Chapter Text
This isn’t the first time Tim has woken up in a strange place that a quick look around identifies as one of the living rooms in Wayne Manor, but it’s the first time he does so while straddled in a mount of blankets, all while someone is noisily eating a bag of chips in his general vicinity.
“Hey, you’re up,” Dick Grayson says, smiling at him from where he’s sitting next to him on the couch. “You were out for so long, I was beginning to get a little worried. Potato chip?”
“No, thank you.”
“Suit yourself.” Dick eats two more chips, swallows, and says, “Before you freak out – I know it’s been a while since my last gala, but just in case you don’t remember me, I’m-“
“Dick Grayson. You were in the car that stopped when you saw me.”
Dick smiles. He, too, is covered with a blanket. “Got it in one. Do you remember how we met?”
It's a trap, Tim thinks suddenly. There is no way Dick can be referring to what Tim thinks he’s referring to. Maybe he’s just checking if Tim has amnesia. (He doesn’t. He’s really, really cold, but he can remember everything that happened today all the way until that car pulled up, and he can guess the rest: Dick must have seen him, recognised him as Jack and Janet Drake’s kid, realised he was in danger of getting frostbite, and brought him to the next-best place, which is Wayne Manor. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.)
But the way Dick’s smile is just slightly uneasy makes Tim think that maybe Dick doesn’t mean the first time they met at a gala a couple of years ago. Which leaves-
“That night at the circus.”
Dick pales, and Tim has just enough time to curse himself before he says, “Excuse me?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Tim hastens to say. He attempts to hold up both hands in a gesture of submission, but he’s been wrapped so firmly in the blanket cocoon that he can only move his head. “Forget it.”
“No, go on. I was sure we’d met at a charity event,” Dick says, smile tight, tight, tight, “but I’ll happily stand corrected.”
There’s no good way to talk himself out of this, so Tim settles on the truth. “My parents took me to the circus a few years ago,” he says quietly, almost whispers it, like a confession. “You told me you were going to do a flip just for me.”
Dick looks like he’s been slapped. “I don’t remember that,” he says.
Tim shrugs. “That’s okay. I’m sure you met a hundred kids every day.” He doesn’t tell Dick that they met the night the Graysons fell. Dick doesn’t need to know that.
“I thought-“ Dick says, but breaks off, shaking his head ruefully. “Well, clearly I thought wrong. Now, what do you say to waiting here while I sneak down to the kitchen and get us some hot chocolate?”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Tim says, “I should probably-“ He is, suddenly, overcome by a horrible realisation. “Oh no,” he whispers, “I am so late to school.” He’s definitely missed the first few periods, maybe even the entire day – how late is it? The storm is still raging outside the window, at least.
To his surprise, Dick laughs. “Don’t worry about that one bit. I’d say hypothermia is a very good reason for missing a day.”
“Hypothermia?”
“Just a little bit. It’s what all those blankets are for. When I brought you in, your lips had turned blue. You’d only just stopped shivering a few minutes before you woke up.”
This is bad, Tim thinks. He’d guessed the general course of events that have led to him waking up on the Waynes’ couch (again), but Dick is making it sound like something serious. But it can’t be serious, because if it is, then Tim is going to have to answer questions, and that’s never a good thing.
“I’ll get that hot chocolate,” Dick says, clapping him on the shoulder, “you just sit here and hang on tight. I’ll be right back. Oh, fair warning – Alfred’s out running errands right now, so it’s just Bruce, Jason and me right now. I told Jason to not let Bruce anywhere near the stove, but I guess we won’t know until we taste it. Be right back.” He winks.
Tim, left on his own, struggles once more with the blanket cocoon. He’s just managed to shrug off the first layer when the door opens again. But it’s not Dick. It’s Jason – and Mr Wayne.
“I can’t believe-“ Jason starts, but Bruce holds up a hand.
“Let me speak with him first. Alone, please, Jay.”
Jason scowls but, faced with the calm look Mr Wayne gives him in return, nods his agreement, slamming the door behind him as he goes.
Tim, seeing Mr Wayne approach, wishes again that he wasn’t effectively trapped right now. It’s easy enough to think that Mr Wayne would never hurt him when he’s out at night, watching Batman smile at Robin’s jokes. It’s another matter when they’re alone in a room together, with nobody stopping Mr Wayne from doing what he wants.
“Tim,” Mr Wayne says, tone serious.
“Mr Wayne,” Tim says, his voice squeaking embarrassingly.
Mr Wayne holds up his hand again. “Please,” he says, “call me Bruce.”
Tim, ready to do whatever it takes to make the man back off, obediently mutters, “Bruce.”
Thankfully, Bruce doesn’t take Dick’s vacated seat on the couch, instead choosing an armchair that’s a fair distance away. “I’d like to talk to you about what happened today. Dick says he found you on the road during that storm, but what I’m wondering is why you were there in the first place. Why weren’t you at school?”
Bruce sounds so openly disapproving that Tim’s ensuing shiver has very little to do with the cold. “I was on my way. I’d missed the bus, so I had to walk.”
“Jason told me you declined to ride with him this week, because your parents would give you a lift instead. Is that not true?”
“It is!” Tim says, almost yells, because he doesn’t want Jason to sound like a liar. “My dad did give me a lift these last few days. It’s just that he was busy today. Something came up, and when he told me, the bus had already gone.”
“Just to make sure I’m understanding this correctly – due to some unforeseen circumstances, your dad was unable to give you a ride today, and when you realised you’d missed the bus, you decided to walk instead. Yes?”
“Yes,” Tim says miserably. He thinks the way Bruce is phrasing it is almost making it sound like this is Tim’s fault, that he shouldn’t have been late for the bus. He supposes that if he’d been in the kitchen a little earlier, maybe his dad could have – but no, his dad came in when Tim had already been sitting there for a while, meaning his dad only just got the call. There’s nothing Tim could have done, right?
Bruce nods slowly. “Was it snowing when you left?”
“Yeah.”
“And was it snowing when your dad talked to you earlier, when he told you he couldn’t drive you?”
“I mean, I guess, yeah.”
“So you left the house on your own, during a snowstorm, while your dad stayed behind at home?”
Tim thinks back, then shakes his head. “He didn’t- it’s just that my parents had to pack because they’re going to the airport right after their business lunch, so they had to hurry up. But they left shortly after I did. It’s not like they were making me go out into the cold to punish me or something.”
“Of course not,” Bruce agrees smoothly. “Thank you, Tim, I think that’s all. Now, would you like to stay up here, or come downstairs into the kitchen with me?”
Tim thinks about it. “Kitchen?”
“Let’s free you from those blankets, then.” Bruce moves to help him, and Tim-
Tim flinches.
Bruce freezes. “Tim-“
“Sorry, you just surprised me,” Tim says, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart. This is ridiculous. He is being ridiculous. “I can do it on my own.” To prove his words, he shrugs off another layer, wriggles himself out of the third, and stands, free at last. Instantly, he feels cold again.
“Good job, buddy,” Bruce says, but he sounds distracted, and he continues to be distracted the entire time it takes them to get downstairs which, due to the Wayne Manor being huge, takes quite a while.
When they get there, Jason is holding up an iPad, reading out loud: “It says here that we need to stir the entire time, or else the milk burns-“
“We can probably just leave it for a bit,” Dick says confidently. “You don’t know this yet, Jay, but I’ve watched Alfred make this a hundred times. I can do it in my sleep.”
“Then why did you make me read the instructions to you?!”
“Because when you and Bruce were in charge, you burned the pot beyond recognition!”
