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Chapter Text

Three major things happened the summer Tim turned eight:

1. His parents bought him his first camera to make up for missing his birthday. 
2. His parents decided that he didn’t need a nanny anymore. 
3. Jason Todd saved him from being mugged in Gotham. 

These events all happened in a chain of reactions, with one event setting off the next. Years later, Tim would wonder how things might’ve turned out differently if even one detail was altered — if his parents had made it home for his birthday, if they’d bought him something else as a gift, if he hadn’t run into Jason that particular night near Crime Alley.

i.

It started in July on Tim’s eighth birthday. Tim woke up that morning with sunlight warming his face, and he leaped out of bed eagerly. His parents were supposed to return home from Spain at 9 a.m., and he didn’t want to miss a second of their visit. His dad had promised to take him golfing to celebrate that afternoon (Tim didn’t like golfing, but that didn’t matter as long as he could spend time with his dad). Then they were going to have dinner at Gotham’s most exclusive restaurant, Cafe du Jardin (Tim wished they could have pizza instead of the tiny portions of refined French cuisine that the restaurant served, but his mom loved Cafe du Jardin, and it was a great place to see and be seen by Gotham’s upper crust). 

His nanny, Alicia, was waiting for him with a smile in the kitchen when he appeared downstairs. “Happy birthday, Tim! Breakfast is ready.”

He approached the table and saw that she’d made his favorite — blueberry pancakes with hash browns on the side. Alicia was the best nanny he’d ever had — she was an au pair from Brazil who’d been with him for almost a year now. 

“Thanks, Alicia,” he said, grinning. This was already turning out to be a great birthday. “Have you heard from my parents at all?”

Alicia shook her head, a slightly worried look appearing on her face. “No, but their flight landed an hour ago. I checked the airline website. So they should be here soon.”

Tim finished his breakfast quickly so that he’d be able to give his parents his undivided attention when they arrived. 

10 a.m. rolled around and they still hadn’t come home, but Tim wasn’t worried. Maybe there had been an issue with their luggage (he’d learned from his parents’ many complaints that this tended to happen when you traveled with priceless antiquities). Maybe the limousine company had gotten the dates mixed up and hadn’t shown. 

At 11, he tried calling his mom’s cell phone. It went straight to voicemail, and the frown line between Alicia’s eyebrows grew deeper. Tim began pacing around the front parlor. 

“Do you want to play a board game while we wait?” Alicia asked kindly. 

Tim shook his head. 

“They’ll be here soon,” he said confidently. “We shouldn’t start a game, because it’ll just get interrupted.”

Some cacophony of fear and sadness and anxiety was rising within his sternum, and he was afraid that it was going to explode out of him if he stopped moving. 

They’re coming; they’re just late. They promised they’d be here. They’re coming. 

Finally the doorbell rang, just before noon. Tim pumped his fist in the air victoriously. 

“See, I told you!” He exclaimed to Alicia, running to the entryway. He remembered to slow his steps at the last second — his mom hated running in the house — and he composed his expression before opening the door. 

Maybe some kind of little alarm bells had been going off in his head and he’d ignored them. It was weird that his parents would ring their own doorbell, after all, and Tim had made sure the door was unlocked for them that morning. 

But he was still unprepared for the way his stomach sank when he opened the door to reveal a small package sitting on the front stoop, not his parents. A delivery driver was climbing back into his FedEx van, and he flashed Tim a quick wave of acknowledgment before pulling away. 

Tim bent and picked up the box, which was addressed to him. It doesn’t mean anything, he told himself. Just a mail delivery. Mom and Dad are still coming. 

He was able to keep this illusion going until he saw the note included with the delivery. 

Tim,

We’re sorry to miss your birthday. Our permits for the cave expedition in France got approved sooner than we expected, so we’re leaving for Dordogne this morning. We will celebrate your birthday in two weeks when we come home for the quarterly DI board meeting. In the meantime, enjoy your gift. 

-Janet and Jack Drake

He felt a mix of emotions as he opened the box to reveal a top-of-the-line Nikon camera. On one hand, this was proof that his parents did care about him. He’d been talking about wanting a camera for a year, ever since he saw Robin do a quadruple flip on the news and realized the true identity of Batman and Robin. His parents had heard his request and remembered it — or they’d at least cared enough to ask Alicia what he wanted for his birthday. 

On the other hand…he’d really hoped they would be here. They’d missed his last birthday, and they’d promised to be here this year. 

With a sigh, he shut the door. 

“Hey,” Alicia said quietly. “Want to go to the botanic garden and test out your new camera?”

Tim nodded, trying to plaster a smile on his face. He appreciated that she was trying her best to cheer him up. 

“Go change into something comfortable — I’ll pull the car around,” Alicia instructed. 

If she noticed that his eyes were red when he came outside a few minutes later, clutching his new camera carefully, she was kind enough not to say anything about it. 

ii. 

Tim awoke to raised voices downstairs in the early morning two weeks later. His parents! He’d meant to stay up until their arrival at 5 a.m., but he must have dozed off. 

He hurried out of bed, hastily brushing his teeth and changing into a polo shirt and shorts. His mother thought it was undignified to wear pajamas around the house, and he was determined not to give her anything to complain about. 

Hoping that they might decide to stay longer than the seven days they’d planned for the board meeting, Tim had done his best to make sure everything was perfect for their arrival. He’d ordered fresh flowers — lilies, his mom’s favorite — and he’d compiled all the business editions of the newspaper that his dad had missed while he was away. He’d even rebooked their reservations for Cafe du Jardin, which was no easy feat during the busy summer season.

“— haven’t been home to see him in months!”

“I will not be spoken to in this way in my own home! Especially not by the hired help!” Tim heard his father thunder as he tiptoed to the top of the stairs. He froze in place, surprised when he heard Alicia retort. 

“Well, someone has to speak to you in this way. I won’t apologize for looking out for Tim’s best interests! It’s what you hired me for, isn’t it?”

Oh no. A sinking feeling began in the pit of Tim’s stomach as he recognized what was about to happen. He’d been through a fair number of nannies thus far in his childhood, and they never seemed to last long before his parents found a reason to get rid of them. 

In his parents’ defense, one of them had been pawning his mom’s jewelry, and another had stolen company secrets from his parents’ home office. A few others, however, had gotten it into their heads that they needed to lecture Jack and Janet on their extended absences from Drake Manor. It never ended well for the Sound of Music types.  

“May I remind you, dear,” his mom said in a glacial tone, “that we are the ones who arranged for your work visa, and we can withdraw our sponsorship at any moment?”

“I don’t want to live in this country if this is what it’s going to be like!” Alicia snapped. “I don’t want to work for people who throw money at their son like he’s some kind of pet to be locked in a crate and then paraded around when it’s convenient. I won’t be complicit in that. You should have seen how heartbroken Tim was on his birthday —”

“I’ve heard quite enough,” his mom said. She spoke the words quietly, but there was an unmistakable edge of steel to them. “We are Tim’s parents, not you, and I think it’s clear that we can no longer have a productive working relationship with one another. Jack will call you a taxi to the airport, won’t he?”

“Yes, of course, dear,” Jack said. He sounded distracted now, probably reading emails on his phone. 

Tim sank to sit on the top step miserably, pillowing his head on his arms. Why couldn’t anything good in his life seem to last? Now he was going to have to get another new nanny and get totally re-accustomed to some random person’s personality and habits. He’d really liked Alicia, too!

Alicia slammed the office door shut with a little more force than necessary, and he heard the angry sound of her footsteps draw closer. 

She let out a sigh when she saw him. “Tim,” she said, her voice softening. “You heard all that?”

Tim nodded, wearily lifting his head. He wanted to yell at her — to be furious with her. He didn’t need anyone to complain on his behalf! He hadn’t complained about their travel schedule, so why should she?

They were his parents, like they always said, and Tim had access to all kinds of resources that many people didn’t, including a big house, a private education, and a successful business that he would inherit one day. Sure, he wished his mom and dad were around more, but it wasn’t their fault that Tim wasn’t as exciting as buried treasure or ancient relics. 

His anger died, however, when Alicia pulled him into her arms. Her embrace was warm and gentle, and it was the first time anyone had hugged him in recent memory. 

“I’m sorry, Tim,” she said as she drew away. “You’re a really good kid. Don’t ever let them make you forget that, okay?”

She gave him a long, searching look as though she was committing his face to memory, and then she left to go pack.

***

After Alicia’s sudden departure, Tim spent the rest of the day in the house all by himself while his parents attended their board meeting. He missed Alicia already. It was a sunny day, and she would’ve asked if he wanted to go to the park or the library. At the very least, she would’ve insisted that he spend some time outdoors kicking around a soccer ball (or a football, as she called it). 

Even the idea of bringing his camera outside to take pictures around the manor grounds didn’t excite him like it normally would. He flopped down on the front porch and spent the afternoon listlessly flipping through the newspaper to read about the latest Batman and Robin sightings. 

He’d been stitching together information about their patrol routes and cases in a notebook, and he jotted down the latest story about a drug ring that Batman had busted in an abandoned warehouse down near the harbor. He’d devised a code so that nobody would know what he was documenting if they came across his notes. 

Out of habit, his eyes strayed toward Wayne Manor, just barely visible over the wall that separated his family’s property from the Waynes’ property. He still couldn’t believe that he lived next door to Batman and Robin! He sometimes daydreamed about what they were doing, which was probably a little creepy, but nobody had to know what happened in his own mind.

He fantasized about what the batcave would look like — what kinds of cool weapons and antidotes and technology they had down there. He knew that Mr. Wayne had taught Dick Grayson how to fight, but he wondered whether Dick ever taught Mr. Wayne gymnastics tricks in return. He was certain that Mr. Wayne’s butler, Mr. Pennyworth, was involved, too, and he imagined the three of them deliberating over cases at the dinner table, dropping everything to help the citizens of Gotham when the bat signal illuminated the night sky. 

There were only three people living in Wayne Manor, but Tim wistfully imagined that Batman’s house would never be as boring and lonely as Drake Manor. He dozed off to a favorite daydream — in it, Dick Grayson decided that he was too old to be Robin, and Mr. Wayne went looking for a replacement. He searched high and low, but could never find anyone who was smart enough or capable enough to fill in the original Robin’s shoes. Then he remembered his young neighbor, Tim Drake, who he’d met a few times at galas. Tim seemed like a perfectly average boy, but Mr. Wayne decided to give him a chance, and Tim proved himself to be both smart and capable, using his keen eye to notice important clues and swooping in to save the day when Batman needed help. 

