Chapter Text
Tim doesn’t like Batman.
He doesn’t.
He’s tried too: made lists of all the positive changes since he debuted, calculated the crime rates since his sidekick Robin appeared, and cataloged all the different ways Gotham has grown in the past few years.
See, Tim logically understands what Batman represents.
He understands why Batman exists.
He does.
But Tim really, honestly, truly, and quite absolutely thinks that the man should go to therapy.
And take a psychology class. Maybe get an arts degree.
See, nothing changes the way you see the world more than an arts degree, but here’s the thing: Batman doesn’t even need to go to college! He just needs to go and meet the people he claims to—sorry, Tim’s getting off-topic.
He's tried. He’s really tried.
And that was before child soldiers came into the mix.
“Eyes on the boss.” The vigilante, cloaked in Kevlar, hunches over the rooftop, peering over the edge. “Copy?”
Mere inches above his mask, a pixelated number hovers: 4%.
Down the street, a sleek black limousine pulls into the warehouse. The garage door slips shut with nary a sound.
Batman stiffens. “Robin, do you copy?” He must get a negative response because the man sighs, frustrated. “Not yet.”
Tim, tucked in between an air conditioning unit and a brick wall, remains silent as the operation plays out before him. He steadies his camera with gloved hands, the blinking red button covered with duct tape.
“Fuck,” Batman growls. “Robin, I said do not engage.” He stands. “Robin!” Then he hops off the roof into the unknown, the percentage marker winking out of sight.
Tim stays until the very end, recording the mini-explosion, the badly-timed insults, and the anti-climactic arrest. He catches the tail end of Batman’s scolding “People could’ve died! What were you thinking?” and Robin’s “You know the police are corrupt! That shit would’ve found its way to some other gang if I hadn’t set it on fire!” before the two vigilantes swing away into the night.
[Mini-Quest Successful!]
Record Operation Maroni without being spotted.
You’ve earned 100 Points!
The digital counter appears momentarily in the upper-right-hand corner of Tim’s vision, rising to a grand total of 1800 Points. He sighs, relieved.
He starts packing up, police sirens wailing through the air.
Now, there are a couple of things that could happen, after tonight: the mafia goes down quietly and silence rules the streets for a few months. At least, until another group expands its territory. Or the boss gets off for tax evasion and returns seamlessly in the next year, a little more wary, a little more scarred.
It’s all happened before.
Tim even has it on camera.
What will definitely happen: by tomorrow morning, Brucie Wayne will make the headlines for something stupid, again. Maybe he’ll break an arm in a dirt-biking accident or buy his ward a house-sized teddy bear. It could go either way really.
See, Tim understands the need to stay undercover.
It’s partly why no one has ever guessed that Bruce Wayne does midnight parkour. But Tim’s going to be at the charity gala tomorrow, and he knows, without a doubt, that Brucie’s behavior will turn donors away, noses scrunched in disdain. Or approval.
It could go both ways really.
Tim just wonders if it’s really worth it.
The most powerful people in Gotham. All in one room.
Wallets, packed to the max, and Bruce’s best move is to stay out of it?
Tim understands to an extent.
He tries.
Janet Drake’s hand on his shoulder is like a boulder. Steadfast. Stiff.
“A couple more greetings and you can go see your friends,” she whispers, a cherry-red smile.
Tim glances up at his mother. She’s dressed immaculately tonight, as always, draped in a green velvet gown with a chiffon sleeve over one shoulder. Paired with her perfectly coiffed golden locks and stately pearl drop earrings, she could easily be on the cover of any magazine.
But all Tim cares about is the golden 47%, hovering over her head.
[Choices]
- “Don’t work too hard, mama.”
- “But I wanna see my friends now! This is so unfair!”
- “Let’s not forget the Rothschilds. Their daughter has taken a liking to me.” (Cost: 25 Points)
“Don’t work too hard, mama,” he says, placing his hand over hers.
Her eyes soften. “Of course, darling.”
Tim recently discovered that his mother prefers genuine expressions of affection over calculated maneuvers: the number jumps to 48%.
At least, this was after he got past the 40% mark.
Jack Drake escapes from an intense debate about golf, snatching two glasses of champagne from a silver tray. As he hands one over to his wife, he ruffles Tim’s hair.
[Choices]
- “Dad!"
- “Remove your hands from my person!"
- Lean in. (Cost: 25 Points)
“Dad!” Tim whines, patting it down hurriedly.
“Gotta keep you on your toes!” Jack jokes, ignoring his wife’s scoff.
