Backstory: In Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker, it was revealed that Tim Drake, the second Robin, was tortured and brainwashed by the Joker into becoming "Little Jay," a horrid surrogate son for the Joker and Harley Quinn. In a climactic fight between Batman and Joker, Joker ordered Tim to kill Batman. Instead, Tim executed the Joker. After that, we're told that Tim spent a year with Leslie Thompkins regaining his sanity... but not what happened to him after that. In Supernatural, brothers Sam and Dean Winchester hunt various freaks of a supernatural (get it?) nature, traveling to a new location every week in a 1967 Chevy Impala while listening to classic rock. It was recently discovered that Sam, the younger brother, had psychic powers. This is their story. 1. Brotherly Love So, any progress on the psychic powers front? Sam looked up from his book. Dean was packing his things (generally hair care related. Man took a great deal of pride in his hair). Yeah, yesterday I fought two gnolls and I got enough XP to go up a level in psychic, Sam said before going back to his reading. Suddenly he felt a small rock hit his forehead. Hey! Just making sure. You hit me with a rock because you wanted to see if I had psychic powers? Actually, it was more because of that lame RPG joke. Honestly, college boy, how did you ever get a girlfriend? Sam set down his book on crappy motel 514's bedstand. What do you want? I've got the perfect job for us. Oh God... No, hear me out. Gotham City. Gotham City. You're going after the Batman? Dean nodded enthusiastically. C'mon, it'll be awesome! You know, the city actually has lesbian supervillains? Whoa, whoa, Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn aren't lesbians. Yes they are. Are not. Are too. Are not. Are too times infinity. What are you, twelve? You're just mad that you didn't pull the infinity card first, Dean smirked. Come on, pack it in. We've got a lot of ground to cover. *** Sam once again had his nose buried in his book, trying to ignore the heavy metal flowing from the radio that was probably the most expensive part of the crappy car (and it was a good thing Dean wasn't the one with psychic powers, because if he heard Sam think that about his precious auto...). Uh, Sam, mind getting your feet off the dashboard? Because, just saying man, they stink. Sam wished he hadn't packed his bookmark, because if there interruptions were going to become a thing... My feet don't stink. Yes, they do, man. You have a fungus or something. You're a fungus. Hey, hitchhikers. Dean looked at the side of the road. There were two of them, a man in his mid-twenties with a long black ponytail and a young boy in his teens with a haunted look in his eyes. Sam made brief eyecontact with the boy and... This isn't the first time this has happened, John Winchester said, checking their ammo. Dean looked up at him expectantly, holding his brother's hand to discourage him from running off. Satisfied, John started loading the ammo into the back of their minivan. People all over have been attacked, killed by these kind of things. But nobody's doing anything about it. Nobody sees because nobody wants to see. Well, that stops right now. We're gonna take the fight to them. We're Winchesters. We're the last of the Winchesters, now. And we're not going to stand for this... Pick them up, Sam said suddenly. What? Dude, did you forget that the last time you hooked up with a hitchhiker she turned out to be... Pull over and pick them up. Oh damn, this is one of those psychic things isn't it? Yeah. Dean hit the brakes. The two hitchhikers piled into the backseat. They each had one briefcase apiece. The older one was lean, with a greater muscle mass, while the younger one definitely had some sort of acrobatic training by the way he moved. They'd definitely be a problem if they turned heel, Dean mused. Thanks for picking us up, the older one said, offering his hand between the seat divider. Dick Grayson, he said, shaking both of the Winchesters' hands. And this is my little brother, Tim. Hey, Tim said, briefly lifting his head to get a glance at the two of them. So, where you guys headed? Dean asked. Anywhere. Car broke down. Car blew up, Tim corrected. Long story. Anywhere you can take us that has hot food, a warm bed, and an internet connection is fine. They drove long into the night, the Graysons keeping quiet, not moving except for subtle nods and hand signals that might have been a language... if either of the Winchesters had been paying that much attention. Sam has his