He imagined having earned a place at that dinner table with Mr. Wayne, Dick Grayson, and Mr. Pennyworth, and he fell asleep with a little smile on his face as the summer breeze rustled through the silent halls of Drake Manor. 

***

“Tim, we have perfectly good furniture,” his mother snapped that evening when she returned home and found him still curled up on the warm wood of the porch. “Get up before everyone in the neighborhood thinks we allow vagabonds on our property!”

“Huh?” Tim mumbled, blinking and pushing himself to a sitting position. 

“Don’t mumble, son,” Jack grunted irritably. “Business competitors will think you’re weak if you don’t enunciate.”

Tim was getting the sense that his parents weren’t in the best mood, which was disappointing since he hadn’t seen them in four months, but he’d take what he could get. 

“How was the board meeting?” Tim asked eagerly, trotting alongside them as they entered the house. 

“Waste of time that could’ve been spent elsewhere,” his dad grumbled. Tim could smell alcohol on his breath. “Mark my words, if you want something done right, son, you always have to do it yourself.”

“What your father means, Timothy, is that you must always look out for vipers in the nest. We had a…situation with one of our board members thinking he could double cross us. But he’s been dealt with and removed from the board,” his mom said darkly. 

Tim repressed a shiver at the idea of facing his mother’s wrath in the boardroom. 

“Can’t trust anyone these days,” his dad muttered, pouring himself a glass of scotch. 

Privately, Tim thought that it was probably pretty easy for the executives and board members of Drake Industries to get away with shady business since his parents only visited once or twice a quarter. But he kept this observation to himself. 

“Do you want me to heat up dinner?” He asked, eager to be helpful after his parents’ trying day. “Mrs. Mac dropped off lasagna yesterday.”

His mom shook her head. “We already went out to dinner. Anyway, your father and I had best be getting to bed. We have an early flight to Beijing in the morning.”

Tim froze. “Wh—what?” He stammered. “I thought you were staying all week for the board meeting.”

“Oh, please,” his mother waved dismissively. “Everyone knows that the board meetings are mostly useless fluff anyway. We already got all of the important business out of the way today.”

“But…you can’t leave,” Tim said tremulously, desperately trying not to sound like he was whining. “Alicia is gone.”

“Who? Oh, yes, that’s right. The girl did become rather insubordinate, didn’t she?” His mother remarked distractedly. “Such a shame. But it’s for the best that she’s gone.”

“Who will be my nanny now?” 

His mom’s phone began ringing. “I really don’t have time for this right now, Tim,” she sighed. “It’s the embassy calling about our permits.”

She stood and walked away to take the call. 

“You’re 9 now, son,” his dad said, pouring himself another finger of scotch. “Maybe it’s time to do away with nannies, eh?”

Tim wanted to point out that he had actually just turned eight, not nine, but his dad hated being corrected. 

“I don’t think it’s legal to —”

“Legal! Ha. That nanny must have rubbed off on you, with all her talk of ‘parental duties’ and ‘neglect.’ Absolute nonsense, Tim. Look around at the life your mother and I provide for you. Mrs. Mac comes on Wednesdays and Fridays, and the cleaners come on Tuesdays. You have a security system, a sizable monthly allowance, and an emergency credit card. You’re attending Gotham’s best school. What more could you need?”

Company. Companionship. Someone to talk to. 

Tim gulped. “I — I don’t know, Dad.”

Tim’s dad apparently took this as an affirmative that he was fine with the plan. “`Atta boy, Tim! I’m proud to see how independent and mature you’re becoming. Keep it up.” He patted Tim on the shoulder and disappeared to pack without saying goodbye. 

***

Tim couldn’t sleep. 

He’d never noticed how many creepy noises his house made at night — the random creaking of the wooden floors and wall joists, the tapping of tree branches against windows, the periodic cycling noise of the air conditioning — it all seemed far louder than ever before now that Tim was alone. 

He spent the first night after his parents’ departure curled up in the bathtub in his bathroom, with both his bedroom and bathroom door locked, flinching at every sound he heard. He clutched his cell phone in case he needed to call 911. It was crazy how much safer he’d felt knowing that at least one other person was in the house and could help if something went wrong. 

In a fit of weakness, he gave in and called his mom at bedtime on the second night. It was morning in Beijing, and she sounded grumpy and busy when she answered. 

“Hi, Mom,” he whispered, suddenly feeling like he might burst into tears.

“Speak clearly, Timothy; I raised you better than that.”

“Sorry,” Tim said, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “It was really scary being alone in the house last night.”

To her credit, his mom at least attempted to make him feel better. “Think of this as a learning experience, Tim. Not everything in life will be comfortable, but sometimes we just have to push through. After a few days, you’ll feel more used to being home alone and you won’t be scared anymore. This will be a good thing for you.”

“Okay,” he said.

“That’s my boy. Now, please don’t call again unless it’s an emergency — they charge a fortune for international calls here.”

“Right. Okay. Be safe, Mom.”

“You too, Tim.”

“I love —”

The noise of the dial tone indicated that she’d hung up. 

***

By the third night, Tim was convinced that he was going to go crazy if he stayed in his house for one minute longer by himself. He was exhausted, but every time he dozed off, he’d jerk himself awake a few minutes later, terrified that someone was breaking in.

The house had a security system, true, but security systems could fail. People could deliberately sabotage them. And his parents, despite their affluence, were known to cut corners to save money sometimes. For example, they only had working security cameras at the front gate and back yard of the house. The other cameras planted around the property were fakes. 

Giving up on his latest attempt to sleep, Tim crawled out of bed and walked over to his bedroom window. Looking at Wayne Manor usually made him feel better — he had a good view of the stately house from his room. Even before his parents fired Alicia, he sometimes checked to see if any lights were on in Batman’s manor at night. The house was nearly a mile away, but it still made him feel safe knowing that he had powerful neighbors nearby. 

All the lights in the manor were off tonight, though. Batman and Robin were probably out patrolling the streets of Gotham, and Mr. Pennyworth was probably deep in the batcave, running comms, totally unreachable from the surface.

Tim wrapped his arms around himself, shivering a little. It felt like he was the only living being for miles around. Anyone or anything could be lurking in the dark, and nobody would know if something bad happened to him until Mrs. Mac realized that he’d disappeared in a few days. 

He was truly on his own. 

Unless…unless he went out and found people. People like Batman and Robin. 

A plan forming in his mind, Tim found his backpack and his camera. He dressed in dark clothes and grabbed some cash from his stash. He checked and double-checked the night bus routes from Bristol to Gotham. 

It was shockingly easy, once he got the idea in his head. Thirty minutes later, he slipped out of a side door, skillfully avoiding the two working security cameras. He skateboarded to the nearby bus stop and then stashed his board in some bushes. He was the only one interested in leaving Bristol via public transportation at this time of night, apparently, and he clutched his backpack straps nervously as he waited alone for the bus to pull up. 

Was he really going to do this? Gotham was dangerous, especially at night. Why was Tim running from one unsafe situation to another?

But then he thought about getting to see Batman and Robin up close — seeing them in person, rather than on some grainy clip on the news. He imagined taking pictures of his heroes in action, just like he’d dreamed of doing for ages. He grinned to himself as he spotted the bus approaching, excitement and adrenaline thrumming through his veins. 

Maybe his mom was right — this would be a good thing for him. 

There was nobody around to help him, sure, but there was also nobody around to stop him from doing whatever he wanted to do. 

iii. 

Tim had somehow accounted for everything but muggers. 

In the few weeks that he’d been coming to Gotham at night, he’d learned a lot. He now knew how to keep his head down and appear unobtrusive on public transportation. He became more familiar with the city layout, locating major intersections and key fire escapes that would take him to the top of different buildings. He’d found a bodega with an owner who didn’t care about why an eight-year-old was out shopping at 2 a.m. as long as he had money, and that became his go-to pit stop for water and snacks. 

He’d devised a rudimentary system for tracking and following Batman and Robin’s patrol routes, and while he’d lost them many times over the past few weeks, he was getting better at keeping up. He’d gotten close enough to overhear their conversations a few times, and he’d learned that Batman was tough but fair and protective of his Robin. He’d also heard them mention “Agent A” and “Oracle” a few times. He assumed that Agent A was Alfred, but the identity of Oracle would be an interesting mystery to unravel. 

He’d learned about night photography through trial and error, adjusting his aperture and ISO settings so he could capture shots of the two heroes in action. The first week’s photos were blurry and dark, but his shots were steadily improving with time. 

Overall, things were going so well that he’d gained a false sense of confidence as he moved about the city at night. This was Gotham, after all, and he should’ve remembered that fact as he walked back to the bus stop after Batman and Robin drove off in the batmobile. 

He knew that he was pretty sheltered as a Bristol kid. His sojourns to the city had mostly been limited to trips to the Drake Industries office, attending society events with his parents, and dining at fancy restaurants. Alicia had brought him to Gotham to visit parks and museums sometimes, but she definitely hadn’t strayed to the parts of town where Batman and Robin fought crime. 

Tim initially thought nothing of it when he looked over his shoulder and saw a man walking about a block behind him on his way back to the bus stop. He checked again fifteen steps later, however, and the man had increased his pace, walking straight toward Tim. 

Goosebumps broke out over his skin as Tim weighed what to do. He was still three blocks away from the bus stop, and he’d never be able to outrun a grown man. There was an alley he could try sneaking down, but it might be a dead end. He didn’t see any accessible fire escapes he could run up or nearby businesses that were still open. 

He realized with a sinking feeling that he was well and truly vulnerable to attack. He couldn’t lose his camera! He didn’t mind if someone took his phone, his backpack, and his cash, but the camera was non-negotiable. It was his most important possession, and he also had a lot of pictures of Batman and Robin on there — all with their cowls and masks on, but still. He didn’t want to give some common thug access to any insights about Batman and Robin’s favorite rooftops to surveil the city. 

Ugh — and what if the guy wanted to kidnap him? Tim was dressed subtly, but a closer look at his possessions would make it pretty clear that he came from money. He could be held for ransom…or worse. 

Tim broke into a run, not seeing any point in pretending that he didn’t sense the obvious threat. The bus station was his only hope at this point, and he sprinted as fast he could, ignoring the uncomfortable way that his camera thumped against his chest. 

“Hey, kid! Wait up!” The man called, running to catch up with him. 

