metalogs | OPEN | This is his equivalent of meeting at Starbies and the mall.

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OPEN | This is his equivalent of meeting at Starbies and the mall.

Who: Tim Drake

mostdangerousbird and Open
What: Some vigilante has to patrol the city. Maybe you're one of them.
When: Like 2 AM January 7th.
Where: Mid-rise rooftops, D'Amicos territory
Content Warnings: Violence is likely.

2 AM Lunch break

Hey, ya gotta eat. Tim's favorite late night Chinese food place (across the Central City General Hospital) is the unofficial hospital nightshift cafeteria. He can get anything there - turnip cakes, fries, egg rolls stuffed with pizza, or tonight, an Italian sausage on a bun. It's a weird spot, with a takeout window that makes you wait in an alley, but that works for him.

He's only in the alley 10 minutes, while he waits for his order, but he's oddly approachable as he sits on a pile of pallets texting. It's like an art project, "Vigilante, Paused."

Stake(out) for Dinner
When the greasy paper bag is handed over, the hero melts back into the shadow. He's already on the roof, racing a few buildings over before unwrapping the bag to settle in to watch through telescopic lenses while he munches.

He's only checking in on a longtime problem, as it's so close to his snack. Rook wasn't expecting the mob clubhouse to have so much activity at this time of night. Before he's done his sandwich, he's counted 8 arrivals, including a plain white box truck, and only two departures (who left in 1 black sedan).

In the morning, he'll check if Jason knows what might be going down. Robin's intervened with Red Hood and his rivals once, but as Rook, he's tried to stay out of it -

At least he hasn't lit any warehouses on fire -

Two more goons come out of the building. Pause at the doors to the truck's cargo. They open the door and examine the dark interior. Too far to make out any detail, but there's movement in the truck.

He'll have to get closer. Polishing off his sandwich, Tim folds the tin foil and bag down to a neat and tiny square. Tucks it away into his belt.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Doesn't work like that.

( which he'll explain later, thanks. because currently, he's wrapping an arm around rook's waist to drag him on through a shadow on the rafters. no one can see them, and he's in a rush to avoid the goons heading their way. they step out just in front of the truck, where jason lets go of tim so he can head towards the truck, tests the handle, and when it's locked - opts to pull out a knife and use the hilt to smash in the window so he can pull the lock up.

they're in a rush. who gives a shit about alarms when their presence is already known. )

[ It should work like that, except it’s Jason and Tim isn’t adding to the mental load by trying to figure out if he’s being honest or difficult or both.

(Probably both just to piss Tim off.)

Oh god, ground. When the shadows fade into the parking lot, it’s like waking up from a falling dream. He’s not moving, but his brain tells him he must be. He was hanging, and now he is not.

There’s something wrong.

Kestrel’s broken in the truck, which is rocking on its crappy suspension from the force.

The alarm’s whooping. Less than ideal.

The parking lot getting strafed with rapid fire from a window is bad, but new.

(And critical so fuck figuring it out now.)

Rook takes a page from Kestrel, busting the passenger window to sit shotgun. On glass. Fun. ]

Hello everyone, we’ll be your rescuers this evening.

[ He’s turned to the heavy, white painted grating separating the front of the truck from the cargo, trying for competent and comedic to reassure whoever’s trapped back there. ]

We’ll get you out as soon as

[ BANG! The grating rattles and strains against its moorings. Tim has an impression of teeth and eyes and short fur through holes too small for his pinky finger. ]

holy fuck drive!

( their earlier talk about hotwiring versus not suddenly becomes a lot more relevant when jason gets himself into the car and realizes it's new enough to be one of those push to start cars. )

Jesus fucking christ.

( too new to tear out the steering column and wire it that way, going in through the engine bay is also useless. jason leans down to shove his forehead against the steering wheel for a moment, then shoves open the driver's door so he can get the vin off the dash. pulls out a small handheld device that isn't his phone but looks like it may ads well be and starts typing it in fast, while tim's - trying to goddamn rush him. )

If you're gonna rush me, you get the damn car to run!

