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Look, Jason’s seen a lot of weird shit in his life. He lives in Gotham, for fuck’s sake. But this?
This is some new level of psychological warfare.
A group of high schoolers—probably tourists, judging by how not terrified they are of Gotham—are wandering around Crime Alley. But it’s not the fact that they’re here that bothers Jason. No, it’s the neon green matching T-shirts they’re all wearing.
And written in bold, black letters across every single one of them?
"IT’S NOT GAY IF HE’S DEAD."
Jason stares. No, scratch that—Jason gapes.
Because. That. Cannot. Be. About. Him. Right?
No one knows he came back to life. No one sane, at least. He’s careful. Subtle. Sneaky.
(Okay, maybe not that sneaky. But Bruce still doesn’t know he stole the Batmobile last week, so he’s improving.)
But this? This feels like a personal attack.
He ducks into an alley, pulls out his phone, and immediately starts texting.
Jason:
WHY THE FUCK ARE THERE TEENAGERS IN MATCHING SHIRTS ABOUT BANGING DEAD GUYS IN MY TERRITORY???
Dick:
???
Tim:
???
Cass:
👍🏻
Damian:
I assume this is another one of your brain-damaged traditions Todd.
Cease texting me.
Okay. So none of them know what the hell is going on either.
Jason groans.
Ok, so, Jason Todd is a lot of things—angry, armed, and allegedly dead—but he’s not paranoid.
(Okay, maybe he is paranoid, but that’s just good sense when you live in Gotham.)
The problem is, these little neon-clad freaks shouldn’t be here. Tourists never voluntarily come to Crime Alley, and they sure as hell don’t strut around in shirts that feel like a personal attack on his entire existence.
So obviously, he follows them.
Like any good detective (or vigilante with boundary issues), he slaps a tracker under one kid’s backpack as they pass by.
Ten seconds later, his comm pings. Tracker offline.
Jason frowns. Okay, weird. He slaps another one on a different kid.
Tracker offline.
What the fuck.
Okay. Fine. Whatever. He’s got other ways to track people.
He pulls out his phone and snaps a picture—except the moment he presses the button, the whole screen goes staticky. The image warps, flickers, and then—
BZZT. His phone crashes.
Jason stares at it.
Oh, hell no.
He reboots, logs into his portable Batcomputer Lite™, and starts running a search on Casper High School—because he got a look at their school bus earlier and knows how to do basic detective work, unlike some people (cough Bruce cough).
Five seconds in, his computer blue screens.
Jason clenches his jaw. Deep breath. Try again.
He moves to his backup laptop. Immediate freeze.
The third laptop smokes before he even touches the keyboard.
Jason slams his fist on the keyboard.
"This is some government-level, conspiracy-theory, X-Files bullshit."
Clearly, technology is not the answer. So he does what any reasonable person would do—he stalks them.
They go to a museum. Jason follows.
They go to a park. Jason follows.
They get street food. Jason follows.
Each time, he tries to snap a photo, place a bug, anything—and every single time, it fails.
He has no idea who these kids are, but at this point? He’s too stubborn to quit.
He’s been trailing these disasters for hours, getting absolutely nowhere.
And now?
Now he’s standing within earshot of what must be their teacher, because some middle-aged guy just cleared his throat and started laying down field trip rules.
Normal field trip rules?
"Stay with your buddy!" "Don't talk to strangers!" "Be respectful!"
The rules this guy just listed?
Jason has to stop himself from slamming his head into a wall.
"Do not raise the dead."
Excuse the fuck out of him?
"Do not, under any circumstances, stab anyone."
Jason resists the urge to make a very justified comment about how that should be an obvious rule. But judging by the way one of the kids immediately groaned in disappointment, apparently it isn't.
"Do not have any ectoshots. Or anything remotely resembling it."
What the hell is an ectoshot?
"Do not start a revolution."
Jason nearly chokes. A REVOLUTION? How is that something a teacher even needs to say?
"Do not let Danny SEE any clowns. I don’t care if you think they’re harmless, I don’t care if it’s just a balloon animal, you stay away. If you see the Joker or any other clown-looking poor soul, just close his eyes. You should under no circumstances let his eyes lay on them."