Tim, dazed, thinks this argument could probably go on forever. Bruce, evidently thinking the same, snaps out of whatever has occupied his thoughts these last few minutes. “Boys,” he calls out, in a tone that brooks no argument. Tim wraps his arms around himself and inches a bit away from him.
Dick and Jason pause for exactly two second, long enough to glance at them and wave at Tim, before Jason says, “You’re burning it right now,” and Dick says, “it’s supposed to smell like that!”, and just like that, they’re off again.
Bruce turns to Tim, voice long-suffering as he says, “They’ll be at for a while. Can I leave you here while I make some phone calls, or would you prefer to accompany me?”
“I’ll stay here,” Tim says immediately. “Just- actually, nevermind,” he says. There’s no need to dump his problems on Bruce.
“What is it?” Bruce asks, because of course he does.
Tim winces. “Just, I missed school today, so I need to call them and- but it’s okay, I’ll do it myself when I get home.”
“When will your parents be returning from their trip? If it’s soon, perhaps they can handle it upon their return.”
“I don’t know yet,” Tim says, which is true. They told him they’d be back in April, but that might change.
Bruce, after a brief hesitation, says, “In that case, I’ll take care of it for you. It’s no trouble.”
The thing is that Tim should really decline, but actually, Bruce handling this is way easier than the alternative, which is hiring someone to play his dad on the phone. “Thanks,” he says quietly. “That’d be great.”
“No problem,” Bruce says and leaves just as the fire alarm goes off.
*
Seeing as this is the second time Tim has been brought to the Wayne manor without his explicit consent, he figures that he can at least take advantage of it, especially since everyone seems so insistent that he stay the night. They’ve all been really nice: Dick and Jason made him play videogames with them, Alfred told him repeatedly that if he needs anything, he should just ask, and Dick added that he doesn’t even have to ask, he can just take whatever. “I go to the fridge late at night all the time,” he says, “and it’s no big deal.”
Alfred presses his lips together and says nothing, and Dick, evidently taking this as permission, hugs him enthusiastically.
So, Tim supposes that he’s just doing what Dick told him to. Yes, Dick probably meant, like, if he gets hungry or needs a towel or something, but he did say whatever. Tim explicitly heard him use that word, and he’s ready to quote it in a court of law. So this means that Dick basically gave him permission to wait until everybody is in bed (or, to be more accurate, until everybody has made a great show of pretending to go to bed), then sneak out of the guest room he’s been given, and go searching for Batman’s secret lair.
This is the opportunity of a lifetime, and Tim knows he could get into serious trouble if he gets caught, but it’s worth it. Besides, all he has to do is not let himself get caught, right? That’s easy. He does it every night in Gotham, and so far, Robin has only spotted him twice. That’s a pretty good ratio.
He's prepared to spend the entire night searching, but in the end, it turns out he doesn’t have to. Just minutes after he’s snuck out of his room, he hears footsteps. Tim presses himself flat against the wall, partially hidden by a large suit of armour that’s a part of the Wayne manor hallway decoration for some reason, and doesn’t dare breathe as someone walks past him. It’s Jason, dressed in pyjamas. He hasn’t noticed Tim.
At first, Tim thinks he’s on his way to the bathroom, but Jason passes that door without stopping. Tim follows him quietly downstairs. Jason walks past the kitchen, too, and past several closed doors as well, until finally, he enters a living room. Tim, not wanting to give himself up, waits just outside that room for a few minutes, counting down the seconds beneath his breath. Nothing happens. Jason doesn’t come back out.
Eventually, Tim peaks inside the room. It’s empty. The windows are shut, there are no other exits, nor large pieces of furniture that could hide a 13-year-old boy.
Jackpot, Tim thinks.
He takes his time. Sure, the longer he takes, the more a risk he runs of being discovered, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be careful. Who knows if there are any boobytraps hidden, any precautions that Batman has taken to ensure his secret stays safe? So Tim diligently inspects the three large paintings on the walls, then runs his hand along the tapestry, searching for a hidden switch. He finds nothing, but he’s not discouraged. Teenage boys don’t just disappear.
Suddenly, a loud gong fills the air. It’s the huge grandfather clock in one corner, striking midnight. Tim holds his breath, irrationally afraid that someone might hear all the noise and come in, but nobody does. Once the clock has struck twelve times, it stops, and Tim is ready to turn away, when something occurs to him.
The clock. It must be. There’s no other explanation.
He first searches for a handle or switch and, finding nothing, he starts messing with the hands. Nothing comes from that, either, but he’s sure that he’s on to something. It’s like entering a pincode. The problem with pincodes is, of course, that there are so many possibilities that it takes ages to try them all, and, again, Tim doesn’t know if Batman has had a mechanism built that’s triggered when you get it wrong a certain number of times. It’s what Tim would do.
So, he gives up, and goes back to bed. He’s done enough discovering for one night. Sometimes, it’s smarter to cut your losses, and Tim knows when to back off.
The next morning, Dick tentatively mentions that the storm is still raging, and Bruce, eyes worried, says that he hasn’t been able to reach Tim’s parents yet.
“I don’t think they have reception right now,” Tim says. “But it’s fine, really. I can go back home now, I’ll be okay.”
Dick and Bruce share a look. “Perhaps,” Bruce says, “it would be best if you would stay with us for another day. I don’t feel safe letting you go to an empty house after what happened yesterday. Of course, if you’re uncomfortable-“
“Okay,” Tim says immediately.
Bruce frowns. “Okay?”
Tim swallows a bite of cereal and says, “If you think it’s best if I stay until tomorrow, I’m fine with it. I trust your judgement.”
Dick beams and ruffles his hair. “That’s the spirit, Timmy.”
Tim eats some more cereal and tries to ignore the look Bruce is levelling at him. He recognises that look from the mirror. It’s one full of suspicion, and coming from Batman, it makes Tim so uncomfortable that all he wants is to shrink under that gaze. But he can’t. If he does, then it’s all for nothing.
“Tim-“ Bruce starts, only to be interrupted by Jason: “Can we go outside and make an igloo? Tim wants to, right, Tim?”
“Of course he does,” Dick answers before Tim gets the chance, “because igloos are awesome. Everyone, outside in ten minutes! We’re going to make the biggest igloo ever.”
Tim feels a little bit bad as he follows Jason upstairs to change into warmer clothes. But it’s not like he was lying to anyone. He doesn’t want to go back to his house any sooner than he has to, and he’s never built an igloo before, either. It sounds like fun, and he’s already been invited, so he doesn’t think it’s selfish to accept.
The fact that this means he gets to spend another night figuring out the mysteries of that grandfather clock is just a bonus.
That night, he sneaks out of the guest room as soon as he’s bid everyone goodnight. He goes to the living room and hides behind a curtain, and then, he just waits.
Shortly after the clock has struck twelve, there’s some movement, and Tim sees Bruce come in and -ha! – move the clockhands until the door swings open. Once it’s closed again, Tim moves out from his hiding spot to check which time the clock has been set to. He does it just in time, too: he’s only just seen 9:45 when the hands are turning again, being set from the inside until they’re matching the actual time of shortly after ten.
9:45, Tim thinks, memorising the number. Alright then.
He goes back behind the curtain, and watches both Dick and Jason come in and enter the entrance hidden behind the clock in quick succession. Jason, when it’s his turn, actually looks around briefly, but it seems to be more paranoia than anything else, and soon enough, he, too, is gone.
It's getting late, but luckily, due to excessive stalking, Tim knows exactly when the Bats usually hit the streets in Gotham, and so he also knows that by the time it’s midnight, Batman’s lair must definitely be empty.
