Work Text:
Tim didn't know what his life had come to.
He never expected he would one day be planning to rob the Louvre with three League assassins in a rundown hotel room in Paris.
This didn't exactly scream "hero" or even vigilante business but that's what Red Robin was for. Breaking laws and crossing lines Tim had sworn to never cross as Robin.
The mantle was already tainted anyway, Jason Todd had worn it first and Tim doubted Todd would be repulsed by a little petty thieving.
Not when he had taken off the tires of the Batmobile as a mere child and from what Tim had heard, he was currently running around tarnishing another mantle with his senseless killing.
The short excursion Ulysses had made with the suit on to terrorize Gothamites with the help of Stephanie Brown hadn't helped its reputation either.
Though now he guessed it was a matter of glass houses and stones since Tim was pretty sure the two villains had never been on the phone with Ra's Al Ghul to create a plan of action in order to rob the Louvre.
It was something even he shouldn't be doing now that he was thinking about it.
God forbid going on a grief induced spiral that made him think he was crazy when he thought too much about it, wasn't the height of mental wellness and didn't actually foster the best, mentally sound, plans.
And Gotham supervillains made it look so easy too. Victor Fries had revolutionized the field of cryogenics and weirdly air conditioners on the side too.
Gotham had widely acclaimed air conditioning systems that were nabbed as soon as they entered the world market.
The last time Ra's al Ghul had helped with a museum heist it had gone very badly.
He had frankly been a bad team player and an even worse personal Oracle by warning him that he had tripped an alarm seven minutes afterwards because he had spent the whole time dropping quirky, sardonic one-liners that made him miss his brother (bad for the mission).
And a German Viking had called him a clown baby and he had to kick away his rabid dogs (the worst part honestly) while he had to convince the assassin trio to stand down and not kill the German hero.
He knew not to make the same mistakes so now he always carried peanut butter in a compartment in his utility belt.
It was also the reason he abruptly and rudely (Alfred and Mrs Mac wouldn't approve of his lack of manners but then again they wouldn't approve of any of this) hung up on Ra's al Ghul.
"Anyway here's the plan-" Tim says before he is promptly interrupted by his captive audience who apparently has a lot to say about this. Tim knew that Darla would have called this Instant Karma had she been there and not at the other side of the world doing supervillain things.
"One simply does not hang up on Ra's al Ghul." Z cuts him off, gobsmacked. It's the most emotion the mature, serious assassin had shown in his presence.
"Well I just did, everybody has firsts. Even the centenarian." Tim shrugs off.
Owens snickers at this, surprising even himself.
“Can’t fucking believe Mr. American Dream would make a sex joke about the Head of the Demon.” Pru breathes out before bursting into loud, obnoxious laughter that made his headache worse.
He’s grateful for the shitty lighting now.
Tim can see Z gearing up to disagree with a lengthy rebuttal that he's ready to match when Pru interrupts them both.
"Who cares ! We're robbing the fucking Louvre !" She shouts impatiently.
"Don't do that-" Tim hisses at her.
"Fuck ! Now every neighbor and their fucking grandmother knows what we're up to." Owens groans.
"And that is why you are never chosen to lead recon missions." Zeddmore asserts.
"What? Civilians are so oblivious to their surroundings that we could build a bomb again and pass it off as an early New Year’s celebration !”
“Not when they’re going to see us doing this tomorrow on National Television, no!”
“Yeah, keep up Pru. They’ll be on every news station once the news hit.”
“Does this mean we’re going to scrub this place of any genetic material again.” She groans, pained.
“We were always going to do that. I’ll be stricter this time though.” Drake comments like he hadn’t just ruined her night with the news.
“Ugh. Go on a mission chasing the crazed grieving Bat. It’ll be fun, they said.” She laments, gritting her teeth.
Still everyone cleaned up obediently and moved to another seedy hotel, in the suburbs of the capital, this time.
When he had revealed his plan because Tim knew to call for backup when he was outmatched unlike Batman, Pru had immediately agreed.
She had looked weirdly... giddy?
So giggly and giddy in fact that Tim had gotten the Joker Venom test strips out. Which had, to his utmost surprise, been negative.
Still he swore her eyes head lit up and gleamed with innocent joy (it couldn’t be the lighting, the room only had a single bulb that did a pathetic job).
He wasn’t aware an assassin, with a lot of blood on her hands if he may add, could look so much like a kid on Christmas.
Timothy Wayne spoke like a man who knew his words would be heard, welding every syllable like a swordmaster.
His appearance was another story.
