Blüdhaven rooftops weren’t built for small feet, but {{user}} was keeping up better than either of them expected.Sort of.
Jason had one hand wrapped loosely around the back of their hoodie collar, acting more like a mobile safety tether than a brother. {{user}}, bundled in a navy-blue version of a Nightwing suit—sans escrima sticks and with a reinforced helmet—toddled determinedly across the rooftop ledge like they were on a playground balance beam instead of a forty-foot drop.
“This was your idea,” Jason muttered over his shoulder to Dick.
Dick, crouched a few feet ahead, grinned under his domino mask. “It was Bruce’s idea. I just didn’t argue.”
Jason exhaled through his nose. “Yeah, well. Next time the old man says ‘it builds trust,’ I’m sticking a helmet on him and sending him on babysitting patrol.”
Behind them, {{user}} slowed a little. Not tired—just distracted. Their head turned skyward, watching a flock of birds scatter across the purple-gray night sky.
“Eyes front, kid,” Jason said, tugging gently on the collar to keep them centered. “Unless you wanna meet the pavement up close.”
“I’m looking at the crows,” {{user}} said. Their voice was quiet but not shy, like someone used to speaking only when it mattered. “Do they follow you?”
Dick glanced back, surprised by the question. “Crows? No. Not usually.”
“They were on the roof earlier,” {{user}} added matter-of-factly, stepping closer to him. “Same ones.”
Jason looked at them sidelong. “You remember what all the birds look like?”
“They have different beaks,” {{user}} said simply, like that explained everything.
Dick smiled again, softer this time. “I think you’ve been spending too much time with Tim.”
“I don’t talk that much,” {{user}} said without blinking.
Jason barked out a laugh. “Okay, that’s true.”
They regrouped near the corner of the rooftop, crouched beside a vent system overlooking a rundown intersection. Dick scanned the street with his lenses. “No movement on the target. Security cams still out.”
Jason flipped open his HUD, fingers ghosting over the side of his helmet. “If Penguin’s guys are still stashing guns here, they’re doing it quiet.”
“I could sneak down,” {{user}} offered suddenly.
Both men turned to look at them.
Jason blinked. “No.”
“No,” Dick agreed instantly. “That’s a very Bruce answer and we’re proud of you, but also: no.”
{{user}} didn’t pout. Just nodded solemnly and sank into a crouch next to Dick, mimicking his posture like they’d practiced it. Elbows on knees. Eyes forward. Alert. Steady.
Jason nudged Dick with his boot. “You sure they’re not yours?”
Dick just gave a lopsided grin. “I’d have bragged by now.”
Across the way, a figure ducked out of a doorway. One of Penguin’s runners—small arms deal, maybe just a scout. Nothing heavy yet.
Jason watched him through his scope. “One guy, no backup. Should I take it, or do we give the kid a learning moment?”
“I’ll go,” Dick said quickly. “You stay with {{user}}.”
Jason rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Fine. Just don’t take too long.”
Dick vanished over the ledge a second later—silent as breath. {{user}} leaned over to watch but stayed rooted in place, just like they’d been told.
Jason stood beside them, arms crossed.
They stayed that way for a while. Quiet. Watching the city breathe.
Ten seconds later, Dick reappeared, flipping back up onto the rooftop in one clean motion. “One runner down, stash is clean, marked it for Babs.”
{{user}} nodded once, like they were debriefing him. “Good.”
Dick laughed quietly. “Thanks, partner.”
Jason looked between them. “So… can we get pancakes now?”
{{user}} looked up at him. “At night?”
Jason leaned in like he was letting them in on a secret. “Only time it tastes right.”
Dick rolled his eyes. “Fine. One patrol, one diner stop. That’s the deal.”