Tim’s hands are trembling as he sets the clock’s time to 9:45, but when the door swings open, he feels suddenly, strangely calm. He goes down a long flight of stairs, and just like that, he’s in a gigantic cave. This is it, he thinks. Finally, this is it.
He absently notes that there seem to be actual, real-life bats here. He briefly glances at the dinosaur, frowning, but before he can investigate this further, his eyes are drawn to a huge computer. This must be where Batman enters case files and patrol reports and Justice League matters, and he probably has files on everyone he knows, and Tim is just dying to look at all of it.
Well, why not? The cave is empty. There is literally no one stopping him.
The first thing Tim does once he has successfully logged onto the computer (which was, all things considered, not that much more difficult than illegally logging into the school administration computers) is to delete all the camera footage of the Cave from the past 10 minutes, then shut down the cameras completely for now.
Then, he hacks into the latest case files (again, not that hard, and Batman should seriously reconsider his security measures), but just as he’s really getting somewhere with case #C0482.4, an alarm goes off, and the computer screen flashes CODE 203 in neon-red letters.
Without thinking, Tim closes the file and types the code name into the computer search bar. What he finds is a list of every possible emergency. He scrolls down to the two hundreds. Code 200, Arkham outbreak (minor), Code 201, poisonous fog, Code 202, poisonous smog, Code 203, comm system down.
Okay. Tim can work with that.
First things first, bring the comms back up. Then, while he’s trying to find out how the system broke down, he opens a live map of Gotham that has Batman, Robin and Nightwing’s trackers blinking green. Nightwing and Batman seem to be in the middle of fighting some gang together, but Robin is much further away, and the tracker pinpoints him in abandoned building.
Finally, the alarm stops, as the comm system is back. Immediately, Tim puts on the headset and logs on, just in time to hear Batman say, “-knew Agent A was on vacation tonight. That’s why I told you to stay behind. It’s why I asked you here.”
“Well, excuse me for realising that you could use all hands you needed in that fight,” Nightwing shoots back testily. “Oh, hey, I think the comms are working again. Robin? Robin, can you hear me?”
Robin doesn’t answer, probably because he’s busy dismantling a bomb that is blinking red, red, red on the screen and also because, Tim suspects, his earpiece got damaged earlier as he was breaking down the door of that building.
“Robin,” Batman demands in his characteristic growl. “Report immediately.”
Tim’s hand hovers over the button that will activate the microphone. He’s still hesitating, though. He wants to help, but he also knows that giving himself up like this will have the worst kind of consequences.
He leaves the button alone. Instead, he sends a message to both their phones, one that contains nothing except Robin’s location. He has no idea if they even check their phones during patrol, but it’s the best he can do right now.
He listens in for a few seconds more, just long enough to confirm that Nightwing saw the message and is now heading in Robin’s direction, before breaking the link. He’s just about to log off the computer, when he hesitates.
It's probably going to take Batman, Robin and Nightwing at least another thirty minutes to return to the cave, and that’s if they’re cutting patrol short. Either way, this leaves him enough time to do one last thing.
He has no idea if Batman is going to take his suggestions on how to improve his security, Tim thinks later once he’s safely in bed, but at least this way, if Batman ever gets hacked by someone who isn’t Tim, it won’t be Tim’s fault.
*
Tim spends the entire breakfast quietly panicking that Bruce will be able to see through him, that he’ll take one look at him and know immediately what he was up to last night. But not only is Bruce’s attention mostly occupied by the newspaper, but also every time he does move to pour himself another cup of coffee or get another piece of toast, he makes sure to do so slowly, carefully projecting all of his movements. He does this without looking in Tim’s direction, but Tim still feels like it’s for his benefit.
It's only when Jason comes downstairs, already dressed in the school uniform but with his tie still hanging loosely around his neck, that Tim realises suddenly that it’s Monday, which means he has school, which means he needs his books and his folders and his uniform.
He's just about to point this out, already mentally calculating the time it will take him to run to his house, when Mr Pennyworth – “call me Alfred, young sir” – comes in, holding up Tim’s uniform. “I’ve taken the liberty to wash and iron this for you,” he says. Your backpack is by the door, Master Tim.”
Tim abruptly remembers that the whole reason he is here is because Dick found him on his way to school. He’d borrowed some clothes from Jason during the last couple of days, and in doing so, had completely forgotten that most of the stuff he needs for school is right here, in this house.
He gets dressed as quick as he can, and when he runs back down into the kitchen, it’s just in time to hear the end of a whispered conversation:
“-investigate this matter.” That’s Bruce. He sounds worried. Worried and serious.
“Whoever it was, he certainly showed us up alright,” someone answers – Dick, who must have joined the family in the kitchen while Tim was upstairs. “That’s gotta be pretty embarrassing for you, B.”
“Jason, you’ve been quiet all morning,” Bruce says. “Is something worrying you, son?”
“Actually-“ Jason starts, but it’s at that moment that the floorboard beneath Tim’s feet gives an ominous creak. The conversation immediately comes to a halt.
“Tim,” Dick calls out cheerfully, “is that you? Hurry up, I’m driving you guys to school today, give Alfie a bit of a break.”
“Thanks, Dick,” Tim says, ducking his head shyly as he comes in, taking care to not look at Bruce for fear that his face would be giving something away.
All in all, he thinks later that day when he’s sitting in class and doodling on his folder, this all went much better than expected. He got to see the Batcave, he learned how to build an igloo, he roasted marshmallows with Dick and Jason in one of the Wayne Manor’s ancient chimneys, and Bruce hasn’t even mentioned his parents again, so it looks like it’s all good on that front. No one is calling CPS, no one got hypothermia, and no one is arresting him for breaking and entering. It’s been a good weekend.
It's during lunch break that Tim realises he may have been too hasty in his judgement. He’s in the canteen, eating the pastrami sandwich Alfred made him this morning, when someone sits down next to him. Tim looks up, thinking it’s one of his friends, but it turns out to be Jason instead – who, he supposes, technically also counts as a friend these days. The thoughts fills him with excitement: Tim can call Robin his friend. Robin!
“Are you coming home with us later?” Jason asks. “Your parents are still gone, right?”
“Yeah, but I’m fine,” Tim says. “And also I’ve got karate training.”
“Do you?” Jason asks, a strange glint in his eyes. “Because I’ve looked up every sports centre in this city, and the only one that offers karate training on Mondays is at the other end of the town.”
Tim, whose sports centre is only 20 minutes away from the school, by foot, tries to make his shrug look casual. “I don’t mind the drive.”
“I bet you don’t,” Jason says, which strikes Tim as a really weird thing to say. “What about after? You can come over, stay the night again. Bruce won’t mind.”
Tim thinks it’s reasonably probable that this is accurate. Bruce won’t mind a friend of his son’s sleeping over, how could he? The manor is big enough that two dozen people could spend the night, maybe more. It’s just that Bruce also can’t be thrilled, either, about a kid invading his home like, four nights in a row. Not minding something is not the same as being enthusiastic about it, and Tim has always been good at knowing when his presence isn’t wanted. His parents like him to make himself scarce a lot when they’re home, so he’s gotten in a lot of practice.
Also, there’s the fact that Tim hasn’t been out on the streets following Batman and Robin in nearly two weeks now, and he’s itching to go out again.
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” he tells Jason. “But – maybe I can come visit some other day this week? If that’s still okay? Only if you’re not-“
“Sure,” Jason interrupts. “Any time. Don’t be freaked out about this, but Bruce is probably going to invite you to dinner a lot these coming weeks, just while your parents are still on their trip. But that shouldn’t be too long, right?”