Tim felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest when a strong hand reached out and grabbed his arm. He’d been too slow, and now he was really in trouble!

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, kid,” the thief grunted, squeezing Tim’s arm uncomfortably hard. 

“I’ll take the hard way,” Tim retorted, kicking the man in the groin as hard as he could and wrenching his arm away as the man let out a moan of pain. 

He took off running again, not bothering to look back. He was just two blocks from the bus stop now, and if he got close enough, another passenger might take pity on him and protect him from being mugged. He heard the man shouting threats and footsteps pounding in pursuit but his ears were buzzing with adrenaline, so the words were indistinguishable. 

It seemed like he was actually going to make it, but then the stupidest, simplest thing in the world got in his way — an uneven section of the sidewalk. Tim’s foot snagged on a bump, and he tripped and went sprawling to the ground, feeling white-hot pain shoot up his ankle. 

He scrambled to his knees and tried to climb to his feet, but the delay had cost him several precious seconds, and the man was almost upon him, his expression furious in the darkness. 

Tim automatically scooted backwards, fighting the urge to screw his eyes shut in terror. He started yanking off his backpack, hoping that if he threw it, the man might take it and leave him alone. 

At the exact moment that the man lunged forward, about to grab Tim again, a brick sailed through the air with unerring accuracy and hit the man in the head. 

The man staggered and dropped to the ground, unconscious. Tim gaped in shock and disbelief, looking around frantically. Could it be that Batman and Robin were still in the area, and they’d saved him?

Someone was emerging from the alley where the brick had originated, and Tim craned his neck, eager to see who his savior was. He was shocked when a figure stepped into the light and revealed…a boy.

He was older than Tim by a few years but was definitely still a kid. It was hard to make out his features in the dim street light, but he had dark hair and a scrawny build. 

“Th—thank you,” Tim managed to stammer, suddenly remembering his manners. He owed this person, big time! 

“Don’t sweat it, kid,” the other kid said, as though this was just a regular night for him. Maybe it was, if he lived around here. 

“I really appreciate the help — I got away from him, but then I tripped,” Tim explained, his voice still a little faint over the terrifying experience as he stared at the unconscious man. His chest was rising and falling steadily, but he was out cold. 

“You shouldn’t be out this late by yourself, especially with all that fancy shit,” the kid said, his expression disapproving as he motioned to Tim’s backpack and camera. “You might as well carry a neon sign that says ‘Rob me.’”

Tim tried to climb to his feet. His leg gave out from under him when he put weight on his injured ankle, and he almost face-planted. His ankle didn’t feel broken, but it was definitely sprained. 

The kid hurried forward with an exasperated sigh, looping an arm around Tim’s shoulders to support his weight. 

“You clearly have the self-preservation of a wet paper bag. Come on, I’ll make sure you get home safe. Where do you live?”

“Oh, that’s nice, but —”

“That guy is probably part of a gang, you know,” the kid interrupted. “Just because he’s knocked out doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have other partners waiting nearby who will come after you — especially since you’re the reason their friend got hurt.”

Tim winced. He could get himself home on the bus, but it would take a long time. He couldn’t skateboard in this condition. And he couldn’t deny that he was spooked and didn’t really want to be alone right now. 

“I have some money,” he decided. “Will — will you ride in a taxi with me? I’ll give you money for the return fare.”

The kid nodded. 

“I’m Tim, by the way,” Tim introduced himself, the tense line of his shoulders relaxing with relief. “Tim Drake.”

The boy eyed him mistrustfully for a moment. “Jason Todd,” he said finally, apparently deciding that Tim wasn’t too much of a threat. 

Jason helped Tim hobble to the bus stop, where there was usually a taxi or two waiting for customers. They rode back to Bristol in silence, Tim trying his best to stay awake now that the adrenaline had faded. Tim had been avoiding taxis since he didn’t want any drivers asking nosy questions about why he kept going to Gotham late at night, but he was grateful he’d chosen one this particular night. He paid the driver to wait until Jason returned to the car for a ride back to Gotham, and threw in a little extra money in hopes that he wouldn’t tell anyone that two kids had asked for a late-night ride to Drake Manor. 

“Um. What the actual fuck,” Jason said when the driver dropped them off down the road from Drake Manor. “Is that — is that Bruce Wayne’s house?”

Tim nodded distractedly, making a mental note that he needed to retrieve his skateboard from the bus stop once his ankle felt better. “Yeah — my house is up this road.”

“You didn’t tell me you were a bajillionaire, kid. What the hell were you doing out in Gotham this late by yourself?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing,” Tim said as they began the long process of hobbling up the path to Drake Manor. 

Jason squinted at him suspiciously. “Doesn’t seem like nothing,” he said, pointing at Tim’s camera.

“Fine. I was taking pictures of Batman and Robin,” Tim confessed. He hadn’t wanted to tell anyone, but it felt like he owed Jason the truth after everything Jason had done to help him. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jason exhaled, shaking his head. “You mean to tell me that you could be sleeping on a feather bed in a fancy ass mansion, and instead you’re running around Gotham after the caped crusader?”

“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds dumb,” Tim admitted, steering them around the front gate’s camera. “I dunno; I just think it’s cool to see what Batman is doing.”

Jason mumbled something under his breath about natural selection that was probably an insult, but he didn’t stop helping Tim. 

“Come in, I’ve got food inside. Actually, do you want to just stay the night since it’s so late?” Tim asked hopefully as they made their way up the porch steps. The idea had dawned on him suddenly, but the more he thought about it, the more he liked it. He hadn’t missed how thin and bony Jason’s limbs were as the other boy had helped him walk. Based on his demeanor, unkempt appearance, and the fact that he’d been lurking in an alley at three in the morning, he guessed that Jason might be living on the streets.

Maybe they could help each other — Jason could keep Tim company in the big, lonely house, and in return, Jason could have somewhere to stay. 

Jason scoffed, shaking his head. “No way, dude. What is this, some elaborate child trafficking ruse? Did someone put you up to this? There’s no way I’m going in there with you.”

Tim blinked, nonplussed. “The house is empty, I swear. My parents are traveling.”

Jason gave him that disbelieving look again. “You honestly expect me to believe that you’re home alone right now? A little shrimp like you?”

“Well, yeah. My parents travel for work a lot. That’s normal, isn’t it?”

“I’m not going in there,” Jason repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. “And you shouldn’t invite me inside, either. Jeez, kid, haven’t you ever heard of stranger danger? I’m not a mugger, but I’m a pickpocket. I’ve stolen before.”

He jutted out his chin, as though daring Tim to judge him for his crimes. 

Tim shrugged. “You can’t take any of the antiquities on the first floor, but I can show you my attic if you really want to steal something. My parents probably wouldn’t notice if any of that stuff went missing. At least not for a few years, anyway.”

Jason gaped at him. “You are not normal.”

Tim already knew that from years of attending elementary school. “You coming in, or what?”

“No, ” Jason said firmly. It was disappointing, but Tim had a feeling that Jason would run off if he kept pushing. 

“Suit yourself. Wait here, I’ll get you money for the cab.”

Tim unlocked the front door and hobbled inside. He hopped to the kitchen and assembled a bag of snacks. His parents kept a stash of cash near the front door to tip delivery drivers, and Tim emptied the whole thing out, tucking most of it into the bag of snacks for Jason to find later. He’d have to replace it with money from his allowance, but it was worth it. 

“Thanks for everything, Jason,” he said sincerely, returning to the porch. “Do you want to go Batman-watching with me some time?”

“No,” Jason said flatly. He’d produced a cigarette from somewhere and was smoking, which Tim’s mom would’ve hated if she were here. “My life is dangerous enough as it is. And I have to say, you’re definitely the weirdest five-year-old I’ve ever met.” 

“I’m eight,” Tim remarked indignantly.

Jason reached over and ruffled Tim’s hair with a snort. “Try not to get mugged again, Timbo.”

“Thanks, Jason,” he said softly, privately hoping that he’d see the other boy sometime soon. 

Chapter Text

Tim was sitting in the dark behind a dumpster, mentally reviewing Batman and Robin’s patrol route for the night, when a foot connected with his shin.

The minor pain from being kicked was worth it when the kicker in question let out a startled yelp, proving Tim’s hunch right. 

“Damn it, kid! Not again,” Jason groaned, flicking on a flashlight and shining it mercilessly in Tim’s eyes. 

“I like this alley. Good insulation from the wind,” Tim commented, rapping on the dumpster with his knuckles. Over the past few weeks, he’d managed to locate Jason a few times for a nighttime visit.

“How do you keep finding me?!” Jason asked incredulously, flopping to sit next to him on the ground. “Little stalker.”

To tell the truth, Jason was pretty easy to track. Plus, Tim had gained a lot of stalking detective skills from following Batman and Robin around. He’d noticed that Jason tended to prefer the same type of alleyways — with a dumpster to block him from the view of passerby, an alternative back way out so he could escape if cornered, and next to a restaurant or store that might throw out relatively fresh food — so his location was rather predictable.

“I have my ways,” Tim said mysteriously. 

Jason scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I would go to Batman and ask for help dealing with my stalker problem, but you’d probably love that, wouldn’t you?”

Tim ignored the mild threat since there was no real heat in Jason’s voice. He didn’t want to overstep, but it worried him that Jason was alone on the streets. Tim tried to bring snacks with him when he visited, and he stuffed a $20 bill in whatever library book Jason was reading whenever he could find him, but it didn’t feel like he was doing enough. 

“Speaking of Batman, he should be passing by soon. Want to see him in action?”

Jason looked tempted, as Tim knew he would be. 

“No,” Jason said shortly. “Like I’ve already told you, my life is dangerous enough without chasing after vigilantes.”

Tim deflated a bit. “Suit yourself,” he shrugged, standing and taking a running leap at the dumpster. He struggled to pull himself up on top of it, but his arms were much stronger than they’d been when he first started his nighttime exploits a month earlier. From the dumpster, it was easy enough to climb onto the nearest fire escape and begin making his way up to the roof. 

He was out of breath by the time he reached the top, but his formerly sprained ankle felt totally fine. He was just in time — he could see the distant silhouettes of Batman and Robin grappling their way across rooftops and buildings. The familiar sense of exhilaration swooped through his chest as he crouched behind the HVAC system of the building he was on, pulling out his camera and turning it on. 

When he watched Batman in action like this, all of his problems seemed to disappear. The way that his parents hadn’t called him for weeks, the emptiness of his house, the fact that his only friend Ives had moved away over the summer, the rapid approach of a new school year — all of it faded away into background noise. 

