Chapter Text
The ride back to Wayne Manor was deathly quiet.
Roy was afraid to breathe as Tim checked over his files, signing off on release forms and affidavits and his soul, for all he knew. He gulped, clearing his throat. “So, um…”
Tim glanced up momentarily, appraising him, before continuing his work. “Yes?”
“I swear, I didn’t say a damn thing. You can check the tapes and stuff, right?” Of course they could, all they had to do was ask Barbara to drop by the precinct before meeting up with Bruce Wayne and the rest of the Gotham family.
Tim smiled serenely, which frankly freaked Roy out more than any threat they could toss his way. “We will, eventually. Don’t worry about it.”
Don’t worry about it, he says. Roy felt his stomach twist nervously as the car slowed to a stop. The old butler walked around, agonizingly slow, and opened his door, nodding. “Master Timothy, Mister Harper. Master Bruce is waiting in his study.”
Tim slipped out, marching up the steps of the imposing Wayne Manor like he was going to be late for something. Roy scrambled after him, breathlessly thanking Alfred before running up the steps.
For the residence of a mob boss, Wayne Manor was bright. The light streamed in from the windows everywhere, making the mansion seem cheery and homey. It was breathtaking, and it always took Roy by surprise.
He stood gaping like an idiot in the foyer until Alfred coughed politely behind him. “Master Bruce is waiting, Mister Harper.”
Flushing, Roy hurried up the stairs, counting the doors under his breath until he reached number twelve on the left. The study. Sucking in a deep breath, he knocked lightly.
“Come in,” a deep voice rumbled. Bracing himself, Roy slipped in.
Tim ignored him, sliding papers in front of Bruce for him to sign. Dick, lounging by the windowsill, waved in greeting but said nothing. Damian was perched on one of the many chairs in the study, idly sharpening a sword. The others were gone, probably on missions.
Roy felt the sweat slide down his neck as he slowly sat across from Bruce. Damian shot him a nasty smirk; the bruise on his face throbbed in remembrance of the kid’s fist.
Bruce continued signing papers for a few more minutes, skimming them over before scribbling his name and handing them back to Tim. Finally, he set his pen down, pinning Roy down with a look. “Roy.”
“Yeah?” Roy hoped to everything that was good and holy that his voice didn’t shake as much as he thought it did.
Bruce sighed, standing. “Why did you get arrested?”
“The cop said reckless driving,” Roy said, ignoring the scoff coming from Damian. “Honest, it was just a swerve to avoid a guy who backed up all of a sudden. No drugs this time.”
“The records check out,” Tim nodded, flipping through his paperwork. “Initial here, B.”
Bruce took the paper again, frowning faintly. “So what did you want to talk about, Tim? If it checks out.”
Tim snapped open his briefcase. “It’s not that Roy did anything wrong. It’s something else.”
They watched as he took a tape from his briefcase and placed it into a player set into the wall. Dick walked over, turning the TV on. “What are we looking at, Timmy?”
The grainy security footage from the interrogation room snapped on the screen, and Roy saw himself grimacing on camera. “—missed your face and dulcet tones, Jaybird.”
Damian sneered at him after he mentioned his altercation of sorts, but other than that, the room was dead silent. The footage continued playing after Tim arrived to the room and dealt with Roy, and cut off a few minutes later.
Roy swore he heard a pin drop as they turned to look at Bruce. The older man looked deep in thought, but he eventually turned to Roy. “Roy. Do you know that man?”
“He’s the detective…?” Roy shrugged, hoping to ease the tension in his shoulders. “He’s the guy that’s always dealt with my case. I dunno.”
“Why did you call him that?” Dick was watching him carefully, exchanging glances with Tim and Bruce.
“I’unno. The lady in the precinct with the red hair called him that. It seemed to bother him, so I picked it up.” That was sort of the truth. More true than anything else he’d said.
Bruce nodded slowly, closing his eyes. “Thank you, Roy. You’re free to leave now. Tell Lian we said hello.”
It was an offhand comment, but that was the kicker. That was the only reason he was risking his neck for a mission that maybe wouldn’t amount to anything.
Roy nodded, waving to Dick, and hurried out of the room. The foyer didn’t feel so bright anymore.
Dick waited for the door to shut, counting the seconds until the faint echoes of the front door slamming reached them.
“Jason’s dead.”
Damian set his sword down slowly, intrigued despite himself. It was rare when he heard of the dead son, much less heard his name spoken so casually.
Tim rubbed his temples. “I know.”
“Did you see him, Tim?” Bruce didn’t look up, but they felt the expectation. The faint sliver of hope.
“I…saw someone. I don’t know if it was him. It could have been. Maybe.” It was stupid, he’d been thinking about the files he needed to release Roy and the red tape he was going to have to cut through and by the time his brain registered anything the man was gone.
“I can go check it out.” Dick stretched, feeling his back pop. “Drop by the station, check on Babs, get his information on the way.”
“If it’s really him, he wouldn’t have used his name.” Tim was already on the move, tapping rapidly on his phone. “And Barbara doesn’t have the time to check on every officer in Gotham.”
“Well, I’ll ask around then,” Dick huffed. Tim shrugged, but neither moved from their spots. It wasn’t up to them anyways.
Bruce stood slowly, walking to stand by the window. “Tim, find what you can about the detective. Dick, ask around, but that’s all. We don’t have enough to go on to use force yet.”
“Will do, B.” Dick ruffled Damian’s hair in farewell, hurrying out the door to suit up. Tim was slower, walking back to get the security tapes.
“I’ll send you anything I find, boss.”
Damian frowned, watching the door close. “Do you need me to do anything, Father?”
“Not yet, Damian. We aren’t sure what we’re dealing with yet.”
Annoyed, the teenager walked out after his brothers. Let them chase after ghosts. He could find something to do in the meantime.