne Manor,” Tim says slowly. “So, the vow was worded in such a way as to include your own heritage.”

“Yes. I do not believe such was Master Thomas’ intent, but it most certainly was the result.” Turning to regard the Joker, whose body is now smoking faintly, all but engulfed in flickering black light, he murmurs, “I was beginning to lose hope that anything would ever come along to set the tangle to rights.”

Red Hood snorts. “So the Joker did one good deed in his life. By accident, while trying to do evil. I don’t think it’s helping him much.”

On the ground, the black flames flickering over the Joker’s body increase in height as demonic-sounding whispers begin to rise in a chant. A light breeze swirls around the body.

Everyone takes another large step back.

“Is a hellmouth about to open up right here and take him?” Batgirl asks, looking interested. “Because it’s really starting to look like that’s about to happen.”

Tim edges slightly farther away. “Uh, we didn’t really ask for the details from Zatana on what would happen if Joker had powered the spell with his soul. I honestly didn’t think he had one. But yeah, if an evil soul is exchanged for power, balance will probably be achieved once the soul is claimed by the hell dimension. So, uh, I’d stand back, everyone.”

As a loud sucking sound fills the graveyard and the chanting voices grow louder, Red Hood keeps half an eye on Batman. He’s the kind of self-sacrificing moron who might just dive in and try to save even an evil bastard like the Joker from being sent to hell. His rigid moral code probably demands it.

Batman does twitch toward the Joker as the portal opens up to claim him. He looks conflicted, like he thinks he should be stopping this but really doesn’t want to. Idiot. Red Hood sighs, preparing himself to tackle Batman if needed to stop him from diving into hell to save a true monster from his just punishment.

“Father!” Robin says suddenly, reaching out and catching Batman’s hand. “I must confess all. I, too, was aware I was a monster! I failed to reveal the truth of my heritage to you out of craven fear, and deserve your recriminations and reprisal. If you must cast me out of Gotham, do so now and have done with it. Only, I must request mercy for Todd, who is a simple fool and had no knowledge of his own ghoulish heritage until these events transpired.”

Red Hood is torn between a surge of affection for Robin’s bravery in using this to distract Batman, and resentment that the little brat basically just called him an idiot. Affection wins, damn it. “Aw, thanks, squirt.”

“Silence, oaf!”

Batman blinks back and forth between them, attention fully engaged. In the background, the portal sucks the Joker’s body in with a soft squelching sound and then closes, but no one’s paying attention to that anymore. “Robin,” he says, frowning in what looks like concern, “I would never throw you out of Gotham. You’re my son—all of you are my children, even those of you who belong to other families as well. Were you truly worried I would cast you aside?”

He looks around, his expression of horror deepening as all of them shift and dodge his gaze, revealing how very much each of them was worried about just that at some point or another over the past few weeks. “Oh, no,” he says, reaching out and catching Robin with a hand on his shoulder and gently pulling him in to wrap his arms around him and press him close. “Oh, son, no.”

When he looks up and meets Red Hood’s gaze, extending a hand in his direction, Red Hood doesn’t even hesitate. He takes it. “Dad, I thought—” His voice breaks like a teenager and he clears his throat, embarrassed.

“No. Jaylad, no. You’re mine, and if you’re all monsters, then monsters were never what I thought,” Batman whispers as he pulls him in, wrapping him into the hug with his little brother.

Nightwing grins and comes forward next, towing Tim along with him. As Red Hood tries to step back, swiping at his eyes, Nightwing catches him. “Not gonna get away that easy, little wing,” he says, tugging him forward again as he tackle-hugs Batman, squashing Tim and Robin in the middle.

Red Hood grunts from the force of the hug and lifts his head to eye Batgirl and Cass. “What, you aren’t gonna get in on this too?”

“Not even if you paid me,” Batgirl says. Cass just smiles. She’s probably planning to get individual hugs from everyone later. Those are a lot more comfortable than the current five-man crush. Proving his theory, Cass leans over and gives Batgirl a side-hug.

As Tim, Robin, and Red Hood struggle to free themselves from the prolonged embrace and Nightwing just squeezes tighter, Batgirl glances around. “Wait, so all of us are some kind of monster? Seriously? Literally none of us is fully human and we’ve all just been going along with B’s dumb rule about monsters in Gotham?”

“Well, Oracle is human,” Tim says from where he’s worked his way over to Red Hood’s side of the hug. Now that they’re pressed up against each other, he doesn’t mind the group hug quite so much.

“Actually…” The voice coming from his pocket causes Red Hood to jump. Reaching down, he pulls out Red Robin’s wrist computer, forgotten in the distraction. Everyone turns to look at Oracle’s symbol where it appears on the screen. As they watch, it shimmers and is replaced by an image of her face. She looks paler than usual, her skin a stark contrast to her vivid red hair. Is it a trick of the light, or do her eyes look a little red too? She smiles, exposing sharp canines. “I didn’t feel like joining in on the drama, so I didn’t mention it when this happened. Apparently, my family has some secrets too.”

“Huh,” Red Hood says, mulling that over. “How come some of us still look like monsters, and others changed back to normal?” As far as he can tell, everyone’s looking human again except Alfred, Damian, himself, and now Babs.