Jason stops breathing.
Because.
Because what. the. FUCK. does that mean.
Who the hell is Danny?
"Do not, I repeat, do not feed anything to any local animals. You know what happens when you do."
No. No, he does not know. And at this point, he’s too afraid to ask.
"Do not have a fishing competition in the sewers."
Jason puts a hand over his mouth. Why do they need to be told this?
"Do not, for the sake of the Lord above, throw a pun-off with the Joker."
He has to close his eyes and count to ten. These kids would meet Gotham’s absolute worst criminals and their first instinct would be to challenge them to a pun battle?
The list keeps going. And every new rule makes him more convinced these kids are not real.
By the time Lancer (the teacher, apparently) finishes his speech, Jason feels like he needs to sit down.
These kids should not exist. They are not normal. And if Gotham wasn’t already insane, Jason might think he was hallucinating all of this.
But he’s not.
And that’s so much worse
This fucking class is sending him into a downward spiral.
The longer he stalks these kids, the worse it gets.
Because they do not act normal.
At first, he thought they were just cocky little shits who didn’t know better. But no. They know Gotham is dangerous. They just don’t care.
One kid tries to climb on a roof, and before Jason can intervene, another kid straight-up tackles them to the ground.
“You idiot! This is Gotham! Do you have a death wish?!”
Jason barely has time to process that before someone else grumbles, “We all have death wishes, Mikey.”
WHAT THE FUCK.
Then, they pass an alley where a mugging is happening. A normal group of high schoolers would call the police. Maybe run away.
This group?
They start making bets.
Actual bets.
“Oh, I say the guy in black wins.”
“Nah, the old lady has a cane. She’s got experience.”
“Five bucks says she stabs him.”
Jason nearly has a stroke when the old lady actually does stab the guy.
(…Jason is never underestimating Gotham grandmas again.)
His concern hits a new peak when they walk past an anti-Batman protest and boo the protesters.
Loudly.
Jason watches in horror as one of the kids casually says, “God, I hope Red Hood shows up.”
…WHAT.
Another one scoffs. “Nah, he never does daytime stuff.”
Jason feels his eye twitch. EXCUSE YOU?
They pass a WayneTech building. A normal group of kids might be interested.
These kids?
One of them frowns at the security and mutters, “God, these defenses are shit.”
Jason nearly chokes.
WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN.
And then, just when Jason thinks he’s hit his limit—
They walk past a guy spray-painting a wall, and one of the kids sighs, shakes their head, and mutters in disappointment,
“Amateur.”
Jason has to physically stop himself from grabbing these kids and shaking them.
Who are they? Why are they like this? What kind of hell school did they crawl out of?
He watches, horrified, as one of them—Danny, the one who’s apparently a walking apocalypse trigger—casually picks up a rat, cradles it in his hands, and murmurs, “You deserve better, buddy.”
The rat glows green for a second before running off looking healthier.
Jason grips his guns.
What the actual fuck is going on.
He needs a drink.
He should stop. He should walk away.
But he can’t.
Because now?
Now he’s dealing with Wes.
Jason doesn’t know who this little shit is, but he hates him on instinct.
Because right now, this scrawny redhead is talking way too loudly about something that should never be talked about in public.
“So, as I was saying, after The Second Robin came back from the dead—”
Jason actually chokes.
WHAT THE FUCK?
No. No no no. No, this random-ass teenager does not know about that. That’s not possible.
Right?
Right?!
But the little bastard just keeps going, waving his hands dramatically like he’s giving a goddamn presentation.
“—he started running around in a mask, shooting criminals, and let me tell you—his relationship with The Bat? Total disaster. First off, he’s got daddy issues the size of Gotham—”
Jason has to physically restrain himself from charging at this kid.
Because excuse the actual fuck out of him?
Daddy issues?!
Jason glances at the other students, expecting some kind of horrified reaction.
But instead, half of them are nodding.
NODDING.
Like this is some kind of fucking TED Talk.
