Chapter Text
Bruce Thomas Wayne—billionaire, playboy, undercover vigilante.
Progeny of Dr. Thomas Wayne and Marthe Kane—descendants of old money, practically steeped in Gotham’s harbor.
When Bruce was eight, a mugger shot his parents at point-blank and snatched the wallets from their coats, leaving the kid standing in his own parents’ blood.
He was all alone—except for a handful of aunts, uncles, and the family butler, Mr. Pennyworth.
After a series of almost-suspensions, he eventually graduated from Gotham Academy and went on a yearlong sojourn. He met with masters all over the globe: martial arts, swordsmanship, gadgetry, and disguise.
Everything necessary to fight crime—defeat all criminals—and prevent the deaths of innocents.
He returned home at the ripe age of twenty-five and, to the joy of his butler, chose to christen his newfound vigilantism by taking a swan dive off the roof of Wayne Tower.
Tim wishes Bruce had gone to community college instead—Nope, scratch that.
It’s not even about going or not going to some fancy, schmancy, overpriced educational institution.
Tim wishes Bruce just…talked to the people he claimed to want to protect—the criminals he put in jail, the innocents he wants to save, the family he seems to care for.
Ask the people what they want and how they want it. Consult the experts on the upcoming research. Think beyond the wham! and the pow! and the sock! and the crash!
That’s it.
That’s all.
That’s not…too much to ask.
Right?
After Tim rests and recovers, the debrief goes about as well as you’d expect, being stared down by two vigilantes and one ex-military.
By the end of it, Mr. Pennyworth hands him a home-cooked meal for the road and makes him promise to call if he’s ever in need of help. Dick sends him off with a stern lecture to never engage in unauthorized vigilante work again (with a stern eye towards Bruce) and a promise to meet again for dinner at the Golden Pagoda sometime. Bruce doesn’t appear at all during the rest of his stay, like a NEET squirreled away in his underground basement.
Tim promises not to get in trouble anytime soon.
Not even he wants to join this merry band of traumatized manchildren.
Unfortunately, one week later, Tim runs into trouble at the bank.
Why is Rich Boy™ Tim at the bank, you may ask?
Blame the System.
Bernard wanted to open a high-yield savings account—God knows who gave him that idea—and he dragged along Tim as his “rich-people translator” and Sebastian for his “bullshitting radar”.
Unfortunately, while they’re standing in front of the bank teller for god knows how long, poring over the Terms of Agreement in annoyingly small fine print (“Oh my god, see! It says here that I have to sell my soul!” “Bernard, it literally says if you don’t use the account at least six times a year, it’ll close down.” “But what happens to the money then!? What happens to my blood, sweat, and tears!?”), or maybe, fortunately, an up-and-coming villain chooses that exact moment to make their debut.
It’s the bone-chilling entrance of Dr. Fries, a well-known leader in cryogenics and self-proclaimed enemy of GothCorp.
And the opening monologue is quite admirable, as much as Dr. Fries’s cutting criticism towards the industry of science (“Without your name in a published paper, no one will hire you! And if no one hires you—not even the goddamn government these days—how are you supposed to fund your life-saving research?”), but Tim draws the line when the freeze gun is drawn.
The security guards are blitzed in one blast, and Tim throws his friends over the bank teller’s counter. While everyone is panicking and being iced to the tile floor, Tim tries calling Mr. Pennyworth and Dick. The calls go to voicemail until Batman swoops in to save the day.
Unfortunately, Batman has never worked with Dr. Fries before, and his limbs are easily incapacitated by freeze rays.
And despite Tim wanting to increase his Stealth skills, he makes a unilateral decision to throw one of Batman’s stray batarangs at the ceiling chandelier, effectively distracting a crushed Mr. Fries until Batman could puncture his off-the-rack astronaut suit with a pronged-taser-thing.
Which.
Ya know, that’s just the Bat's superior technology at work.
Nothing weird (and can someone please explain the physics of this universe?) to see here.