Alfred coughs. “Ah, I believe I can answer that question, Master Jason. Some magical heritage is only active under certain conditions, such as ghost heritage, which is activated by death and is otherwise dormant. Other heritage may be so thinned over time as to be inactive, except with the addition of such magic as the Joker used.” He gestures toward Batgirl and Nightwing. “Master Bruce is likely in that category, as well, considering his mother was human and he has never shown any indications of being able to transform prior to this point. If any of you wish to transform again, you will likely have to obtain an amulet from Miss Zatanna for assistance.”

Batgirl’s eyes light up, and it’s obvious she’s imagining being able to transform into a dire wolf at will to terrorize the criminals of the city. Fuck yeah.

“So what about us?” Red Hood says, gesturing between the four of them. “Why are we still all ghouly and fanged?”

“That would be because vampires and ghouls generally require a glamor of some kind to pass unnoticed among humans,” Oracle says. “We all must have had one before, and the Joker’s spell interrupted them. Now that his spell is negated, we need new glamors. Don’t worry—I’ve been researching this for days now, ever since I figured out there was a little more to my adoption than Dad ever told me. He fessed up about having known all my life, and forked over a pile of highly effective glamors he apparently had stashed just in case mine ever wore off. You guys can come over and have the glamors applied once you’re done with patrol.” 

“Ah, excellent,” Alfred says, beaming. “It has been many decades since I needed a new one and I suspect my former suppliers may no longer be available.”

“Wait,” Tim says, eyes alight with what Red Hood immediately recognizes as curiosity. “So Cass knew she was a wraith, and she told me about my mom being the one who had ghostly heritage, and I know about the whole al Ghul connection that means Jason and Damian are actually part ghoul…” He glances at Oracle on the screen. “And apparently you’ve figured out your own secret monster origin story. But what about Steph and Dick? Does anyone know the background there? I didn’t find anything unusual in my background search for them when I was researching the effects of the spell.”

Nightwing clears his throat. “Uh, I can’t say for sure, but I think my mom was probably the shifter, or at least knew about that part of our heritage? I mean, her nickname for me was her little robin, which seems… well, pretty clear, in retrospect. Part of my parents’ act was performing without a net and there were always magic-nullifying charms on the ring when they went on, to prove to the audience that none of it was a trick.” He looks down. “That explains why she wasn’t able to just fly away, I guess.”

Batman lets out a soft, hurt-sounding noise and the hug suddenly becomes much tighter.

“Air,” Red Hood gasps, finally managing to tug himself and Tim free. Behind them, Robin wiggles loose. Nightwing seems content to stay in the hug.

“What about you?” Red Hood asks Batgirl.

She shrugs. “I honestly have no clue. I’m guessing it was probably through my dad, since my mom had no idea what to do with me when I came home as a dire wolf the other week. I mean, she was really cool about it after she stopped screaming and figured out it was me, but it was pretty obvious she’d never dealt with anything like that before.”

“Fair enough,” Tim says, then sighs. He shifts slightly, and Red Hood finally realizes he’s still holding him wrapped in his arms. He feels Tim’s soft hair tickle his nose.

It’s awesome.

Nearby, Alfred clears his throat. “I hesitate to interrupt, but I suggest we relocate soon, as I believe the sprinklers are about to come on. Perhaps back to the Manor for a cup of tea?”

That gets everyone moving, although it’s hard to tell if it’s the promise of tea or the threat of cold jets of water to the face that does it.

At this point, Red Hood doesn’t care. He just wants to keep holding Tim, solid and tangible and so very warm in his arms. “Wanna skip the tea and go make out on a rooftop?” he whispers, grinning when he feels Tim nod.

“That sounds amazing,” Tim says, leaning back to meet his eyes. He looks excited and hesitant and very, very happy. He looks how Red Hood feels. “Only, can we grab some coffee on the way? It’s been a while.”

Snorting, Red Hood reaches for his grapnel and takes aim at the cathedral roof. “Yeah, I think we can manage that.” The telltale sound of sprinklers starting up around them has him gripping Tim tight and taking off fast.

Behind them, he can hear the others laughing and hurrying out of the graveyard, the heavy tension that’s been hanging over them since this whole mess started lifting and leaving giddy relief behind. He’s pretty sure Dick and Steph are going to tease them more about this later.

As he lands on the roof, Tim tucked up against his side, he realizes he doesn’t care. Not when he can bend down and press a kiss to those smiling lips. He deepens the kiss, wrapping his arms around Tim’s warm, muscular form and thrilling at the closeness.

After a minute Tim draws back, hazy-eyed and gorgeous. “This is amazing but I was promised coffee,” he whispers.

“We got all the time in the world now, baby, for coffee and for everything else,” Red Hood says and presses another soft kiss to Tim’s hair before realizing he basically just proposed and panicking. He tenses and starts to draw back. “Uh, if that’s what you want, I mean—” Fuck, maybe he just wants a quick lay. His stomach twists at the thought of having to give this up.

Tim snickers and pulls him back in. “Coffee and everything else with you sounds just about perfect,” he says, twining his arms around Red Hood’s neck. “And we kind of do have all the time in the world, don’t we? I mean, considering we’re a ghoul and a ghost…”

Huh, it’s true they might end up leading longer lives, considering their newly discovered heritage. Hell, all of them probably will. Alfred’s a vampire who’s apparently been alive for centuries, after all—who the hell knows what kind of longevity the rest of them will have? Red Hood blinks, then smirks. That’s going to give them so much time to troll the others.

This is going to be amazing.

Leaning forward, he loses himself in Tim again. There’s plenty of time for all that later. For now, all he needs is right here.