( not that jason isn't still trying, even if he's muttering under his breath, something close to, i'm not stealing i'm repurposing to save someone, kas as he moves around to get back into the truck, still tap-tapping away until he stops and realizes

the noises coming from the back weren't human at all, were they.

he turns to look towards the back of the truck, and lurches forward in his seat the moment whatever it is lurches towards them. )

What the hell is that.

[ A series of roars and snarls starts a rolling chorus in the back. Presumably young men smell like dinner.

No, a round of roars and snarls. They're overlapping. ]

Cats. Plural and big if that's not glaringly obvious!

[ Now why is Jason bitching about the car?? There are bigger problems. ]

Who has a push-to-start box truck?!

[ Fine. He can fix this. Tim pulls up the display from his gauntlet and taps a few things, which means he’s not watching the window or the back of the van. A sequence of numbers starts cycling on the display as his embedded comms device starts sequentially mimicking all known fob signals.

He holds his wrist closer to the steering column, as is he were in the driver's seat.
They don't have time to do this again if neither his nor Kestrel's attempts work. ]

I'll just do everything. Might as well give me your gun, because they're going to be out here any fucking second and you can't drive and shoot out tires.

Don't bitch at me, this's more your field than mine.

( not the animals, the rfid-enabled car. the massive cats are far out of both of their fields, even if the snarls aren't deterring jason any from wanting to get them out of there. his device vibrates, and jason presses down on the brake pedal as he presses the push to start button, and the engine starts up as the alarm switches off.

another curse under his breath, but jason's shoving his boot down onto the gas and turning the car to get them the hell out of dodge. unlatches a thigh holster and pulls out one of his guns, yanking a spare clip out of his jacket, too. drops them down onto the seat between them. since tim was complaining - fine, it can be his job to shoot out the tires.

jason's busy pressing down on the brakes and swerving sharply to the left. )

've got a warehouse out this way.

[ Kneeling backwards on the bench seat in a speeding, turning car with claws peeking through the metal grate that's the only thing between you and some pissed off mob kitties while checking a gun and securing a clip is a feat that no one thanks you for. Ever.

Much like Tim won't thank Jay for being able to drift around a 100 degree turn with no warning. ]

Sorry, kitties. Shuriken aren't batarangs. This is gonna get loud.

[ Less graceful screeching of tires as the mobsters must have made it to the vehicles. Rook puts his back to the window, one hand on the frame, and holds for what feels like too long. Maybe they're not following.

Blam! Blam! Blam!

Good for bystanders, they've switched to something smaller and not fully automatic, and they couldn't shoot for shit when they were standing still.

The first break in shots, he's half out the window, firing off 4 rounds and sliding back in before they return. The cats are going ballistic. He looks pretty smug. He's nothing on Jason, but he caught at least 2 of the tires of the lead car. ]

2 cars. I think. I'm not shooting at anything that's not shooting at me.

( this would be significantly easier if they were just on a goddamn bike. a truck's significantly harder to try and hide, especially with all the noise coming from the back and the guns shooting at them. jason keeps watch from the corner of his eyes, waits until tim's back inside the window before he's yanking up the parking break at the same moment his foot shoves the gas pedal down to the ground. something's beeping at him, but he doesn't give a shit. they turn into a thin, dark alley full of businesses recycling trash cans which are no match for the shitty box truck that's getting the hell scratched out of it at this point. he pulls up the parking break. there's no upcoming turns to get out of the alley, which is just fine with jason. it means there's no way for them to get in front of them unless they speed ahead to the end, and jason--has a plan for that.

it was an ill-advised one, but it wouldn't be a tim and jason excursion if they weren't being reckless. the hand not holding tight onto the steering wheel gestures ahead, where there's a small little walkway leading out to the right. not big enough for their truck or any vehicle running on more than two wheels. )

Got any smoke bombs? ( he's not waiting for an answer, because tim always comes prepared, that's his thing. ) I'm gonna need you to set 'em off, 'bout five seconds or so before my window lines up with that alley.

You have a belt! Not to mention 8 plus pockets.