“A black SUV just drove down this block,” a voice said suddenly next to him. “Do you think that’s who they’re looking for?”

Tim grinned as Jason crouched next to him. 

“What?” Jason said sourly when he saw Tim’s triumphant expression. “I invested a lot of time and energy into saving you from that mugger. I’m just protecting my investment by making sure you don’t get killed in a battle.”

Tim filled him in on all his theories about the black SUV and who Batman and Robin were tracking — probably a local drug dealer who’d been selling the laced drugs that were leading to an uptick in overdoses around the city. 

They both watched with bated breath as Batman swung down into the street, landing right in front of the SUV and standing in position fearlessly as it barreled toward him. He used batarangs to pop the tires, and it screeched to a halt just before hitting him. Then the men got out of the car and began shooting. 

“Holy shit,” Jason breathed next to him. “That’s so cool!”

“Look, here comes Robin!” Tim whispered, pointing out Dick Grayson’s position. He’d landed on the other side of the fight and was creeping toward the thugs who were defending the SUV and the drugs inside. 

Between Batman and Robin’s skillful fighting, the men were quickly corralled and subdued. They watched as the vigilantes tied up the bad guys, and they could hear distant sirens growing closer, indicating that the police were on their way. Another amazing job by Batman and Robin, and Tim had gotten some good pictures of them in action!

He blamed his happiness for what happened next. He got careless and pushed too far, too fast. 

“Right, well, show’s over, and I need to claim my alleyway before someone else does,” Jason said, reverting back to his nonchalant demeanor, his posture slouched and his hands buried in his pockets. 

“You know, you could just come home with me,” Tim offered. “The offer still stands. I have plenty of room.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Not this again. You still think I’ll fall for your child trafficking trap?”

Tim huffed. “It’s not a child trafficking trap; that’s just how my house is. I told you, my parents travel a lot for work. There really isn’t anyone else there, and nobody would notice if you stayed for a while.”

“The answer is still no, Stalker.” 

“Fine,” Tim replied, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. “Do you want my old cell phone, at least? The screen was cracked, but I fixed it, and I was thinking you could use it so we can text each other —”

Tim fished the cell phone out of his pocket and held it out, but Jason’s glacial expression made him freeze.

“Let’s get a few things straight, Stalker,” Jason growled, shoving Tim’s hand with the cell phone away. “Since you can’t seem to get it through your thick skull. I don’t want your charity. I don’t want your phone or your house. I have real problems, unlike you, and I don’t have time or energy to entertain some spoiled kid.”

“I — Jason —”

“Can it, kid. Do you know what I would give to have some fancy fucking mansion to call home? And yet, here you are, throwing yourself into danger every night for no reason.” Jason’s expression was disgusted, and Tim felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “Go back to your rich mommy and daddy in Bristol where you belong and leave me the hell alone.”

Jason disappeared over the edge of the building as he climbed down the fire escape, and Tim stood frozen in place for several long minutes, eventually wrapping his arms around himself to ward off the chill that had settled in his limbs and his heart. 

He sniffed, biting his cheek to stop himself from crying. 

Stupid. So stupid, Tim. 

What had he been thinking? Jason had made it clear from the beginning that he didn’t consider Tim his friend. Tim had always been bad at making friends, anyway, so why would this be any different? Hell, most of the people who were a part of his life were paid to be there, like his former nannies, Mrs. Mac, and his teachers. His fellow students had never liked him since he’d skipped two grades. Why had he naively thought that Jason would be an exception to the rule? He only had himself to blame for the disappointment and pain blossoming in his chest. 

He peeked over the side of the building, watching as Batman finished speaking to Commissioner Gordon. He walked away from the crime scene, patting Robin’s shoulder, presumably congratulating him for a job well done. 

Usually, the sight of Batman made Tim feel much better. But tonight he felt only sadness and envy as he watched Batman and Robin disappear into the night together. 

***

“Are you feeling alright, dear? You’re awfully quiet today,” Mrs. Mac asked as she put away groceries a week later.

Tim looked up from where he was sitting at the kitchen table and half-heartedly completing his math homework. 

“I’m fine, Mrs. Mac,” he said, trying to muster up a convincing smile. 

She observed him carefully. “You know, you’re looking rather pale and tired. Are you coming down with something?”

She came over and felt his forehead, which he knew was cool to the touch.

“I’m okay, really,” he protested, squirming away. “Just getting used to the new school year. I messed up my sleep schedule by staying up late during the summer.”

Mrs. Mac hummed, still looking suspicious. “Where’s Alicia? Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her for weeks.”

Tim held his breath, debating how to answer. Mrs. Mac was kind, but she was also close to retirement, and she wasn’t the type to make waves. In fact, Tim was pretty sure she’d survived this long in his parents’ employment because she always kept her head down, didn’t make a fuss, and did her job — nothing more, nothing less. 

He also knew, despite what his dad had said, that it was illegal to leave kids under the age of 12 home alone overnight in Gotham. He couldn’t risk Mrs. Mac suddenly developing a conscience and calling child services. 

“Oh, my parents didn’t tell you?” He said, keeping his tone as casual as possible. “They decided to give Alicia Wednesday and Friday afternoons off since you’re here with me then. I think she signed up for a workout class in the city on those days.”

Mrs. Mac relaxed a little, appeased by his lie.

“Well, fortunately, I brought some soup. I recommend having it for dinner and then getting an early night’s sleep just in case you caught something.”

“Sure thing, Mrs. Mac,” Tim lied again. 

She left a few minutes later, abandoning Tim to the deafening silence of the vacant house once more. 

He slumped in his chair, suddenly exhausted. He hadn’t realized how much he’d grown to enjoy his visits to Jason in such a short time. Now that Jason had made it clear that he didn’t want Tim around, it was hard not to notice how achingly lonely he was — even during the school day, when he was surrounded by people. Even as he tracked Batman and Robin through the night from afar. Even as Mrs. Mac asked him questions about his new teachers and his classes. 

With a sigh, he heaved himself to his feet and began his nightly ritual, packing up all the gear he’d need and dressing in dark clothes. On his bus ride to Gotham, he stared out the window and watched as the mansions of Bristol transformed into the decrepit tenements of Gotham. 

For the first time, he asked himself why he was bothering to go out at night at all. It wasn’t like he was helping Batman and Robin — although he hoped that as his photography skills improved, he could assist them from afar by capturing evidence. Maybe Jason was right — maybe he didn’t belong in Gotham. 

He got off the bus and started his usual Friday path through the city, following the expected patrol route. He was trying his best to respect Jason’s wishes, so he didn’t visit any of the alleys where he’d found Jason sleeping before, even though he was tempted to peek and confirm that his frie — acquaintance was okay. 

To his disappointment, Batman and Robin weren’t even out on this particular night. Tim waited around for a few hours, taking some photos of the moon and interesting street lights until it became clear that they weren’t going to show. Maybe Mr. Wayne had to attend some society event that he couldn’t get out of, or maybe he and Dick were on a stakeout somewhere. Maybe they had just wanted a night off — come to think of it, it seemed pretty tiring to go out and fight crime every single night. Tim was exhausted himself, and all he had to do was pass fifth grade! Mr. Wayne had to run a company and masquerade as a prominent figure of society, and Dick was still in high school. 

He knew it was nothing personal — Mr. Wayne and Dick didn’t know about him following them around, and he needed to keep it that way — but it felt like the latest in a string of painful rejections. First his parents, then Jason, and now even Batman and Robin seemed to be repulsed by his very existence. 

He was feeling pretty sorry for himself as he decided the night was a loss and began climbing down the nearest fire escape, which is why he almost didn’t notice the familiar backpack sitting next to the dumpster. 

“Oh,” he said awkwardly when he saw it. “Is that you, Jason? I swear I didn’t know you were here.”

An ominous silence was his only response. Ugh — maybe Jason was still so angry, he was giving Tim the silent treatment. Or maybe he’d just stashed his bag here and gone to look for food. 

Either way, Tim knew he should leave right away to be polite. But he heard the faintest wheezing noise, and he couldn’t stop himself from hurrying forward to investigate. 

“Jason!” He gasped, immediately grabbing his phone and turning its flashlight on so he could see better. 

He dropped to his knees next to the older boy, who looked like death warmed over. It was immediately obvious that something was wrong — Jason was curled up in the fetal position under a nest of dirty blankets. His face was unnaturally pale and clammy, and he barely stirred when Tim shook his shoulder. He could feel the heat emanating off Jason’s skin through the fabric of his sweatshirt, and he made his decision in an instant. 

Jason had helped him once, and now it was Tim’s turn to repay the favor, even if Jason didn’t want him around. 

He called a cab with his phone, and then he began trying to wake Jason up. 

Jason stirred weakly after Tim shook him for the fifth time, letting out a harsh cough. 

“Leave me alone…” he slurred. 

“Jason! It’s me, Tim. Come on, you gotta get up!”

Jason frowned, his eyelids fluttering open briefly. “Stalker?” He mumbled, looking bewildered. “What’re you doing here?”

“You’re sick. We have to get you to the doctor. Please get up,” Tim pleaded. “I don’t think I can lift you on my own.”

“`M fine. Leave me alone.” Jason said in between coughing fits.

“Please, Jason!” Tim said, his voice rising with panic. “I promise I’ll leave you alone again after this. Just please come with me!”

Jason looked like he was struggling to keep his eyes open. “I knew you wouldn’t stop trying to kidnap me.”

Tim’s chest unclenched a little — he was pretty sure that was a joke. 

“Alright, fine, you win,” Jason groaned. “But only because it’s cold as fuck in this alleyway. Is your murder mansion warm?”

It was a balmy night, actually, which only made Tim more worried. 

“Warm and toasty,” he promised, helping Jason to his feet. It was hard work to support the taller boy’s weight as they struggled to the end of the alleyway, Tim clutching Jason’s backpack in one hand. 

Fortunately, the taxi driver was a Gothamite through and through — he didn’t appear suspicious or concerned about two preteens (one conscious and one mostly unconscious) riding in his cab after midnight to the hospital. Tim tipped him generously, and then he dragged Jason into the waiting room.

“Name and insurance,” the charge nurse said, barely glancing up at them as she typed on her computer.  

Tim nervously dug through his wallet. “His name is Tim Drake. I’m Jason. Here’s our dad’s insurance card.”

