Chapter Text
“The curse has seeped into your bones and it’s too late to run. You’re one of us now. I am your favorite bad omen, Crow, you’re tuned in to 53.43FM, and this is Welcome to Gotham.”
Tim smirks into the mic as he cracks his knuckles, enjoying the violent snaps of his joints.
“It’s a cool and quiet night, my dear listeners. A time to curl up under the covers and share warm drinks with your family. A time to chase the light of a fireplace, the feeling of your extremities being warmed and reminding you that you are in fact alive and out of the darkness. The heat and the brightness remind you that you are human, and being human is a pleasant thing. And those that are in the dark and cold?”
Tim’s glowing acid-green eyes track the punch that happens nowhere near his line of sight.
“Well, they are being reminded that they are human. Human and capable of feeling fear, and pain, and regret.”
Batman dodges the slash of a knife, using his cape to tangle and blind his attacker before he tases them.
A shot rings out across the alley.
A second attacker, unseen until now, lays on the ground of the alleyway, groaning in pain as he clutched his leg.
Red Hood throws himself over the railing of the fire escape hanging above the alley and lands heavily with a thud of his tactical boots.
“Ain’t ya supposed ta have a better awareness of yer surroundings, Ol’ Man?” Jason teased from under his helmet, gesturing at the second attacker with his gun. “He almost gotcha.”
“Hrn,” Bruce grunted, pulling out his cuffs. “Thank you, Hood.”
Jason grinned from under his helmet, “No problem, pops! Meet’cha at the GCPD?”
“ A familiar light shines tonight, one that reminds us all that we are human. The Batsignal. Some love it, some hate it, some fear it, some worship it. I… I acknowledge it with respect.”
Nightwing flips and lands on the hood of the racing car, a blade appearing from the end of one of his escrima sticks to help him stick the landing.
The carjackers break suddenly in shock, not expecting a vigilante appearing from thin air to crash their joyride.
Police sirens fill the air and surround the block, echoing their bright colors through the slumbering city.
Dick stands on the hood, smug grin in place. “Got them.”
Grumbling fills his ear from a comm hidden in the form of an earring, “I meant for you to throw a wingding and pop the tire, you reckless little–!”
“Aww, love you too, O!” Dick cooed back, jumping off the car and slamming the door shut with a well-aimed kick, stopping one hooligan from his attempted getaway.
Babs rolls her eyes as she speaks into her mic, “Just hand them over to the GCPD and get your ass over to the water tower, I have reports of gunshots.”
“On it!” Dick pulls out his grapple, aims, and shoots.
“It is my guiding light, my northern star. A reminder that every night, as the darkness takes me over, I still have the dawn waiting for me. I don’t get lost in the maze of a clouded night. Not with them waiting for me.”
Tim adjusts his radio, clipped to his belt, moving it more to the side of his hip so when he crouches down over the side of the building, watching the invisible people of the witching hour scurry around their busy mysterious lives, the metal box doesn’t dig into his stomach.
“ Tell me, dear listeners, what do you think of the signal of the bat? Do you see vengeance? Or, like me, do you see hope?”
Black Bat silently takes down a mugger, the gun doesn’t even go off despite the safety not being on.
Starling, bright and loud and purple, is smiling as she coaxed a scared victim away from her corner.
“Hey, it’s alright now. There’s nothin’ ta be scared of anymore. Me an’ BB will walk ya back home. What’s yer name? I’m Starling.”
“I-I know. I’m Rea.”
“That’s sucha pretty name!” Steph gushed, wide and open and expressive. “I wish I had a pretty name like tha’! BB, doesn’t she have a pretty name?”
Cass, finishing zip-tying the mugger to a light pole, looks up. “Pretty,” She agreed. “Like you.”
Rea flushed, “O-oh! Thanks?”
“Nails. What polish you use? Pretty color.”
Steph peers at Rea’s nails, “Oh! I love magenta! Purple is my favorite color, you know.”
The three young women chat lightly as they set off on the path towards safety and home.
“ Vengence or Hope. Two ways you can live your lives. Violence or Peace. Love or Hate. Anger or Patience. Ignorance or Curiosity.”
