Harrison “Harry” Walters had thought he was used to all the weird shit Gotham had to offer.

He paid his taxes. He drove an Uber. He kept a glock on him at all times. He’d signed the hostage insurance papers. He’d signed the villain insurance papers. He kept his ears open for Arkham breakouts. And, most of all, he kept his goddamned head down.

But nothing, nothing Gotham had thrown at him could have prepared him for the sight of the fucking Batman in his backseat.

When he’d received an order with a bat emoji in lieu of a name and no personal info, he’d thought nothing of it. Half of his customers didn’t use a name anyway, and half of those that did were fake names. Uber Gotham’s system was designed to be apathetic in that arena, and focused resources on hostage and rogue protection instead. If Harry were to be ordered to drive by the Riddler, he would come out of it legally unscathed. Of course, he was also protected with blurry self-defence clauses, hence the glock sitting patiently in his pocket.

But this situation was not covered by Uber: Gotham. The weak training he’d had did not prepare him for this.

The Batman slunk into the car near-silently, like the shadow he was. The door closing was the only indication that he existed at all. He turned the whited-out eyes to his mirror, and Harry could have sworn he was staring into his soul.

He didn’t get paid enough for this shit.

“Fifth and Third, right?” He asked, instead of voicing the many, many swears that were running through his head.

The Batman just hummed in response.

“Any particular hurry?”

No response. No hurry, then.

He still drove fairly fast.

At some point, Harry found himself resisting the urges to look back and just focused on the road. He had stopped putting on music long ago, when a former Scarecrow victim had gotten triggered by one of the songs. Most of the time, he attempted to gauge his passenger’s chattiness and match accordingly. Silence met silence, small talk met small talk, trauma dumping met trauma dumping.

Clearly, the Bat was definitely on the side of silence. So Harry could not explain to himself why, exactly, he opened his mouth once more.

“So… Batmobile break down?”

Shit. Fuck.

The Batman stared at him in the mirror, those white voids boring into him. It was hard to tell through the terrifying body armor, but the man was tense– had been since he stepped inside. Maybe that was just his default setting. Harry still wasn’t convinced he was even a man at all.

There was little known about the Batman, and even less known about his appearance. Harry was truly grateful for him– of course he was, what Gothamite wasn’t?– but he knew fuck all when it came to news about the vigilante. ‘Gotham’s Protector Defeats Another Rogue’ was a headline pretty much every other day, now, and for the most part, he couldn’t care less. As long as he just kept his head down and out of Gotham’s weird-ass crime world, he didn’t care. Hell, no one had even got a proper picture of the Batman, as far as he knew– how was he supposed to care if he didn’t even know what their resident cryptid looked like?

Well, looking at him now, Harry thought that maybe he cared more than he’d thought. Because the Batman’s appearance wasn’t just terrifying, it was intriguing.

He had a camera in the car, of course he did, this was Gotham. But he’d delete the video of this ride later, because he was intrigued, and he wasn’t a fucking fool. He was one of the few that knew what the Batman’s armor looked like up close. He’d be damned if he said that Gotham didn’t protect her own.

The silence permeated the car like a gas for a long while, stretching over the span of many moments, and Harry had already turned his eyes back to the road, when–

“Condiment King.”

Holy shit, the Batman spoke.

The Batman spoke, he had a voice. And it was low and gravelly and intimidating to all hell, but he spoke. This was so fucking surreal.

Instead of freaking out like his mind currently was, he just pinched his eyebrows together. “He put the Batmobile out of commission?”

The Batman grunted, sounding so pissed and so human that it nearly caught Harry off-guard. “All vehicles.”

Harry winced. “Damn, that sucks. I know how hard it is to get mustard stains out.”

And he did, from his time working at the Batburger on Main. He loved their food, but had hated working there. The horrors he’d seen in that kitchen– he shuddered. Some things were best left forgotten.

Harry bit back the question that so furiously threatened to escape– why are you taking an Uber if you’ve still got a grappling hook?– and instead continued the drive, erring just on the side of street-legal.

When he arrived, the Batman exited just as quietly as he’d entered, but this time with a grunted, “Thank you.”

Harry managed to make it through his shift and all the way home. He headed into his apartment and collapsed directly into his very-confused-husband’s lap before he put his head in his hands, whispering over and over, “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck–”

The Batman had been in his car. The Batman probably had him drive him to go fight crime. The Batman had somehow erased his camera’s video before he had a chance to. The Batman had tipped $100 on a $20 drive.

What the fuck.

After Nate had calmed him down and gotten the full story out of him, Harry decided to accept the experience at face value. He knew it was very cool and very surreal, but it was also likely to never happen again. He had met the Batman, Gotham’s protector, and unless he got himself kidnapped, he was likely to not meet him a second time.

He was proven wrong not a month later.

When Harry once again saw that bat instead of a name, his heart skipped a beat. There was no fucking way this would happen again. No fucking way.

The gods had a sick sense of humor.

This time, when the Batman entered his car, it was with a grunt of pain. That alone would have confused the hell out of Harry, but the fact that the man was hunched, covering a spot on his side, was even more boggling.

The Batman was injured, and he was in his Uber.

“Uh– you okay, man?” he asked. Even if the personification of darkness and fear itself was sitting in his backseat, he wouldn’t begrudge fear the bare minimum of concern.

The Batman didn’t respond– not to him, at least. As Harry pulled the car away, Batman said, almost too quietly, “Agent A, prep the medbay. ETA–”

He looked to the mirror, and Harry belatedly realized that he was asking him. “Um. 35 minutes.”

The Batman nodded slightly. “–45 minutes,” he finished for… whoever he was talking to.

Then he leaned back against the seat and stayed there.

Harry should have left it, should have let the man stew in his silence. His ability to tamp down on his own curiosity was what made him such a damn good driver most of the time. But he couldn’t say that he wasn’t more than a little concerned by the Batman’s less-than-perfect state. And by the fact that he had, once again, opted for an Uber, for some fucking reason.

“Rough day?” He asked, keeping his tone light.

To Harry’s utter bewilderment, the Batman let out a harsh puff of air that might have been the ghost of a laugh. He didn’t say anything, but he did grunt in affirmation.

Huh.

“If you need it,” Harry said slowly, “I’ve got a first-aid kit back there. Back of the passenger seat, in the pouch.”

Again, only silence. Damn, the Batman truly didn’t take his persona lightly.

It was only after Harry had hit the brakes and honked at a car that had cut him off, swearing profusely the whole time, that he heard rustling in the back.

Sure enough, when he looked back, the Batman had gotten his hands on the first-aid kit, and was currently rifling through the supplies within.

Harry debated over his words for a minute before deciding, ‘fuck it’, and said, “I hope you didn’t get shot or something, ‘cuz I don’t think I’ve got something that can dig bullets out. Unless you wanna trust my fingers, but that probably wouldn’t go well for anyone involved.”

That same puff of air. What the fuck. The only explanation Harry could come up with was, well, clearly, he’s losing blood like a gutted pig and isn’t in his right mind, because there was no other reason that the Batman would be laughing.

“Not shot,” said the Batman in his terrifying, grating voice, and Harry had to shake himself to focus on the road. “Grapple got shot. I fell.”

Harry cringed internally, but outwardly he tried to project nonchalance because, what the shit, why was this man so calm about nearly dying? “Damn. Guess that’s why you’re here and not grappling around the city.”

The Batman only hummed.

This time, when the vigilante left his car and disappeared into the night, Harry felt oddly… okay about the interaction. He returned home not long after, in a much better state than he'd been the first time.

The first thing he did was check his phone– and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. The Batman had tipped $250 this time. Accompanying the tip was a note– ‘To fix the stain’.

Sure enough, when Harry checked the backseat, there was a dark, metallic-smelling stain where the Batman had sat. The first-aid kit had been neatly repacked and replaced, so the stain was the only evidence of the vigilante’s visit.

But Harry couldn’t really bring himself to care about the stain. After all, a tiny stain was fixable enough, especially with the money he’d received. And it wasn’t like this was the first time he’d gotten blood on those seats. This was Gotham, after all.

Harry mused to himself as he laid in bed with his husband, reading about how the Batman had dismantled a trafficking ring, and decided maybe Gotham wasn’t so bad, with its own personal protector to defend it.

<()><()><()>

After meeting the Batman more than once, which Harry was confident was not normal for a citizen, he’d done a bit more research.

News outlets and tabloids were practically useless– it was all speculation about the Bat’s identity and debating the morality of his approach to the city. Elsewhere, he'd managed to find a fairly conclusive compilation of the Bat's biggest appearances and interactions with the public, but not much else. He really enjoyed his secrecy.

But, at least now he had more information on the mysterious ‘Dark Knight of Gotham’. At least now he knew more than just the vaguest rumors surrounding the Batman.

