Title: futures right away
Fandom: DC Comics
Rating: G
Characters: Dick, Tim, Jason
Length: 2700
Author notes: Set outside the New 52. Let's just handwave the timeline altogether.

Summary: Gotham has a new Oracle.


It's a slow night — he's only been shot at twice — right until it isn't.

'There's a gun shipment coming in, eastern docks,' a familiar, scrambled voice tells him through the comm link. Dick's hand slips on the grapple line, and he barely avoids going splat against the windshield of an eighteen-wheeler.

'Who the hell is this?' he demands once he reaches the relative safety of the first available rooftop.

'Are you going to act on the intel, Nightwing, or do I need to contact someone who will?'

'You are not,' Dick grits out through clenched teeth, 'the Oracle.' He starts to pace, gravel shuffling under his feet, needing to move. Otherwise he might have to punch something. 'Now answer the question, before I find you and beat it out of you. Who. The hell. Are you?'

Silence.

For a moment Dick's instincts tell him to check out the situation at the docks, but he squashes it. The impostor, whoever they are, said they could relay the intel to somebody else. So let somebody else take care of Gotham's lowest, for once.

The easiest way to find what he needs would be through the Cave computers, but the Cave is the last place he wants to go. Batman doesn't need to know about the phony Oracle, not if Dick can take care of them before it gets messy and someone gets hurt. Good old detective work it is, then.

He doesn't really expect to find anything at the old Clocktower but ruins, and he's right. The ground floor of the building is still functional, but doesn't even have electricity. To his wry amusement, he finds a bat nest on the remaining part of the ceiling, shielded from elements by vines and concrete. He's glad the building wasn't renovated.

It doesn't bring him any closer to finding the impostor, though. He swings onto the crumbling wall of what was once the third floor and crouches in the shadow, rests his elbows on his knees. The view of the city from here isn't nice, precisely, but it's not a total slum, either. It's just Gotham.

Dick more feels than hears the movement behind him, a shift in the air at his back. He backflips onto a support beam, reaching for his escrima sticks. It's too dark, but he can still feel a presence — he's trained to, through years of Batman watching him sleep. He turns on the night vision in his lenses, and there, the swish of a cape…no, not a cape. He gives pursuit before he can even consciously make the decision.

It's cat-and-mouse from there: flash of movement in his peripheral vision, the soft thud of a grappling hook, flying over three blocks even though he can't be sure he's going in the right direction until, there, the vague shadow jumping from a fire escape in the distance. Dick would be tempted to think it's sloppiness or incompetence (god knows Gotham had its fair share of only half-trained operatives), but knows better. There's a level of intention in the chase; no rookie could time their escape to leave him with just enough to follow, but never enough to identify.

Someone wants Dick to find them, and Dick is nothing if not obliging.

At the back of his mind he's registering the change in scenery. They leave downtown Gotham, moving west towards the riverfront. For a moment Dick thinks they might be going for the eastern bridge and leave the city altogether, but at the roof of Gotham Superior Courthouse whoever it is Dick is chasing just — pauses.

Dick lands on the other end of the roof and starts running as soon as his feet touch the ground. Before he's halfway there the person (male from the posture, six feet tall) — he's in the shadow, Dick can only see clearly his combat boots, but he's pretty sure the man waves at him. And takes a step off the edge of the roof.

Fine. This time Dick stops playing around, cuts the acrobatics, and throws himself into the pursuit.

They end up near the Tricorner Yards, among a scattering of waterfront warehouses. Dick sees a rooftop exit on one of them slam shut, the sound muffled against the background noises of Gotham River. He doesn't immediately follow, but surveys the scene through binoculars. At first, he can't see anything particular about the one warehouse, but a closer examination reveals nicely hidden infrared sensors and at least three thermographic cameras. He can't see any booby traps, but knows better than to trust his own eyes, and follows the exact path taken by the man before him.

There's a keypad next to the roof exit, but the hatch isn't secured. Escrima sticks at the ready, Dick slows his breathing and goes in. A part of him, the one that sounds very much like Bruce, is telling him just how idiotic he's being to willingly walk into enemy territory without making sure he's at an advantage first. Another part can't help but note that this place is as far from the Cave as is possible without breaking city limits, and his gut is telling him that this is important.