“Oh, totally,” some girl mutters. “I mean, look at him. He has a bucket on his head, literally"
Jason growls.
Another kid shrugs. “I dunno. I kinda respect it. If I died and came back, I’d probably start shooting people too.”
Jason gapes.
WHAT. THE. FUCK.
Before he can start throwing hands with actual high schoolers, the conversation shifts again.
Because of course it does.
And somehow—it gets worse.
Because the next thing Jason knows, the group turns a corner and immediately stops in their tracks.
Jason follows their gaze—
And sees a handful of Penguin’s goons standing at the other end of the street.
Jason tenses, ready for a fight, but—
The entire group of high schoolers visibly locks onto them.
Like a pack of wolves.
Jason watches in silent horror as their expressions darken. The way their stances shift. The sheer, immediate aggression.
Jason doesn’t even have time to react before their teacher—Lancer—grabs a student by the back of their shirt.
"No." Lancer’s voice is sharp. Firm. Like a man who has donne this before, like having to physically stop your students from committing war crimes is normal.
The student actually pouts. "But they’re wearing white suits."
Jason has no idea what that means. But Lancer does, because his grip on the student tightens and he immediately turns to the goons with an exhausted, yet terrifyingly calm expression.
"The children are very sorry. They thought your henchpeople were part of the Government."
Jason’s brain shuts down.
The goons blink. Exchange looks. One of them, clearly not paid enough for this, just mutters, "…What?"
Lancer sighs.
Jason grips his head because WHAT THE FUCK.
Why would a bunch of high school kids try to get into a fistfight with the Government?!
Why did their teacher say that like it was a reasonable explanation?!
WHY DO THEY HAVE A PRE-EXISTING HISTORY WITH GOVERNMENT AGENTS?!
The goons, apparently having a rare moment of self-preservation, just awkwardly walk away. Jason doesn’t even blame them.
Lancer waits until they’re out of sight before letting go of the student, Kwan?'s shirt and pinching the bridge of his nose.
"I told you this would happen if you didn’t get more sleep," Lancer mutters. "You get trigger-happy when you’re exhausted."
Kwan groans. "That’s not my fault! They were wearing white suits!"
Jason is spiraling.
He is going insane.
He’s losing his grip on reality.
And worst of all?
He still doesn’t know what their fucking shirts mean.
He is seconds away from committing a war crime.
Because the day was already bad enough.
And then.
An eyeball. A giant floating eyeball. Showed up.
To kidnap Danny!
And Jason would’ve jumped in to stop it, because that’s what you do when someone gets kidnapped in broad daylight.
Except.
NO ONE IS REACTING LIKE THIS IS WEIRD.
Danny, instead of screaming, just groans like this is a mild inconvenience.
"Dude, seriously?" Ge complains as the eyeball starts dragging him toward a glowing green portal. "Can’t this wait? We’re on a field trip."
The eyeball does not care.
It just keeps dragging him.
Jason is about to step in, but then—
THE OTHER STUDENTS START HELPING THE EYEBALL.
"Wait, don’t pull him like that, he’s gonna lose a shoe," one kid scolds, adjusting Danny’s sneaker so it doesn’t slip off.
Another one adjusts Danny’s backpack straps. "You forgot his stuff," they say, handing it to the eyeball like they’re sending him off to summer camp.
"Make sure he eats!" another one calls out.
"I’ll be fine, guys," Danny sighs, crossing his arms as he gets dragged into the void.
Jason’s entire worldview is breaking apart.
Because WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS.
Jason whips around to look t the teacher.
Lancer, instead of looking shocked or horrified, just sighs, pinches his nose, and mutters, "Of course the Observants would interrupt a school trip. Bureaucratic nuisances, the lot of them."
Jason’s eye twitches.
Lancer waves a hand. "Mr. Fenton will be back soon. Probably before lunch."
Jason grips his hair.
He is not okay.
Jason should really walk away.
He should stop following these kids.
He should go home, take some painkillers, and pretend this entire godforsaken day never happened.
But he can’t.
Because if he leaves now, he’ll never get answers.
So he keeps stalking them.