And thanks to the liquid nitrogen and smoke bombs, no one seems to have seen Tim take out an entire chandelier, but Batman still gives him the stink eye as he makes his dramatic exit.
“Dudes!” Bernard squeals. “Batman just looked at us!”
Tim watches as Dr. Fries is handcuffed and shoved into the back of a police car. The handy-dandy freeze gun is suspiciously absent from the crime scene.
Sebastian huddles under the thermal blanket, teeth chattering. “Y-yeah, that’s g-great…”
Doesn’t WayneCorp have enough money to not only fund Dr. Fries’s research but also win the litigation against GothCorp? The head of their rival company tampered with the doctor’s experiments, leading to Dr. Fries’s unfavorable subzero medical condition and his wife’s precarious health. There’s no easy evidence, but the Bat has his fingers in many pies.
Tim shivers.
Bad metaphor.
“I can die happy now…” Bernard murmurs.
Sebastian grumbles as Tim pulls them all together to conserve heat. But really, Tim’s just reading the System’s rewards from this event.
[Mini-Quest Successful!]
Assist in the arrest of Mr. Freeze!
You’ve earned 200 Points!
Well, this is just strike one, isn’t it?
The second time Tim runs into trouble, it’s at the museum.
After the Fries fiasco on Friday, Bernard invited them to visit the Gotham Art Museum, citing a new historical gold and silver exhibit. Bernard wanted to predict how long it would take for the up-and-coming vigilante Catwoman to acquire the jewelry and return it to its rightful owners in Tajikistan. Sebastian just came for the food. And Tim wanted to get out of the house.
After Tim buys them hot dogs, soda, and tickets—"Because I’m stupid rich, guys”—they brainstorm escape plots in the new exhibit before exploring the Aboriginal Art section. Most of which was “donated” by the Drake family.
Doesn’t that just put a bad taste in Tim’s mouth?
Luckily, a spritz of floral perfume is the only warning given for the arrival of Dr. Pamela Isley, world-renowned botanist and newly crowned eco-terrorist.
Her entrance is certainly inspired, involving vines crashing through the Victorian Gothic windows of the lobby and overtaking the European art exhibit. Her speech about caring for dead people’s old paintings over “the living, breathing Earth we’re destroying today, dooming us to certain death and destruction” is certainly on point. And really, Tim is just amused when every Gothamite pulls out a gas mask and proceeds to get the heck out of dodge. But while Sebastian and Bernard are pulled away by the crowd, Tim decides to stay.
For the Points, of course.
Instead, he gets to enjoy the subsequent beatdown of Batman, complete with new strains of doll’s eye paralyzers, carrion plant stink bombs, and cobra lily man-eaters. All in all, a ten out of ten experience.
And while Tim could watch Poison Ivy destroy decades worth of art and watch Batman get digested by a ten-foot-tall plant, he decides to choose the higher path: blitzing the plants with Dr. Fries’s stolen freeze gun until Batman can knock Dr. Isley out with a well-timed punch.
Still.
Tim feels bad for her.
She could use her smarts to create new varieties of biofuel or plant-based plastics. She could collaborate with Gothamites to build a self-sustaining urban farm in food deserts and help fight against the deadly wildfires on the West Coast. So many possibilities!
And yet, Bruce is fine letting her rot away in jail, her abusive PhD professor remaining unchecked. Dr. Isley isn’t just a mutant; she’s the product of an unethical, unapproved experiment—a kidnapping and murder attempt combined, if you will.
And yet, Batman does nothing.
Tim unapologetically hands over the freeze gun and wipes his hands of the Bat until another day in Gotham proper.
That’s strike two.
The third time Tim runs into trouble, it’s at the movie theater.
About a week later—because Gothamites are cool—Bernard and Sebastian want to see this new sci-fi thriller-romance, but Tim is distracted by a moviegoer, who’s bawling her eyes out in the seat next to them.
Tim offers her some popcorn, candy, and a little bit of relationship advice. And when she follows them out of the theater, he realizes he’s made a grave mistake: the infamous Harley Quinn immediately latches onto his arm, bawling about her breakup with Mr. J, a suspected abuser and proven serial killer.