Under the mask, the vigilante presently known as Red Robin, sported band shirts, dark long hair, pale skin that looked like he hadn’t seen the light of the day for a while (even for a white boy) and racoon eyes that made Pru swear up and down that they were “a bold fashion statement” because “they were too cool” to be anything else.
That was before they had officially met after days of recon (he came to know that his target had been aware since the beginning) and realized in was the result of a grief-induced spiral that made sleeping without night terrors look like a daydream to him.
Timothy looked like the archetype of a depressed main character of a famous bittersweet coming of age movie that teenagers would adopt as their whole personality.
One of those movies that played on the hotel television after a long, tiring mission that Pru was supposedly watching reluctantly “because there wasn’t anything good on the TV” and yet she’d pull out a knife if Owens ever reached to take the remote to change the channel.
So they would watch reluctantly, too tired to protest much. It was some of his most cherished memories.
It explained why Pru had been so taken by the vigilante at first. He took note of that to mock her mercilessly later.
And as he watched his team squabble over a getaway playlist of all things, he thought that meeting Tim Wayne was either the worst or best thing that happened to him and he had yet to decide which one it was.
“Okay so we all agree on Bella Ciao?” Pru had taken the lead on this. She only choose to take the lead on this actually, deeming the rest of the plan too boring and only deserving of grunts and half-hearted responses.
She claimed that it was the only part she cared about.
“Both the Casa del Papel and the Choir version.” Timothy adds because this is what seemingly cheers him up and gets him out of that hyperfocused, zombie state he had been in since he had met the boy.
Owens’ mouth is full of cheap takeout so he nods vigorously to show his assent.
Zeddmore sighs in disappointment. Another one of them. Again.
He didn’t know what he was thinking when he thought that the vigilante could be another reasonable individual he could commiserate with.
Which was laughable now that he remembered what little he knew of the third Robin’s missions with his Young Justice teammates (they were surprisingly successful at staying off the grid for such exuberant people).
“You might as well add Robbers by The 1975. It’s right on the nose.” He snarks.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“Such a good idea.”
They turn around at once to add it to their public, if I might add, playlist. If their plan fails and they get caught because of this nonsense, he is going to laugh in their faces for a long time before strangling them to death.
“Who’s the genius who decided to order the extendable ladder from Louvres.” Zed says as calmly as he can. He cannot presently muster any patience so he shouts those words through gritted teeth, squawks really.
“Isn't it more convenient? I don’t understand why you’re so mad, Zed.” Owens raises his arms in surrender. He had learned the hard way not to get close to Zed when the man was angry. And he was currently fuming.
“Louvres the French city you nincompoop!” He grits out. It's so hard to be the only responsible man in a team of stupid geniuses.
“There’s a city too?” Prudence squawks in surprise.
“It’s just practical really… Did you want us to put our actual address for the delivery ?” Timothy drawls, shrugging his shoulders.
“NO! But a city 44 kilometers from here was not our only option!” He cannot believe he has to say this out loud.
“You did it for the pun, didn't you? You madman !” Pru shouts like she just made the discovery of the century.
Pru’s heavy scouse accent is showing and Tim bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing.
The idea of a Scouse assassin is visibly hilarious to every person in the room because Zed’s tense shoulders relax, an inconspicuous gesture that would have gone unnoticed to anyone but highly trained assassins. So naturally everyone in the room notices and consequently relaxes as well.
Owens is not as polite and rudely laughs in her face until she punches him in the shoulder, hard.
Which is basically a love tap for an assassin.
Tim isn’t surprised anymore, not like he was at first, before he knew they were more than faceless, deadly guard dogs at the service of a mad dictator.
He’s getting attached. He is already attached!
He hates that his friends were right. He apparently isn’t able to survive a day without befriending the villains that want to kill him.
Moneyspider had something else to do and couldn't join this mission but he knows that the teenager would have taken a lot of pleasure laughing at him.
Tim was glad he hadn’t joined them in this mission.
They didn’t need to destroy the relics of Imperialism made from back-breaking labor by exploited colonies like Lonnie would want them to do (even if Tim agreed with a lot of his points).
They only needed to borrow that jewelry temporarily to scan them for omega-beam traces in hope they could hone in more on Bruce’s location during his time travelling trek.
“We have to get the tiara and brooch that belonged to Empress Eugénie, the wife of Napoleon III, an emerald necklace and a pair of emerald earrings from Empress Marie Louise and tiara, necklace and single earring from the sapphire set that belonged to Queen Marie-Amelie and Queen Hortense and the brooch known as the "reliquary brooch".” Tim says, counting every item with his fingers.
“Uh.. what?” Pru answers with a lot of eloquence.