He doesn't know what he's expecting, not really. Maybe one of the freaks trying to lure him in. It wouldn't be beyond the Joker to concoct this kind of scheme.

What he is not expecting, however, is electronics and weapons scattered across the warehouse, a wall of computer screens, and sitting in front of them in a Superman t-shirt and worn denims —

'Tim?'

Tim smiles, a twist of his mouth that's too fast to reach his eyes.

Dick can't stop staring. 'I,' he says, 'what.' He's planning for there to be more words, with What the actual everloving fuck at the top of the list, except there's movement in his peripheral vision. Of course there is. Tim might be good, but he's not good enough to evade Dick across half the city.

He blocks the strike, turning and throwing a kick in one movement, and finds himself at the business end of a Beretta. It's a familiar scene. Dick stares some more.

'Jason,' he manages.

'Aw, I did so miss your gift for stating the goddamn obvious, bro,' Jason says. The gun in his hand doesn't move an inch, and he raises an eyebrow. 'Now, why don't you drop the pointed sticks and assume the position.'

'I — what?' Dick says, again. His mind is drawing a blank, but he knows placating the unhinged gun-toting undead Robin should be his priority here — there are explosives around, gunfire would be a very bad, no good thing right now — so he drops the escrima sticks and holds up his hands.

The scuffle this time is shorter: he's concentrating on the gun, so Jason grabbing his arm catches him off guard. Gritting his teeth, he lets himself be turned around and shoved against the nearest wall.

'You heard me,' Jason says, voice flat and low. 'Assume —' he kicks Dick's legs apart '— the position.'

'I'm sorry,' comes Tim's voice, sounding not very sorry at all, 'but we can't be too careful.'

We? thinks Dick.

'What little miss sunshine is trying to say,' says Jason, 'is that we can only trust you as far as we can throw you, and we can't throw you very far.' He pats Dick down, confiscating the backup collapsible escrima sticks, zip-strips, smoke grenades, EMP bombs and knives. Dick doesn't use them as weapons, but he can see why someone like Jason might be confused. Jason also disables his trackers, and the transmitter in his left boot. 'Clear,' he says, and lets Dick go with a final shove to the kidneys. Dick doesn't flinch.

'Does anyone mind telling me what's going on?'

'Oooh, pick me, pick me,' Jason sing-songs. He moves into an easy stance beside Tim, reaches for the coffee cup on Tim's desk.

'Without the crazy,' Dick says, 'so you just stay where I can see you and zip it.' He looks pointedly at Tim.

To his credit, Tim has the decency to look a little uncomfortable. Not uncomfortable enough for Dick, definitely not for the amount of Twilight Zone horror going on, but it's a start.

'The community needed an information broker. I was qualified to fill the spot. It's really not that complicated, I don't see why you have to overreact.'

'Over—? Trust me, little brother, I haven't even started to freak out in earnest.'

'I do have the antecedent Oracle's blessing, you know.' Tim frowns at him, and crosses his arms over his chest. It's odd to see him use such a Robin pose when he's in his civvies. 'It's not like I broke into the Cave and stole a costume. Or — oh, I don't know, took a uniform that didn't belong to me any more and handed it to someone else.'

Beside him, Jason snorts.

'So I screwed up,' Dick says, ignoring him. He tries to to focus on Tim while keeping Jason's hands in his line of vision. 'And you know I'm sorry. Now stop diverting, because there is no way in hell you can tell me this —' he waves a hand around the warehouse '— is about that.'

'No, it isn't.' Tim clearly had time to practice his Bat-glare, and hits Dick with its full force. It's not quite on Batman levels, but it's close. He parrots Dick's gesture, encompassing the warehouse. 'This isn't about me. This is about Gotham — no, more than Gotham, the world — needing an Oracle. I'm right. I wish you would see that.'

Dick doesn't want to admit that he can, or that if there's anyone who could pick up where the first Oracle left off it would be Tim. Instead he starts pacing, never letting his eyes stray too far from Jason. He tugs at his hair and tries to process, like the mature functioning adult he sometimes likes to fool himself into thinking he is, until he hits a wall. He jerks his chin in Jason's direction.

'Am I the only one who remembers that he tried to kill you?'

Tim reaches up to his throat. It might be unconscious, or automatic, or it might be deliberate, Dick can't tell. The scar is white against Tim's already pale skin. He'll get even less vitamin D than usual, is the first inane thought that pops up in Dick's mind.