[ He has to nearly shout to be heard over the cacophony of engine, gears, scraping metal, cats, and gunshots because it keeps getting worse. The felidae have roaring after the brake sends them to careen into the divider (which holds for now) and Rook's ass ends up on the fucking dashboard, back against the windshield and roof, because he's not buckled in. ]

Yeah, I have smoke bombs because I pack my gear.

[ Rook produces a handful of smoke bombs, more than enough to clog the alley in smoke while Jason guns it to lose them in whatever the next turn is. See? This is competence. Bringing standard gear to a patrol is basic competence, idiot. He'll keep them ready at the ready, but he continues to give him a hard time about it. ]

I'm touching your shit. Every morning. I'm packing your belt because I'm not healing you if you forget to pack a goddamn extra clip!

You nag worse than Babs, you know that?

( he does have a belt. and a significant amount of pockets stitched into his jacket exactly where jason wanted them, thanks. more pockets now, after his kind-of trip back home spaced out his time in new amsterdam when he'd gotten used to going without his significant amount of gear from his time elsewhere. )

Leave my shit alone, I've got it just how I like it! An' mine're in my back pockets, I can't reach 'em and drive at--hold on.

( because they're approaching the alleyway, and despite the mild bitchfest going on up here, he knows tim's good to throw them like jason had asked him to. he doesn't direct tim to do the job he's already given him, instead takes a deep breath, holds it in and turns eyes to the alleyway. counts down the seconds, and as soon as jason's got visibility beyond the alley, he's scrunching up his nose, bites down on the inside of his lower lip - and turns the wheel just enough that the car starts sinking into its own shadow.

there one moment, and gone the next as it lands half on the sidewalk on the other side of the alley. jason lets out the breath he'd been holding. lets off the gas, gets off the sidewalk, and lets the truck slow down to a reasonable pace for the road they're on.

stops at the next stop sign with his blinker on, like any good driver. and makes a right turn. )

Two blocks.

( to jason's old warehouse. tim probably knows where it is. the hand he's got on the steering wheel's shaking a little, and the other's raising to press against his sternum. )

'm never doing that again.

[ He does throw them - he's still bitching at Kestrel as he does, but the timing is flawless. If you're going to mouth off, you have to still deliver.

(If there is a flaw, it's that Rook's not wasting a rebreather on this. They're a pain to fabric, and not cheap, so he's holding his cape to his face. It keeps him quiet, anyway.

And this time, Rook clocks the sensation of being teleported when it begins. But they're still in the truck.

(One of the cats sounds like its coughing up a hairball. Please be facing the back of the truck.)

But Kestrel - shit, that's not good. That's how Tim imagines he looks, when he heals too much or too many. Shaking is bad enough but touching his hand to his chest is voluntary, if subconscious, and Jay doesn't do that sort of (showing weakness) thing. ]

Do you want me to drive or heal?

[ Asking, because he knows it's important to give his brother a choice. Limited options, because he knows he'll pick the stupidest one. ]

( at least they're in the shit area of central city, where a car full of bullet holes will, hopefully, not attract too much attention. as long as no one notices the snarling and yowls coming from the back. and the coughing. jason's not looking back, he doesn't want to know what that cat's hacking up. )

I'm fine.

( a moment after it leaves his mouth he realizes exactly what tim's catching onto, and how he's going to take jason's answer as utter bullshit. )

It doesn't hurt. ( a yellow light, which jason speeds up just enough to get through before it turns red. drops the hand from his sternum. ) I'll explain it later.

( he's tired, in a way that feels like it's more than bone-deep. but he's not going to crash in the very short distance they need to go to get to the warehouse. )

[ “No” wasn’t an option, and yet he took it anyway. When they get to the warehouse, Kestrel has a minute to explain. Rook will wait.

(They’ve survived higher speed crashes than this. It’s two blocks. It will be fine.)

(Maybe.)

He’s going to avail himself of the passenger seatbelt now. ]

We need to figure out what to do with the cats. And if they’re chipped with tracking devices. Do you have ketamine?

[ Rook straightens the passenger side mirror or tries to. It breaks off in his hand from the damage it took in the alley, so he has to hold it at the correct angle check their tail.