Because he’d been keeping tabs, he was shocked when a brightly-colored child started showing up next to the vigilante.

It was a huge news story, for a while. The Batman had a fucking kid? And said kid was also fighting crime? Who would’ve thunk, certainly not Harry. What little interactions he’d had with the Bat didn’t exactly scream ‘family man’ to him. He’d have expected himself to adopt a kid before the literal justice vigilante showed up with one.

But the kid existed, and Harry was able to see the proof with his own two eyes weeks later.

At this point, Harry’s heart still skipped a beat when he saw the Bat’s signature emoji, but this time he was a bit more excited. And as it turned out, he had a right to be, because the kid that entered his car alongside the Batman certainly was… something.

He was all limbs and energy, making his way into the car before Harry had even seen the duo. His traffic-light ensemble was a stark contrast to the way the shadows seemed to bend around the Batman, but Harry had to admit, it fit the kid well.

“Hey, Mr. Uber Driver!” The kid chirped before the door had even closed. “I’m Robin– what’s your name?”

Harry blinked, pulling the car out before he could overthink it. “I’m Harry, kid. Nice to meet you.”

“You too!” Robin replied.

Then he attached himself to the fucking ceiling.

Harry didn’t even see him do it– he had been watching the road, and then when he turned, the kid wasn’t in a seat, but hanging from the roof of Harry’s shitty old car. Harry didn’t stare– he did not– because he had to drive, obviously, but from what he could tell, the kid was supporting himself from just one handle by the door.

How much core strength did he have?

Where had the Batman found this kid?

Judging from the faint exasperated frown on the Batman’s face– and wasn’t that a sight– he was wondering the same thing.

Neither the Batman nor Robin seemed too eager to make conversation, what with the man’s chronic silence and the kid’s apparent contentedness to remain where he was, but Harry cleared his throat.

“How’re you enjoying fighting crime, Robin?” he asked, shivering at the way the Batman’s lenses snapped to Harry’s mirror.

At that, Robin soured, stiffening. “It’s great! But it would be better if Batman let me do what I wanted.”

The Batman sighed heavily. Clearly, this was not a new argument. “Robin.”

“I know,” the kid snapped, crossing his arms as he hung from his legs– Harry didn’t even know how he was doing that. It wasn’t like there was a fucking perch on the ceiling or anything. Gods, was that why he was called Robin? Because he was part bird and perched everywhere?

Then again, he’d never heard of the Batman hanging from the ceiling. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t possible– who knew what vengeance got up to in its free time?

The air was a bit tense after that, which Harry was mostly fine to leave alone. He knew how kids could be, it was part of the reason he and Nate had decided against them. He imagined a child vigilante was even more stubborn.

Silence permeated the air for a while, then–

A sharp gasp nearly caused Harry to flinch. Robin dropped from the ceiling in silence, landing back onto the seat. Clearly, he’d seen something outside the window.

Robin turned to the Batman, grinning wildly.

He didn’t even speak before the Batman interrupted, “No.”

“There’s the Iceberg Creamery,” the kid said slowly. “You promised we’d get ice cream.”

Ah– so that’s what this was about.

“No, Robin.”

“Come on, B,” Robin protested, waving his arms. “We’ve finished for the night. It’s not like we can’t afford one ice cream. With Mr. Wayne’s money ‘n all.”

“Robin,” Batman reprimanded sharply.

With Mr. Wayne's money– what the fuck did that mean? Wait a fucking second– was Bruce Wayne Batman's sugar daddy?

Harry allowed that thought to stew in his brain for a moment, carefully circled it in the red crayon that was not my fucking problem, then ripped it out and discarded it immediately.

Robin huffed, jumping to hang from the handle again. Dear lord, this kid was insane.

“We are guests in this car, Robin,” Batman continued, that low growl slightly softened but still present. “We won’t hang from the ceiling, and we won’t be getting ice cream.”

At that, Harry felt the need to speak up. He snorted slightly, “Mr. Batman, with the way that you tip, I wouldn’t mind if you asked me to drive out of the country. ‘Sides, it’s not like Uber cares about detours.”

Maybe in other cities. But in Gotham, the organization had bigger things to worry about. There was a reason ‘Uber: Gotham’ had its own separate app.

At that, Robin perked up, next to Batman in an instant and fixing him with what Harry assumed was his best pleading face. He even put up his hands in a begging motion.

“Please, Batman!” he said, and it took all of Harry’s willpower not to laugh. “You promised we’d get ice cream! Harry doesn’t mind!”

The Bat’s mouth was twisted, like he’d swallowed something sour, but between his facial covering and Harry’s need to watch the road, he couldn’t get a proper read on the vigilante. There was a long, long pause, in which the time to turn around and head to the Iceberg had nearly passed, before the Batman let out a very, very tired, “...Fine.”

The celebratory whoop that Robin let out was well worth it, in Harry’s opinion.

Three minutes later, they had made it to the front of the drive-through line. Harry had gotten the pair’s ice cream orders, which was a surreal experience in and of itself (who would’ve thought the Batman liked double chocolate ice cream? Robin liking bubblegum, on the other hand, was completely in-character), and relayed them and his own to the kiosk. The Batman seemed to stiffen at Harry’s addition, picking up on the fact that Harry intended to pay– but, goddamnit, if the Bat was tipping in the hundreds, Harry could pay for one ice cream order.

When they pulled up to the window, the worker seemed slightly confused by the Uber insignia on his dash– and that confusion only tripled when they pulled away with their treats and she caught sight of who was in the backseat. Harry had the feeling no one would quite believe her if she told them.

After that, Robin seemed on top of the world, chattering nonstop, and Harry couldn’t help but feel incredulous that this was the same kid who’d had a hand in taking down Two-Face last week. It was safe to say that by the end of the drive, Harry had more than a little fondness for the boy.

“Bye, Harry!” Robin called as he and the Batman made their exit. “Thanks for driving!”

Harry chuckled. “No problem, kid. Take care.”

The Batman grunted a thank-you as well, and the pair disappeared.

Well, it was good to know that Robin’s bright colors didn’t impede his ability to vanish like the Batman.

After that encounter, over the span of years, Harry saw the pair quite a few more times. Sometimes they brought Batgirl with them, who Harry also adored, until she suddenly stopped showing up and they didn’t mention her anymore. More than once, Robin would beg for ice cream, and Harry would stifle his laughter at the way Batman begrudgingly conceded.

He saw Robin at his lows, too.

He got the feeling that the pair tried not to fight in front of him– or anyone else, for that matter– but there were days when the atmosphere was tense, when neither would speak and Harry wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole. There were days that Robin seemed entirely upset, clinging to Batman and his cape while the man stared at Harry in the mirror, daring him to comment. There were days that the boy stayed as far away from the vigilante as possible in the confined space, and Batman would always be watching, silently.

On the good days, though, Robin would beg to show Harry his best moves– to which Batman sighed, ‘Not in the car, Robin’– and chatter about everything and nothing while somehow managing not to spill anything from their personal lives. He would reenact their latest rogue takedowns, which never failed to make Harry laugh, and rant about a nice citizen he’d met recently.

One day, Harry asked the pair why he saw them so often. “I mean,” he said, “an Uber once every few months is crazy regular for a couple’a vigilantes. And I doubt I’m the only driver that’s encountered you, too.”

Batman tilted his head slightly at that. “It’s purely tactical.”

Robin snorted. “He means that it’s cold outside. And sometimes grappling ‘n parkouring across the city isn’t worth it. And sometimes we don’t have the Batmobile when we should have. Or our grapples. Right, B?”

Batman didn’t react.

“And,” Robin continued in a conspiratorial tone, leaning forward, “don’t tell anyone, but we like you best, Harry. None of the others care enough to talk. Or get us ice cream, even if B tips, like, a hundred bucks.”

Harry blinked. “I’m honored.”

Holy shit. That was something he’d have to think about later.

It was a long, long while before things started getting worse again. Robin had grown, no longer small enough to hang from the ceiling or young enough to babble endlessly. The tension returned to the car, the same air of we-just-had-an-argument-but-we-aren’t-about-to-continue-it. Harry attempted to keep the peace with his kind words and small talk, but he started seeing the pair less and less, and when he did, they weren’t speaking. It was clear that Robin wanted some form of independence.

Eventually, neither of them ordered a ride for a long time. When Batman did call for an Uber after much too long, Harry quietly asked where Robin was. He’d been watching the news, and surely, people would’ve gotten wind of it if he disappeared under suspicious circumstances.

Batman hadn’t responded. They continued to have nice, minimalist conversations, but it wasn’t the same without Robin there.

When Nightwing appeared, Harry had vague suspicions, but nothing concrete. He didn’t want to speculate, and Nightwing was Bludhaven’s protector, anyway. He was occasionally spotted in Gotham, but he was not theirs, and he much preferred rooftops to anything else, so Harry put it out of his mind.

