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Tim Drake had many regrets.
Accepting the gala invite was one. Attending in person was two.
But sitting alone in his parked car, jacket loosened, tie slung around his neck like a symbol of suffering, Tim was finally at peace.
Gala survived. Status: still alive.
Now, he just needed ten minutes of silence and maybe a greasy burger from a nearby Batburger.
He sighed, leaned his head back, closed his eyes—
And immediately heard a very loud “AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”
Tim blinked. “What the—”
A blur in black and green came barrelling down the stone steps of the gala. His brain tried to process: boy—teen?—messy hair, glowing eyes? Wait, was he glowing?
Tim barely had time to frown before the stranger launched into the air, did a front flip, and yeeted himself through Tim’s open car window.
He landed in the passenger seat with a thud, legs everywhere, hair windswept, glowing slightly and breathing hard.
Then—with calm, practiced efficiency—he grabbed the seatbelt, yanked it across his chest, clicked it in with a satisfying click, and only then turned to Tim and barked,
“DRIVE!”
Tim blinked.
The boy twisted around in the seat, glaring out the back window like he expected a SWAT team to come flying out of the shrubbery. His voice was tight, urgent, and clearly accustomed to chaos.
“Drive, hot guy! Unless you wanna get hit with a face full of mid-life-crisis-laser-beam!”
Tim, as a trained vigilante with many, many instincts for danger, knew what the responsible response would be.
Instead, he just stared at him and said, “Did you just call me hot?”
The boy whipped around, eyebrows raised. “Are you seriously prioritizing flirting over fleeing?”
“You’re cute. I’m multi-tasking.”
“Dude ” the boy said seriously, “drive the car before we both die.”
“Alright, but I want credit for the smoothness.”
With a squeal of tires that probably violated five city ordinances, Tim peeled off into the Gotham night.
As they passed the tall wrought-iron gates of the gala mansion, Tim spared a glance in the rearview mirror—and oh. Oh. That was Vlad Masters.
Standing on the steps.
Holding a wine glass.
Absolutely radiating murder.
“I see you’re being chased by Gotham’s least charming Bond villain,” Tim said.
“Yeah, his name’s Vlad and he sucks,” the boy muttered. “Also, that wine was poisoned.”
Tim blinked. “What.”
Danny groaned and started patting himself down for something—Tim was afraid it might be a gun, or a grenade, or a ferret. Instead, the boy pulled out a half-melted granola bar and shoved half in his mouth.
“Mmph, sorry,” he said through a mouthful. “Low blood sugar. Chase scene. Emotional trauma. You know.”
“…I really don’t.”
“I’ll explain later. What’s your name, getaway driver?”
“Tim. Tim Drake.”
Danny froze. Mid-chew. “Wait. Tim Drake? As in Wayne Enterprises Tim Drake?”
Tim, now genuinely alarmed, gave him a side-eye. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“No, no,” Danny said quickly. “Just… wow. That explains the luxury sedan and the fact you didn’t scream when I went through your window.”
“You’re not the first person to enter my car that way, actually.”
Danny paused, eyes wide. “Damn, Gotham’s may actually be worse than Amity.”
“…what’s Amity?”
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
Danny gave him a long look. “Okay. So. Ghosts are real.”
Tim opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Then said, “I think I can believe that.”
Danny gave him a thumbs up, still chewing. “Cool. Makes this way less awkward.”
“Yeah, can’t have our unexpected first date ruined by a minor existential crisis.”
Danny blinked. “Wait, this is a date?”
“You crawled through my window and yelled ‘drive,’” Tim said dryly. “It’s either a date or a felony. And I’m choosing optimism.”
Danny gave him a look. “You’re weird.”
“You’re glowing.”
“Touché.”
They drove in silence for exactly three seconds before Danny perked up. “Hey, you got music? Chase scenes need a soundtrack.”
Tim hit a button and the car stereo immediately blasted Taylor Swift’s Style.
Danny squinted. “Really?”
“It’s a bop,” Tim defended. “And also ironically fitting, considering you just came in like James Dean.”
Danny, to Tim’s eternal delight, let out a snort and muttered, “You got that long hair slicked back too.”
They shared a look.
Then a glowing green blast exploded off the back of the car.
“OH MY GOD,” Tim shouted, swerving. “What the hell was that?!”
“Laser beam!” Danny yelled cheerfully. “Wow, he’s still mad!”
“WHY is he mad?!”
Danny groaned. “I may have pantsed him during his big dramatic ‘the future of energy is me’ speech.”
Tim blinked. “…You what.”
Danny groaned. “Okay, I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.”
Tim blinked. “How do you accidentally pull someone's pants down? There’s physics involved.”
Danny held up his hands defensively. “He stepped on my shoelace mid-rant and I was trying to yank it free, but I guess I grabbed his hem by mistake and—look, the point is, the man wore clip-on suspenders and no belt.”
Tim stared at him.
Danny continued, “I was just trying to get to the snack table. I didn’t know yanking my foot would cause Vlad to flash Gotham’s entire upper class.”
Tim had to physically fight the urge to swerve off the road from laughing. “You know what? I get it now. I completely understand the laser beams.”
Danny sniffed, like a wronged hero. “Either way, he started it.”
“He started it?”
Danny pointed dramatically. “He disrespected my science fair project in the eighth grade. Called it ‘amateur.’ Said neutrinos were for cowards. I’ve been waiting to get revenge for years.”
“…and this is how you chose to do it?”
Danny shrugged. “What can I say? I saw a chance and I ran with it..”
Another blast whizzed past the side mirror.
Danny casually rolled down the window and pulled out what looked like a glowing thermos. He aimed it backward and sucked the beam into it like it was a smoothie.
Tim stared. “I have so many questions.”
“Save them for date two.”
“…So you are counting this as a date.”
Danny winked. “Hot guy drives me into the Gotham night while I wield ghost weapons and fight my nemesis. Yeah, totally my type.”
Tim grinned. “You’re absolutely insane.”
“And yet, you didn’t kick me out of the car.”
“You were going too fast to eject safely.”
“Excuses, excuses.”
The car zoomed into an underpass. Vlad’s blasts faded into the distance. For now, at least.
Danny flopped back in the seat, pulling out a phone that sparked and then exploded into goo.
He stared at it sadly. “Rest in peace, FentonPhone. You barely functioned but you were mine.”
Tim hesitated. “Do you… need a place to lay low?”
Danny blinked. “You offering?”
Tim shrugged.
Danny looked at him for a long moment. Then grinned.
“You’re definitely dateable. Possibly marriage material. Slightly unhinged. I respect that.”
They hit a red light. Tim tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “So. You want a Burger?”
“Only if you let me pick the music on the way.”
Tim smirked. “Deal.”
Danny leaned back, grinning like the chaos demon he was.
In the rearview mirror, Tim swore he saw Vlad Masters face-plant into a bush while shaking his fist at the sky.
Best. Gala. Ever.