It seems like Tim’s father enjoys play-acting the perfect family just as heartily: the glowing 48% rises to a whopping 49%.
“How’d it go, dear?” Janet asks, glancing back at his former conversation partners.
Jack’s the perfect picture of an enterprising businessman: tailored suit, shining leather shoes, and a charming ol’ smile. He can chat about anything from the stock market to the latest horse race, swindling you of everything but your family name: a real convert of the nouveau riche. Although he’s the breadwinner on paper, the real mastermind behind their success is his wife, Janet.
Jack flashes her a winning smile, like a dog that’s brought its master a toy.
Tim wonders if he cast the stone in his childhood, asking unusual questions about the business, sparking inspiration, and questioning the norm. Or perhaps Jack’s enthusiasm is due to Janet successfully whipping him into shape over the years.
Tim doesn’t ask about the private room in the basement.
But the thing is: Tim specifically remembers the early years, before he could make any ripples. Jack liked to party, drink, and schmooze around. If Jack had gone any further, Tim worries he would’ve made an irreversible mistake.
Divorce would’ve been the least of their worries.
“Let's fix up your tie, little man.” Jack kneels to adjust his son’s crooked bowtie. “We might have to speed up our timeline,” he murmurs so only Janet and Tim can hear. “It looks like we’ll be getting FDA approval in about,” he shoots her a wolfish grin, “say six months?”
Janet covers her surprise with a sip of champagne. “Only you, my dear.” There’s a hint of a smile. “Only you.”
Jack grins impishly. “It’s why you married me, right?” He pats Tim on the shoulder as he stands. “Not for the dashing good looks?”
Janet hmphs. “Perhaps.” She pulls at Jack’s tie, eyes smoldering, and Tim knows where this is going.
His parents love each other very much—yes, yes, it’s very nice. He just wishes he didn’t have to be in the room for it.
[Choices]
- Stay silent.
- “Look! It’s Mr. Wayne!”
- Sneak away. (Cost: 25 Points)
“Look! It’s Mr. Wayne!” he pipes up, grateful for the distraction.
The billionaire of the evening steps into the great hall, a stunning model hanging off each arm. His lazy grin is fresh off the press, having breezed through the paparazzi out front. His perfect white teeth sparkle under the chandeliers.
Tim wonders how the man can fake drunkenness so well.
He’s only two hours late after all.
Bruce Wayne looks back patiently as a disgruntled teenager, shoulders hunched, appears at his heels. Jason Todd-Wayne, adopted heir of Wayne Industries, is dressed to the nines, his usually messy ginger hair gelled back in style.
Above his head, a red 5% hovers ominously.
“Is that Jason Todd?” Jack’s eyebrows climb to the ceiling. “The poor boy never comes to these events.”
Janet hums knowingly. “Not since the incident.”
It was a well-known secret of the upper elite: Jason, newly orphaned and adopted, was rushed to debut at a charity gala about a month in. The paparazzi went in too fast, too close, too much, resulting in one of the most shameful incidents of the decade. Bruce got involved, fired the rabid reporters, and bought out their companies to establish more "ethical practices".
Since then, Jason has enjoyed an informal pass to these exclusive seasonal events. The press is more likely to headline Richard Grayson, Wayne’s older ward and heir, although the cop is often called away on urgent business. Or, as Tim is privy to, secret vigilante business.
It’s a certain kind of freedom, Tim thinks. Because the brothers don’t know what everyone’s been saying behind their backs for years.
Brucie parades his son around the room, relishing in the competitive bragging that all high society, and perhaps every parent, participates in. If Tim weren’t completely certain this was a calculated punishment for Jason’s arson last night, he’d be more inclined to help the poor boy out.
[Choices]
- “I want to leave. Now!”
- “Can I go see my friends now?”
- “Mother, can I introduce Jason to my friends?” (Cost: 25 Points)
“Mother.” Tim tugs on Janet's sleeve. “Can I introduce Jason to my friends?”
Before, when Tim was struggling to understand the Point system, he was given the option to attend an elitist boarding school or the famed Gotham Academy, where Jason had recently been enrolled. Tim had wasted his Points on another Choice, so he’s had few chances to interact with Jason since—one of his deepest regrets.
Janet narrows her eyes. “You know, darling, that sounds like a perfect idea.” She wraps her arm around Jack’s and strides toward the chaotic host of the night. “And to think, we haven’t even greeted our host!”
What transpires is a carbon copy of every interaction Brucie—not Bruce, never Bruce—has ever had with partygoers above a certain tax bracket: a rich couple greets him formally, and he smiles stupidly and begins to regale them with useless facts. While the adults are sizing each other up (although Brucie looks harmless, Janet has her suspicions), Tim slips away from his mother’s side and toddles up to the surly red-haired teen.