“Right,” Tim lies. “Definitely not.”
“Great,” Jason says, winks at him, and steals his juice box before he goes.
That night, Tim notices a change to the patrol route. Of course, Batman and Robin change their patrol route frequently, but they usually follow a certain pattern, one that Tim noticed ages ago. Tonight is different, though. It seems more random, less prepared, almost like they’re forcing the change for some reason.
Due to this, it’s difficult to follow them, and more difficult still to stay out of sight. There are a couple of close calls, and Tim doesn’t get to take a single picture. He spends the next day recalculating their route based on what he’s seen tonight, and then the next night, he’s on the roofs again and realises that they’ve changed it all again. It’s infuriating.
It goes on like this for over a week. Tim goes to school, he goes to karate training, he checks his phone for calls from his parents (zero), he has dinner with the Waynes two times, and at night, he watches Batman and Robin patrol without a pattern. Perhaps, he thinks, there’s something in the air, a new poison fog outbreak or something. The last time that happened, everyone in Gotham had to wear gas masks for three days. It was super annoying, and it wasn’t even a villain’s fault, it was just the Gotham sewer system breaking down.
But whatever it is, it’s pretty clear that only Batman and Robin are affected. Mind control? Except that when Tim has dinner with them, they seem perfectly fine.
It's after Robin and Batman patrol the same street two separate times in one night, each without realising that the other has already been here, and simultaneously missing a gang fight happening three blocks from there, that Tim decides enough is enough.
Leaving a note to Batman and Robin in Gotham is too risky – he doesn’t want anyone else to find it, and he has no way of making it so that only the recipients are able to open the letter. Luckily, that’s not an issue. After all, Tim knows where they live.
The next time Jason invites him over, Tim excuses himself to go to the bathroom, then climbs out a window, sneaks back in downstairs, hastily enters the Batcave, leaves the letter with the USB drive on the desk, runs back upstairs, climbs up a drainpipe, flushes the toilet for show and exits the bathroom again just in time for dinner, all in under ten minutes. He’s a little out of breath, but he doesn’t think anyone notices.
Entering the Batcave again also made him realise that there are still no additional security measures anywhere. It’s all Tim can do not to leave another note about that, too, because in the end, it’s Batman’s business, but really, shouldn’t a man like that be more paranoid? It’s disappointing, is what it is. If Tim was Batman, he’d have the entire place boobytrapped.
He really wants to find out if Batman took his helpful feedback concerning patrol routes, but fate has other plans. The day after, he’s only been in school for the first half of English Lit before the window to the classroom shatters and his teacher gets hit in the neck by a shard of glass and turns into a zombie.
Shit, shit, shit, Tim thinks as he’s trapped in the crowd of his classmates, who, in their panic, are all trying to leave the classroom at the same time. This is not a problem he’s going to solve by hacking some computers.
No alarm has gone off yet, which he takes to mean that nobody else in the school is in crisis mode so far, and the fire alarm is just outside the door but for that, he has to get out of here, and he can’t, and the zombified teacher is already advancing.
Tim ducks under an arm, tries again to push through the crowd, when suddenly, his phone vibrates in his pocket. Mechanically, he pulls it out. It’s an email from his parents’ secretary, telling him his parents have postponed their flight again, but they’ll be home in June for sure.
“No phones in the classroom,” his teacher screeches, and, hey, looks like the zombie thing made her voice stronger, too, because everyone winces simultaneously under the almost deafening shout. Immediately, people’s attempts to get out of here become more frantic.
Tim, meanwhile, has been pushed into a corner, but it’s okay, because he’s actually more safe here than before. Here, he’s able to take out his phone again, scroll down the list of contacts until he finds the right one, and press call.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” he mutters.
“Tim?” Jason asks, after what feels like an eternity. “What’s up? I had to sneak out the classroom, so this better not be a butt dial.”
Tim wastes no time. “Gotham Academy is under attack, Ms Greenburg turned into a banshee-zombie, and we could really use a rescue right now.”
There’s silence at the other end of the line.
Tim, getting more panicked himself now, says, “I can’t get to the fire alarm, and the police won’t get here fast enough. Look, can you just call Batman and tell him that he needs to come down here?”
More silence.
“Please, Jason,” Tim says. “I don’t want to get eaten by my English teacher.”
Finally, Jason says, “For the record, we will be talking about this later. Now, I’ve texted B, but it’s going to take him at least ten minutes. What’s the situation?”
The wave of relief that’s running through him nearly makes him dizzy, but he has to concentrate. He holds his phone high up in the air, so that Jason can hear the screams of his classmates and the sound of his teacher trying to bite someone’s leg off. “Did you hear that?” Tim asks, holding the phone close to his ear again.
“That’s pretty much been our last few minutes.”
“Can you find somewhere to hide?”
“Not really.”
“Try,” Jason orders. “I’m on my way.” As if to underline his words, the alarm starts blaring. “Now, just sit tight while-“
Tim’s teacher picks that moment to let out another scream, this one somehow even louder than the next. It makes most of the students drop to the floor, and Tim, too, is swaying on his feet already. “I’ve got to go,” he tells Jason. “I think she’s trying to- oh no.”
“What?” Jason demands. “What’s happened?”
Tim is no longer listening. The phone has slipped out of his unresisting grip, and he can only stare in horror as the teacher, having changed directions, is now on her way to where he’s still perched in the corner. Her eyes are red.
Tim grabs a shard of glass from the floor and holds it out like a weapon. “Don’t come any closer,” he says, and he’s proud of the way his voice trembles only a little bit. “If you do, I’m going to stab you.”
“Tim Drake,” his teacher says. “I’ve never liked you. You never read a single one of the books even once.” With that, she opens her mouth to scream again.
Tim doesn’t think. He just throws the glass shard.
It lands in her open mouth. The teacher stops, chews, spits it out and says, her eyes glowing red again: “I’ve told you a million times, no gum in class.”
“That’s just depressing,” Jason says as he jumps in through the window. Wait, not Jason. Robin. A part of Tim wonders if Jason has the Robin costume always with him, but he can also acknowledge that this is probably not the best time to be asking that question. “B, did you hear how depressing that is?”
“I heard,” Batman confirms. He, too, climbs through the window.
The teacher gives another one of her banshee screams. This one is enough to knock Tim out for good this time, but it doesn’t matter, he thinks as he slips into unconsciousness. He knows Batman and Robin will take care of it.
*
Tim worries about being released from the hospital – his parents are neither in the country, nor inclined to answer phone calls, and his emergency contact is his grandfather, who died three years ago –, but it turns out that wasn’t necessary. As soon as the doctor declares him good to go, Dick and Jason enter his room. Dick is smiling. Jason isn’t. Where Bruce is, Tim has no idea. Possibly preparing a nice cosy cell in the Batcave for him.
“Timmy,” Dick exclaims, “let’s get you out of here. Don’t worry, I’ve talked my way into letting you be released into my custody-“
“Flirted your way into, you mean,” Jason interrupts.
Dick’s smile doesn’t waver. “-and so I say, let’s get pancakes. My treat.”
Wondering whether pancakes is code for something, and thoroughly unnerved by the way Jason is staring at him, Tim mutters, “I should probably get back to class. I’ve got a test today.”
“What,” Dick says, sounding aghast. “You’re not going to school today. You almost got killed!”
“But the test-“
“Anyway, I spoke to your headmaster earlier, and the rest of today’s classes are cancelled,” Dick adds. “So there’s no reason why you can’t have pancakes with us.”
