Chapter Text
Batgirl heads to where Mary, Justin and Kitten are staying after she gets off the phone with Dick.
She has news for them and she wants them to hear it from her first.
Mary is sitting in the window of their new foster family’s apartment, dressed in a warm—if somewhat worn—pastel pink nightgown. She looks up as Batgirl swings closer, pushing up the window and then silently beckoning her in after she lands lightly on the fire escape.
“The kids are in here with me, so you gotta be quiet,” Mary whispers, pointing to a big bed with two small lumps. “Justin has his own room but he doesn’t want to sleep alone.”
She points to a smaller bed on the other side of the room, indicating that they can sit there.
"This is Kitten’s bed. Turns out her name is Annabelle, but she won’t answer to it anymore.”
Batgirl perches on the edge of the smaller bed and Mary comes over and sits at the other end, where she can keep an eye on the kids and all the room’s exits.
"How are you all doing?”
Mary shrugs and looks away for a moment.
“They’re indifferent to us and it’s easier, I guess.”
Batgirl nods and opens her mouth to speak, but Mary beats her to it.
"How did you know about us?” Mary asks, staring at her.
"Mouse told us.”
“Is he okay? Where did you find him?”
She frowns.
“He’s okay. He has a new foster placement too and has been there about a week now. I’m checking in on him like I am you. He likes it. His foster dad knows ASL and I got him a tablet that speaks his words for him. He’s doing a lot better.”
"And how’d you meet him?” Mary’s eyes search her face.
She sighs in response.
"We found him because he and a bunch of other kids got sold to Maroni, though we still don’t know why. Mary, I—.”
She pauses, not certain if Mary will want to hear it or not.
“I’m gonna guess that somethin’ happened with Toad?” Mary asks hesitantly.
"Yeah," she says reluctantly. "Toad sold him out. Said it was gonna help him. Maroni paid Toad back by getting him shot in the head. I’m so sorry.”
Mary’s eyes fill with tears, and she bites her lip, wrapping her arms around her stomach to hold herself.
"You think,” she says after a moment of silent gasping. “You think something messed up in Toad’s head after he nearly died?”
Batgirl nods.
“I do. I really do."
Mary wipes her tears away with the palm of her hand.
"Can I ask you something?" Batgirl asks.
Mary nods.
"Was Greg safe with Buster?"
"He didn't like black boys," Mary whispers, glancing over to the bed where Justin is still sleeping.
"But Mouse was too young for him?"
Mary nods and bites her lip.
"What about Snake?"
She's afraid of what Mary will say but knows she has to ask.
"Buster killed him when he got too old for him," Mary whispers, looking away.
Batgirl can't imagine what horrors Mary has seen. She decides to change the subject for the other girl's sake.
"I just got word that you're transferring to a new foster home here in a few days," she says gently, still watching Mary's face.
Mary shrugs.
"I might have pushed things along."
That gets Mary's attention.
"What d'you mean?"
"The state likes to drag their feet when it comes to approving foster couples that are gay," she says.
Mary raises her eyebrows but doesn't say anything otherwise.
"I have some friends who have been trying to get approved to be foster parents for over 6 months. I might have hacked the system a little to push their application over into the approved pile."
"What if you get caught?"
She snorts quietly.
"It's unlikely."
"What does that mean for us?"
"It means that you, and Kitten and Justin are all going to live with a couple of lesbians who really want you."
"Until they get tired of us," Mary says back sharply.
"And should that happen, then I'll find you a new home," she says.
"What about Greg and Danny?"
"I'm still working on them. But I hope to have something figured out soon.
—
Nightwing catches Wallace in an alleyway behind a seedy bar taking a piss.
"Morgan Wallace. What's a Gotham boy like you doing all the way out here?" He calls out in a fake southern accent as he glides down into the alley.
Wallace looks up, eyes wide in his face and splutters back.
"That's not me. I don't-I don't know who you're talking about!" He says, yanking his pants back up and scurrying backward.
It's still sleeting, but not as bad. The ground, however, is covered in uneven piles of unmelted ice pellets.
Wallace, who is obviously inebriated on top of being panicked, only manages to slide backward a couple of feet before losing his balance and crashing to the alley floor.