(Or, well. Following. Because at this point, it’s less about gathering intel and more about keeping an eye on the walking anomalies before they accidentally end Gotham.)
Danny is still missing. Kidnapped by a giant floating eyeball that no one seemed remotely concerned about. His classmates are completely unbothered.
If Jason had been kidnapped by a mystical eyeball, his brothers would’ve gone feral. They’d be mobilizing within minutes. But these kids?
They just keep sightseeing.
Jason watches, in increasing horror, as they continue their trip like nothing happened.
One of them starts feeding the local pigeons until Lancer catches them and smacks the food out of their hands, yelling, "DO NOT INFEST GOTHAM!"
Jason is losing his fucking mind.
How is this normal behavior?!
A girl—Star, he thinks her name is— pulls out a book and flips through the pages like it’s light reading.
At first, Jason doesn’t think anything of it. It’s just a book. Maybe she’s bored. Maybe she’s doing homework.
But then Lancer sees it.
And immediately confiscates it.
“Star, what did we say about bringing the Necronomicon on school trips?” Lancer sighs, tucking the book under his arm like it’s just a regular textbook.
Star groans. “This isn’t even the Necronomicon! It’s just some light necromancy.”
Jason chokes on air.
EXCUSE ME.
“No raising the dead in Gotham, young lady,” Lancer scolds, like that’s a normal thing to say. “We already discussed this.”
Star huffs. “I wasn’t gonna! I just wanted to see if Gotham had any local cryptids worth checking out.”
Jason’s eye twitches.
Lancer pinches the bridge of his nose. “And what’s the first rule of field trips?”
The class sighs in unison.
“Do not raise the dead,” they all chant, like this is a completely normal rule that they have definitely broken before.
"It was one time!" Star groans.
Jason grips his head.
Lancer shoves the book into his bag like it’s a confiscated phone.
Jason has to physically stop himself from grabbing this man by the collar and demanding answers.
Because.
Because what the actual fuck is going on.
Look, Jason has seen some shit.
He came back from the dead, for fuck’s sake.
None of that prepared him for this tho.
Because now?
A student just pulled out a wooden spoon— slightly green— and started talking into it like it’s a phone.
And nobody reacts.
Like this is normal.
Jason squints.
The kid, a lanky dude with glasses and an exhausted expression, holds the spoon up to his ear and mutters, “Yeah, hey, so Danny got yoinked. You guys handling that, or do we gotta?”
Jason’s brain short-circuits.
Yoinked.
He said yoinked.
As if Danny being abducted by a floating eyeball was mildly inconvenient.
There’s a pause, then the kid sighs. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Bureaucracy. Tell Clocky he owes me five bucks.”
Clocky?!
Jason wants to scream.
But before he can, Lancer sighs again and says, "Tucker, no using the Infinite Realms communication network on school trips."
THE WHAT.
Tucker groans. “It’s just a spoon, Mr. Lancer.”
Jason stares at the spoon.
It is definitely not just a spoon.
Lancer gives him a look. “A spoon that connects to another dimension.”
Tucker shrugs. “And?”
Lancer rubs his temples. “And I confiscated Star’s book. You think I’m letting you use that?”
Jason has never felt more out of his depth.
What the fuck kind of school is this?!
These kids aren’t normal. This school isn’t normal. There is no logical explanation that makes sense, so he’s just going to accept the only reasonable conclusion left.
They are from a Hogwarts-ass, cult-ridden, necromancy-infested magic school.
There is no other explanation.
They have rules against raising the dead.
They casually talk about stabbing.
They own haunted spoons.
Their first instinct upon seeing men in white suits was to square up for a fight.
Their missing classmate was kidnapped by a floating eyeball, and instead of panicking, they helped it.
Hogwarts. Cult. Necromancers. That’s the only answer.
A normal field trip would involve learning about Gotham’s history, maybe taking notes, and not summoning demons in the streets.
These kids?
Tucker just got his haunted spoon confiscated, and now he’s trying to bribe it back with beef jerky.
Jason presses two fingers against his temple. This is giving him an actual migraine.
Meanwhile, Lancer looks like he has dealt with this exact situation before.