Unfortunately, it seemed the vigilante disagreed with his take, because when Nightwing first landed himself in his car, Harry put the pieces together almost immediately. But not through any deduction of his own.

No, it was because Nightwing announced his presence with “Holy shit, Harry, you will not believe the day I’ve had.”

That alone caused a burst of a laugh to force its way out of Harry’s chest. He’d known it was Nightwing that called the Uber, with the name showing up on the order and the slight adjustments to his route that he’d later associate with Oracle’s meddling, but there was no denying that this was the original Robin.

“What did Batman do now?” He asked, shaking his head as he began the drive.

“The yoozh,” Nightwing replied, reclining easily across the backseat. At least he wasn’t dangling from the ceiling anymore. “He’s being an emotionally constipated brick wall. He’s got a new Robin, y’know that? B just loves to try to piss me off.”

There was something bitter there, but it was hidden in a humorous tone, so Harry just laughed along.

“I met him,” he said tentatively, but nothing more on the subject. “How’s Bludhaven treating you? I will pull you back to Gotham myself if I hear they’re giving you shit.”

Nightwing gave an easy laugh. “Oh, I’ve missed you, Harry. Remind me to visit more often. Bludhaven’s great, but I want to hear about you. Did that apartment go through?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Y’know how that precinct was destroyed by Ivy? Well…”

And so it continued. Harry never asked why the man gave up Robin or Gotham, and he didn’t tell. Nightwing tipped the same as Batman, which Harry thought ironic, considering the pair seemed to be on the outs right now. The vigilante left his car with a wave and the same bright smile as Robin, and a promise to update him more on Bludhaven the next time they saw each other.

Harry really didn’t see him all that often, but that was okay, because the conversations they had when he was there were entertaining enough. And if he kept an eye on any Bludhaven news that mentioned their resident hero… Well, that was his business, wasn’t it?

<()><()><()>

The second Robin was different.

Not in any bad way, of course. Where the first Robin was boisterous, this one was starstruck. Where the first was reckless, this one worked on instinct. Where the first’s favorite pastime was making puns, this one was always willing to discuss a book.

Where the first was angry, this one… was also angry. It must come with the job.

He also had a very distinct street-kid drawl that made Harry’s heart melt whenever he heard it.

The first time he’d met him, the kid had been very polite. He asked questions about Harry’s job, his husband, how he liked living in Gotham. Harry noticed that whenever the street conditions of the city or injustice regarding villains were brought up, his voice would raise in volume, so Harry decided to ask how they’d met.

Before Batman could launch into a lecture about secret identities and confidentiality, Robin gave the biggest, most innocent grin ever, and said, “I stole his tires.”

Harry blinked. “From the Batmobile?”

“Yup.” He popped the p.

Fucking hell.

“You did not steal my tires, Robin,” said Batman with the most tired voice Harry’s ever heard on the man.

“I sure did!” Robin waved a hand. “Just ‘cuz you caught me in the act doesn’t mean the tires weren’t basically off by the time ya got there.”

“Robin.”

“Nuh-uh, Batman, I stole your tires and you’re living with the consequences.”

Bizarre. That’s how Harry would describe this situation. Fucking bizarre.

The conversation moved past, and the subject immediately turned to hobbies, which Harry was perfectly content to chat about. Robin even gave him some advice on houseplants, which Harry would never have expected.

They exited with friendly words and a promise to flag him down again.

In their later meetings, Harry discovered that this Robin did not have the same qualms as the first when it came to arguing with Batman in front of him. His accent always came stronger when he did, and it often involved raised voices. Harry tried to tune it out as best he could whenever this happened– it wasn’t his business to pry.

But when they weren’t arguing, Harry realized that while a little hotheaded, Robin was still very polite and inquisitive. He didn’t beg for ice cream like the first, but he was always happy to chat about anything that came to mind. Barring the topic of identities.

One day, Robin brought up the fact that he didn’t play music. “We can replace your radio for you. If ya want. ‘S not like Batman can’t afford it.”

Harry grimaced at the choice of words, unwillingly remembering the first Robin’s similar comment and his subsequent revelation about the vigilante’s… bedroom life. He quickly put on a grateful smile. “That’s very kind, Robin. But it’s not broken, I just don’t put music on unless people ask. Bad experiences in the past, y’know? Anyway, with the way Batman tips, I could pay for a repair myself just from that.”

At that, Robin sat very straight, turning to face Batman. “Wait– how much do you tip?”

Batman sighed. “Robin–”

“C’mon, Batman, I gotta know.”

Harry decided to put the man out of his misery and respond for him. “One hundred even is pretty regular for him. And it’s still way too generous–”

“Only one hundred?” Robin seemed personally affronted by the amount. Harry was completely confused by his outburst, until he remembered, oh, yeah, this kid is from the streets. “Batman, this is Harry! He deserves $150 at least. C’mon, you’re better than that!”

Batman didn’t outwardly reply, but he did reel a little. “Robin–”

“Nah, Batman, this is changing tonight. You’re gonna tip $150 and keep tipping that. Unless you wanna tip $300 instead.”

Harry’s eyes blew wide. He said, almost in a panic, “Please– please don’t do that, Batman. $150 is–” too much, he wanted to say, “–perfectly fine. Don’t– don’t pay more than that. Uh. Please.”

Robin seemed unhappy at that, and, frankly, so did Batman, but really, Harry didn’t need that much to begin with. Sure enough, that night, he received a $150 tip, as would soon become the standard for the pair.

Robin’s curious nature led to Harry talking about himself a lot more than he usually did while driving. He only saw the pair on occasion, but through those meetings, somehow he’d ended up spilling his entire life’s story to Robin. He couldn’t leave any of the kid’s questions unanswered.

When Harry mentioned the hospital Nate worked at and the struggles they’d been having to rebuild after a particularly nasty Joker attack, Robin had whipped his masked gaze to Batman, whose mouth had created that thin line again.

The next week, an anonymous donor had donated enough to not only get the hospital back to full capacity, but also keep it upgrading for the next few years. Harry didn’t want to think about that too closely. He did tell Nate, though, who seemed so grateful he’d nearly cried.

Eventually, his meetings with Batman and Robin increased in frequency after one chance encounter with Oracle. He had no doubt that she was the one responsible for them repeatedly showing up in his car, but he had no way to prove it beyond his own suspicions. At Nate’s insistence, he kept chocolate chip cookies in his car one week, and when the pair showed up, he passed them back to Robin immediately.

“They’re homemade– Nate made them, and there’s a list of ingredients in there for allergies,” he explained to their confused silence. “Don’t think I don’t know you had something to do with the hospital funds, Batman. Nate says it’s fully running and better than ever now, thanks to the donation. And they might not be the best, but I know for a fact his cookies are still damn good, so please don’t refuse or he might actually cry.”

That was apparently good enough for Robin, who opened the container with a smirk and fished out a cookie. Batman was stiff the whole time, but he relaxed when Robin took a bite and immediately perked up.

“Shit, Harry!” he exclaimed, ignoring Batman’s reprimand about his language. “This is incredible! Batman, you gotta try this, they might be better than Agent A’s!”

At that, Harry thought he could almost hear a scoff from Batman’s seat. He didn’t know who Agent A was, but he’d heard of him– the first Robin, in particular, had said a lot of praise about him.

He grinned. “Nate’ll be thrilled to hear that, Robin.”

And he was. Harry didn’t think he saw anything but a smile on his face for a whole week after.

Time passed, this Robin, too, growing much too fast. Harry was wary whenever the pair argued in his car, continuing his stance of ‘I don’t need to know’. Something happened at some point, and now voices were raised more often than not. This made Harry way too antsy– when this had happened with the last Robin, he’d left on his own not long after.

And then Robin disappeared.

Well, ‘disappeared’ was a very, very kind word for it. From the way Batman was acting, a half-blind sewer rat could deduce that Robin was likely dead. Criminals came so damn close to dying during their encounters with him that even Harry was considering just locking himself in his house. It wasn’t a large leap, figuring out why.

And Harry… mourned.

He knew it wasn’t his place to. He’d barely known the kid, after all. He was certain Batman was dealing with it much, much worse than he was, and he had much more of a right to.

But on bad days, Harry would remember how Robin had smiled when Harry told him of his recent vacation, how thrilled he was to receive Nate’s cookies, and he’d have to fight back tears that were stronger than his resolve.

The headlines said that Batman had a new Robin, and Harry met him, too, and he liked him a lot. But he would always remember the second Robin, and would always damn the gods for allowing such a good soul to die on their watch.

Years passed, and the Red Hood appeared.

Harry knew the rumors, the stories, the news every time the Hood killed another criminal. Frankly, Harry didn’t really care all that much– while his methods were a bit… violent, he was making a difference in Crime Alley in particular. Everyone was scared of the Hood’s wrath, and it was working. No matter how Batman felt about the killing, even he couldn’t deny the effects it had on the city.