“I have pictures.” He sighs.
Pru is humming happily as she's cleaning the guns they would use in their illegal endeavor.
Tim had categorically refused to use guns on their missions before his companions had made annoyingly good arguments.
“Nobody will expect a Bat to rob a museum at gunpoint and you want to keep this separate from your family, don’t you?”
Yes, he did. He absolutely did but it was still annoying that the argument had been so logical he could only agree if he wanted the mission to succeed which he did.
He still made sure to outline in bold font, warn them and condemn against any use of any lethal violence.
The guns were nothing more than tools of intimidation. Full stop.
“You would think a hundred years’ war should be enough to resolve the conflict between the British and the French.” Zeddmore sighs.
“More like a hundred and ten actually.” Owens mutters. He too is visibly tired of hearing about this.
They weren’t supposed to hold any allegiances other than serving their Master but a Scouse’s home pride was apparently hard to erase, even with their strenuous training that was more like torture really.
Tim cannot hold his laughter back anymore.
The absurdity of the situation is too much even for him.
“Is this why you agreed so quickly to my plan? Before Ra’s even gave his blessing?” He cackles, his whole body shaking with the force of the laughter that has taken hold of him.
“Indeed.” Zeddmore joins in the laughter with polite chuckles that he unsuccessfully hides under a clenched fists.
“The last time we had a mission in France. The daughter of the Demon broke her jaw because she was tired of hearing her ranting about the French. We were all extremely grateful.” Owens guffaws.
“Didn’t stop me!” Pru sniggers. “Ah! Those were the days.” She sighs wistfully.
Tim was an idiot, fucking stupid, not prepared which was the worse sin a Bat could commit.
He even thinks that Bruce would disapprove of his unpreparedness more than the heritage vandalism and armed robbery he is about to commit.
“The only power tools I have on me, leave a bat shaped symbol behind.” He looks at the ground, ashamed.
Pru dissolves into laughter.
Owens’ face is split by a huge grin, reminiscent of a hyena's and even Zed is sporting an amused smile.
“We thought that the bat thing was a joke when other agents would gossip about it.” Owens cracks up, holding his sides.
“The gimmick does seem a bit excessive.” Zed comments, airy.
“No matter, we'll simply have to use the angle grinder at our disposal. It will have the added effect of blurring our trail by making us appear like amateurs.” He adds.
Then the matter is done. Case closed.
No other viewpoints or angles left to consider.
They have a viable, working plan of action that will unfold without a hitch.
And even more contingency plans in case it doesn't.
He is really going to do this.
It’s currently 9 am on a Sunday. He isn’t used to getting up so early after dropping out of high school.
They are in an unmarked white van. A cliche that serves its purpose well so Tim willfully ignores that part.
They will abandon this vehicle soon anyway. Scooters had seemed like a much better option to challenge Paris’ traffic jams during rush hour.
Pru is their getaway driver because Owens and Zeddmore had assured him that she drove like a bat out of hell and Tim was inclined to agree after what happened in Madrid.
Tim also wants to keep his hands unoccupied and empty (other than the machine gun he was carrying) to monitor the situation closely on site to react quickly if things get out of hand.
He doubts they will, the guards are not paid enough to stop them and they are trained to not confront armed invaders but to avoid them and immediately guide the public to the security exit doors and to relative safety.
Still for his peace of mind he reiterates the orders he must have conveyed dozens of times before.
“We take no hostages. Don’t use-” He starts to speak before Pru cuts him by cranking up the AUX to the max.
She’s playing Robbers by The 1975, Zed’s suggestion, a proposition that he seems to bitterly regret.
“Take no hostages. Don’t use the guns in the way they were literally designed to be used.“
Owens seems particularly disgruntled by this rule. He’s a talented sniper, proficient with all sorts of firearms and is resentful that he can’t showcase his mastery in the highest profile mission he has been in yet.
“Do not attack civilians or the security staff unprovoked. If they attack first, only retaliate to incapacitate them without leaving any major injuries.” Zeddmore continues tiredly.
Usually taciturn and dutiful, even his patience has been exhausted by the constant reiteration.
League assassins that didn’t listen to orders on the first try didn’t survive long. Certainly not long enough to be promoted to lead an elite team of assassins like he had been.
“Always keep in touch through the comms.” Pru groans.
“Okay. Okay. I’ll stop with my hovering.” Tim giggles, raising his arms in surrender. He was just used to having to repeat his instructions to his team.
Bart and Young Justice as a whole really weren’t the best at listening to and getting his plans on the first try.
They've managed to enter the building, none the wiser.