attention focused soely on his window, watching Tim in the dull reflection. A boy that age should be happy, bouncing around, asking questions or checking out the sights, not just... sitting there. Hey Tim, he said, instantly regretting it at the way both the Graysons' heads shot up to look at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he even saw Dean give him a 'what the hell are you doing' eyebrow. You doing okay back there? Any preference if we stop off for fast food? No sir. He likes Cajun food, if that helps, Dick said, smiling as if in apology for his brother's incommunicativeness. It was an insipid conversation, but at least it was better than the chilly silence that had been percolating through the car, like dead plankton going through a process of Catagenesis (it was a really good thing Dean wasn't the psychic one). Finally, Tim gave a big yawn and Dean turned down the radio. Dick went to sleep, one arm curled protectively around Tim. Tim followed suit, head resting against Dick's shoulder. Sam went last, head flush against the window. Dean was alone with the snores. Great. I'm a soccer mom. *** The motel owner barely looked up from his porno to take their money and Dick carried Tim into the room. He pulled off the boy's shoes and tucked him in, taking a moment to slip something black and boomerang-shaped into Tim's arms before pulling the sheets over him. "I'm going to get something to drink. Anyone care to join me?" Dick asked. "Hell, I'm up for a brewski. How 'bout you, Sam?" "Nah, think I'll catch up on my beauty sleep." *** Walking down the sidewalk to the local bar, illuminated by the neon lights of the fishing town's strip joints and casinos, Dean struggled to keep up with Dick. The other man had longer legs and seemed in a hurry, even though he wasn't going anywhere in particular. "Hey, you sure you feel safe leaving your little brother with mine?" Dick arched an eyebrow. "Shouldn't I?" "Well, sure, my brother wouldn't hurt a fly (unless it was a giant, mutated fly), but you don't know that." Dick smiled. "I do know that if your brother harms one hair on Tim's head, I'll hurt you both in ways that will make you useless to a woman." "I can respect that." *** "Why do we make cups out of glass?" Sam started and pulled his face out of the pillow. Tim was standing at the foot of his bed, wavering slightly, like a stiff breeze might knock him over. Sam could just make out his spiky hair and piercing eyes from the shadows. He turned on his lamp. Still the light seemed to shy away from the teen. "Why do we make cups out of glass?" Tim repeated. "It breaks. It breaks easy. Why not plastic or clay?" "I guess... because it looks pretty?" Sam ventured. Tim laughed harshly and jumped up on the dresser, his legs dangling over the side. "You're not the normal one, are you?" "What?" "In every story there's a normal one and a strange one. You're not the normal one... but you want to be." This time it was Sam's turn to laugh as he pulled himself up by the bed's headboard and sat crosslegged atop the covers. "Trust me, in my story, there are no normal ones." "Who said it was your story? It belongs to all of you." "Me and Dean?" Tim looked away. "For now." "What are you, some kind of oracle?" "No... there is no oracle in this story." Sam nodded once. "Can't help but notice Dick gave you some kind of weapon before he left. That is a weapon, right?" "Kinda." "You know, when I was little and got scared of monsters in the closet, my dad gave me a gun to keep me safe." "My dad doesn't like guns." *** Dean polished his cue. "It just didn't work out. I had to leave to... do some things. Although I saw her again later. It had to do with an anthropomorphized racist truck... don't ask." Dick racked up the pool balls as Dean lined up his shot. "She promised she'd come back for me one day. Of course, that was before she left to be queen of Tamaran." Dean looked up briefly from the eightball. "You win." He made the break shot. "You know what, this is loose. I'm getting laid. Hell, we're attractive guys... "Gotta warn you, do not like where this is going." "Double hell, we're man-****s. If we can't get laid, who can? I don't know about you, but I'm going to meet some lucky lady and wham, bam, thank you ma'am." Both of them looked to a particularly bosom young lady sitting down at the bar. "You go for redheads too?" Dick asked. "Red, blonde, black, shaved... I'll take anything." "Then may the best man win." "I intend to." *** Sam, working on a hunch, turned off the light. Tim seemed to become more comfortable, even