Nightwing takes him in and sneers. Wallace is a skinny man with a bowl haircut. He's young, not even out of his twenties, and Nightwing thinks he probably can't weigh more than 150 pounds soaking wet. Which he is rapidly becoming, the longer he scrabbles in the ice.
"Don't get up on my account," he growls, stalking forward and aiming a kick to Wallace's shoulder, knocking him into a pile of trashcans.
Wallace screeches and puts his hands up in front of his face.
"Please don't kill me!"
He strides forward and grabs him by the front of his sweater, holding him up and shaking him as he does.
"I think I should just tie you up and leave you to the tender mercies of a pedophile. How's that instead?"
"Please, no!"
"That's what you did to Toad and Mouse. Punishment seems fair," Nightwing snaps out, bringing Wallace up close and then throwing him back down again into the trash.
"I didn't know!"
"Sure," Nightwing growls out. "You thought the Cases were just paying you to look the other way for no reason."
He grabs him again and throws him face first against the wall, securing his hands together behind his back with a zip tie. Wallace screams again as he squirms pathetically in his grasp.
A bouncer from a nearby nightclub comes around the corner to investigate the sounds.
"Everything all right?" He asks in a mild voice.
He barely glances at Nightwing.
"Just taking out some trash," he says cheerfully. "Guy helped provide a pedophile with some kids," he adds, shaking Wallace harder than he needs to just to hear him cry out.
The bouncer scowls at that and stalks forward.
"Let me tell you what the guys at Blackgate are gonna think about that," the large man says, quickly driving his fist into Wallace's face.
Nightwing jumps out of the way, letting Wallace drop to the icy ground again.
The bouncer spits on Wallace's shivering form and then nods at Nightwing and walks away.
"Seems like a real nice guy," Nightwing's smile is full of teeth as he rolls Wallace over with his foot and grins down at him.
--
The alert goes out shortly before dinner. He gets it on his phone from the Gotham Emergency Alert System and has just finished reading it when his phone rings. It's Gordon.
"Scarecrow just escaped," Gordon says immediately.
"I saw the alert," he tells him.
"We think he paid off a guard. Though, considering that guard is now dead, it's a little hard to verify that theory."
"You'd think they'd have learned better by now," he grumbles, already headed down to the cave.
He snags Jason on the way, and waves Alfred off, signing to him that he should stay upstairs with Tim.
"There's a hostage situation unfolding in the Bowery, in the old tire factory. Group of six civilians. Wrong time, wrong place."
He scowls and directs Jason to the locker room, putting the phone on speaker so his partner can hear as well.
"S.W.A.T. is already gathering, though not yet on their way," Gordon's voice rings out in the area they're getting their gear on.
"Is that wise?" Bruce asks, stripping down in a series of familiar motions.
His t-shirt and sweats are discarded as he exchanges them for his undersuit and protective layers. He's throwing on his boots when he hears Gordon sigh.
"It wasn't my idea. The Mayor's gotten involved because one of the civilians is a friend of his."
"So what, he wants to repay them by putting them in danger?" Robin retorts, looking unimpressed.
He grabs his cowl and finishes making the switch over to Batman.
"Which is why I called you two directly," Gordon says.
"Okay. We're heading out now," he says, hanging up.
He snaps on his utility belt and grabs a couple of protein bars for them before following Robin out into the cave proper.
There's already water bottles in the Batmobile.
He checks the weather report as they get in the car and scowls.
"What?" Robin asks, catching his look.
"They've issued a blizzard watch, with the expectation that the actual warning will be issued in a few hours," he retorts, pulling the Batmobile out of the cave with a roar.
"So we should resolve this quickly?"
He grunts, mind mostly on Robin's lack of pants.
"After this, I'm implementing a new protocol regarding your uniform," he says, tone of voice leaving no room for argument.
"What kind of new protocol?"
"We're going to make you some pants for when it's below a certain temperature," he decides.
"B! No! They slow my movements!" Robin complains. "The cape is bad enough."
"Yeah, and so does hypothermia," Batman retorts, putting the wipers on as they get out on the highway.
At least they're closer to the Bowery than someone coming from the GCPD.
Visibility is already not great by the time they pull up to the factory, the roads barely visible through the steadily falling snow. The wind whips the snow around them as they get out of the Batmobile, and he bites down the urge to shiver. The moisture the incoming storm is bringing them makes the cold that much worse.