He held his breath as the woman finally looked at them. There was no way that Jason could afford to pay a hospital bill, and passing him off as Tim was their best bet. 

“Where are your parents, sweetie?” She asked, her no-nonsense expression softening slightly. 

The secret to lying is to act confident, and tell part of the truth, Tim reminded himself. He’d learned that from one of his parents’ business books about public relations. 

“They’re at work right now. My brother is really sick, so my mom called a taxi and asked me to bring him to the hospital.”

She didn’t look quite convinced. “What’s your mother’s phone number?”

“Oh, please don’t call her,” Tim said, trying to sound worried without being over-the-top. “Her work is strict about phone calls, and she really needs to keep this job. She gets off in two hours, and she’ll be here as soon as possible then.”

Jason had mentioned before that he was 12, so there was technically nothing illegal or wrong about him being home alone overnight with Tim in the fake cover story Tim was weaving. But still, the nurse’s scrutiny set him on edge.

He could only hope that two hours was long enough to get Jason seen and prescribed medication before anyone started asking follow-up questions. Jason had good hygiene for a street kid — Tim knew he spent a lot of time at the library, and he guessed that Jason washed up as best as he could there — but he’d obviously been sick for a few days, and if someone started wondering about their “mom’s” whereabouts or Jason’s thin face, disheveled appearance, and unwashed hair and clothes, they’d be in trouble. 

“I’ll put him high up on the list to be seen,” the nurse promised him, and Tim heaved a tiny sigh of relief as he shepherded Jason over to a chair. 

They were seen half an hour later, and Jason was quickly diagnosed with bronchitis. He seemed pretty out of it during the exam and chest x-ray, but fortunately, he didn’t say anything suspicious that would cast doubt on Tim’s cover story. The doctor gave him some IV antibiotics to kickstart his healing and prescribed him a further course of antibiotic pills, along with an inhaler.

“The charge nurse mentioned that your mom is coming soon — we can’t sign you out without a parent or guardian present,” one of the nurses explained as she disconnected Jason’s IV after the treatment. 

“Okay, I’ll call her and see when she’ll be here,” Tim promised. It was a good thing that he was small for his age, since the nurse obviously didn’t see him as a flight risk. She left the discharge papers in the room, clipped to Jason’s chart. From there, it was easy enough for Tim to forge his mom’s signature (a skill he’d picked up years ago for school report cards and permission slips), hustle Jason out of the room and into the nearest elevator, grab his prescriptions from the pharmacy, and catch another cab back to Bristol. 

The sun was already rising by the time they made it home, and Tim was grateful that it was Saturday. His eyelids felt like lead weights. He thought about setting Jason up in a guest room, but he was afraid to take his eyes off him in case his condition worsened. He got his sleepy acquaintance settled in his own bed, gave him the next dose of his antibiotics, and made him drink some water. Then Tim grabbed a spare blanket and finally laid his exhausted body down on the carpet next to the bed. 

“Timmers?” Jason mumbled hoarsely a few minutes later, just as Tim was drifting off. 

“Huh?” Tim mumbled groggily. “You need something, Jay?”

“No,” Jason said. “Why’re you down there?”

Tim shrugged and yawned. “You need to rest. I don’t want to bug you.”

“Your mattress is bigger than that entire hospital room was, rich kid. Get your butt up here.”

Tim was too tired to argue, and it was kind of comforting to be next to Jason and see his chest rise and fall. Jason would probably be pissed off at him when he felt better, but Tim would deal with that when it happened. 

“Weirdest kidnapping ever,” Jason muttered into Tim’s favorite pillow before letting out a loud snore. 

***

He spent most of the weekend taking care of Jason — heating up soup, dispensing meds, harassing him into drinking more water, and confiscating his pack of cigarettes and the several stray cigarettes he seemed to periodically procure out of thin air. 

“You’re worse than a mother hen,” Jason sighed Sunday evening after Tim used his phone’s stopwatch to make sure he used his inhaler for the correct number of seconds. 

“Well, you’re feeling better, aren’t you? So it’s working,” Tim pointed out.

Jason whacked him over the head with a pillow in response, which Tim took as an affirmative. 

“Uh, listen, Timbo,” he said after, sounding uncomfortable. “Thanks for…for all of this.”

Tim recognized the beginning of a goodbye when he heard it, and he tried not to let his sadness show on his face. He’d helped Jason because it was the right thing to do, not because he wanted Jason to feel obligated to hang out with him. 

“I appreciate all your help, but I should get going,” Jason continued. He’d taken a shower and changed into a spare outfit that Tim’s parents had bought him that was two sizes too big, and he almost looked like a completely different person. 

“Right,” Tim said neutrally.

“Plus, I’m sure your parents will be home from their trip soon…so…it’s best for everyone if I exit stage left.”

Tim nodded silently, even though his parents wouldn’t be home for weeks. 

“But maybe I’ll see you around Gotham some nights, right?” 

Tim recognized this as a peace offering, but he really didn’t want Jason’s pity and charity, just like Jason hadn’t wanted pity or charity from Tim. 

He shrugged and was almost grateful when his cell phone started ringing, showing his mom’s name on the caller ID. He’d been trying to get in touch with her all weekend, but she was in a remote part of China with limited service.  

“I’ve got to take this,” Tim said. “I’m really glad you’re feeling better, Jason.”

In his parents’ vague, nuanced society language, that was basically a ‘goodbye forever.’ He honestly expected that this would be the last time he ever saw Jason again, and he tried not to dwell on it as he hit the button to answer the call. 

“Hi, Mom,” he said, stepping into the hallway so that Jason could make a tasteful exit by slipping out the window and shimmying down the nearby tree.

“Hello, Timothy,” his mother greeted him. She sounded busy, as usual. “What did you need?”

Right to business, then. “Uh, I got bronchitis. Mrs. Mac had to take me to the hospital on Friday.”

“Oh dear,” his mother said. She didn’t seem very concerned. “You sound okay. On the mend?”

“Yes, I’m feeling much better, thanks. They gave me antibiotics and an inhaler. I just wanted to let you know, in case you see any charges from the hospital on your insurance.”

His mother sighed. “Is that all, Tim? You needn’t have worried. Between your father and I, I think we can afford to pay a simple hospital bill.”

“Oh, it’s not that I don’t think you can’t pay — I just wanted to give you a head’s up that the bill was coming.”

Mostly, he didn’t want his parents to refuse to pay, since it might make the hospital look deeper into why Jason and Tim had been there alone. 

“No need to worry, Timothy. Our secretary handles those things. You can call her next time something like this happens instead of calling us, okay?”

“Okay, Mom,” he agreed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Now was that all? Because your father and I have a meeting with a local history professor that we need to get to.”

“That’s all. You’ll be home in November for the next board meeting?”

“Yes, dear,” his mom said distractedly. “But you know, these long-distance calls are very expensive. If you have any more questions, email them to our secretary, and she’ll get you the answers, okay?”

“Yep. Have a good meeting with—”

His mom hung up. 

“—the professor,” he sighed to the empty hallway. 

Turning, he pushed open the door to his equally empty bedroom, only to stop in his tracks when he realized that it actually wasn’t empty. 

Jason was standing near the window, which was open like he’d been planning to leave but had gotten distracted. He was watching Tim with an odd look on his face. 

“Oh, sorry,” Tim apologized automatically. “I probably didn’t give you enough time to make a mysterious exit. You can use the front door if you want.”

“That…was your mom you were on the phone with?” Jason asked tentatively, his eyes scanning over Tim and around Tim’s room as though he was a puzzle that Jason was trying to assemble. 

“Yep,” Tim said. He wasn’t much in the mood for chatting, even though he’d been desperate for company all these weeks since his parents left. 

“No fucking way,” Jason said shaking his head in disbelief. “You were telling the truth?”

“Yes? Wait, about what?” Tim asked, wrinkling his brow with confusion. 

“About everything!” Jason threw his hands up in the air. “You seriously mean to tell me that a little kid like you lives alone in this big house, and your parents are somewhere across the globe and they’re not due back until November? And when you told them you’d been hospitalized, the conversation moved on ten seconds later like it was no big deal?”

Tim felt a strange need to defend his circumstances. “I have a housekeeper who comes twice a week. And cleaners on Tuesdays. My parents provide for me, as you can see if you look around, and I’m eight now; I don’t need a nanny anymore.”

“What the fuck,” Jason mouthed to himself. He suddenly slammed the window shut. 

Up to this point, he’d mostly seen Jason in either an irritated or teasing mood. Now there was a new emotion on Jason’s face — one that Tim couldn’t label. 

“What if you had actually gotten bronchitis, and no one was here to help you?” Jason asked. 

Tim shrugged. “I would’ve called my housekeeper, and she would’ve come over to help me.”

“And your parents wouldn’t have given a shit. They wouldn’t have traveled home to be here. They would’ve told you to contact their secretary —”

“It’s rude to eavesdrop,” Tim said irritably. “If you’re just going to rub it in —”

“No,” Jason shook his head, his expression earnest, “I’m not rubbing it in. I’m sorry for not believing you. I just thought — look, no offense, but you’re rich. I’m a street rat. I don’t like rich people on principle, so I was primed to think the worst of you.”

Tim was having a hard time following Jason’s logic, but he nodded. “Okay. Why’d you close the window?”

“Because I’m staying,” Jason pronounced. 

“Staying?” Tim echoed dumbly. “What do you mean?”

“You asked me to stay here with you, didn’t you? Twice now.”

“I mean — yeah. But I don’t want you staying here because you think I’m some little kid who can’t take care of himself. That’s not true.” His voice rose, and he wasn’t even quite sure why he was upset, since Jason had finally offered what he’d wanted this whole time. 

“You’re right, Timmers,” Jason said in a solemn voice. “You’ve done a great job taking care of yourself. But you shouldn’t have to be on your own. And…clearly I’m not doing so well on the streets. So…we can help each other out. What do you say?”

Maybe Tim was foolish, trusting some kid he’d only known for a few weeks — inviting said kid to live with him. But then he pictured Jason leaving the house by himself — going back to living on the streets, where Tim could never be certain whether he was safe or not — and Tim sleeping in the bathtub every night for the foreseeable future because he was scared to be on his own — and all his doubts faded away. 

“I’d say that it’s a great idea. Probably because it’s my idea, and I thought of it weeks ago. Catch up, Todd.”