It was a long, long time before the Hood showed up in his car, and by that point, he’d developed some sort of understanding with Batman and relaxed his bloodied fist a little. He was still terrifying, but less so, and helped a lot more than he hindered nowadays.

The name on the Uber request was one Jason Todd– a vaguely familiar name, but not one that Harry cared to look into– so he the last thing he’d expected was the fucking Red Hood to be the one dropping into his backseat.

“Um.” He said, eloquently.

“Hello,” Red Hood greeted, sounding entirely too polite for a feared vigilante-criminal-murderer-something. “Harry, right?”

“Uh… yeah.” Goddamnit, get it together, Harry, you have vigilantes in your car every week, this isn’t anything new. “You’re the Red Hood, right?”

“‘S my name,” he confirmed. He took off his helmet, which made Harry nearly jump out of his seat in surprise, but when he looked back, the man had on a domino mask as well. A white tuft of hair stood starkly against the rest of the black. “How’ve ya been, Harry?”

What.

That. That voice, that tone.

Harry pulled over immediately in silence. When he put the car in park, he turned fully to look Red Hood in the lenses. The man fidgeted a little under his gaze, but Harry didn’t back down. His voice was thick when he asked, “...Robin?”

Red Hood seemed astounded by his show of emotion. He raised a hand in a wave. “Hey, Harry.”

“Oh– oh my gods.” Harry let out a shaky laugh. “You’re alive. I thought– Gotham thought–”

Red Hood smiled, a little bitterly. “Sorry for not coming sooner. Turns out being dead messes with your head a little.”

“Are you kidding, Robin? I’m just– glad to see you.” And he was. He’d missed the kid more than he’d thought, apparently. He exhaled slowly, attempting to regain his composure. He turned back to the road. “How’ve you– how’ve you been? Besides being dead, apparently.”

There was so much wrong with that statement, but Harry didn’t have time to unpack that.

Red Hood laughed, throwing his head back in the same way Robin had. “Oh, y’know, trying to reacclimate to society, puttin’ the fear of God in people, good shit. Gettin’ myself on as many wanted lists as possible.”

“Congrats,” Harry couldn’t help but joke.

When Red Hood left his car, Harry wanted nothing more than to hug the man, but he was still technically a working employee, so he refrained.

Barely.

After that, Harry saw Red Hood occasionally amidst the vigilantes he’d somehow managed to drive around often. He always took the passenger seat, which Harry appreciated. It felt more like they were speaking as friends than chauffeur and passenger.

Apparently, because the man wasn’t a Bat and didn’t have Oracle redirect Harry to him often (he knew she was behind that), Red Hood had just taken upon himself befriending every Uber: Gotham driver in the area. Harry laughed profusely when he told him how one driver was so scared that he’d nearly pissed himself when Hood had tried to make small talk.

And that was another thing– Hood was still incredibly polite, even more so than he’d been as Robin. He tipped more frugally than Batman, especially when Robin started a trend of tipping ungodly amounts each ride. He inquired about Harry’s life often, seeming incredibly interested in catching up on the years he’d missed.

He’d also known that he’d been a bit of a book nerd as Robin, but Red Hood’s knowledge of classic literature was incredibly extensive and a little worrying. He was much, much too eager to relay his interpretations of books and his incredible quote library. Harry was consistently impressed, and made a note to introduce him properly to Nate at some point– his husband would be ecstatic to have someone to nerd out with.

Sorry– ‘have a civilized discussion with’.

The atmosphere was always light when Red Hood was around, even if the man was bleeding and promising to pay for any damages. Harry would always smile through their conversations, every time.

But one day, the topic of Robin came up, and Red Hood got very, very quiet.

Harry knew that Hood didn’t talk about Batman or Robin all that much, and he respected it. He was going to let it be, skim right past the sticky spot, but Hood spoke up.

“I made… a mistake, Harry,” he said, sounding more regretful than he’d ever heard him. “Back when I first came back. I wasn’t… thinkin’ clearly, at all. I might’a been under the influence of… the thing that brought me back. When I heard I’d been replaced as Robin… I was so fuckin’ angry. I don’t think I’ve ever been that angry before, and I sure as hell don’t wanna feel it again. I… I tracked down Robin, and I… Well. I beat the shit outta him.”

Harry’s heart sank. There had been a period of time where he hadn’t seen Robin for a while, and when he did, the kid was colder, more withdrawn. It had taken months before he’d opened up a little once more. Now that he thought about it… it correlated pretty exactly with Red Hood’s return.

He swallowed heavily.

“It ain’t an excuse.” Hood puffed a laugh. “My lack of control. But I know now that it was so fuckin’ wrong of me to do. I– I still get angry when I think about how Batman replaced me. And, god, maybe I’m avoiding him ‘cuz of that. But I regret it, I do. Robin didn’t deserve that.”

Jesus, the Bats really were fucked up, weren’t they? Harry thought for a moment, trying to process. “Well…” he began, “have you tried telling him that?”

It took a lot of gentle convincing and prodding– “Come on, Harry, the kid hates my guts, there’s no way he’d wanna talk to me!” “He used to love you, Hood, I’m sure he’d hear you out.”– but Harry finally managed to convince the man to deliver an apology to Robin.

The next time Hood was in his car, Harry looked to him expectantly. “So?”

Red Hood just growled, “Don’t you dare say ‘I told you so’.”

Harry just laughed in response.

Robin may have grown up and changed, but he was still the same person, even as Red Hood. And Harry would always, always appreciate the man’s company, would always watch a report on the latest drug bust with pride.

<()><()><()>

When Harry first met Oracle, he was supposed to be picking up Batman, and maybe Robin.

The vigilante was late, which never happened. If it were anyone else, Harry would have already marked the transaction as incomplete and taken off. But it was Batman, and he’d never blown him off before. If Harry had to guess, he’d probably gotten tied up fighting crime somewhere, but that didn’t mean he had to be rude. He could wait a little while longer.

When a voice reverberated through his car at the five-minute mark, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Hello, Mr. Walters.”

“What the shit!” He exclaimed, looking around him. “Jesus. How are you doing that?”

“Being Batman’s tech support has its perks,” said the mysterious voice, who Harry had finally managed to pinpoint to his speakers.

He blinked, trying to calm his racing heart. “Oh. You’re a Bat?”

“I am. My name is Oracle.”

Oracle– he’d heard that name. “You’re who they talk to in their comms, right?”

“You’re very sharp. I hope you don’t mind, but I've taken the liberty of hacking some of your car's systems. Nothing vital– just enough to speak to you.”

Harry really, truly didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t think he’d ever had such a brain bluescreen before. “I, uh. Don’t mind.”

“Good,” Oracle said, sounding entirely pleased. “I’m very sorry to ask this of you, but Batman and Robin got a little sidetracked and are now stationed a few blocks away. I’ve already redirected your GPS to their current location–”

Harry’s eyes snapped to his phone– holy hell, she had. How– in the fuck–

“–and have compensated you for the trouble. You may deny the order, but the pair do need a ride, and I figured you would still like to see them again.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose. Besides the utter bewilderment that was spreading through him, he didn’t feel nearly as concerned as someone whose car had been hacked probably should. He put the car into drive. “I– I do. Thank you, uh, Oracle.”

“No problem. I’ll let them know your ETA.”

Harry drove in silence for a moment, shaking off the numbness and the oddity of his current situation. He eventually cleared his throat. “Um, Oracle?”

“Yes, Mr. Walters?”

He’d been expecting her to reply, but he still jumped. “If you’re a Bat… how come no one knows about you?”

Oracle let out a little hum. “You know the Bats well enough now, you’re acquainted with our secrecy habits, yes?”

“Uh… yeah.” He put on his blinker. “It’s just that– there’s no news of you anywhere. I’ve only ever heard your name in passing from the Bats themselves. It’s like you don’t exist.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she remarked, voice light and humorous, but Harry could now make out the faint warble of a voice modulator. “I haven’t been in the public’s view for a while, Mr. Walters. I’d like to keep it that way.”

Harry read that as the threat it was, but his brain snagged on something else. For a while… that meant she’d been seen with the Bats before? But who–

“Oh!” He exclaimed with a smile. “You were Batgirl!”

He had fond memories of Batgirl. Of how on the rare occasions she was in his car, she would joke and reprimand the first Robin and fire witty responses on the fly. He’d liked her– she was fierce and comfortable, and able to smooth over some jagged edges when Robin and Batman didn’t quite get along.

And then she’d disappeared, quietly, and Batman and Robin didn’t mention her. He’d feared, for a while, that the worst had happened, but he had a feeling that the both of them would have been a lot more upset if she’d died. He’d eventually come to the conclusion that she had simply retired.