“Mr. Foley,” Lancer says, exasperated, “I am not giving you back a dimensional communication artifact just because you promised it a snack.”
Jason squints.
The spoon vibrates.
Like it’s thinking about it.
Jason slaps a hand over his mouth to stop himself from screaming.
He needs help. He needs backup. He needs someone else to witness this insanity.
Jason whips out his phone.
Jason:
I’M FOLLOWING A CULT.
Tim:
What.
Jason:
A MAGIC CULT.
Jason:
THEY HAVE NECROMANCY RULES, TIM. NECROMANCY. RULES.
Jason:
ONE OF THEM TRIED TO BRING A NECROMANCY BOOK ON THE TRIP. ANOTHER GOT KIDNAPPED BY A FLOATING EYEBALL. THEY HAVE INTER-DIMENSIONAL TECHNOLOGY.
Jason:
I THINK I’M LOSING MY MIND.
Tim:
Jason. Are you high.
Jason:
FUCK YOU, GET TO MY LOCATION.
Jason:
ONE OF THEM IS TRYING TO BRIBE A HAUNTED SPOON.
Tim:
…
Tim:
On my way.
Finally. Backup.
Jason is vibrating with stress by the time Tim arrives.
Tim shows up with his laptop bag slung over his shoulder, looking annoyed but intrigued. Jason grabs him by the arm and yanks him into a nearby alley.
“I swear to god, Tim, this is some magic necromancer cult bullshit.”
Tim raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Sure it’s not just Gotham being Gotham?”
Jason’s eye twitches. “TIM. One of them got kidnapped by a floating eyeball. A STUDENT HAD A CONVERSATION WITH A FUCKING WODEN SPOOP. A WODEN SPOON TIM.”
Tim sighs. “Alright, alright. Let me check something.”
He drops his bag, pulls out his laptop, and starts typing.
Jason watches, tense as hell, as Tim tries to run a search on Casper High School.
…And then the laptop explodes.
Literally.
There is an actual fireball.
Tim yelps and throws himself backward as smoke billows from the melted remains of his very expensive computer.
Jason, arms crossed, glares at him. “Well?”
Tim coughs through the smoke. “WHAT THE FUCK?!”
Jason throws his hands in the air. “THAT’S WHAT I’VE BEEN SAYING!”
Tim stares at the charred mess of his laptop. “That—that doesn’t make sense. I had top-tier firewalls. Even if it was a virus, it wouldn’t just—detonate.”
Jason jabs a finger toward the students. “Magic necromancer cult, Tim. I’m telling you.”
Tim, still coughing, gives him a haunted look.
For the first time in his life, Tim Drake looks genuinely unnerved.
He is still staring at the smoldering remains of his laptop, his brain clearly trying to reboot.
Jason lets him suffer. He deserves it.
Finally, Tim groans and rubs his face. “Okay. Fine. This is weird.”
Jason gives him a flat look. “Weird?” He gestures wildly toward the group of menaces. “Tim, this is a full-blown cult!”
Tim grumbles. “Alright, alright. Let me just—” He stops. Freezes.
Jason watches in satisfaction as Tim’s face slowly twists into horror.
Because Tim finally noticed the shirts.
The neon green, custom-made, glow-in-the-dark shirts that every single one of them is wearing.
"IT’S NOT GAY IF HE’S DEAD."
Tim’s eye twitches.
Jason smirks. “Oh, what’s wrong, Replacement? Thought I was just having a breakdown when I texted you?”
Tim slowly turns to him, eyes wide with alarm. “Jason.”
“Yes, Tim?”
“Jason, why are they wearing those shirts?”
Jason grins. “I’ve been asking myself that same goddamn question all day.”
Tim whips back around, staring at the students.
“Do you think—” Tim pauses, struggling to find words. “Do you think they mean you?”
Jason twitches. “Don’t. Fucking. Say that.”
Tim pinches his nose. “I’m just saying! You literally died and came back—”
“Shut the fuck up, Tim.”
Tim inhales sharply. "You don't think they're, like, dedicated to you, do you?"