Jason blinked at him, and then his face broke out into a dangerous-looking smirk as he grabbed a pillow off the bed. “Watch it, pipsqueak; you got me to admit I was wrong once today; I’m not going to do it twice. Now, I’ll give you a two-second head start because I’m merciful like that. One, two —”

He darted forward with the pillow, and Tim took off running with an embarrassing squeal that was a mixture of fear, delight, and exhilaration. He supposed Jason needed a tour of the house if he was going to stay here, and this was one way to accomplish that. 

With a grin, he slid on the smooth wood floor and then pivoted abruptly to the wing with the guest bedrooms, Jason’s footsteps indicating that he was hot on Tim’s trail.

Tim wasn’t sure what having a roommate was going to be like, but it definitely wouldn’t be boring.

Chapter Text

Having a roommate was…interesting. 

Tim was an only child, and both his parents were only children, so he didn’t have an extended family. His main source of entertainment had been his various nannies, all of whom were adults and most of whom had left him to his own devices.

He’d never made many friends at school, and all of his playdates had been arranged for strategic reasons — for example, if his parents wanted to woo a potential investor, they might invite said investor’s children over to play with Tim to illustrate what a family-friendly business Drake Industries was.

These playdates were bullshit, and he was pretty sure everyone involved knew it, including the other kids. Tim and his “friends” would be carefully supervised by their respective nannies as their parents conducted business, playing stuffy rich kid games like croquet and making vapid conversation about the academic benefits of attending Gotham Academy vs. whatever fancy school the other children attended. 

After a two-hour show of playing together, they’d be shepherded over to eat finger sandwiches and sit quietly while the adults finalized the business plans. 

Living with Jason was not like that at all. 

For one, Tim was wholly unused to having someone in his personal space all the time. Jason usually spent his days at the public library while Tim was in school, and he had to be mindful to stay out of the house when the cleaners and Mrs. Mac were visiting, but otherwise, he was just…there, existing, all the time. 

Tim had given Jason his pick of the many guest rooms at Drake Manor, but Jason inevitably ended up sleeping in Tim’s room every night, complaining of a draft or strange noises or uncomfortable pillows in the guest rooms. He snored like a freight train and hogged all the blankets. He played loud music 24/7 when he was around. He was also, apparently, a neat freak. 

Tim kept the common areas of the house relatively tidy because he didn’t want to make the cleaners’ job harder, but his room was a bit of a trainwreck, by contrast. 

“Timbuktu, please tell me you’re kidding,” Jason groaned as Tim emerged from the bathroom after his evening shower. “The hamper is right there!”

He was pointing at the t-shirt that Tim had dropped on the floor next to the hamper. 

“Oh, that one is still mostly clean, but it’s not, like, clean enough to belong back in my shirt drawer. And it’s not dirty enough to go in the hamper,” Tim explained matter-of-factly. 

“You have a gazillion dollar allowance; just buy another hamper for mostly-clean clothes!” Jason looked anguished, as though Tim was causing him physical pain by throwing his shirt on the ground. 

“If you don’t like it, go sleep in a guest room!” Tim retorted. 

“I can’t; there’s a weird smell.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “In every single guest room?”

“Yup,” Jason said, popping the ‘p’ sound and giving Tim a shit-eating grin. 

Tim came home from school the next day to find that Jason had commandeered the label maker from his parents’ office and was going around and labeling everything in Tim’s room “so he had no excuse to be disorganized.”

As an act of protest, Tim decamped from his own room that night and took up a post in the nearest guest room. 

He woke up at 2 in the morning to the sound of Jason’s now-familiar snoring next to him. 

***

Jason was also a stickler about eating healthily. 

Tim could somewhat understand this. Jason had been living on the streets, after all, and having unlimited access to fresh food was a luxury. Unfortunately, it meant that he didn’t tolerate Tim’s shoddy eating habits and haphazard cooking. 

“What the hell is this,” Jason commented flatly when Tim served him some eggs and toast for breakfast. “Why can I see bits of shell? Why is the bread black? Are you trying to poison me, Stalker?”

Tim shrugged. “Yeah, sorry, that happens sometimes. I just pick out the shell bits as I eat, and if you cover the bread with enough butter, you can’t really taste the burned parts.”

Jason stared at him, his mouth agape. He slowly took a bite of the eggs and chewed, his face screwing up at the flavor.

“I’ve eaten dumpster food that tasted better than this, Timbo.”

Tim felt his ears grow warm, and he stared down at his plate. “I tried my best, okay? Mrs. Mac pre-cooks a lot of the food, but there are some things she can’t do in advance, like scrambling eggs and making toast.”

Jason seemed to realize that Tim was actually upset, because he backtracked.

“You did great, okay, kid? These eggs aren’t bad for a six-year-old, I swear.”

“I’m eight,” Tim glared. 

“Look, maybe I should take over the cooking duties as my payment for living here,” Jason offered delicately. 

“You don’t have to —” Tim protested, although he secretly felt relieved at the thought. 

“No, I do. I really do,” Jason insisted emphatically, looking slightly green as he surveyed the offerings on his plate.

And from that point on, Tim’s snacking ways were under constant attack. Jason was determined to serve him three balanced meals a day, and he was mortally offended every time that Tim wanted to make ramen for dinner or eat chips as a snack. 

(On a positive note, he’d even stopped smoking in front of Tim, citing the dangerous influence of secondhand smoke on Tim’s developing lungs. He still occasionally smelled like cigarettes, but even these instances were becoming rarer as the days passed.)

“Why bother with that processed crap when I have healthy alternatives right here?” Jason said, confiscating the cool ranch Doritos bag and cheerfully replacing it with a plate of carrots, celery, and ranch dip. “Look, this is basically the same thing — it’s crunchy and ranch-flavored.”

Tim gave the plate an unimpressed look. “Yeah, except this version tastes like dirt and makes me sad when I eat it.”

Jason ignored this muttered comment, returning to the kitchen where he was chopping yet more vegetables for dinner. 

When his back was turned, Tim tried to sneak the brownie he’d saved from school lunch out of his backpack. 

“I can see that, you know,” Jason remarked.

He also held up his middle finger in Jason’s direction. 

“I can see that, too,” Jason added smugly. 

Tim quickly stuffed the brownie back in his bag before Jason decided to take it from him. He took a sip of his glass of Zesti, letting out a betrayed and horrified gasp when he realized that Jason had, at some point, replaced it with flavorless sparkling water.

Jason burst into laughter at Tim’s expense. 

Tim groaned, regretting the life choices that had led him to this moment.

***

Hand in hand with the healthy eating obsession, Jason was also fanatical about Tim’s school work. 

Tim didn’t mind school, but he didn’t particularly love it. Despite the fact that he’d skipped two grades, the material still didn’t pose much of a challenge. He had a hard time focusing on things that didn’t interest him, and since Gotham Academy didn’t offer any classes about tracking vigilantes, solving crimes, and night-time action photography, school was more of a nuisance than anything else. 

As long as his grades were high and his teachers didn’t call or email his parents to complain about his behavior, his mom and dad never pushed him to go above and beyond on his homework. Meanwhile, Jason was like some strict old English professor trapped inside the body of a stubborn twelve-year-old, and he was determined that Tim would reach his full academic potential or die trying. 

He refused to let Tim go Batman-watching until his homework was done, for one. 

“Are you kidding me?” Tim whined as Jason brandished his history book at him. “Batman and Robin might make a break in that weapons smuggling case tonight! That’s way more important than some dumb history test.”

“We’re not going until you can name the three estates of French society before the revolution and explain the role they each played in the burgeoning pre-war tensions,” Jason insisted. “You got a 92 on the quiz about the Protestant Reformation; I know you can do better than that.”

Jason was even worse when it came to English, though. 

“Bridge to Terabithia? What is this pop literature shit? At your age, you should be reading the classics. Where’s the Jane Austen? Why is there no Dickens on your syllabus?”

Tim felt like his shoulders were getting stronger from how often he shrugged them nowadays. 

“My teacher said it’s a really impactful book. It’s fifth grade; I think she’s just trying to get kids interested in reading.”

“That’s the problem with children nowadays; they’re only interested in being spoon-fed stories through movies and video games,” Jason grumbled. 

“Okay, Grandpa,” Tim replied in his most condescending tone. “I know, a lot has changed since you and Dickens were born in the nineteenth century.”

Jason ignored him. “You know what? We’re going to read this piece of shit book together, and then we’re going to write a scathing critique of its flaws instead of whatever cutesy book report your teacher wants.”

“Suit yourself,” Tim said. He didn’t mind Jason reading out loud to him — at least it meant that he could zone out and think about some of Batman’s unsolved cases.

***

“What the fuck,” Jason said a week later, furiously wiping his eyes on his sleeve as he shut the book. 

Next to him, Tim sniffled pathetically, grabbing another tissue from the kleenex box. “Are you sure it really ended like that? Leslie died? Just like that?”

“I’m suing for emotional damage,” Jason said. “What’s wrong with your teacher?! I thought you said she was trying to make you like reading!”

“To be fair, it-it was a beautiful story,” Tim hiccupped, his eyes flooding with tears again as he recalled the plot. 

“Give me your laptop,” Jason demanded. “I have thoughts.”

Without pausing for a single break, Jason proceeded to write a seven-page literary analysis of Bridge to Terabithia as an example of the bildungsroman genre (Tim had no clue what the hell this meant). He made them so late to patrol that night that they missed Batman apprehending the Riddler during an Arkham breakout, which annoyed Tim beyond belief. 

To make matters worse, when they got home at 4 a.m., Tim had to stay up for the rest of the night to write his own book report on Bridge to Terabithia, since the assignment was due that day and Jason had commandeered his laptop earlier. At 7 a.m., he was still tapping away at his keyboard like a zombie when Jason appeared in the kitchen. His report was only two and a half pages long, not seven, but he hoped it was evident to his teacher that he’d at least read the book. 

“You could just turn in what I wrote,” Jason offered, humming as he began cracking eggs at the stove. “I’m interested to hear what feedback your teacher would’ve given me.”

Tim rubbed at his bleary eyes as he frantically typed a conclusion. “I’m pretty sure I’d get expelled for plagiarism the second she tried to read that thing. Why don’t you submit it to a literary journal if you want feedback so badly?”

Jason appeared to be considering this idea. “You know, you really should include more analytical and thematic content instead of just restating the events of the plot,” he remarked, reading Tim’s draft over his shoulder with a critical expression.

And Tim…lost it. He hadn’t slept, English was his worst subject, and he did not like having someone take a vested interest in his schoolwork. 