The subject change is damning, but questions would only start the fight earlier. There’s nothing to say in response to the excuses. ]

In my jacket. I'll get it out when we stop.

( fingers tighten on the wheel, gripping it almost too hard for a moment, before they loosen again. he pulls in a breath, lets it out. they're almost there, he'll be fine.

another turn, before jason's reaching into his jacket for his phone, and navigates into an application that lets him access the warehouse's truck door. presses the button to open it as he starts backing in.

doesn't bother trying to use the side mirrors, they're fucked he knows where the door is, there's nothing big he can fuck up inside the warehouse. if they hit something, who cares.

tim suddenly changing the subject is more worrisome than accidentally running over something. )

[ Bullshit, he’s fine. Like Rook isn’t right there to see how he’s whiteknuckling the wheel. If it were any other cape, Rook would have intervened. But no. It’s Kestrel. Kid gloves. Can’t shove him out of the driver’s seat or heal him up. He’d be unbearable and they’d still have tigers to deal with.

When they’re inside the warehouse and the vehicle’s come to a stop, Rook gets out of the truck. Through the window because, surprise, the door’s dented shut.

He runs to the other side, expecting Kestrel to fall out of the car and muttering something that sure sounds like: ]

You’re as stubborn as B.

( rook goes out through the window, and kestrel takes advantage of the extra space to scoot more towards the center of the seat so he can kick his boot against the doorframe. it swings open, but not without making very displeased noises. the cats sound pissed, too, and jason can't blame them.

it was a rough ride. the door starts closing behind them, and jason figures as long as none of them caught sight of their landing through the smoke and there's no trackers in their new kitties, they should be safe here for a bit. not safe to wander, given he's damn sure they're looking for them, but.

jason doesn't fall out of the truck. partially because he's still sitting down. give him a few more minutes, and he'll be fine. )

Don't give me that. You're just as bad.

[ The “I know you are but what am I?” defense doesn’t work as well on Tim nowadays. It comes up often enough that he’s rather deft at sidestepping the blow. ]

I’m not. My choices are only self-detrimental when there’s no other logical option.

[ He’ll acknowledge he’s stubborn when he’s right, and not apologize for it. ]

You can teleport a truck, two men, and tigers, and then you’re visibly showing strain. Let me help. I’m asking.

[ Rook hates withholding aid, inaction when he thinks he can help, and ignoring the better option because of principles or whatever this is. ]

Or tell me enough about this that I feel better about letting you recuperate while we’re stuck in an unheated warehouse with tigers in a truck - and give me the gun I left on the seat. If they get out, I’m not fighting them off with a bo.

( jason does reach back for the gun. grabs onto it, but he's not handing it over immediately. instead, he's making sure there's no bullets in the chamber and unloading the magazine from the gun. pulls out a different one from inside his jacket that's marked with a bit of blue painted onto the bottom, and loads that one in. )

Non-lethal rounds. All I've got on me, so don't waste 'em.

( see how nice he is. tim asks for a gun, jason hands over the gun. )

It doesn't hurt. You got your new meta-abilities from the Confluence, right? I got mine from the godbits that yanked me into New Amsterdam.

( patting at his chest for a moment, before he's reaching up for the high neck of his suit. jason pulls it away from himself far enough that the blue glow of his sternum is visible. not his sternum itself, he's not explaining the scar there too. )

's more of an uncomfortable pull. Pain I can handle. This just feels weird.

Okay.

[ It might not be. Jason is glowing blue. Rook says it again, deciding that it’s okay if he says it is. ]

Okay. I trust you.

[ Because he does, and New Amsterdam is such a rare topic. Another land mine to avoid in an old battlefield. ]

But if you keel over, I’m never trusting you about your own physical wellbeing again.

Tim secures the gun on his belt rather than keep it in hand. The only thing a firearm does in a conversation is keep everyone on edge. ]

Don’t tell Beast Boy, but I think I’d be in favor of lethal rounds. The blanks will piss them off.

I've been fine this whole last year, haven't I? Give or take some.