“Good to talk with you again, Harry,” she confirmed. “Sorry for my brief sabbatical.”

“No, it’s– it’s fine. Oracle.” Harry was still smiling to himself. “I’m glad you’re still working with the Bats. It sounds like they need you.”

At that, Oracle laughed. “Oh, they wouldn’t last two minutes without me. Don’t let them tell you otherwise.”

“Oh, I won’t.”

When Harry picked Batman and Robin up, Oracle went silent– likely returning herself to their comms again. But when they left his car, she chirped out a “Thanks, Mr. Walters. I’ll be talking with you again.”

Well, that wasn’t terrifying at all.

Later, whenever Harry was conversing with one of the Bats, Oracle would occasionally come over his speakers, making random comments. It never failed to scare the shit out of him, and he had to physically restrain himself from jerking the wheel or slamming on the brakes.

He thought she probably got a kick out of it.

One day, Robin was arguing with Batman– nothing particularly new– when Oracle came over the speakers. “Batman, Firefly has shown up on Eastside and Seventh. You have to get over there. Mr. Walters, could you pull over and let them out?”

Harry’s adrenaline spiked. He didn’t know what possessed him to say this, but: “Nah, that’s not too far. I’ll just drop you guys a block from him. Less hassle for you guys.”

He turned, then sped up, weaving around other cars.

“Harry, it’s not safe–”

“I won’t get close,” he interrupted with a smile that he hoped looked more real than it felt. “I’ve seen worse shit than Firefly, anyway.”

The car was silent, and eventually he looked at his phone to see that Oracle had already changed the destination to where the rogue was.

He should’ve known.

Batman and Robin practically leapt out of the car when Harry arrived, leaving him with a chirpy “Thanks, Harry!” from the kid. Then Harry regained his common sense, and employed his usual strategy of ‘get the hell out of there as soon as possible’.

“I have to guide them–” Oracle’s voice disappeared for a moment, and when it returned, she sounded a little breathless, “–but thank you, Harry. Truly.”

“Nothin’ to it,” he insisted, ignoring the orange light and growing smoke that was steadily growing in his rearview. “Keep them safe, yeah, Oracle?”

“You know it.”

After that, he started getting stranger and stranger ride orders. All of them were from the vigilantes, regardless of where he was in the city in relation to them. He always did his best to show up as quickly as he could, and the Bats always seemed very happy to see him. He knew that his software had likely been hacked, and he was oddly comforted by the fact that the Bats trusted him enough to request him, specifically, for a ride.

He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d become a vigilante getaway driver, of sorts. For some reason, the thought didn’t worry him as much as it should have.

<()><()><()>

Harry was, of course, wary when he received the familiar bat emoji request. After all, the second Robin had died, and Batman had something of a bloodthirsty vengeance for the time being. Anyone with any scrap of goddamn sense about them knew to stay off the streets now.

As it turned out, he hadn’t needed to worry.

“You’re only tipping one hundred fifty?!”

Harry’s eyes flicked constantly to the backseat, and he was torn somewhere between laughing and crying because, what the hell? That was definitely something the second Robin had said, but not nearly in the same voice, or in the same way, because–

“B, that’s not even enough for lunch!”

Jesus F. Christ, this new, small vigilante had no concept of money.

While the second Robin had always advocated for tipping more than was remotely reasonable, he clearly always did so because he understood how tough times were and wanted to be generous, supportive. This new, third Robin had a similar view, but came from a completely different place. He was aghast at paying so little, but not because he wanted to aid above and beyond– he just thought tipping that much was standard.

And he had a rich accent.

What the fuck.

“Robin,” Batman started, but he was cut off.

“No, Batman, give me your phone, I’m rectifying it.” Robin didn’t wait for permission, he just snatched the phone out of a pocket Harry hadn’t even known existed. He typed furiously, his gloved hands proving no issue. “Don’t worry, Mr. Walters, I’ll make sure he pays you enough.”

Batman gave a long, long sigh, and Harry did not envy him in the least. “How do you know my password, Robin?”

Robin didn’t react. “I deduced it. It wasn’t hard, you need to be more creative, Batman. Mr. Walters, is eight hundred enough?”

Harry blinked, then blinked again. “Just Harry is fine, kid,” he said dazedly, too busy wondering what the fuck had happened to his life to get him to this point to properly register the money amount.

“Harry,” Robin agreed with a nod and a polite smile.

He was about to point out that the tips came after the drive, that it was impossible to pay now, but his phone on the dash lit up, and, sure enough, an $800 tip was deposited directly to his account. Accompanied by a smiley emoticon and a car emoji.

What. The. Fuck.

After that, it became the norm to expect that much money at least. Even when it was another Bat alone, somehow $800 had become the minimum tip from each of them. Red Hood, after his return, seemed to take it to heart and started tipping upwards of $1500 until Harry had to practically beg him to keep his money. The reassurance that it was only money he’d stolen from crime lords and his father did not make him feel any better.

Out of them all, though, only one Bat accompanied the tip with a smiley emoticon and a car emoji, and Harry always found himself smiling whenever he saw the little note from Robin.

The boy himself, he learned, liked to talk, but not in the same way as the first two Robins. The first was enthusiastic and haunted, the second loud but softhearted, and Harry soon found that the third was way, way too smart for his own good. The first time he’d gone on a rant about one of the cases they were working, he’d talked so much and so fast that Harry’s head spun. He attempted to ask questions, to follow along, and he thought he did well enough despite not knowing a single thing the kid was talking about. It was through a similar rant that Harry learned he’d simply deduced Batman’s identity, and Batman had clinched that discussion before it had gone any further, but had seemed distinctly proud anyways.

Beyond that, though, the kid was polite, thoughtful, and quietly slumped or even cold whenever Batman wasn’t watching. He always gave the impression that he knew exactly what Harry was thinking with the man barely saying a word.

(One day, Harry asked how Batman picked him up after he figured out his identity. He just smiled in a way that Harry never wanted to see again. Fuck, the Bats were scary.)

He didn’t see the kid nearly as much as he’d seen the first two Robins during their time under Batman’s tutelage. He once mentioned a team outside of Gotham, much like Nightwing’s or the rumors of Red Hood’s, so Harry assumed that had something to do with it.

When Robin started entering his car alone and with a different name, he could tell.

Admittedly, from first impressions, Harry couldn’t immediately tell. Red Robin was weary and hunched but polite. Cordial but not familiar enough for Harry to make any immediate conclusions. It was only ascertained when Harry asked about any recent cases and Red Robin began his rambling analysis, spewing the word vomit he’d long since learned to smile and nod alongside (albeit a lot more organized). He certainly didn’t understand a lot of it, and he blocked out the more sensitive details anyway, but Robin had never cared before, and Red Robin didn’t care now. He got the feeling that the vigilante needed the distraction, anyway– he seemed more morose than usual.

The thing that really cinched it was the tip– $850 with a smiley emoticon and a car emoji.

The next time he called for Harry, he didn’t talk at all. Harry found that worrying, and asked some light questions, only receiving cold responses. He felt more like the Bat’s son than ever, which hurt Harry’s heart, because everyone knew that the original Batman had disappeared weeks ago, no matter how the new one pretended otherwise.

Eventually, Red Robin confided that he would be leaving Gotham for a while, and the others were busy, so Harry might not get any word from them for a while. It made Harry sad, but he understood.

Tentatively, he asked, “Does this have something to do with Batman being gone?”

Red Robin’s cowl turned to the window. “Yes. I’m bringing him back.”

Harry hummed a little. The only times he’d seen Red so detached before were whenever he was distanced from Batman, from the others. Or that time after he’d been attacked by Red Hood– a conflagration that he’d heard both sides of, and that seemed to be now rectified– and had fallen into an emotional well. “And the others aren’t trying?”

A bitter laugh, but what he could see of Red’s face displayed anything but humor. “No. But I will bring him back.”

Fuck, that wasn’t worrying at all.

Harry didn’t ask him about the new Batman, or the new Robin, who he’d clammed up about the last time they’d talked. He didn’t ask what was going on, or how he could help, or if he needed support. He just wished him luck, drove him to his destination, and made him promise he’d come back safe.

Red had stared at him through that cowl when he’d promised, and Harry knew it was only a half-truth.

He received $1000 that night and no emojis.

The next time he saw Red Robin, Batman was back, Nightwing was back, and Harry had given rides to nearly all of the vigilantes besides him, including the new Robin.

Harry had to restrain himself from giving Red a hug when he saw him again, just as he’d done with the Batman a few weeks ago.

For a while, he was quieter, ranted less. He held himself differently than before he’d left, and a lot more like Batman did. But slowly, he came back to himself, and soon Harry was seeing him in his car with the others as well, tipping $1000 regularly, with the same emojis as always.

He didn’t expect that tip to become something earth-shattering.