[Choices]
- Act haughty.
- Ignore Jason.
- Act friendly. (Cost: 25 Points)
Most of the options offered during conversation are actual dialogue tags. Whenever Tim receives a rare directive, he jumps at the chance to improvise.
It was worse, he thinks, at the beginning.
“Hi!” Tim greets, a pep in his step. “What’s your name?”
Jason blinks down. “Uh, Jason.”
“I’m Tim!”
The corners of his lips quirk upwards. “Nice to meet you, Tim.”
Tim flashes an innocent smile, known to conquer scolding parents and tabloid reporters alike. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” Tim points to another room. “I can introduce you to my friends if you want.”
Jason blinks, caught off guard. “Uh…” He glances back at Brucie, a question in his eyes.
Brucie cuts off from his riveting tale: a journey of self-discovery, involving yoga, interpretive dance, and unethical wildlife tourism. “Sure, buddy!” There’s a mischievous glint in the man’s eye. “Maybe you’ll meet some friends your age!”
There are indeed high school sophomores in the crowd, but Tim’s in on the joke: they’re more likely to pontificate on the benefits of conservative tax laws than bond with Jason over crimefighting, Jane Austen, and motorcycles.
Well, Tim once met a kid who wanted a motorcycle for his middle school graduation.
Perhaps there’s still hope.
“Thanks, Mr. Wayne!” Tim yells, dragging the teenager to the Ruskian Gothic side room, unofficially known as the kids' room. “We’ve got fancy drinks and tons of fun snacks! Last time they even had a bouncy house!”
The kids’ room is a smaller version of the adult room, complete with seafood hors d'oeuvres, bottled sparkling wine, and family-friendly board games. The room is rather full this evening. At one end of the room, the underpaid nannies gossip and snicker over champagne.
Tim was given the option to hang out with them before, so he waves at them from afar. At his side, Jason surveys the scene carefully, unsure if he escaped from the clutches of his embarrassing billionaire father or ran straight into the flames of the snooty young elite.
It could go both ways really.
[Choices]
- Introduce Jason to Jeremy and his friends.
- Introduce Jason to the nannies.
- Introduce Jason to Izzy and her friends. (Cost: 25 Points)
“Izzy!” Tim screeches, hurtling toward a blond-haired girl around Jason’s age.
She looks down from the table as Tim glomps onto her. “Hey, Timmy!” She wraps an arm around his shoulders. “How’ve you been?”
“Hey, kiddo!” Henry waves his blue-polished nails in between shuffling a deck of cards.
Gabriel gives Tim a quiet nod from behind his spread.
Now, there were two friend groups Tim could’ve approached.
Jeremy, his classmate from boarding school, is the unfortunate bastion of unfair academic expectations, upper-class ignorance, and low-grade toxic masculinity. Tim went to his bar mitzvah a couple of months back, and he distinctly remembers Jeremy arguing by the soda counter that trans people weren’t real. Because apparently, Jeremy argued, then he should be able to identify as a cow.
The more obvious option was Izzy and her friends, upper-middle-class students at Gotham Academy, situated in the heart of the city. Tim made their acquaintance over the course of the many galas they’ve been forced to attend over the years. Although Tim made a conscious effort to befriend everyone, he could say that he honestly enjoys spending time with this group.
In short, Jeremy gets driven to school by a chauffeur. Izzy and her friends take the subway. And sometimes, a taxi.
Either way, Tim drags Jason forward, like a cat presenting a mouse. “Guys, guys! This is Jason Todd-Wayne! He’s new and he doesn’t have any friends!”
Jason tenses but recovers quickly. “Hi, uh…” He scratches the back of his head. “I don’t come these things usually.”
Izzy chuckles. “Timmy, what did we say about thinking before we speak?”
Tim hangs his head, embarrassed. “Oops, I didn’t mean it like that.” He lets go of Jason’s hand. “Sorry, Jason.”
Tim can’t very well explain that he seldom gets the chance to speak on his own. When the opportunity arises, he tends to run his mouth.
Blame the System.
Jason pats his head, bemused. “It’s ok, kid.”
Above the curve of his gelled hair, the red 5% shoots to 8%.
Izzy pulls out a neighboring chair. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jason. I’m Izzy.” She nods at the excitable boy. “That’s Henry.”
Said boy holds up a new deck of cards. “Wanna play a game?”
Jason slides into the seat, a little more at ease. "Why not?”
“And that’s Gabe.”