Jason visibly shudders. "If they are, I’m ending myself for real this time."
Tim, still horrified, stares at their matching shirts and mutters, “Jason, I hate this.”
Jason glares at him.
“Welcome to my personal hell, Tim.”
Tim is still staring at the matching neon green shirts like they personally offended him. Which, fair. They’re offensive. Jason is personally offended.
But he has bigger problems right now.
Tim, who has finally rebooted, slowly turns to him. “Okay. I’ll admit. This is… alarming.”
Jason deadpans. “Oh, you think?”
Tim gestures at the kids. “So. What’s the plan?”
Jason scoffs. “Plan? There’s no plan, Tim. I’ve been stalking them all day, and every time I try to get intel, my tech malfunctions or explodes.” He jabs a finger toward the still-smoking remains of Tim’s laptop. “You’re living proof.”
Tim looks offended. “That was a top-of-the-line laptop, Jason.”
Jason ignores him. “The only thing I’ve learned is that they have some kind of beef with the government and their teacher thinks apologizing to the Penguin because they mistook his goons for feds is a reasonable explanation.”
Tim looks increasingly alarmed.
“…They mistook Penguin’s goons for the government?”
Jason throws his hands in the air. “That’s what I’m saying! What the fuck?!”
Tim runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. Okay. So. Either they’re a cult—”
Jason nods. “Cult.”
“—Or they’re some kind of underground anti-government rebellion.”
Jason freezes.
…Oh, shit.
That actually makes sense.
Jason turns to stare at the students.
The matching shirts.
The casual discussion of necromancy.
The murder rules.
The fact that they got ready to throw hands with the first men in white they saw.
Jason slowly leans closer to Tim.
“…Tim.”
“Yeah?”
“…Are we sure they’re not terrorists?”
Tim doesn’t answer.
Because at this point?
Neither of them can tell.
Jason thought he was prepared for whatever came next.
He was wrong.
Because now, one of the goth girls—Sam, he thinks someone called her—is actively trying to track down Poison Ivy.
And no one is surprised.
They’re just tired.
Jason watches in stunned horror as Sam pulls out a literal tracking device and mutters, “It pinged, she has to be somewhere near, Robinson Park? Maybe near the greenhouse—”
“Sam, NO.”
Her classmates lunge at her like this has happened before.
Jason has never seen a group of teenagers tackle someone so quickly.
“We are NOT doing this again!” one kid yells, wrestling the device from her hands.
“You can’t just team up with eco-terrorists, Sam!” another groans, holding onto her leg like she’s a flight risk.
“She’s misunderstood!” Sam yells back, kicking someone in the ribs.
Jason turns to Tim, silently panicking.
Tim, who is just as horrified, pulls out his phone to call someone. Anyone.
Then—
A fucking TRANQUILIZER DART comes flying out of nowhere and hits Sam in the neck.
Jason gawks.
Sam blinks, sways, and then immediately drops like a sack of bricks.
Jason whips around, looking for the shooter—
Only to see their teacher, Lancer, calmly putting away a tranquilizer gun.
Like this is normal.
Like he does this all the time.
The rest of the students barely react.
One of them sighs. “Okay, who had ‘Sam gets tranquilized’ on their bingo card?”
Another groans. “Damn it, I bet on Paulina!”
Jason feels lightheaded.
This—this isn’t real. He’s hallucinating. He has to be.
Meanwhile, Lancer just crosses his arms and glares at the unconscious girl.
“Miss Manson, how many times must we tell you? You are NOT ALLOWED to join Poison Ivy’s terrorist network!”
Jason makes a strangled noise.
Because.
WHAT THE FUCK DOES HE MEAN ‘NOT ALLOWED’?
HOW MANY TIMES HAS SHE TRIED?!
Jason grabs Tim by the arm. “Tim, we have to go.”
Tim, still watching the chaos unfold, looks at him in disbelief. “Jason, we can’t just—”
Jason shakes him.
“Tim. We have to go before we witness an actual war crime.”
Then suddenly, some lanky, weak-looking girl just casually picked up Sam’s unconscious body like a sack of potatoes and kept walking.