The construction hats, the yellow vests and the fake beards made them look like they were meant to be there, working. Nobody would think that the bearded short man that looked like he had rolled in dust was actually billionaire Timothy Drake-Wayne.
Hell, Owens was wearing a fake goatee ! A goatee, something nobody would be caught dead in save for Oliver Queen who lacked shame anyway.
They hadn't received anything more than curious glances from bystanders but that was normal when you approached one of the most famous attractions in the world.
A tourist takes a selfie in front of the truck-mounted ladder and Tim spend the next minute convincing Pru not to “get rid of the nuisance” because it would only attract more attention in the long run.
They purposely trigger a security alarm in the Apollo Gallery.
It's a warning. Paris is on guard when it comes to potential domestic terrorism, which they will mistake this episode as, at first.
Which will kick-start the evacuation of the public.
In the long term, it will make them look like amateurs who took on a bigger job for frivolous, money-related reasons, covering their tracks even more.
“Who dropped the fucking crown?” He hisses.
“It’s fine we scanned it for time energy traces already.” Pru shrugs off.
“That is not the problem here. We probably just damaged an invaluable piece of history.” He hisses back, panicking.
She doesn’t reply. It’s clearly a perk to her.
“Who fucking put the crown jewels on Vinted?”
“You said we had to cover our tracks.” Pru asks, confused.
“Not when we just left the museum ! We are literally still on the getaway vehicles !” Tim whisper-shouts in the private comms.
“Nobody believes it's real anyway. I used stock photos.” Pru dismisses his very valid concerns.
“It will be more suspicious to take it down now.” Zed concurs.
Tim lets out a wordless scream.
They've lost the police, safe in another, more luxurious hotel this time.
Pru had said that they were basically saving Brucie Wayne's hide and deserved some compensation for that and Tim had agreed.
The previous hotel rooms had been too shabby and seedy for his tastes.
They're lying on the biggest bed Tim had seen in months. He misses his actual bed.
Pru's bald head is on his lap and Tim's head is on Zed's biceps, surprisingly a very comfortable cushion.
Owens is sitting up next to Pru, stuffing his face with a local french “delicacy”, the french tacos who looks nothing like his namesake.
They are the most relaxed an assassin team can be.
Tim surprises himself with the trust he's giving a team of assassins that had sworn to chase him to the ends of the Earth to kill him.
They could easily snap his neck and Tim would be none the wiser, too slow to react at this distance.
He finds that he doesn't care.
They've grown on him like mold.
He pulls out his burner phone to doomscroll on the internet, he has time to waste while the more elaborate tests run in the background.
Pru moves higher, next to his arm to gawk openly at what he's doing on his smartphone.
Owens is still eating but he scoots closer to have a better look.
Even Zed is peeking at the screen.
The first video that pops up is of a Frenchman.
He has never seen a man outside of Eddie aka Kid Devil, look so red.
His eyes are wide open, glaring into the screen like he wants to drag them and beat them up.
His long grey hair is disheveled and standing up like he was just electrocuted.
On second glance, he looks more like a cat puffing up.
Even his fancy, probably very expansive clothes are rumpled.
The middle-aged man is sobbing and screaming, his voice hoarse.
He is clearly very passionate about the subject he is raving about.
"He looks like that corrupt politician we strangled to death in Morocco." Pru comments.
"Rendez les bijoux de la couronne !" He shrieks after a long pregnant silence. It seems to have opened the floodgates because he is bellowing, clearly raving mad.
The boys are laughing hysterically.
Owens even wipes a tear of laughter off.
Pru looks at them in confusion.
"Am I the only shmuck who can't speak French here ?" She asks, bewildered. "I can understand trust fund nepo baby here but Owens ? You're from the middle of nowhere, a tiny island nobody's ever heard of!"
"First of all, I literally am Australian?" Owens responds after his fit of laughter, even more confused.
"You had the choice to learn any language during training and declined because, and I quote "no fucking way in hell, that's the language of the devil"." Zed continues, unbothered and unruffled.
"You did?" Tim asks, surprised. He wonders if Ra's offers personal tutoring to his most loyal generals. You must have learned a lot of languages if you've been around longer than the Dinosaurs like the man.
"And I stand by what past Pru said."
"Well long story short he just called us marauders. Deliquents. Malefactors. Hoodlums with no respect for history. Larrikins. Whatever names you're thinking of he already mentioned them." Owens replies.
"This doesn't make me want to give them back like we intended to do." Pru retorts hotly, raising to the bait. Tim wonders if Red Robin will have to fend off attacks against the collector in the near future.