“Just leave me alone! It’s my homework, not yours! I didn’t ask for your help!”

Tim regretted his outburst as soon as it happened. He was normally pretty even-tempered, and he didn’t like snapping at people. 

He felt even worse when Jason’s expression shuttered. “Fine. Sorry for interfering,” he said stiffly, returning to the stove to continue cooking with a stony expression.

Tim’s gut twisted uncomfortably with guilt when Jason placed a plate with eggs, hash browns, and sausage links in front of him a few minutes later. He even made Tim a cup of coffee, which was normally something he tried to prevent Tim from drinking. 

“You’ll need this after pulling an all-nighter,” he said quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Tim blurted out, cradling the warm cup in his hands. “Don’t listen to me; I’m just tired and being an ass. I’m…not used to anyone caring whether I did my homework at all, let alone whether I did it well.”

Jason sighed. “You’re a smart kid, Timbo. I…I guess I just don’t want to see you waste that. I wish I…” he trailed off before shaking his head. “Never mind, it’s not important.”

But Tim was trying to become as good of a detective as Batman, and he connected several dots in his head and felt like even more of an asshole when he realized what Jason wasn’t saying. 

After all, this was Jason, who spent most of his days reading feverishly at the Gotham Public Library, who had a never-ending stack of paperbacks on the table next to Tim’s bed, and who had written a seven-page essay for fun. He probably desperately wished that he could attend school, but without a parent or guardian to enroll him, that was impossible. And Jason was too good for Gotham’s underfunded public schools; he belonged in a more rigorous educational environment like Gotham Academy, but he would never have the means to pay the tuition.

And here was Tim, his parents handing him a first-class education on a silver platter, and Jason had to watch him take it for granted and even complain about it. 

“You’re really smart, Jason. Gotham Academy would be lucky to have you,” he remarked softly. 

Jason’s face did something complicated for a few seconds before settling into a dismissive expression. 

“Pssh, whatever,” he said briskly. “I’m better off learning on my own. Those fuckers wouldn’t know quality education if it bit them in the asses. You’re in what, fifth grade? And you still haven’t read any Dostoyevsky? It’s unbelievable.”

He listened to Jason rant about his literary opinions as he ate. “Can you proofread my book report?” He asked as a final olive branch. “Just…please don’t add anything about bildungs….whatever. My teacher has to believe that I wrote it,” he emphasized.

Jason eagerly accepted the laptop as Tim went to change into his school uniform. 

His report had grown to four pages by the time he returned, and he had to edit out a few of Jason’s four-syllable words on the bus ride to school, but it felt like a victory for them both when he earned an A on the assignment. 

***

“How are you, dear?” Mrs. Mac asked as she bustled around the kitchen a few days later, putting groceries away.

The actual answer was that Tim was pissed. Jason had kept him up late last night to study for a math exam, and he’d had the nerve to pack Tim a salad for lunch, with no chips or cookies to accompany it. It was a Friday, and Jason had texted him earlier to say that they couldn’t go chase after Batman that night unless Tim spent at least two hours on his homework first. (He’d finally accepted Tim’s old phone so that they could stay in touch during the day.)

Tim 4:07 p.m.

https://constitution.congress.gov/constitution/amendment-8/

Jason 4:08

timmers 

why did u send me a link to the constitution

???

Belatedly, Tim realized that he should answer his housekeeper. “I’m doing well, Mrs. Mac,” he said, politely but distractedly. “How are you?”

Tim 4:09 

The eighth amendment prohibits cruel and unusual punishment. Duh.

Jason 4:09

technically it’s prohibiting the federal government from enacting cruel and unusual punishment. not me. 

Which u would know if you DID YOUR HOMEWORK

Tim 4:09

It’s FRIDAY!!! Jeez, mom, chill. I’ll do it on Sunday.

“I’m doing well, Tim,” Mrs. Mac said, returning his attention to reality. “I have to say, it seems like you’re beginning a growth spurt. You’re a little young for it, but I notice you’ve been eating more food than usual.”

Tim bobbed his head in vehement agreement. “Oh, yeah — I’ve been hungrier than usual lately.”

It was definitely Tim who had completely cleaned out Drake Manor’s fridge and freezer in the past week, not the starving twelve-year-old he’d recently taken in. 

“On that note, I was surprised by your grocery list this week. It’s nice to see that you’re making healthy eating choices.”

Dread ran down Tim’s spine like cold fingers. “What do you mean?” He asked, afraid of the answer.

In response, Mrs. Mac passed him a printed out email that had been sent by Tim’s email a few days ago. Instead of his normal requests for instant coffee, instant ramen, and frozen meals, “Tim” had apparently asked for a variety of fresh produce, meat, and ingredients that needed to be combined in order to produce something edible. 

He immediately grabbed his phone. 

Tim 4:11

JASON [UNKNOWN MIDDLE NAME] TODD!!!

WTF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Why is there lettuce in my fridge right now.

LETTUCE 

Also pretty sure it’s illegal to hack someone’s email and impersonate them!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He could feel the smugness radiating from Jason’s reply.

Jason 4:12

Do ur homework and maybe i’ll let you add a few things back to the list next week

Tim 4:13

Blackmail, really?

Very mature of you

Jason 4:13

Take it or leave it, kid

Tim 4:13

I’m doing one hour. That’s it. And I get to pick the subject.

Jason 4:14

U drive a hard bargain, timmers, but i suppose i’m forced to concede

My middle name is peter btw :)

“Unbelievable,” Tim muttered under his breath to himself. 

“Well, that’s about it for me today. Do you need anything else before I go?” Mrs. Mac said, grabbing her keys and purse off the counter. 

Tim looked up from his phone. “No, I’m all set. Thanks, Mrs. Mac.”

To his surprise, she surveyed him for a minute longer. Tim was pretty sure he looked like shit — his sleep schedule hadn’t been great lately, and Jason was such an infuriating roommate that he was probably affecting Tim’s blood pressure. 

“You seem happy,” she remarked with a fond look in her eyes. “I’m glad to see it.”

Tim wanted to protest that the exact opposite was true — Jason’s snoring drove him nuts, his focus on Tim’s eating habits and school work drove him nuts, his constant playlist of pop music drove him nuts… and Tim suddenly realized that he’d been grinning the entire time he’d been arguing with Jason over text. 

He let out a disbelieving huff.

“Yeah,” he admitted to his housekeeper. “I guess I am.”

***

Another thing that he hadn’t accounted for when accepting Jason as a roommate was the need to entertain him. Jason had grown up in Crime Alley without a lot of supervision. From what Tim gathered, he’d spent a lot of time out and about, playing with other kids, exploring the city, and getting into whatever trouble he could find.

Simply put, the peaceful semi-rural environment of Bristol didn’t suit him. 

“Tiiiiiiiiim,” Jason moaned, kicking his legs in the air. He was sprawled next to Tim on the bed while Tim cleaned and organized his camera gear. “I’m bored. Let’s do something. It’s so nice outside!”

It was true — fall had arrived, but it was only mid-September, so the days were still mostly warm and sunny. 

“Aren’t you tired after last night?” Tim asked, carefully spraying his lens with a cleaning solution and wiping it with a microfiber cloth. 

Tim definitely was — they’d chased Batman and Robin halfway across the city as the duo hunted down one of Two-Face’s associates.

“Nope,” Jason replied cheerily. 

It was a little unfair that it had been Tim’s idea to follow Batman around at night and Jason turned out to be better at it than him. Some of it was probably due to their four-year age difference — Jason was scrawny for a twelve-year-old since he’d been a street kid, but he was already looking healthier after eating three meals a day for the past few weeks. He was nearly a head taller than Tim, and he was clearly a natural athlete — he wasn’t as lithe and agile as Dick Grayson, but he ran and jumped with an explosive and powerful sort of energy that Tim could never hope to emulate. 

He was also more practiced than Tim was at scaling fire escapes and jumping from building to building, and Tim had spent most of the night panting, a stitch in his side, as he struggled to keep up. 

“Come on,” Jason wheedled, nudging him. Tim clutched his lens to his chest protectively. “You clean that thing like 40 times a week.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining about that last night when you saw how cool my photos turned out,” Tim retorted.

But he knew that Jason would give him no peace, so he finished wiping off his lens and carefully put it away. 

“Fine,” he sighed. Jason let out a victory whoop and hopped off the bed. “Want to go to the skate park? I can skateboard, and you can borrow my bike.”

Jason paused by the foot of the bed. He fidgeted with the strings of his sweatshirt. “Oh…I don’t know how to ride a bike.”

Tim had learned that Jason did not like pity, so he just nodded. “That’s no big deal; I can teach you.”

So Tim pulled his bike and skateboard out of the garage. It would’ve been best for Tim to teach Jason on Drake Manor’s long driveway, but then they’d be seen by the security camera. Instead, they met on the main road just outside the gate to the manor, Tim biking down the driveway with his skateboard wedged uncomfortably across his lap, and Jason cutting around the side of the property to meet him. 

Tim wasn’t sure he’d be a very good instructor. His parents had bought him a bike as a belated birthday gift when he turned six, but nobody had taught him how to use it, so he’d figured it out on his own. Sylvia, his nanny at the time, had sat on the porch and read a magazine while he fell over and over, bruising and bloodying his knees and elbows every day for nearly a week straight until he finally got the hang of it. 

He needn’t have worried, though. Tim adjusted the seat for Jason’s height and told him the basics. Then Jason pedaled around the street slowly, practicing his turns and getting a sense of how to balance the bike. Tim watched with a smile, enjoying the warmth of the day and the rustling of the trees, which were just beginning to change colors, in the mild breeze. He offered a few pointers on steering and using the bike’s different gears, but Jason didn’t need much assistance beyond that, so Tim eventually started practicing his skateboarding tricks. 

Overall, Jason took to biking like a duck to water…literally. 

After about half an hour, Jason declared that he was ready to try the hill that sloped from Drake Manor down toward Wayne Manor. He shot off like a rocket, and Tim watched, his heart in his throat, as Jason rapidly gained speed. He let out a joyful whoop, tilting his head up toward the sunlight, his hair blowing back from his face.

He seemed to realize at the same instant that Tim did that he was going to end up crashing. 

“Brake!” Tim yelled, hopping on his skateboard and following Jason down the hill. 

“You didn’t teach me how to do that!” Jason yelled back, not sounding particularly alarmed.