Like she wasn’t carrying a girl twice her size.
Like this was completely normal.
Jason stares.
Tim also stares.
Neither of them speak.
They just watch in growing horror as the girl, who looks like she struggles to carry her own backpack, effortlessly hauls Sam onto her shoulder and starts following the class like nothing happened.
“—so anyway, I think we should still go to Robinson Park,” She says, mid-conversation, as if she isn’t carrying a whole ass unconscious girl.
Another student groans. “Mia, NO.”
Lancer, still looking completely unfazed, just sighs and mutters, “At least I brought the darts this time.”
Jason grips Tim’s shoulder.
“Tim.”
Tim doesn’t respond. He just…slowly pulls out his phone and starts typing.
Jason leans over.
“HOW TO TELL IF YOU’RE HALLUCINATING”
Understandable.
Jason felt the needs to leave.
He also felt the need to go home, take a nap, and pretend this entire fucking day never happened.
Because now?
Now Mia, the same weak-looking, noodle-armed girl, is holding TWO PEOPLE.
At the same time.
Sam, still unconscious from being tranquilized, is draped over one of her shoulders.
And now, some dude named Dash—who looks like he’s 90% muscle and built like a linebacker—is casually hanging off her other side.
Jason stares in mute horror.
Dash is massive. Dash should be heavy.
Dash should NOT be casually dangling off this girl like a goddamn keychain.
Jason grips Tim’s sleeve.
Tim, for his part, has gone completely still.
Jason leans in. “Tim.”
Tim doesn’t respond. He’s too busy watching a girl with the muscle mass of a damp paper towel out-lift the entire Batfamily.
Jason shakes him. “Tim. What the fuck.”
Tim finally tears his eyes away from the impossible display of strength and, in a haunted whisper, mutters:
“I don’t know, Jason. I don’t fucking know.”
Jason isn’t even surprised anymore.
He should be. He really should be. But at this point, he’s passed the event horizon of bullshit.
Because now?
One of the students just pulled out a fucking GUN.
And no one reacted.
Not the teacher.
Not the other students.
No one.
Jason sees it. Tim sees it. They both immediately tense—because that is a real-ass firearm in a high schooler’s hands.
Jason opens his mouth to intervene—
And then he hears:
"Nathan, put the gun away."
Jason snaps his head to the teacher.
Lancer doesn’t even look up from the clipboard he’s holding. He says it completely flat, like this is not the first time he’s had to tell a student to put away a weapon.
Nathan, the kid in question, just huffs. “It’s not even loaded.”
Jason’s eye twitches. That is NOT the point.
Lancer finally looks up and gives Nathan a look. “And what’s the eleventh rule of field trips?”
The class sighs in unison.
“Do not, under any circumstances, shoot anyone.”
Tim sputters.
Lancer nods. “And?”
Nathan grumbles, “normal wepons count too”
Jason chokes.
Nathan grumbles something under his breath but puts the gun away.
Jason is actively resisting the urge to grab Tim and leave Gotham forever.
He isn't quite sure how much more of this he can take.
But then—then they pass a graveyard.
And suddenly, every single one of these kids starts acting like they’ve gone full-blown schizophrenic.
“Oh my God, will you shut up?” one kid hisses at nothing.
“We’re on a school trip, I don’t care about your tragic backstory!” another groans.
“Dude, it is NOT my fault you died, take it up with literally anyone else.”
Jason freezes.
Tim freezes.
Every single one of these little freaks is talking to the air.
Jason slowly turns to Tim. “…Tim.”
Tim very carefully does not look at him.
Jason grabs him. “Tim. Are they all talking to ghosts?”
Tim rubs his temples. “Jason, I don’t know.”
One of the students glares at a headstone and crosses their arms.
“Well, maybe if you didn’t cheat on your wife, Harold, she wouldn’t have cursed your bloodline.”
Jason almost blacks out.
Because WHAT. THE FUCK.
Then, as if things couldn’t get worse, one kid freezes, goes pale, and whispers:
“Oh, shit. That one’s still mad about the ouija board incident.”
Jason is leaving Gotham forever.