Before Tim can voice any further protests, Dick is already leading him down the hallways, his arm firmly around Tim’s shoulders, both a steadying weight and a way to make sure he can’t escape. Tim gulps.
He waits until they’re in Dick’s car, safely out of earshot of any hospital workers, to say, “About what I said earlier-“
“Dick,” Jason says, talking right over Tim, “I think I forgot my phone in the waiting room. Can you go check?”
Dick frowns. “I’m sorry, did you forget that you have two working legs?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to leave Tim on his own. Tim wants me here, right?”
“Um,” Tim says, shrinking under Jason’s glower, “yeah. Yes. I do.”
“See,” Jason says smugly, reaching over Dick to open the driver’s door. “Out you go.”
Dick throws them both a suspicious glance, but in end, he gives in. “Don’t mess with my seat,” he orders before leaving.
As soon as he’s gone, Jason slides into the driver’s seat to adjust the settings, moving it until it’s as far away from the wheel as possible. “So,” he says while he’s shuffling through Dick’s collection of CDs, “just so you know, I didn’t tell Bruce or Dick anything. Yet. I wanted to hear what you’ve got to say first. And if I don’t like what I hear, then I’m telling Bruce immediately.”
“Please don’t tell him,” Tim blurts out. “I promise your secret is safe with me. I haven’t told anyone so far, so-“
“Wait,” Jason says, narrowing his eyes, “how long have you known?”
“Um,” Tim says, alarmed. “Not long? Why, how long do you think I’ve known? Because it’s probably that.”
“What I know is that you’ve been stalking us at night for several months. What I thought is that you stumbled upon the Cave by accident when you were staying over that first night, and that it made you realise who we are. But now I’m thinking that’s not quite right, is it?”
Tim deflates. “No,” he admits quietly. “I’ve known a bit longer.”
“How long?”
Tim hesitates. “Well,” he says, “the first time I technically met Robin – well, Robin in costume – was three years ago, but I’ve only really known who you are for two years, and I’ve only been following you for one and a half. You’re doing a great job, by the way, but you go off on your own too much, and if you partnered up with Nightwing more, you could increase your efficiency by twenty per cent. It’s all in my file.”
Jason is staring at him with wide eyes. Right now, he looks less like badass Robin and more like a kid who’s just had a fundamental revelation about the world dropped in his lap. “Wow,” he breathes, “you’re, like, a proper stalker. Crazy. Wait a minute, I wasn’t Robin three years ago!”
“Yeah,” Tim says, shrugging faux-casually even though his heart is hammering a mile a minute, “I met Dick first. But he lied to me, and superheroes are not supposed to lie, even if you guys are technically vigilantes, so I think you’re way better than him. But you really do go off on your own too much.”
“I cannot believe you met Dick,” Jason says, clearly not listening. “And that asshole didn’t even tell me about it.”
Tim shrugs again. “Maybe,” he says delicately, “he lied to you. He does that.”
“Jesus Christ,” Jason says, but Dick picks that moment to return to the car. Jason only has time to make a cut-throat motion before his big brother flops back into the driver’s seat, glaring at him.
“There was no phone!”
“Oops,” Jason says, pulling the offending item out of his pocket, “yeah, I guess it was here the whole time, sorry about that.”
The brothers start arguing, but Tim leans his head against the window and tunes them out. It’ll be okay, he thinks. Jason has not told Dick, and he’s not going to tell Bruce, probably. It can be like their secret. It’s only fair, after all, if Jason has a secret about Tim, after Tim had one about him for so long.
It’ll be a secret, and Bruce will never, ever find out and, therefore, Tim will never, ever have to face the consequences of his actions. He supposes that under the circumstances, it’s the best he could hope for.
*
February gives way to March gives way to April, and throughout all those weeks, Tim waits for Jason to tell on him, and Jason never does. They don’t talk about Jason’s nightly activities, exactly, but every once in a while, Jason will say something like, “Got in pretty late last night” or “my ribs still hurt from that hit I took”. Tim is never sure what he’s supposed to reply to these sorts of statements, and at first he just keeps quiet, but eventually, he’s unable to keep his mouth shut any longer, and he says, “Your ribs wouldn’t hurt so much if you watched your left side more. You never do.”
“Were you watching us again?” Jason exclaims. “I told you not to.”
They’re in Jason’s bedroom, and until just now, they were playing scrabble, which Jason insisted on and which he’s been winning at ever since they started, but now, Jason shoves the board away to lightly punch Tim’s shoulder. “I didn’t see you,” he says. “You’re pretty good at hiding. Worryingly good, actually.”
Tim knows he’s blushing, but he can’t help it. He tries to hide his face by looking out the window, where it turns out that two storeys down below, Bruce and Dick are in the “garden” (more like a park), doing their best to…fell a tree? Or something?
Jason, following his gaze, says, “They’re building a treehouse. Bruce read somewhere that it’s good for kids to have one. He’s subscribed to, like, three different parent magazines. Last week, he got me a nightlight. We go fight crime five times a week, and he thinks I need a nightlight shaped like a racoon.”
Tim remembers, abruptly, that he used to be scared of the dark. He’d liked to keep his door open at night and, when his parents objected, he kept the lamp on his bedside table switched on. He’d done it this way for a few weeks, until his parents realised what he was doing and-
“You don’t need a nightlight, do you, Tim?” his dad had asked. “You’re a big boy.”
“But Mom said that Batman only comes when it’s dark,” Tim protested. “I don’t want him to come.”
His mom had pursed her lips. “Don’t talk back to your parents. If you do, Batman is not going to care what time it is. He makes exceptions for little boys who’re especially naughty.”
That had been that. Tim hadn’t turned on the light again, and after some time, he’d been able to fall asleep anyway.
“Anyway,” Jason says, effectively bringing Tim’s conscious back to the here and now of Jason’s surprisingly tidy bedroom, “I know you have karate lessons, but that’s not going to be enough for one scrawny ten-year-old who’s getting attacked by a grown man. You should have a few more tricks up your sleeve.”
“Like what?” Tim asks, his interest piqued. “Can you show me?”
It's a bold question, so bold that a few months ago, he wouldn’t have dared ask. But that was Before – before Jason befriended him, before the daily rides to school and the family dinners everyone keeps inviting Tim to for some reason, before Tim revealed that he knows what Jason and Bruce do after dark. Now, he feels certain that Jason is going to say-
“Absolutely!” Jason grins at him. “But we can’t do it here, not if you don’t want B to find out. We’ll have to meet at your place.”
“Sure,” Tim says, even though he’s already freaking out at the thought of it. He’ll have to clean his room, and he’ll have to distract Jason enough so that he won’t notice that clearly, there has been no one but Tim here since February, and also, what if Jason is going to think he’s useless at fighting?
But he also really, really wants to get taught by Robin. So he ignores all those anxieties, and later, it turns out he needn’t have worried anyway, because Jason doesn’t want to go inside the house, anyway. They go to the Drakes’ garden (an actual garden, albeit a big one), and Jason shows Tim everything: how to punch someone in the throat, how to headbutt them, how to knee them in the groin and, finally, how to run away.
“I don’t want you to have to do any of this,” Jason tells him once they’re done and the sun is already setting, wiping the sweat from his brow, “but if you’re really going to follow us, you should be prepared. By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask – how did you meet Dickhead, anyway? I asked him, but he said something about his parents’ circus, and that can’t be right.”
“We did meet there,” Tim says, summarising the incident as quicky as possible. “But then a couple of years later, I, um. I was trying to get Batman’s attention, but then Robin came instead. It’s dumb. I know I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.”