Gabriel softly reshuffles his cards, sending Jason a shy smile.
Tim is just about to clamber onto the last seat when a young girl tugs on the bottom of his suit jacket.
Although they’re technically the same age, Tim has unintentionally appointed himself as her big brother over the years. And for the entire rabble of children giggling behind her.
“Tim,” she whispers. “You promised you’d play.”
[Choices]
- Play with Tessa and her friends.
- Yell at Tessa and her friends.
- Play with Jason and his friends. (Cost: 25 Points)
Now, here’s one way this could play out: Tim stays to play with Jason, racks up a huge percentage, and loses his standing with all the children his age. There’s a marginal chance that Tim befriends Jason as well, after which they’d start looking into each other’s background, uncover a few unsettling facts about their home life, and maybe resolve future issues before they sprout.
But, Tim’s been nurturing these work connections since infancy and Jason, unfortunately, is going to die soon. And then be resurrected.
Hey, don’t hate on Tim. He didn’t write the script.
Thus, Tim grabs Tessa's hand and declares, “I will return within an indefinite amount of time.” He coughs, taking a risk. “Jason, you can’t leave without saying goodbye!”
Stretching the limits of a Choice is difficult but not impossible. In the corner of his vision, ten Points disappear from the counter.
Jason just smirks. “Alright, Timmy.” He eyes their clasped hands with a knowing gaze. “But I don’t know about me. I’m more worried about you forgetting.”
Tim scoffs and follows Tessa, whispering excitedly. He promised to belt out Frozen with her and her friends! What sort of pseudo-older-brother would he be if he broke his promise?
He tried once, and it ended in guilty tears.
Tim is currently sending off the kids with to-go hugs (which are costly Choices, so this is a hefty investment) when he spots Brucie, extricating Jason from his newfound table of friends.
Before Jason takes his leave, his father’s comforting arm laid across his shoulders, he looks back and catches Tim stumbling towards him.
“Jason!” Tim squeaks, pushing a napkin full of stale cookies into his hands. “In case you get hungry on the way home.”
Jason accepts them with a confused smile. “Thanks, Tim.”
Tim twists his foot into the ground, shy. “Did you make some new friends?”
The other available Choices entailed a lengthy tantrum or an elaborate cursing-out session. Doing a bit of groveling is the least of Tim’s worries.
“Mhm.” Jason kneels. “Thanks for introducing me to everyone.” His voice softens. “They’re a lot nicer than I expected.”
[Choices]
- Insult Jason.
- Blush at Jason.
- Be nice to Jason. (Cost: 25 Points)
Tim looks up, eyes wide. “Will you come again?”
And complete his insidious plan to ingratiate the Waynes into upper society and find a way to warn the vigilantes before the shitty Plot fucks everyone over?
Here’s the thing: Tim could try to hack into Wayne’s computers and leave anonymous notes, at great cost to his Points, but Tim’s already tried acting out of line.
Sometimes people just don’t listen.
Also, Tim is 89% certain that Jason doesn’t have any friends outside of the cape. At least Richard Grayson had Young Justice (and the Teen Titans? Tim doesn’t know if they exist in this universe). And Tim double-checked with his Gotham Academy informants that Jason was a bit of a lone wolf, so he’s not wasting the teen’s time.
“Of course.” Jason raises his pinky finger, lips quirked into a smile. “Pinky promise.” His eyes, a midnight blue, glimmer under the chandeliers.
For a moment, Tim sees Jason’s future, unraveling before him: the hard decisions he makes as a vigilante, the riff that tears him and Bruce asunder, the search for his biological mother, the bloody betrayal, the crazed resurrection…
Tim links his pinky around the other’s. “Pinky promise.”
10%.
It’d be absolutely embarrassing if fanfiction failed him here, but it sure got some things right. Tim would be remiss to do nothing about it: he can still save Jason.
Bruce looms over their shoulders, protective papa bear activating, but before he can get a word in, Tim leaps up.
[Choices]
- Leave with Tim’s parents.
- Panic and act cute.
- Hint at Tim’s child neglect. (Cost: 25 Points)
“I’ll see you next time!” Tim backs up slowly. “Don’t forget. You pinky promised!” Then he rushes back to Janet and Jack, hoping that Batman chalks up his strange behavior to general cuteness, awkwardness, and maybe a tad bit of hero worship.
Besides, Tim is friends with everyone.
And who knows? Maybe Tim will gain some of Bruce’s meager trust in the future and take charge of the Wayne Foundation. Do something more with the charity than whatever else he’s not.
Ha.
Yeah.
Here’s to hoping.