He directs Robin up the building. Thankfully the side best suited for climbing is on the south side, which is somewhat protected from the wind. Small mercies.
They find a door that he picks the lock on easily and find a stairwell that leads downstairs in the dark. He snaps his flashlight on and sees Robin do the same. The door shuts behind them with a heavy clang, and he turns and looks at Robin with a cocked head.
"Wind musta caught it," Robin says, not looking at him.
He grunts.
--
Alfred looks for Tim in the library, where he usually finds him, but doesn't see him. He checks the dining room and the kitchen and goes by Tim's room and knocks but doesn't get a response. He also checks Bruce's study and finds that the legos have been moved again, but still doesn't find Tim. To be thorough, he checks the cave, not certain that Tim would go down without supervision, but too familiar with little boys and their wily ways to completely discount the idea.
Nothing.
He comes back upstairs, feeling mildly concerned, and heads back to Tim's room, knocking again and then entering without permission. There is a light coming from the bathroom door and as he gets closer, he hears the sound of muffled sobs.
They had spent the morning making cookies and he had tried to monitor Jason and Tim's cookie intake, but it's possible that he might have missed something. Jason had always been rather sneaky about his food stealing, and he has no doubt that the same is true for Tim.
He just hopes that Tim isn't sick from too many cookies.
He's not quite expecting the sight that he sees when he walks in the bathroom, though.
"Master Tim?" He calls out, pushing the door.
The first thing he notices is the smell. It's the pungent scent of diarrhea. One of those smells he has had far too much experience with and knows too well.
Tim is curled up on the toilet; the majority of his clothes having been thrown across the room away from him. He's shivering and far too pale, his hair plastered to his head with sweat, his hands shoved in his mouth to try and muffle his sobs.
It breaks something in Alfred's heart to see him in so much misery.
"Little one?" He asks softly, striding quickly over to where Tim is sitting.
"Don't look," Tim signs shakily after pulling his hands out of his mouth, his eyes clenching tightly when he sees Alfred looking at him. "Dirty."
He puts his hand up to Tim's head. He's clammy and cold. Wordlessly, Alfred reaches to touch Tim's hand, pinching the skin on the back of his hand and frowning when it doesn't unstick immediately.
"You're very dehydrated," he notes in a purposely mild voice. "How long have you been in here?"
"Two hours I think?"
Alfred's frown gets more pronounced.
"Did you eat very many cookies? Is that why you're sick?"
Tim sobs and rocks side to side on the toilet gently, before doubling up and releasing a stream of watery diarrhea into the toilet.
"Two," he signs, his hand shaking wildly.
Two is what Alfred had allowed him, and he doesn't think the boy is lying.
Tim is sobbing again.
"I want B," he signs before scrubbing angrily at his tears.
"Masters Bruce and Jason had to attend to some business in Gotham."
Tim bites his lip and gestures to the tablet sitting on the countertop beside him.
"I saw. Scarecrow," he says with another sob.
Alfred turns to the wall and pulls down a washcloth from the ones hanging there. He turns on the warm water and lets it heat for a moment before wetting the washcloth.
"May I wipe your face?" He asks.
Tim looks at him in disbelief.
"I'm gross."
"Yes, hence the washcloth," Alfred says, having an inkling of why Tim is arguing.
"You can't touch me when I'm gross. What if you get gross too?"
Tim curls up again as another cramp ripples through him and more liquid is expelled. He groans and shoves his fingers back in his mouth, chewing on them agitatedly.
"Hm, if that were a concern for me, I would have had to have changed jobs many years ago," Alfred quips, reaching down and wiping Tim's cheeks with the washcloth.
Tim flinches but then leans into his hand. He wipes him down to the waist and then puts the washcloth down.
"I'll be right back," he says, soothingly.
The first thing he does is retrieve a robe from Jason's closet. Then he goes to the first aid kit in Bruce's study and pulls out a bottle of Pepto Bismol. He doesn't really think it will do the job, but it might calm things down a little. If he needs to ply him with stronger medicine, he can do so from the cave. He doesn't know if Tim is sick with a virus, or something else. It concerns him how still the little boy had been, and he aches at the idea of him suffering in silence for so long.