Considering how he’d apparently become the unofficial chauffeur for the Bats, seeing that a young billionaire had requested a drive was not too surprising to him.

What was surprising was how fucking exhausted Timothy Drake-Wayne seemed.

The young CEO all but collapsed into the backseat. His suit was crumpled, his tie half-knotted, his hair completely mussed. In his hand was a thermos that smelled much too strongly of coffee, and under his eyes were the darkest eye bags Harry had ever seen. Whenever he was on TV or in the press, Timothy Drake-Wayne was always so collected, as charming as Bruce, and as eloquent as the Drakes had been. Right now, he was anything but, attempting to keep his head up as he sipped whatever unholy drink that was, uncaring of drops that spilled onto his slacks.

Harry couldn’t help it– he was curious. Damn the Bats for making him expect conversation. “Don’t you have, like, a fancy car, or a driver or something?”

Timothy shuddered. His voice clearly still held the remnants of sleep. “Cars were glitter-bombed. Alfred’s sick, Bruce is livid, I’m running late. Prank war sucks.”

He had not been expecting an answer like that at all. He had no idea who Alfred was, but he could guess who Bruce was. “Prank war?”

Timothy just curled up and nursed his drink further, grumbling under his breath for nearly a full minute before cutting off with a long-suffering sigh. It was almost impressive.

Rich people were fucking weird, Harry concluded.

As the drive went on, Timothy seemed to pull himself together, straightening his tie, fixing his hair, even applying makeup around his eyes. That didn’t mean that he didn’t have that same air of fucking exhausted around him, but he looked slightly more presentable by the time Harry pulled up to the large tower.

“Thanks, Harry,” he said tiredly, exiting before the man could advise him on his sleeping habits. He took one long swig of his thermos and disappeared into the building, posture straightening as he went.

Harry blinked. Timothy must have checked his profile before ordering an Uber, which made sense, but was also surprisingly thoughtful. Not many people called him Harry– few even acknowledged him at all.

It wasn’t until he got home that he put it together, entirely unintentionally.

Because waiting on his phone was a $1000 tip, accompanied by a smiley emoticon and a car emoji.

Clearly, Timothy Drake-Wayne had been too exhausted to realize that he wasn’t currently a vigilante.

He freaked out for longer than he wanted to admit after that. Nate didn’t know why, because he couldn’t exactly tell him that he’d figured out who Red Robin was. He couldn’t tell him that, after that, it was way, way too easy to figure out who all of the Robins were, and Batman, too. He couldn’t tell him that he’d somehow managed to get into the good graces of not just one set of celebrities, but two, and they were the same fucking people.

He couldn't tell him that, apparently, Gotham's most famous and dangerous family held fucking prank wars.

For the gods’ sakes, he couldn’t tell him that he’d thought Batman was Batman’s sugar daddy!

Eventually, he calmed down enough to decide on a nice hot chocolate and zoning-out session before bed. He thought about it for a while, then thought about it some more. It wasn’t like he was planning on telling anyone anytime soon, so why was he worried? He already knew the Bats enough, he’d heard one too many of Red Hood’s literature spiels to not consider them friends. Nothing had to change, and under his watch, nothing would change.

There was a suspicious abundance of vigilantes in his car recently after, leading Harry to conclude that not only Red Robin’s vehicles had been glitter-bombed, but everyone’s had, as well. The only one not present was Batman, who, when they met up with him, was clearly covered head-to-toe in rainbow glitter.

The next week, when Red Robin collapsed into his car the same way, ranting about how his amazing plan had one massive oversight called ‘I left my motorcycle 38 city blocks away because I hitched a ride on a villain’s truck’, Harry didn’t say anything about his civilian life. To him, or to Oracle, who he knew was most likely listening as well.

He did, however, gently suggest that Red get some more sleep. This caused the vigilante to cross his arms and sigh, then snap at the comm in his ear, but he didn’t quite hide the small smile on his face.

The ungodly tips persisted, but at least Harry now knew why he paid that much. And he still smiled whenever he saw the emoticon and emoji side-by-side.

<()><()><()>

There were three vigilantes that seemed to either travel together or not at all.

For a while, it was just Spoiler and Black Bat. Spoiler had shown up before with Batman, both as Spoiler and as Robin, and Harry had grown fond of the sparky girl. But once Black Bat began riding, the pair never entered his car without one another. They clearly adored each others’ presence.

Spoiler was the embodiment of the color purple. Not just her suit– which was so purple it would have caused 6-year-old Harry to faint– but her personality, too. She was fierce, boisterous, kind, and, above all, sassy. The first time Harry witnessed her verbally smacking Batman, he’d nearly had to pull over, he’d laughed so hard.

She also always took the passenger seat and kicked her feet up, which Harry didn’t know quite how to feel about.

Black Bat had also shown up before, but never in his car, until she started tagging along with Spoiler. In contrast to the other girl, she felt more like Batman than Batman himself. She was quieter than him, sneakier than him, and (gods help Harry if the Bat ever heard him say this) scarier than him. That may have something to do with him witnessing a neon-dressed Batman pouting as he entered his car, the second Robin hysterically laughing behind him, but that was irrelevant. The point was, Black Bat was terrifying.

She was also incredibly sweet.

It took Harry a long time to figure this out. He’d been much too excited when he learned she communicated mainly through sign– Harry’s mother was hard of hearing, and he’d been fluent for years. However, that wasn’t really conducive to driving, so oftentimes, Spoiler would interpret, adding in a flair of spunk that would earn her what Harry had deemed ‘the vigilante equivalent of an eye roll’– a masked head raised and shoulders dropped ever-so-slightly.

When Harry did hear her voice, it was incredibly soft, and he made sure to listen twice as intently. He soon learned that she loved ballet, and went fairly bashful whenever Spoiler sang her praises.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t still terrifying, though. He’d watched her disappear from his car and appear on top of a building in less than five seconds. Shit was disturbing.

Sometimes, Bluebird would appear with them, but Black Bat seemed against her and Spoiler’s ‘romantic displays in a confined space’. To that, Spoiler had just stuck her tongue out at her sister– they were definitely sisters, there was no other explanation– and pulled her girlfriend in for a kiss. Bluebird was entirely amused by it all, but her appearances were rare. When Harry asked why, she’d just grinned sharply and said she was ‘taking care of business’.

Yet another reinforcement of the lesson he’d learned long ago with Oracle– do not fuck with the Bat girls.

Harry got to know the pair over a few months, and sometimes they were joined by Robin or Batman or Nightwing, but they only ever appeared as a unit. He learned that Black Bat, too, loved to sass Batman, but she was much more subtle about it than her sister. Her burns were that much more impactful in turn.

He suspected it was for that reason that Batman rarely ever rode with them.

Once, Black Bat entered the car extremely upset, which was incredibly worrying, because Harry could tell even with her mask. Spoiler, of course, entered with her, holding her elbow in silent support, taking the backseat for once. Harry wanted nothing more than to ask what was wrong, but he knew the vigilantes’ boundaries by now.

But when Black Bat shakily signed ‘talk’ and Spoiler voiced it, Harry happily obliged, ranting about everything and nothing the whole ride.

(Later, he’d find out that Black Bat hadn’t been able to save a civilian. He wouldn’t ask for any more details.)

There were months on end that Harry would go without seeing either of them, but when they did end up back in his car, they were always together.

Then came Signal.

“–don’t get it,” said the hero as the trio entered his car for the first time. Harry’s eyes widened, because everyone knew that Signal was a strictly daytime hero and it was clearly night, but he said nothing. “Why are we taking an Uber? We have grapples, and we could call our vehicles.”

“Do you want frostbite, Signal?” Spoiler asked, pulling the passenger door closed behind her. “Because Freeze has ruined the temperature right now and I am not losing my hands because you wanted to flaunt your parkour skills or hitch a ride on my motorcycle.”

“I’m just saying–”

“And anyway, Harry’s cool. Harry, Signal. Signal, Harry.”

“Hello,” Harry greeted with a smile as he pulled the car out.

“Oh– you’re Harry!” said Signal. “Y’know you’re their favorite Uber driver, right? They talk about you too much.”

“Hey!” Spoiler exclaimed, reaching back to whack his arm. “Don’t tell him that, he’ll get a big head!”

Harry just laughed alongside Black Bat. “I’m honored.”

He didn’t quite know how the conversation devolved after that.

“I’m just saying,” Signal said, waving his arms for emphasis. “It’s insane that no one’s built their persona around them! I mean, they have electricity, they heal, they’re terrifying–”

“Signal, you’re begging to fight a jellyfish supervillain now!” Spoiler groaned and slumped incredibly low into her seat. “Just you watch, you’re going to get electrocuted next week and it’s going to be all your fault.”

Oracle, who was also apparently listening in, decided to contribute. “Jellyfish don’t produce electricity. They have internal bioelectricity, but they’re not eels. They sting and poison. Robin would be ashamed.”