“What hopes?”
Tim blushes again, he can’t help it. What he did is already embarrassing enough, but talking about it, actually admitting to how pathetic he is, makes it so much worse. “All the stories said that Batman comes for kids who’re bad, so I thought if I’m really, really bad, then Batman will come and take me away. I told you, it’s really dumb.”
Jason tilts his head. “Stories?” he repeats questioningly.
“Yeah.” Tim shrugs. “Like, you know when you did something bad as a kid, your parents would tell you, don’t do that or else Batman will come for you in your sleep?”
“What,” Jason says flatly.
“Like,” Tim says, warming up to the subject now, “if you’re getting a B on an exam or chewing too loudly, then your parents are gonna ask if you think Batman would like that sort of thing, and you know that he won’t, and so you stop. Didn’t your mom ever do this with you?”
“She really, really didn’t.” Jason is staring at him like he’s grown a second head. “Are Bristol parents really using Batman as the boogieman? Unbelievable. B is gonna hate it.”
“Don’t tell him,” Tim says quickly, only realising he’s made a mistake when Jason narrows his eyes.
“You’re not still scared of Batman, are you?”
Tim shakes his head immediately. “Nope. I just don’t think you should bother him about this. He’s really busy.”
“Hm,” Jason says. He sounds suspicious.
“Let’s start training again,” Tim suggests. Anything to get Jason off his back.
Luckily, it turns out Jason can’t resist an excuse to show off his skills, and by the time they finally stop, they’re both so exhausted that their earlier conversation is all but forgotten.
*
The school year is nearing its end, the holidays are just around the corner, and it’s warm enough that Tim doesn’t even need his coat anymore when he goes out at night. A heatwave has Gotham firmly in its stronghold, and he’s already been invited to go canoeing with the Waynes this weekend. He’s never been canoeing before, but he’s looking forward to it.
His parents called him two days ago. Something came up, but they’ll be home in July for sure, in time for his birthday. Tim hasn’t seen them in almost four months.
He tries not to think about this as he climbs a rooftop. It’s early still, so he spreads his blanket over a patch of roof that doesn’t have an oil puddle on it (a remnant from the oil rain yesterday, thanks, Gotham), and then he spends some time looking through the pictures he took yesterday, pausing briefly at each of the better shots.
Batman and Robin are back to their usual patrol route. When Tim brought it up, Jason told him that it’s Batman’s paranoia that had encouraged him to change it.
“He’s not very paranoid when it comes to his home security,” Tim had said.
“He’s extremely paranoid,” Jason had corrected “which is why it drove him crazy to know that someone had been in the cave two times without him knowing.”
Tim thanks his lucky stars that he only befriended Jason when he was ten. Three years ago, he would have certainly used his knowledge of where the Batcave is to try and blackmail Batman into stealing him away from his parents, and he’s certain that Batman would not have taken too kindly to that. Besides, knowing both Jason and Dick has made Tim realise that Batman definitely doesn’t need another son. He already has two great ones. What does he want with Tim?
He's been up here maybe half an hour when he hears a weird noise behind him. As he turns around, he sees that it’s Robin who’s landed behind him.
Robin grins at him. “Thought I’d see you here.”
“Lemonade?” Tim asks, holding up a thermos. “I made it myself earlier.”
“No, thanks,” Robin says. “Just came here for a quick smoke.”
Tim watches as Robin lights a cigarette. He can’t help but feel warm inside. They’ve come so far since that night Tim first caught Robin smoking by accident. Jason trusts him with these things now.
“So,” Robin says once he’s exhaled the first breath of smoke, “I can’t stay long, but I wanted to say hello to my favourite stalker. Don’t stay out too long, okay? You’ve got that test tomorrow.”
Tim does have a test, but he’s mostly stuck on the fact that Jason remembers what Tim mentioned in passing. He remembers, and he worries.
“I’ll go home soon,” he promises. “Just another hour, maybe.”
“One hour. I’ll hold you to that,” Robin says and flicks his cigarette to the ground.
Directly into the puddle of oil.
Which goes up in flames.
Tim jumps back, and Robin does, too. Both of them are helpless to do anything but watch as the fire spreads from puddle to puddle, quickly consuming over half the roof.
They need to get out of here. Tim’s camera is around his neck. The rest of his backpack is too far away, so he won’t have a choice but to sacrifice it. “Come on,” he yells at Robin, taking him by the wrist to drag him in the direction of the fire escape. “We have to go!”
Robin allows himself to be dragged along, but when they reach the stairs, he shakes his head, pulling out his grapple gun instead and shooting it at the next building before grabbing Tim. Together, they land on the street before the building that is currently in the process of burning down.
“Shit,” Jason says, “shit, shit, fucking shit-“
“Calm down,” Tim tells him, grabbing him by the shoulders, “you need to calm down, okay? You can’t freak out.”
“A building is burning down because of me,” Robin yells at him. “B is going to bench me for this. Worse, he’s going to take Robin away entirely, and it’s going to be justified, because I singlehandedly burnt a building to the ground.”
“Maybe we can extinguish the fire,” Tim says, but he already knows that there’s no point. By now, someone might have called the fire department, but the flames have already spread too far, courtesy of the stupid oil rain. They’ll be lucky if it’s only one building and not the whole street.
Robin’s breath is going fast and panicked. “He’s going to kill me,” he mutters. “He’s going to kill me and I won’t even protest because I’m the worst moron alive.”
Tim abruptly remembers playing with matchsticks once as a toddler, and he remembers being scolded for it by his mom, who told him -
“If you keep at that, you’re going to light the house on fire, and I think you can imagine what Batman’s going to do.”
At four years old, he had been able to imagine.
At seven, he thought that this would be the perfect opportunity.
At ten, seeing Robin panic at the thought of Batman finding out that he did, in fact, lit a house on fire, Tim realises what he has to do.
“Leave,” he blurts out. “Batman is going to be here soon. You can just say you were patrolling somewhere else, he won’t find out.”
“What,” Robin says, voice edging on hysterical, “there are cameras, of course he’ll find out-“
“He’ll only check the footage if there’s no perpetrator. But there will be, because I’m going to tell him that it’s me who did it.”
Robin is staring at him now, eyes wide. “But you didn’t do it.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that. This way, you won’t get benched. It’s fine, okay? Go.”
Three agonising seconds pass. Then, finally, Robin hugs him, says, “Thank you,” and is gone.
Tim stands frozen to the spot while behind him, the fire is raging on. Jason hugged him. Robin hugged him. Technically, he supposes it’s his second Robin hug. He’s going to start a collection.
In the end, it doesn’t matter whether the fire department was alerted or not, because Batman gets there first. One minute, Tim is alone, and the next, he’s not.
Batman steps out of the shadows, his mouth set in a grim line as he looks down at Tim.
And Tim-
Tim is suddenly seven years old again, he’s set a fire to a trash can, and all he wants is for Batman to take him away from his parents and adopt him. But now that Batman has actually come, now that he got what he asked for, he’s realising that there is no way Batman is ever going to adopt him. Instead, he’s going to realise how bad Tim is, and he’s going to punish him, and when he’s done, he’s going to send him back home, and that might be worse than any physical pain he could possibly inflict.
His pulse speeds up, but Tim forcibly reminds himself that this isn’t about him. It’s about helping Robin, helping Jason.
“What happened?” Batman demands.
Tim takes a deep breath and says, “It was me. I set the building on fire. It’s my fault.”