'We worked some things out,' Tim says.

Jason snorts again, then winks, like that's supposed to mean anything to Dick. 'Timmy Tim Tim turns to putty when faced with my charms, of which I have many,' he says, and moves as if to ruffle Tim's hair. Tim bats his hand away, giving him the stink eye. It occurs to Dick that this whole thing must have been going on for some time, and wonders if Batman already knows or if he's the first of the family to have that honour. 'Also, I'm reformed and shit.' Jason doesn't even try to sound sincere.

Tim sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose, the edge of a mask that is not there. 'We have an agreement. Jason promised to refrain from using lethal force, in exchange for —'

'— in exchange for upgraded weaponry and all the sweet, sweet intel Timmy can spare. And when I say intel, of course I mean steamy, hot —'

Tim nervestrikes him. Jason blocks it with effortless grace and dances away, cackling like a maniac. Christ: they have a rapport. It's making Dick a little breathless.

The important lesson his already half-melted brain is willing to take away from that is, 'You're working together.'

'No,' they say at the same time.

'Well,' Tim amends, 'not so much working as…' His voice drifts off and he frowns. Dick wills him to understand that if he can't even quantify his alliance with Jason, he shouldn't pursue it in the first place.

'Tim, he's a murderer,' he tries.

'And there you go again, stating the fucking obvious,' says Jason. He's not laughing any more, and even through the white lenses of his mask Dick can feel his gaze, cold like a threat hanging between them.

'Tim,' he says again.

'Huntress has killed,' Tim counters. 'Cassandra is working with me, too. Like I said, we have an agreement. It has worked so far. I — actually, no, I don't have to justify myself to you.'

It's true. What is also true is that if he's crossing the line into Jason's particular brand of vigilantism, Dick has a responsibility to put an end to it. He's not sure what it means if Jason crossed the line to their side, though.

Before he can voice all that, Tim puts up a hand to stop him. 'I wanted to offer you a chance to work together,' he says. He leans in, bracing his elbows on his thighs. In the revolving chair, against the backdrop of computer screens, he looks both small and perfectly at home. 'I thought it would be good for you. It's your choice, Dick. If you don't want any part in this, I understand, but in that case I'll ask you to get out of my way.' His eyes dart to Jason, who adjusts his stance in response. The message for Dick is clear: they'll fight him if they have to.

Once upon a time, Tim would listen to him. Maybe his new operation really is about what Gotham might or might not need, but Dick can see his own hand in this, whatever Tim says. He wouldn't be working with Jason right now if Dick hadn't taken Robin from him. He doesn't want to think it's good to see the kid growing up, but only because his failure instigated it.

For a moment, Dick considers taking them on. Then he thinks again.

'Dick.' Tim turns to his desk, shuffling papers until he finds what he's looking for. For the first time since Dick walked in here, he stands up from his office chair and crosses the distance between them. It's alien, disturbing, to see the Oracle moving without a wheelchair. It's even more disturbing to realise he's already thinking of Tim as the Oracle.

Tim presses something into his hand. 'It's a secure channel. I'll know when you activate it.'

It's a headset, smaller than their usual ones and unmarked. Dick is somewhat relieved it doesn't bear the Birds of Prey motif. He closes his fingers around it, and gives Tim a long look.

Jason makes a disgusted noise. 'You two ladies are like a Lifetime movie of the week, I swear to god.'

Dick leaves without another word, taking back only his escrima sticks. Otherwise he might be too tempted to find Jason's bike and put a tracer on it, and he doesn't know whether that would be a good idea. Batman has access to his tracers' data. A part of him, the one that sounds like Alfred at his most blandly sarcastic, points out that this means he already made his choice.

Four hours later, after he busts the drug shipment in the eastern docks, Dick switches his usual comm link for the new one.

'N to O, over.'

A pause. 'Go ahead, N.'

Dick looks over the Gotham skyline, the skyscrapers and GPD helicopters circling them. If the Oracle managed to tame Jason's killer instincts, maybe he can help Dick, too. For a moment, he thinks he can see the Bat-signal against the low-hanging clouds, but it's only a searchlight from one of the helicopters.

He's not sure this is a good idea, but he's always been best at figuring things out as he went along.

'I'm in.'