( going off the calendar, he's a little off. but considering his lengthy trip back home that also felt like no time but also forever all in the same breath - close enough is close enough.

jason's not worried about it. because if he thinks too hard about it he's going to start feeling uncomfortable in his skin again and there's only so long a guy can handle that before he starts ripping himself open. again. despite knowing there's no point and he wouldn't find what he's looking for.

a hand slides against the doorframe, holding onto it as he slides out of the driver's seat. keeps his hand against it just in case, and looks to the back of the truck, but - outside of it. he's not making eye contact with a tiger, that just sounds like they're asking for a bad time. )

Think we should call in Dick? Or - one of 'em.

( there're tigers in the circus. )

Dick?

[ Old memories resurface about Dick Grayson and predators, and Tim’s grimace is visible despite the mask. No, he definitely does not want his eldest brother to know that he’s hanging out with known mankillers if it can be avoided. ]

The younger one. He’s been around animal acts more recently. It’s still fresh.

[ Less chance of that one leaping to conclusions if something goes sideways. ]

You get him for advice; I’ll warn Red Hood about what’s going on from the “political” side.

( the wince is noted. jason considers leaving it, but he instead opts to, well, )

Is it you or Grayson?

( is tim avoiding dick because he doesn't want dick to make faces at him, or is he avoiding dick because he doesn't want dick to be handling their cat problem. )

[ Tim intakes a breath to talk, checks himself for a half second, and proceeds with extreme caution. ]

I think we should leave him out of any situation involving his loved ones and apex predators unless absolutely necessary.

[ He’s trying to prop up a mental barricade against guilt (for multiple reasons), regret (also for multiple reasons), and residual anger (too many to innumerate).

(Kinda failing at it.)

Rook almost told the younger Jason once, and yet here he is, not quite disclosing to Jay. The memory never fits into a conversation. “I’m worried what happens if Dick finds Joker.” “I’d rather him not think Killer Croc ate me again.”

(“Bruce should’ve let him die and then I wouldn’t have gotten kidnapped and tortured.”)

(Focus. There are live tigers.)

He starts texting Red Hood instead of babbling. ]

( jason hates how everyone in their group of fucked up messes just - hides shit. hides everything. puts duct tape over open wounds because it's easier than talking about it or being honest, but he can also admit - he does the same thing, constantly. sometimes if he's feeling generous, he'll offer tidbits of information thrown across several months, slowly opening up to how messy everything is. he's pretty sure he still hasn't told anyone other than junior how bruce slit his throat and left him for dead when he'd first come back to gotham.

intentionally. because showing weakness is giving others an opening. but he's trying something new these days (with tim specifically, he'll work his way up to it with others later) called trust. and so, while he might throw tim a look that says he knows he's hiding something, jason - leaves it.

pulls his phone out while leaning a hip up against the truck, to reach out to dick. )

[ The look is received in the spirit that it’s meant. I know you and I know what you’re doing.

Rook feels about three inches tall in the harsh glare of understanding and respect.

(Because it is respectful. Jay knows he’s squirreling knowledge away, and he’s letting Tim get off scot free. It should feel good.)

(Feels like shit.)

He stops in the middle of a series of texts to the younger Jason Todd. Looks over but not up. ]

I-

[ Tim huffs out a breath. He's committed now that a syllable has come out. (Or should be, maybe, for thinking himself into this situation.)

That entire nightmarescape of Jokers still lives rent free in Tim's head. The Joker, in general, has lived rent free in Tim's head for over a year. He keeps coming back to this. ]

If you had to chose between honesty and potentially hurting you and Dick, what would you choose? Hypothetically.

[ Maybe Jay won't hate him over this. ]

Don't put that on me. I'd lie out my ass.

( he's being honest about it though. jason's weaponized things that he knew would hurt before, he'll likely do it again if the need comes up, but he--doesn't like it. hates it when he runs his mouth like an asshole, even if it almost always feels good in the moment, two seconds after he feels like trash. )

But I'm not you either.

( tim's close enough that jason feels just fine reaching a hand out towards him, shoving his palm on top of his head. it's almost a hair ruffle, but it's more just--physical contact. )

Couldn't say if that makes it any better or worse though.

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