The night was already ruined. It was one of those initial spring days that felt more like winter being pissed at having to leave, bidding goodbye with hails and rain and thunder and...

And Gotham doesn't sleep, nor does Tim, apparently, he's fueled by energy drinks, no really, RedBull makes good profit off of his unhealthy caffeine use.

Suffice to say, Tim was not in his best mood. Being out in the rain was alreadybad enough to then see...what?

He's not sure...it's...Dick? it looks like Nightwing, which is nonsense because he's not in Gotham right now and the guy should learn to warn and-and how come no one noticed he's back? Dick does use the comm lines and keeps up and, whatever.

Tim was under a gargoyle, yes, under, it's storming cats and dogs, too much to brood over it, watching the Nightwing and about to communicate-is he drunk?

No, maybe he knows Tim is seeing him and clowning him by doing god awful climbing and being much sloppier on purpose. Except it's odd and Tim can't explain the uncanny feeling when he notices everything is different except looks, the body posture is...it's not Dick, it's not Dick's body language, he'd know, okay? not just because he knows him but also because he used to be a stalker little fan of the original Robin and focus, not the time to overthink it.

The point is, something, something in his limbic system, in his subconscious or his shivers from the cold or whatever is setting off the alien feeling told him: This is not Dick.

But it also doesn't look like a Clayface situation.

Tim: @Buttwing send me your location. Spotted a fake you at Gotham East.

His fingers quickly sent the message, before he's stalking you. Whatever and whoever you are, his live video feed on to whoever might actually be posted at the cave right now-and Oracle if he pressed a button. He need information first, action later. He doesn't know what he's seeing or facing. So he's wary, silent, careful.