Batman looks from him, to the burning building, and back to him. He takes a step forward. Instinctively, Tim takes a step back, heart thundering. He forces himself to stay still the next time Batman moves, but he still can’t stop himself from flinching when Batman raises a hand.
Batman stops, hand hovering a few inches above Tim’s shoulder. When he speaks next, he sounds like he’s actively trying to sound less growly. “This is no place for a child. We’ll go somewhere where we can talk.”
It takes an enormous amount of effort to nod, but Tim manages. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s talk.”
Batman hesitates. “Yes,” he agrees finally. “We’ll talk.”
Tim nods again, trying to be encouraging now. Maybe it’s been a while since Batman punished a kid instead of adopting it. “You don’t have to worry,” he tells him. “I won’t resist. I’m not promising that I won’t scream when you hurt me, because making promises like that just sets people up for disappointment, but I’ll do my best. So we can go have that talk now.” He winks, even though he’s secretly filled with dread.
Batman stares at him. “I’m taking you to the Batmobile, and we’ll talk there.”
“Sure,” Tim agrees, as Batman wraps an arm around his shoulders and starts guiding him away, “that’s totally cool. I love conversations. Conversations are the best.” He’s babbling, but he thinks he’s allowed, because if he doesn’t, then his throat is going to close up in terror.
Batman steers him towards the Batmobile, opens the door for him and, once they’re both inside, locks the doors. Tim feels the blood drain from his face. This is happening. This is-
“Yo! Open up!” It's Robin, knocking on the window on Batman’s side. “B, seriously, let me in!”
Batman slides down the window. “Take care of that fire,” he orders, “and then finish patrol. I’ll join you as soon as possible.”
“B, you don’t get it,” Robin says, “I’m the one who-“
“I’ll speak with you later,” Batman says, and rolls up the window again. Immediately, Robin starts knocking on it again. Batman sighs, then presses a button, so that the glass switches from see-through to black.
“That’s so cool,” Tim breathes, before he remembers that Batman is probably doing this so that there aren’t any witnesses. He gulps. “In case you’re going to eat me,” he says, “can I close my eyes?”
Batman blinks. “I’m not going to eat you. Why would you think I’d eat you?”
“Because I committed arson,” Tim explains helpfully, “and if you think about it, I’m actually a repeat offender, so I think probably you would have let me get off mildly the first time but this time there’s no way you can just let me go. Can I just ask one question though?”
Batman looks dazed. He doesn’t reply, which Tim takes for permission.
“It’s just that I’ve been wondering,” he says, “what made you adopt Dick and Jason – sorry, Nightwing and Robin?”
“What,” Batman says.
“Well,” Tim says, “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and I know they’re both orphans and poor, but there’s lots of poor orphans in Gotham, so it must have been something else. Is it because they kind of look like you? Or was there some sort of test? Could someone who’s got wealthy parents also take that test? Like, theoretically speaking. Like, if you were taking applications, which I know you aren’t! But if you were.”
Batman looks like someone’s hit him over the head with a blunt object. It’s not a very impressive look. “Be honest with me,” he growls, and Tim immediately sits up straighter at his tone. “Do you know our true identities?”
“Yeah, but it’s okay. Like I said to Jason, I’m not going to tell on you guys. But I guess it doesn’t matter anyway after today, because it’s not like I’ll be able to talk to anyone from a cell. Wait, do you let your prisoners make phone calls? I think you should. It’s what they do in prison. Do you even get reception in the Batcave?”
“Stop,” Batman says. “Stop talking. I need to- I should- I need to think about this. You have to be quiet now so I can think about it.”
“Sure,” Tim says. “Can I press the button that tinted the windows? Or does it only work for your fingerprint? If not, I think you should change it. All your technology should be wired so that only you can use it. I’ve been meaning to write you a letter about that.”
“Tim,” Batman says, massaging his temples, “please. Please be quiet now.”
This time, Tim presses his lips together and vows to say nothing more. He’s already in enough trouble as it is, he doesn’t need to antagonise Batman. It’s just that this is the first time he’s in the Batmobile, and Batman is the only one who can answer his questions, and he has so many of them. Maybe once Batman has locked him up, Tim can ask him whenever he comes to give him food. He will give Tim food, right? He wouldn’t just let him starve?
Tim opens his mouth to ask, but Batman looks deep in thought, so he shuts it again. He’ll ask him later. Actually, he thinks suddenly, he should probably text his parents, tell them he might not be home for a while. Then again, it’s not like they’ll be home any time soon, either. Maybe they won’t even notice.
That thought puts a damper on his excitement over being in the Batmobile, and he spends the next few minutes moodily staring at the darkened window, wondering what’s going to happen to him. He’s no longer panicked, or at least, he’s not really panicked. Maybe just a little. But mostly, he’s made his peace with the situation. He supposes this was always coming.
Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, Batman turns to him. “I’m going to ask you a few questions,” he says, “and I want you to-“
One of the back windows shatters.
Before anyone can react, Nightwing wipes away the remaining glass shards and sticks his head inside. “Hey, guys,” he says cheerily. “What’re you up to?”
“Nightwing,” Batman says, sounding aggrieved, “could you-“
“Tim, are you okay?” Robin asks, shoving Nightwing aside so he can get a better look at them. “B, he looks scared to death! What’d you do to him?”
“Seriously, it’s fine, guys,” Tim says. “Batman is just thinking about my punishment. My mom was never really clear on that, but I guess it has to be different depending on the crime, right? Like, for forgetting to turn off the light, you get beaten up, but then for talking back to your parents you get shoved in a cell and you’re never seeing the sun again, and then, I don’t really know what’s going to happen for arson. Do you guys know?”
“Okay,” Nightwing says loudly, “let’s get you out of here. Batman, unlock the door, please.”
Batman does not seem inclined to do so. “Where are you taking him?”
“Home. Bludhaven. Robin told me everything, and clearly you’re not equipped to handle this sort of thing, so I’ve decided to take Timmy with me. Tim, do you like protein shakes? It’s all I’ve got in the fridge right now, but if you don’t like that, we can buy some cereal, too. A growing boy needs a healthy snack like that.”
“Cereal isn’t healthy, moron,” Jason says, “and if you’re taking Tim to Bludhaven, I want to come too. B, open the door so we can go to Dickwing’s apartment!”
“Nobody is taking anyone to Bludhaven,” Batman roars, “because we’re all going to the manor, right now. Robin, Nightwing, you’re taking Nightwing’s bike. Tim and I will be taking the Batmobile. Someone inform Agent A we’re on our way. If I don’t see you in the Cave in fifteen minutes, I’m going to look for you, and you won’t like it when I do.”
On the way to the manor, Batman runs over three red lights, but Tim doesn’t point it out. His breath is going fast again. He’s never heard Batman shout like that before, but it fits in with all the stories. And now Batman is angry at Nightwing and Robin, too, so Tim’s sacrifice was for nothing. This is really the worst day.
They arrive in the Batcave at the same time as Nightwing and Robin, who, too, must have broken the speed limits to get here this quickly. They both take off their domino masks as soon as they’re there, and Batman, too, takes off his cowl. It doesn’t make him any less intimidating, and Tim suddenly feels very small, standing next to him.
“Now,” Bruce says, “I believe we need to talk. All of us. Jason, you go first. Everything, please.”
Jason has moved so that he’s now close enough to stand slightly in front of Tim, and Tim realises belatedly that he’s shielding him. While he listens to Jason explain everything – how they met, how Jason realised Tim knew their identities, and anything that came after –, he keeps sneaking glances at Bruce, trying to gouge whether he looks upset. Bruce, though, is wearing a pokerface that Tim cannot read at all.