“What!” Signal said. “TV lied to us? Are you gonna tell me you shouldn’t pee on the sting next?”

“I don’t know where you got that idea–”

“No brain,” Black Bat spoke up.

“Exactly!” Spoiler pointed back at her. “A jellyfish villain would be just dumb all around because, genius, they don’t have brains! The villain would be a laughingstock! Harry, back me up here.”

All three vigilantes turned to their driver, Spoiler drawing a lot closer. Harry just smiled slightly. “I don’t know, I think King Jelly would be a cool villain name.”

“Aw, what the hell, Harry–”

“Okay,” Signal said, covering his masked face with a hand. “If you become a villain, Harry, you are legally not allowed to name yourself.”

“I’ll be sure to come to you guys if I do.”

The trio quickly became regular visitors in his car, and the chaos never died down once. Signal was rarer than the other two, because, as he’d stated multiple times, his shift had long since finished by the time Harry picked them up. But he seemed to go out of his way many times just to chat with the girls and Harry himself. When he asked why, Signal just smiled and said, “Because it’s fun and being a vigilante is stressful.”

Harry could imagine.

The conversations covered every single topic under the sun. Harry fondly recalled one very heated discussion (argument) about whether Tchaikovsky was a better classical music composer than Brahms, which had resulted in Black Bat looking up pieces to play and compare, including her favorite to dance to. It had dissolved fairly quickly when Harry brought up his own favorite, Saint-Saens, and the others unanimously agreed that he was underrated.

They always danced away from anything too personal, but that was to be expected.

When he’d figured out Red Robin’s identity accidentally, he didn’t attempt to puzzle out the trio’s as well, though he had vaguely connected the dots. Just because figuring out Batman’s and the other Robins’ identities had come with Red Robin’s didn’t mean he was going to go digging on every other vigilante in the city. He respected them for them, and he didn’t need to know them otherwise.

Besides, he’d long since suspected that the vigilantes were more themselves as vigilantes than civilians, anyways.

One day in June, Harry mentioned heading to Pride next week. The trio had immediately perked up– apparently, all three were incredibly supportive, which made Harry wonder just how many of the Bats were queer. He knew about Spoiler and Bluebird, and Red Robin had mentioned a boyfriend before, but he hadn’t known about anyone else.

Signal, in particular, seemed very open to the idea of attending. “I love Pride, but I don’t go all the time. Gotham’s Pride is too big. I like to be above the crowds instead of in them, y’know? Too… crowded.”

“I mean, you could always show up in costume. Just stay on the rooftops or something.”

The car was silent after that. Harry immediately felt like he’d said something wrong. When he looked back, all three vigilantes were staring at his mirror.

He went to backtrack–

“Genius,” Black Bat said, almost in awe.

“Fuck yeah!” Spoiler nearly shouted, causing Harry to jolt the wheel a little. “Whoops, sorry, H. But, Jesus, yeah, that’s a fantastic idea! We gotta get Red in on this, maybe he can drag along his boy toy–”

“On it!” Signal said, pulling out his phone.

There were many, many rings before Red Robin picked up– though Harry suspected he was Timothy right now and not Red– and when he did, he sounded thoroughly confused, and more than a little tired. “Signal, why are you video calling me? I’m working. Aren’t you and the girls supposed to be patrolling? Isn’t Oracle still on comms?”

“Sorry, Red,” Spoiler chirped. “But our trusty speed demon had a fantastic idea that we’re just dying to share with you. Right, Harry?”

“Uh,” Harry replied, wondering just what he’d planted in their minds.

“He means yes,” said Signal.

“What’dya say to dragging your boyfriend to Pride this year?” Spoiler asked.

“Spoiler, you know–”

“In full costume. You’ve been waiting for the opportunity, right?”

More silence. Harry could practically hear Spoiler’s incredibly sharp grin.

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

After that, Harry had no chance of getting a word in edgewise, because the rest of the drive was spent planning. He honestly hadn’t expected the trio of Bats to take his suggestion seriously, but with the way they were talking, they wouldn’t have had it any other way.

He was slightly on edge during the time leading up to Pride. It took him a while to realize that he wasn’t nervous to see what the Bats would do– he was excited. Nate could clearly tell, and gave him knowing looks every time the subject was brought up. He knew his husband was just as excited as him, though.

The headlines that day were incredible.

The front page was consistently a movie-worthy snapshot that Harry felt incredibly honored to witness in person. It showed Red Robin against the gloomy Gotham backdrop, suspended high above the parade and countless rainbow flags, being flown by fucking Superboy. Red wore a bisexual flag as a cape, and it whipped behind the pair as they kissed passionately.

It had been impossible to regain control of the crowd after that.

Many, many pictures of the Bats came out alongside that particular one. One of Signal on a roof, an asexual flag painted across his chest, waving at the crowd. One of Spoiler and Bluebird, hand-in-hand, chatting animatedly with a crowd of fans. One of Red Hood on the sidelines, threatening any protestors who became violent and dancing away from the GCPD. One of Batman, taking silent watch over the city on one of Gotham’s many gargoyles. One of Nightwing swinging from a building, throwing a peace sign at the camera drone.

Harry didn’t think he’d been so happy to have instigated something his entire life.

The next week, when the trio landed themselves in his car and raved about how wonderful Pride was, somehow cultivating it into an argument about sandwiches, Harry didn’t stop smiling the entire time.

<()><()><()>

Harry didn’t meet the newest Robin for a long time.

There was a long, long period when he first showed up that the only vigilante in his car was Red Robin, and even that was just twice before radio silence. Obviously, the original Batman being gone was taking a toll on everyone in Gotham, not just the civilians. He’d kept an eye on the vigilantes from afar, of course he had, and everything he’d read described the new Robin as violent, uncontrolled, and rude.

If his experiences with the previous Robins held any merit, Harry didn’t believe that for one second.

Eventually Batman returned, Red Robin with him, and the city calmed once more. Robin seemed to have calmed as well, and less articles about his ‘volatile nature’ started coming out. When the city seemed to have fallen into its normal crime state, Batman brought Robin to his car.

Harry was so relieved when he saw Batman, his eyes had teared up, and he had nearly exited the car just to give the man a hug. Luckily, he was able to restrain himself– he didn’t think Batman would have appreciated it as much as he would have.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat to rid it of the lump. “Got another one, huh, Batman?”

Batman placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “This is Robin.”

The new Robin seemed to almost preen under the attention.

“Nice to meet you, Robin, I’m Harry. I swear, B,” he said, surprising himself with the Robins’ nickname for the man, “I don’t know where you keep getting these kids. Or why you keep letting them fight crime.”

“I am not a child,” Robin hissed.

Batman put a hand to his cowl. “You try stopping them, Harry. They… just keep showing up.”

He sounded so goddamn tired, so very close to tears, that Harry nearly burst out laughing. Instead he coughed to cover it up. “So, Robin. How’s Gotham treating you?”

Robin sniffed disdainfully, as straight-backed as humanly possible. “I do not have to engage in mindless chatter with you, chauffeur.”

Which, rude, but accurate, Harry supposed. Batman only sighed.

Robin continued to be cold and even outright hostile every time Harry saw him. It was only on their third meeting that he began to open up a little.

“And, B, I told you about the cat Nate and I adopted? Well, she’s headed to the vet tomorrow–”

“You have a cat?”

Harry jolted in surprise, glancing back at Robin in the mirror. The kid rarely talked in his car, and every word he said was antagonistic. He gave an easy smile. “Yeah, her name’s Dot. Not the most creative of names, but we didn’t pick it, and it’s what she responds to. She’s a sweetheart, but gets a bit temperamental.”

Robin clicked his tongue, and there was a long, long pause. Eventually, quieter than usual, Robin asked– “May I see her?”

Holy shit, this one was soft for animals. Harry wasn’t even that surprised, just elated.

He wasn’t supposed to use his phone while driving– but, fuck it, the kid wanted to see his cat and he’d show him the damn cat. It wasn’t like the Bats would report him, anyway.

He hoped.

He pulled up the album he’d compiled, keeping an eye on the road, then handed his phone back to Robin, who took it almost eagerly. “Those are all our pictures of her. Like I said, she’s a sweetheart. She’s started curling up on Nate’s lap after work– he loves it so much.”

He looked back at Batman in the mirror, and was shocked to see a tiny smile not covered by the man’s cowl.

The kid made a tutting sound. “The name is ridiculous. It is due to the dot on her forehead, no? But she is… admirable. You chose well, Walters.”

Was that a fucking compliment? From… Robin? Harry had thought the Bats had run out of ways to surprise him.

He grinned. “My favorite picture is the one of her on the Monopoly board, did you find it?”

“Hn.”