though he was now invisible in the shadows. Sam felt the moonlight on his skin, streaming through the curtains. It felt like some sort of twilight half-world, destined to vanish at dawn. Sam struggled to remember which one of Jess' cheesy romance novels he had read that in. "You're used to smiling," Sam said after a moment. Tim nodded encouragingly. "But something bad happened to you and now you think you'll never smile again. That's your story." "How do you know?" "Because it's my story too." "So, how does the story end?" "Don't know yet. But I've seen the second act. Just because whatever... whoever made you smile is gone, doesn't mean there aren't other people who can make you smile." In the darkness, Tim cocked his head to the side. "That's why you're with Dean, isn't it? He thinks you're only sticking around with him for revenge." "If he thought different, he wouldn't let me come along." "That's where you're wrong." *** The first clue that he hadn't struck out that Dean got upon waking was that he was in a strange bed. Not that this was a new experience, but if he hadn't gone home with someone, he would be sleeping in the back of the Dean Machine (as he called it. It was too bad Sam was psychic, becaue he would hate for his brother to find that out), since Tim and Sam had the beds. Pulling on his boxers, Dean stepped into the kitchen of the apartment. Dick was standing at the fridge. Dean ran through the possibilities before giving a little "what the hell" laugh. "Roommates?" he asked. The woman they had been competing over in the bar... both of them... walked out of their respective rooms. "Twins," Dick corrected. "Goddamn TWINS!" They high-fived. "Wait, if they're twins..." Dick began. "How do we know if we didn't both... with the same woman..." "Why do you have to start on that?" *** Sam had seen demons, mutants, ghosts, poltergeists (well, he hadn't actually seen the poltergeists...), aliens, and some sort of weird human/crocodile thing with a Bronx accent. He still did a double-take when Dean and Dick walked into the motel room, wearing the same disheveled clothes they had had on last night. "It all makes so much sense now," Sam said, smirking. "The leather coats, the heavy metal music, the car... it was all camoflage for the part of you that loves sequins and showtunes." "Hey, whoa dude, hold it off right there. Nothing happened. Tell him, Dick." Dick smiled. "Don't spoil what we had with words, Dean." Dean shook his head. "Both of you are twisted, I swear." Dick's cell phone rang, interrupting him. He stepped outside. Through the thin motel wall, Dean could swear he heard something about "race Al cool" and "immediately." Dick stepped back inside. "I gotta go. Family emergency." He paused, making a sort of eye contact with Tim. Then made a face like his suspicions had been confirmed. "You mind keeping an eye on Tim for me? He... he can't go where I'm going. Not right now, anyway." "Sure man," Dean nodded. Sam tapped him on the shoulder. "You sure?" he whispered. "Dad sent us some new coordinates, I think it has something to do with this Etrigan fellow we've been hearing about..." "Kid looks like he can handle himself," Dean whispered back. "I just don't want him to get hurt." Sam looked up at Dick. "We'll take good care of him." "Thanks. Gotta go. My ride's waiting." Dick ran off. "What ride?" Dean asked no one in particular before something very much like a sonic boom washed over the area. *** Dean's hands were weary and wet on the wheel. "I see something that starts with the letter... S." "It's the sky," Tim said, bored. "Okay, I see something that starts with the letter... R." "The road." "I thought you were the psychic one," Dean groused to Sam in a low voice, then said loud enough for Tim to hear him "What, were you trained by the world's greatest detective or something?" "Or something." Up ahead, a blonde in a flannel jacket over a camisole stood on the side of the road, holding out a thumb. "Dean, no," Sam began, but Dean cut him off at the pass. "One, she's hot. Two, she's hot. Three, she's hot. We're picking her up before some crazy psycho torturer nabs her. Didn't any of you ever see Wolf Creek?" "Didn't you ever see The Hitcher?" Sam asked as the car lurched to a stop. The hitchhiker threw open the backdoor and poked her head inside. To answer all your questions: Because my dad's an *******, and no I won't go down on you. Now, mind giving me a ride? Let her on, Tim said. "Thanks, stranger," the blonde said, sitting down next to him. "Handle's Stephanie Brown. What's yours?"