Chapter Text
“I’ve got eyes on a possible jumper,” Oracle says, heart pounding in her chest. Her shoulders tighten, fingers dancing across the keyboard in a frenzy—if only she could be more than just the one behind the screen. “Red Robin, you’re closest. Sending you coordinates now.”
“Received,” replies the vigilante. “On my way.”
To her aggravation, none of the cameras in the immediate vicinity are working well enough to identify the unknown person. She can’t make much out aside from the dark hair and what appears to be a simple pair of plain pajamas. It was sheer luck that she found this person, having been jumping from one camera feed to another in an attempt to monitor the city’s goings-on. But then she saw it—a silhouette atop Wayne Enterprises. Imagine her surprise at a human-like shape sitting at the edge. At first, she had doubted it, knowing fully well that access to Wayne Enterprises after dark—and especially to the rooftop—would be impossible.
But then the person had stood up, toeing the edge far too much for her comfort.
There’s very little surveillance at the top—Wayne Enterprises is as secure as they come, after all—but the cameras up there have never once glitched as they currently are…
She chews on her bottom lip, watching as Red Robin’s blip on one screen gets closer and closer to Wayne Enterprises. Her eyes dart towards another screen where grainy, real-time footage of the figure appears. The feed glitches—momentarily—but returns somewhat normal. The person has come to a standstill. Oracle zooms in. The quality is more grainy than high-tech cameras have any right to be. She can just barely make out the way their toes dangle precariously off the edge—strangely, the person appears to be barefoot.
How had they gotten up there in the first place? Who even climbs a non-residential building with nothing more than their pajamas and not even a pair of socks to cover their feet?
She uses a third screen, pulling up all the security feeds within Wayne Enterprises. Lobby. Parking garage. Elevators. Hallways. A couple random conference rooms here and there. Oracle flips through every single feed before finding, strangely, that the emergency exit’s security feed was disabled. A pit hollows out in her stomach. How could that have escaped hers or Bruce’s notice?
Her fingers continue their tango along her keyboard. No access cards swiped within the past six hours. No passcodes utilized to enter the restricted corridors. No logged internal security breaches.
In the corner of her eye, she sees movement. Oracle looks back at the live footage. The figure leans far too forward. Nausea overtakes her, the vile urge to vomit exploding within as the person disappears from her view.
“Requesting back-up to Wayne Enterprises,” she snaps, fingers flying to pull up all available angles as she interrupts every single channel in the comms. “Someone just jumped from the top. Red Robin is en route, but—”
Her mouth dries up. That can’t be right. She cycles through each feed again—all of the ones surrounding Wayne Enterprises. She hacks into exterior cameras on store fronts. She accesses the city’s traffic cameras along the surrounding streets. She sees Red Robin on his motorbike, circling the tower. There’s a few questionable civilians out and about. In an alleyway, a stray cat scatters.
“Free fall time is about 10 seconds for the height of the tower,” Red Robin interjects, voice clipped. “Oracle, I’m not seeing a body. I’ve circled around. I can park my bike, but is anyone able to grapple around the building?”
“There’s no body anywhere.” She swallows. And checks again. And again. “Not even caught on a ledge or anything.”
“Metahuman, perhaps?” Robin’s voice cuts though like a knife. “Teleportation powers? Density-shifting?”
“A suicidal metahuman. Just what Gotham needs.” Red Hood’s voice isn’t much better, sarcasm dripping. “Are you sure you actually saw someone?”
Oracle grits her teeth. “I’m going to rewind from each angle.”
Batman decides to cut in. “Red Robin, scout the area once more and then resume your route. Oracle, let us know if you find anything.”
To her dismay, none of the cameras caught anything. She’s left wondering if she’d imagined it after all. But she’s sure of it. Someone was up there. But how can she see a person in real time without a trace on the recordings?
It was a bad idea—not even in hindsight, but in general. Still, even with Jazz in his ear talking about poor coping habits, he flew to the top of the tallest building on this side of the city, racing towards the sky in his invisible form. He hadn’t bothered transforming, not wanting to become a glowing beacon. So there he sits with only his thin pajamas between himself and the nipping Gotham air. A plane flies overhead, hardly visible. He stands. The concrete roof is cold beneath his feet.
The city moves beneath him. He’s come to learn that Gotham never sleeps. No wonder it’s a crime-ridden wasteland.
“Danny, don’t.”
He leans forward—and falls.
The wind bites his cheeks. His overgrown bangs are spikes in his eyes. Invisibility washes over him. After all, it wouldn’t do him any favors to get spotted—there’s birds even at this hour and bats aplenty.
One second.
Then two.
Then three.
The ground grows closer. His stomach twists. He’s so close.
Six. Seven. Eight.
The intangibility comes next, a familiar chill settling on his bones.
Ten.
The ground doesn’t touch him. He stops himself, several feet into the dirt of Gotham. There’s nothingness all around. For a moment, he imagines that he hadn’t done anything—that he didn’t just go straight through the ground and into the earth. His skull would be smashed and his insides would be out if that were the case, red and green spilling onto the pavement. Quickly, he rights himself, floating back up.
Danny’s body is featherlight. His thoughts are fuzzy. There’s a ringing in his ears. He shivers. He can hear Jazz shouting before her voice dissolves into static. And so he flies back to the shelter, slipping into his borrowed bed in his borrowed room. With his heart pounding in his chest, he’s never felt more alive.