If Harry didn’t know any better, he might have said Robin was reluctant to hand his phone back when they reached their destination. He left without a thank-you, but instead with a, “I would like to meet Dot someday.”

And that was that.

Harry resolved to take many, many more pictures and have them ready.

As a consequence of that interaction, every time Robin entered his car, he immediately demanded to see Dot. In return, Harry was slowly able to discover new information about the kid’s own pets. It started with Alfred the cat– they traded stories about their cats, and the more they talked, the more Harry saw Robin’s fondness for his furry friend. Then the kid told him about his dog, Titus, and his cow, Batcow (ingenious name), and his plans for future pets. With each detailed plan, Harry passed on some advice on caring for certain animals– thank you, pet shop job when he was seventeen– and expressed his excitement. He noticed that Batman did not seem too enthusiastic about future pets, and Harry took that as a sign to be more encouraging to Robin.

He didn’t get many opportunities to tease Batman like the vigilantes did– he was going to take this one.

When Robin heard that Dot had a history of being abused, he threatened to behead any future owners that treated her less than perfectly. Including Harry and Nate, but he was used to the kid’s threats by now, and he knew he had nothing to worry about. Mainly because he would never do that.

There was one day where Robin entered the Uber alone– not the first time it had happened, but it was uncommon. He was silent for a long while, not even asking to see new pictures of Dot.

“Walters,” he eventually said. “You must not tell Father.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. He knew Oracle was likely listening, and Robin probably knew that, too, but he trusted that she wouldn’t tell unless it was something bad. “Alright?”

When Harry stopped at a red light, Robin climbed up to the front seat, startling him more than it should have. He heard a rustling noise. “This is Batbit.”

Harry spared a glance, and came eye-to-eye with a black rabbit.

“Oh my gods–” he said, grinning. He kept one hand on the wheel and put the other in front of the rabbit’s nose to sniff. “Batbit! Robin, how did you find a rabbit on patrol?”

Robin hummed a little. “He was abandoned in an alley. He is clearly a housepet, but any owner that allowed him to roam the streets with no identification is not worthy of him. I will protect him.”

Harry patted the rabbit softly, noting how Robin tensed at the action, and turned back to the road. “That’s very noble, Robin.”

Robin clicked his tongue, but said nothing more.

“Maybe you should look around first?” He gently suggested. “See if anyone is missing a rabbit. It could’ve just been an accident, and they could be distraught. You can lecture them about their incompetence if that’s true, but you should probably give him back.”

Robin harrumphed distastefully, pulling Batbit to his chest.

“I mean… you wouldn’t want to be without one of your pets, would you?”

At that, his posture softened ever-so-slightly. “I would not.”

“Just consider it,” Harry said. “Otherwise… record Batman’s reaction for me. I want to see him try to deny you when he’s looking at that adorable nose.”

Robin smirked.

The next week, he brought polaroid pictures– one of Bit cuddled up to Alfred, and one of Batman’s slumped posture and thin-line mouth, Red Hood hunched in clear mirth in the background.

Harry hung those pictures on his fridge.

<()><()><()>

Harry thought he had met everyone at this point.

He’d met Batwing, which was a riot because this dude’s hole schtick was that he could fly, he didn't need a fucking Uber. He’d met Batwoman, who was upset that she’d missed Pride with her family and was incredibly honored to meet the man who’d encouraged them to go. He’d met Huntress, who had somehow known about his glock and promised to get him a better weapon in the future. He’d even met Catwoman, who seemed to have a relationship with Batman that Harry did not want to touch with a ten-foot-pole. Or bo staff, as Red Robin had insisted was the best weapon.

So, yeah, he was pretty convinced he’d met everyone. He didn’t think it was possible that there were more Bats for him to meet.

Batman and Robin entered his car as usual, but they were a little quieter. Harry glanced at his phone with the directions, then did a double-take. There was never a consistent destination for the Bats, but never once had they directed him to…

“...Batman?” He asked, tentatively.

“Just drive, Walters,” Robin said.

Harry drove.

The entire ride was silent. Neither of the vigilantes spoke, nor did Oracle. Harry had never felt so nervous in his life– except perhaps on his wedding day. If he was driving them where he thought he was…

“Do you remember Agent A?” Batman asked, and the low growl he associated with the man had given way to something a little softer.

Of course Harry remembered him. He’d never met him, or spoken to him, or even heard his voice, but every single Bat had nothing but good things to say about him. Nightwing’s praises for being the man who raised Batman, Red Hood’s claim that he was ‘the only one in that fucking house with any common sense’, Red Robin claiming his baking was the best on the planet and meaning it, Oracle expressing wonder at his ability to be Batman’s support before her. Every single time the man was brought up, it was with nothing but admiration.

“Yeah, he sounds amazing,” Harry replied with a small smile. ‘Amazing’ might be underselling it– he sounded like a goddamn superhero.

“He wanted to meet you,” Batman said. “So we’re taking you to him.”

What in the fuck?

Harry thought he did a very, very good job of pretending he was not freaking out.

Wayne Manor came into view, and, oh my fucking gods, this was actually happening. Something happened to his wheel, and he found that he no longer had control of the car– Oracle’s doing if he’d ever seen it. The car drove itself to a back road that he hadn’t even known about, heading down a hidden ramp, and Harry thought for a moment that they were going to hit a wall, but it quickly rose and revealed a large, dark cavern.

When they stopped, Harry realized that they were in a cave. A fucking cave that belonged to the fucking Batman.

Batman and Robin exited the car, but Harry just sat there for a moment, looking around in wonder. Was that– was that a dinosaur in the corner? How the hell did they make computers that big?

He slowly extricated himself from his car, and his wonder increased exponentially.

Gathered was nearly all of the Bats, whether they were sitting on the computer desk like Spoiler or perched on a nearby railing like Nightwing. Harry counted a total of nine– no, ten, there was Black Bat– people waiting for him, staring patiently with identical smiles.

Not a single person had a mask.

He let out a breathless, shaky laugh, putting his hand to his forehead. “What the hell, guys?”

A man stepped forwards, the only one that Harry had never seen before. He was elderly, dressed immaculately, and had a very soft expression that Harry felt he didn’t deserve. “Hello, Mr. Walters,” he said in a posh British accent. “My name is Agent A– or Alfred Pennyworth. It’s very nice to meet you. I hope to get to know you well soon.”

After a moment of shaky deliberation, the only thing Harry could come up with was, “Believe me, the honor is mine. Uh, your grandkids love you a lot.”

“Damn right we do!” Red Hood called from where he was leaning against a motorcycle.

That broke the silence, and pretty much everyone was laughing and chattering then, patting Harry’s back, welcoming him to their home.

It was only when Black Bat walked up to him, her eyes scrutinizing as he’d imagined they’d be, that they quieted again. She signed, ‘You are not surprised to see us’.

That turned quite a few heads. Harry sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, I don’t know all of your names, but I figured out the Robins and Batman not too long ago.”

“What?” Nightwing– Richard Grayson– asked. “How?”

He winced, a little apologetically. “Red Robin.”

Immediately, their gazes snapped to the offending vigilante, who looked more confused than anything else. “Excuse me?”

“Tim’s the most tight on identities than any of us,” Signal said, brow furrowed.

“I– well.” Harry cleared his throat. “Red’s the most consistent in tipping, and once Timothy took my Uber to get to work, and he tipped with the same emojis, and…”

Now, when the eyes turned to the young man, he seemed absolutely horrified. He raced to the oversized computer, pushing Spoiler out of the way in the process, and immediately started typing.

“It’s okay, though!” Harry desperately tried to reassure him. “You looked fucking out of it that day, man, I think there was a prank war or something going on, and I’m pretty sure you’d just woke up…”

Apparently, Red Robin found what he was looking for, because he let out a groan and dropped his head onto the desk with a loud thunk. “I’m never going outside again. You can’t trust me to. I’m going to have to rework every identity contingency I’ve ever made–”

“Jesus, Little Red, chill,” said Red Hood, walking over and patting him on the back as giggles rippled through the room. “That’s not nearly the worst thing in the world.”

“I compromised our identities–”

“‘S not like Harry’s a stranger. We’ve all made worse mistakes.”

To Harry’s left, Robin scoffed, mumbling something under his breath.

“Well,” said Batman– as in, the billionaire Bruce Wayne, Batman– walking forward to place a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Prior knowledge or not, I think I speak for all of us when I say we’re very glad to have you here, Harry. And to call you a friend.”

Harry smiled, and it felt much-too-natural and much-too-surreal at the same time. “Same here, B. I feel like some introductions might be in order, though.”

Later, when Harry sat at the enormous dining table and watched Alfred and Nate enthusiastically discuss recipes, he wondered exactly what he’d done to deserve this.

Damian plopped Alfred the cat directly onto his lap, and the joy that filled him was brighter than any sun he’d seen in Gotham.