By the time Batman shows up to arrest her, Tim has already accidentally referred her to the lesser-known group: the Birds of Prey.
And while Tim could refer her to a well-known therapist, he doesn’t know her too well and doesn’t think she’d take his suggestions in good faith. They just met each other! So, he settles for the small recommendation and unprompted relationship history (read: tea) he’s had with people who didn’t love him back.
So.
At least Sebastian and Bernard tear up when he starts to get into it, but everyone heads off for the night before they can see Batman whisk Tim away in a flurry of frustration and disappointment at giving a girl a listening ear.
So when Tim shows up at their doorstep, a tight black-Kevlared hand on his shoulder, Dick just shakes his head, disappointedly, and Mr. Pennyworth somehow guilty-trips Tim into staying for dinner.
And that’s strike three.
Nuance.
It’s such a funny word.
Ha.
It happens later that night.
They tell him he can “rest and recover” without worry.
And he’s woken up with a start, hands instinctively curling around the pocket knife under his pillow.
Tim pads onto the antique carpets with his bare feet, out the door, and down the hall. It’s always hard to go to sleep with discontent weaving through the air.
“He’s just a little kid!” Dick shrieks from the kitchens, the usual place of refuge. “Not another one of your toy soldiers! You can’t possibly think—!”
It’s suddenly hot. Too hot.
“No, no, no—I recognize that look. You can’t put him in the suit, B—You can’t. ”
His stomach is squeezing him from the inside out, and Tim wishes he could just disappear.
“Alfred? Come on, Alfie, talk some sense into him,” Dick begs. “You know what it was like for me and—and Jason, right?”
There’s something stale hanging in the air: dried blood and static electricity.
“God, why did I even come back?” A laugh. “You haven’t changed at all.”
Silence.
“Dick, I don’t think you quite understand the situation. He knows too much, sees too much. There’s a look in his eyes that reminds me of…” A cleared throat. “He’s going to be there again. He’s going to put himself in danger again.” A pause. “And what if I’m not there to stop him?”
The fuse is burning at both ends.
“My brother died in that suit. Is this how you want to honor him?”
Tim’s happy.
He promises.
Sure, he’s scared to walk outside at night. He’s afraid of getting shot during the day, and he’s sort of trapped in place as a minor-but-not, unable to leave Gotham city or travel outside the country.
Sure, he’s rich as fuck and he’s receiving a world-class education and did you know there’s a war starting on the other side of the world and someone got shot at the bar down the street last week—? Well, Tim sure never has to go hungry at night.
He’s in the best city in the world, the freest country in the world, and despite Gotham’s very obvious ills, you simply can’t toss the baby out with the bathwater.
Then again, people like to treat each other like bathwater.
Tim likes to imagine what his parents thought about him after he was born.
Baby?
Or bathwater?
Perhaps Tim is going too deep into the lore, as Sebastian would put it. He’s getting angry out of nowhere, as Janet would put it. I fed you and clothed you and that means—
Yeah, he’s grateful to be here.
He’s grateful to be alive.
It’s just a messed-up System.
Bruce is brooding over his tablet while Mr. Pennyworth patters about the kitchen, making fake-reconciliatory hot chocolate.
“Tim, Timbo, little genii of my heart and soul, are you sure? Are you really, really sure? Do you really want this?” Dick asks, leaning over his plate, trying to reach out, trying to connect. “I’m not trying to…tell you what to do, but this life can be dangerous, ok? And this is about you and what you want.”
Tim doesn’t know what he wants.
He doesn’t think that’s ever been an option.
[Choices]
- “Has Bruce started therapy yet?”
- "Batman needs a Robin.”
- “Well, I have some ideas…” (Cost: 25 Points)
Warning: Delaying a Fixed Point in Time may lead to more mini-quests, but can affect Approval Ratings negatively!
So, of course, Tim says yes.
Ha.