Jason, obviously used to giving clear, succinct reports, leaves nothing out. He only stumbles a bit when he explains what happened tonight. Tim tries to stop him by tugging on his sleeve, but Jason ignores him as he tells Bruce all about how, exactly, that building came to burn down. “So it’s on me,” Jason finishes, “and Tim tried to take the fall for me.”
“And you let him,” Bruce says, tone unreadable.
Jason crosses his arms. “Yes, but I changed my mind immediately once I remembered what Tim had said about his parents. So I called Dickie instead, and he came immediately, and you locked the doors so getting a crowbar and shattering the windows was our only option, really, and you can’t shout at me for that.”
“Can confirm,” Dick says, raising his hand like he’s in school.
Bruce ignores him. It’s obvious he’s still in investigation mode, which Tim would find really cool if this was any other day, any other situation. “You’ve mentioned Tim’s parents. What about them? What did he say?”
“Um,” Tim says, tugging at Jason’s sleeve again, “I don’t think we need to-“
“Every time he did something wrong, they told him Batman would come and eat him,” Jason says, immediately and accusingly. “He’s spent his entire childhood being scared of you, B. Is that messed up or what?”
“This is why I’ve suggested a costume change,” Dick says, raising his hand again. “I told you many times that you’ll scare the kids like this.”
“Tim, is this true?” Bruce asks. He looks stricken. “You’re scared of me?”
Tim glances from Bruce, to Dick, to Jason, and back to Bruce again. He’s caught between not wanting to lie, and knowing that Batman won’t like hearing the truth. Then again, his parents told him many times that lying alerts Batman to your whereabouts instantly, so.
“I’m not not scared,” he says eventually. “I mean, I know all the good you do for this city! I’m a big fan. It’s just that you’re, you know, really big, and every time you talk to me I remember all the things my parents said you’d do, and then I remember all the times I’ve been bad, and then it just sort of spirals from there. And I know rationally that you probably don’t eat children, but I don’t know all the other stuff! Setting a trashcan on fire is minor, but knowing your identities, that’s like, huge, and I can’t tell how you’re going to react, so that makes me nervous.”
Stunned silence answers him. At long last, though, it’s Dick who speaks up.
“I remember us meeting now,” he says quietly. “I’d forgotten, but Jason mentioned it, and then you mentioned that trashcan, and it came back to me. This was something like three years ago, right? You were so tiny, I thought you were much younger than you actually were. One day on patrol,” he says, speaking directly to Batman now, “there was this kid who’d started a fire, and he wanted to speak to you. He insisted on it.”
“And you lied to me,” Tim accuses, the old hurt from that night still not fully gone, not even after all these years. “You told me you were taking me home instead.”
Dick smiles ruefully. “At the time, I thought I was doing you a favour. I’m sorry, Tim. But- what I still don’t understand is this: if you were truly that scared of Batman, why did you want to meet him so badly?”
They’re all looking at him, and it’s hard not to shrink away under all that attention. And yet, Tim’s voice is clear when he admits, “My parents told me that if I was bad, Batman would take me away. I thought that it’d be worth the risk. I mean, maybe he’d hurt me, but it could only be better than living in an empty house, right? So I decided to take my chances.”
Dick moves forward, so suddenly and quickly that in the first panicked second, Tim thinks he’s going to hit him. Instead, he’s enveloped in a tight hug instead.
“I’m sorry,” Dick says again, whispers it into his hair. “I’m so sorry that I didn’t let you speak to Batman that night. Your parents were right in one instance. He would’ve taken you away immediately. He’d have adopted you that very night.”
“Really?” Tim asks, his words muffled by being spoken into Dick’s broad chest. “Even though I’m not an orphan or poor?”
“Even then,” Dick promises. “Right, Bruce?”
“Right,” Bruce says, his tone gruff. “I’m aware we haven’t spent much time together, but I do know that if I had met you back then, I would have been glad to have another son.”
Tim nods. This makes sense, he thinks. This was before Bruce had Jason, so maybe he always wanted two sons all along, and then when he adopted Jason, he’d reached his quota.
“And,” Bruce continues, clearing his throat, “I hope I’m not out of line when I say that I would still be happy to get another son.”
Tim almost pushes Dick away in an effort to turn around to stare at Bruce. “Really?” he asks breathlessly. “Do you mean that? What about the test?”
“Test?” Jason echoes.
Bruce shakes his head. “There is no test. You don’t have to decide now, anyway. But when you do, it’s just a yes-or-no question, nothing more. So whenever you’re ready-“
“Yes,” Tim interrupts. “Yes, I would like to be adopted, please, Mr Batman, sir. I know you can’t really adopt me, because I still have parents, but maybe you could be, like, my secret dad, and I could come over once a week and we could play secret catch and have secret meals, and my real parents would never know.”
He sees Bruce and Dick share a look, but he’s too happy to figure out what that means. He thinks this is genuinely the happiest he’s ever been in his life, and he never wants this moment to end. When he set fire to that trashcan all those years ago, he hadn’t dared imagine a best-case scenario for himself, but he thinks that if he had, this would have been it. Exactly this, nothing more, nothing less. It’s an exhilarating feeling.
*
Three years later
Of all the ways to break his arm, this has got to be one of the more stupid ones. He didn’t break it because of the giant-spider invasion (not to be confused with the giant spider-invasion, which happened last month) that happened this morning and caused Gotham Academy to shut down for the day, again. No, he broke it when on his way out the school gates. Tim had been busy texting, and with his eyes glued to the phone, he hadn’t watched where he’d been going. A painful tumble down the stairs later, he’s learned his lesson, but his arm still hurts like hell.
The ride in the ambulance is supremely boring, especially because his phone cracked during that fall, so now he can’t even distract himself from the pain. And of course this all happened when tomorrow, his class is going on a rowing trip, too. Maybe he’ll be able to stay home, at least. He thinks if he has to go sit in another class, he’d literally rather drink a glass straight from Gotham River (a bunch of scientists tested it recently, and found that the water bears alarming similarities to oil, but only if oil were also poisonous).
Tim’s lying in the hospital bed, waiting for his X-Rays to come back, when a nurse comes in, giving him a sympathetic look. “We have to call someone,” she says, “but-“
In that moment, Tim can feel his stomach sinking. He’s been at this before.
We’ve tried calling, but nobody picked up. We’ve tried calling, but could only reach your parents’ secretary.
“-but it seems there’s a problem with your file,” the nurse finishes, cutting through his thoughts. “It’s been updated a few years ago, but there seems to be a mistake.”
“What? Why?” Tim asks, already panicking again.
The nurse says, “I think someone has maybe been playing a misplaced joke here. It says that your emergency contact is one Mr Bruce Wayne.”
“Oh,” Tim says as relief rushes through him, “yeah, no, that’s correct.”
“Bruce Wayne?” the nurse asks sceptically. “The Bruce Wayne is your emergency contact?”
“Actually,” comes a deep, amused voice from the door, “I’m a little more than that. If you turn to the second page, you’ll find that I’m his guardian.” Bruce steps inside the room and instantly turns to Tim, now sounding worried as he asks, “Are you okay, buddy? What happened?”
Despite the pain, Tim smiles up at Bruce. “Nothing much,” he says. “Just fell down some stairs.”
Bruce holds up his phone. “Jason says you didn’t text him back, so I knew something was up. You gave us all quite the scare.”
“Sorry,” Tim mumbles. “Thanks for coming.”
Bruce returns his smile. “No need to thank me, Tim. I’ve told you. I always come for my children.”