Tim can see everything going on in Gotham from his perch.
Like the black feather cape resting on his shoulders, so does Gotham lounge along his arms and chest, letting out cruel and kind laughter as she laid her city bare before him.
Under the black satin button-up that Crow wears is the beautifully inked map on his skin. Ever moving, changing as the city changed, it was a permanent reminder that he belonged to Gotham as much as Gotham belonged to him.
From his rolled-up sleeves, Tim could see the little swirls of movement that symbolized his family running around the city, swinging from roof to alley to street.
“ I know which way I live. With this broadcast, I hope to spread knowledge and curiosity. Love and peace. A sweet patience for our city and everyone who lives within it. ”
Edward Nygma is sitting in his group therapy, ignoring Harley in favor of the radio.
“Wow, Eddie, way ta make a girl feel special,” Harley drawls in annoyance. “Here I am talkin’ ‘bout how da death of dat basta’d made me realize I deserve bettah, and ya won’t even look at me!”
Nygma glances at her, perpetually unimpressed. “I killed him, Harley, I don’t need you to rehash how you found out he died. My nephew is broadcasting right now, so fuck off.”
Harley glares at him but backs off. Being the guy who killed the clown does great things to his reputation, and everyone respects him now. Nobody likes how he’s on good terms with Batman, a truce between them as long as he doesn’t kill anyone undeserving, and he’s really only in Arkham for a short stint until he gets away again, nobody chasing him unless he pulls something big.
“Why do we even hold these when the Crow calls? He never listens,” Ivy rolls her eyes.
“Harley just left off where she showed up at your hideout with Catwoman and a big bottle of vodka,” Nygma said, turning back to his radio. “I am listening. I’m just paying attention to Crow more.”
“This is the life I choose to live. And we have a choice in this life: Vengeance or Hope. Dark or Light. Will you succumb to the night or will you claw your way to dawn? You might not succeed, but you have to choose to try.”
A new swirl appears on his arm, and Gotham coos, a sound she usually reserves for Waynes and Bats and Birds.
Tim peers down at it curiously, and his lips tug up into a smile once he recognizes it.
Green eyes glow ever brighter in the night.
“So, I’ll leave you with a question, dear listeners. What is your choice? How will you live? Will you try to hope or fail to try?”
Tim turns his radio off with a click.
“Crow to Flock: come in.” He presses the invisible comm disguised as a gold earring.
“Crow,” Batman grunts.
“Yea, baby bird?” Hood drawls.
“Great broadcast tonight, Crow!” Nightwing says as his comm crackles.
“Wassup Crow?” Starling asks.
“Little Brother,” Black Bat responds.
“What do you have, Omen?” Oracle demands.
Tim doesn’t stop smiling, “I think it’s time to end patrol.”
“Wha-?” Nightwing asks.
“Crow?” Batman questions.
“It’s not even midnight!” Starling protests.
“Nope,” Tim says. “But we need to get back to the cave. There’s a present waiting for us there.”
“Wha’ does tha’ mean?!” Hood demands, sounding worried.
“Race ya there!” Tim calls and steps off the edge of Wayne Tower.
He could hear the cursing of his family as everyone changed direction back towards the cave, and the grumbling of Steph as she pointed out that his powers meant that he always wins.
Tim just let himself blink and disappear halfway through his fall, opening his eyes to the familiar homey atmosphere of the Batcave. Not that he thinks anyone else would ever call it that.
A little boy, black-haired and green-eyed, stared back at Tim.
A sword was out and pointed at his throat, to his amusement.
“Who are you?” The small assassin demanded, looking spooked at his sudden appearance.
Talia al Ghul, a few steps behind him, looks equally surprised, and Tim is amused to note that his teleporting powers are not known to the League of Assassins just yet. Oh well, too late to change that. Or maybe not.
“I said: who are you?!” The boy snarls.
Aww, look at that, he gained confidence so quickly! Oh, Gotham loves him already! And the Pits swirls in approval for its grandchild, and the Multiverse sings in delight at the appearance of its youngest Bat.
“I am Crow,” Tim introduces himself. “Welcome to Gotham, Damian.”