“Pull back on the gears!” Tim shouted, but it was too late. He watched with a wince as Jason swerved away from the tree he was going to hit and diverted his course at the last second, riding the bike straight into a small pond on Mr. Wayne’s property. He flew over the handlebars and disappeared into the murky water. 

“Jason!” Tim yelled in a panic, hopping off his skateboard at the bottom of the hill and rushing forward. He had no clue how deep the pond was, if Jason could swim, if he was hurt…

He ran forward into the pond himself, but he only made it a few feet into the water before Jason’s head popped up, followed by the rest of his body. He burst into laughter as he stood in waist-deep water, clutching the bike’s handlebars, a large chunk of moss draped over his head. 

“That was so cool!” He shouted gleefully. “Let’s do it again!”

Of course, Tim promptly tripped over a tree root that he couldn’t see, and he went sprawling headfirst into the water himself. 

It was shallow where he’d been standing, so he wasn’t hurt, but he still found himself battling the impulse to either burst into tears or berate Jason when he resurfaced, completely drenched. He looked over his shoulder reflexively, half-expecting his parents to materialize out of thin air and start yelling at him for this entire childish, foolish stunt — especially since they were on the road where anyone could see them. Thank goodness they’d left their phones at the house — his parents would be furious if they had to buy a replacement because he got his phone wet. 

“Oh, shit,” Jason said with a grin, trudging his way through the water toward Tim. His expression grew more serious when he saw Tim’s face. “Hey, you okay? Did you get hurt?”

Tim’s heart was still beating uncomfortably fast. His parents would’ve been so mad if they were here, but they weren’t here. He was being silly.

“I’m fine,” he said, managing a faint smile. “You?”

“Never better,” Jason commented. “Sorry I got your bike wet. But I think the water actually saved it from getting damaged in the crash.”

Tim released a slightly shuddery breath. Everything was fine. Jason had been having fun, and there was nothing wrong with that (despite the fact that his parents would heartily disagree). The bike wasn’t going to melt from getting wet. 

Tim accepted Jason’s hand, and Jason pulled him to his feet. A slightly hysterical giggle escaped from Tim’s throat. 

“What?” Jason asked. 

“You have a slug on your shoulder.”

“Yeah, well, you have moss on your head.”

“So do you!”

Jason started chasing him around the shallows with the piece of moss from his head, and they both ended up laughing, the last little wisps of fear and anxiety dissipating from Tim’s chest. 

They were startled by the sudden honk of a car horn, however. 

“You boys okay there?” A friendly-sounding voice called. 

Tim cringed reflexively — the last thing he needed was some rich Bristol neighbor to see the Drake heir frolicking around in Mr. Wayne's pond like a hooligan. The news would definitely make its way back to his parents, and then he’d be grounded and interrogated about what he’d been doing and who he’d been with. 

He turned around, and it was so much worse than he’d been imagining. 

Because it wasn’t just any Bristol neighbor who’d spotted them — it was Bruce Wayne.

Chapter Text

“Oh, shit,” Jason whispered. “Is that…?”

Tim hadn’t told Jason that Mr. Wayne was Batman (he really, really wanted to, but it wasn’t his secret to tell). Still, Mr. Wayne was one of the most famous and recognizable people in the world. 

Tim gulped, nodding mutely. His legs had turned to jello, and his lips felt numb. Mr. Wayne parked the car, and then he stepped out of it, cutting a tall and imposing figure as he strode toward them. Dick Grayson hopped out of the passenger seat, eyeing them curiously, and Tim wasn’t sure if having him here was a bad or a good thing. He immediately yanked the embarrassing piece of moss off his head and stepped out of the water to face the music. 

Ugh, of course the one time he ran into his neighbors outside of the occasional gala, he had to be trespassing on their property! And these weren’t just any neighbors — it was the Waynes, who he chased around Gotham as heroes every night, and who he deeply admired and respected for their civilian identities as well. 

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Wayne,” he blurted out, his voice sounding annoyingly breathy and panicked to his own ears. “It was an accident!”

Perhaps because of Tim’s palpable fear or perhaps due to his inherent wariness of new people, Jason immediately stepped in front of him, planting himself between Tim and Mr. Wayne. “It was my fault,” he declared firmly. “Tim had nothing to do with it.”

“Easy there. I’m not upset,” Mr. Wayne said affably, holding up his hands and stopping in place a few feet away from them. “I just wanted to make sure you two were okay. I normally see birds and fish swimming in this pond, not boys.”

It was such a corny dad comment, and very Brucie Wayne of him. Maybe he was trying to put them at ease, but it only increased Tim’s fear since he knew the truth about Mr. Wayne’s alter ego and what the man was capable of.

“Hey, that was pretty cool,” Dick Grayson piped in, grinning. “I saw you riding your bike down the hill as we drove by and I had a feeling you were going to crash, so I told B that we should come check it out. You’re our neighbor, right? Tim Drake?”

Tim nodded, peeking out from behind Jason — there was no point in denying it if they already recognized him.

“If there’s any damage to the pond, I can pay for it with my allowance,” he offered.

Mr. Wayne’s expressions were hard to read, but he looked like he was repressing a smile. “I don’t think we need to worry about that. Did either of you get hurt, or are you just wet?”

“We’re fine,” Jason said, eyeing Mr. Wayne mistrustfully. 

“You’re bleeding,” Dick pointed out, motioning to Jason’s leg, which had gotten a long, fairly deep gash at some point in his collision. He also had shredded his knees and palms. “I’m Dick, by the way. What’s your name?”

Jason squinted at Dick dubiously, not speaking.

“This is Jason. He’s…my cousin,” Tim invented. Being rude to the Waynes would only make things worse for them. 

“Nice to meet you,” Mr. Wayne said in that same light, friendly tone. “And good to see you again, Tim. Jason, I’m Bruce Wayne. I’d shake hands, but I don’t want to exacerbate your injuries. Now, would you like a ride back to your house? Or do you want me to call your parents and ask them to come out here to get you both?”

“Oh, we’re fine. It’s not far; we’ll just walk back,” Tim said instantly, hardly able to believe that Mr. Wayne was going to let them leave without any further consequences.

“I really don’t think Jason should be walking around with those cuts and scrapes. Are your parents home?”

Tim buried his hands in his pockets that he wouldn’t fidget visibly. He couldn’t lie on the off chance that Mr. Wayne insisted on coming to talk to his mom and dad about their poor behavior. “No, they’re on a business trip. But I have a first aid kit, and I’ll help Jason get cleaned up.”

“Do you have a babysitter or a nanny I could contact?” It was surreal that Batman was taking time out of his busy life to worry over Tim’s childcare situation.

“I’m twelve,” Jason interjected before Tim could give a polite answer, a defiant glint in his eye. “We don’t need a babysitter.”

“What Jason means,” Tim added hastily, “is that we have a housekeeper, but this is her day off.”

“Then it’s settled!” Mr. Wayne said jovially, even though they hadn’t settled anything. “Dick, why don’t you give Jason a piggyback over to our house — it’ll be faster than driving at this point. We’ll take care of your injuries and find you some dry clothes, and you boys can stay for lunch.”

“Absolutely not,” Jason said, backing away. “You aren’t kidnapping me.”

Tim winced — Jason’s lack of a society filter was proving to be a problem. 

“What he was trying to say,” Tim translated, “is that we don’t want to impose.”

“It’s no imposition at all,” Mr. Wayne said in a polite but firm way that didn’t really give any space for them to argue back. “Dick was just complaining about how boring Bristol is on the weekends; I know he’d appreciate the company.”

Dick nodded agreeably — he seemed to do everything agreeably. “Trust me, you’d be doing me a favor. There are only so many times I can play Mario Kart by myself without it getting depressing.”

Despite the powerful aura of hostility that he was radiating, Jason looked intrigued by the offer of video games.

“I can walk by myself,” he capitulated. “That’s non-negotiable.”

“Suit yourself,” Dick shrugged. “Tim, do you want a piggyback ride instead?”

“What? Why?” Tim asked reflexively, confused. He wasn’t injured, just uncomfortable in his wet clothes. 

Dick grinned and launched into an unexpected back handspring. Judging by the lack of reaction from his dad, this was a common occurrence. “It’s more interesting than walking,” he offered as an explanation.

“If Tim wants a piggyback ride, I’ll do it,” Jason said stubbornly. 

Now everyone was looking at Tim, who wondered how their bike lesson had turned into a staredown between Robin and Jason while Batman watched. 

“I’ll walk,” Tim said meekly.

“Great! I’ll see you boys back at the house,” Mr. Wayne said affably, patting Tim on the shoulder before departing for the car. 

“What the fuck,” he heard Jason mutter to himself. Tim agreed heartily with the sentiment. 

***

Since nobody wanted a piggyback ride, Dick led them to the house through a series of dizzying and impressive tumbling passes. Tim was quickly coming to understand that this was just how he walked.

“What’s with this guy?” Jason muttered to Tim under his breath as Dick flipped over a bird bath. 

Tim found himself torn between his undying loyalty to Jason and his older-but-still-just-as-strong loyalty to Robin, who’d given him his first hug at the circus when he was little. 

“I think he’s cool,” Tim argued quietly. “Jason, we have to be nice to the Waynes, or they could get me in big trouble with my parents.”

Jason frowned. “Why would your parents care? It was an accident, and Wayne doesn’t even seem pissed off at us. It’s not like we broke anything; we just crashed into his pond.”

How could Tim explain to Jason, a street kid, the kind of pressure that he was under at all times to uphold the Drake family name and image?

”My parents wouldn’t like to be bothered by someone complaining about my behavior — especially someone famous like Bruce Wayne.”

”Right, yeah, heaven forbid their only son should require more than a moment of their time and consideration,” Jason scoffed.

”Look, let’s just be polite for the next hour, thank the Waynes, make our excuses, and get out of here,” Tim mumbled as Dick did a rather impressive round-off handspring combo up the driveway. “Try to downplay the Crime Alley accent if you can, by the way.” 

“You got yourself a deal, Timbo. I don’t trust rich assholes like Bruce Wayne. They can afford to buy themselves a good image to cover their vices.”

Jason’s haunted expression had Tim worrying again about what exactly his friend had seen and experienced during his time on the streets. And he couldn’t exactly tell Jason that Mr. Wayne was trustworthy because his only vice (that Tim knew of) was serving as the nighttime protector of Gotham. 

“Right this way; we can go in through the back door near the kitchen. Alfred, our butler, is preparing lunch,” Dick called, seeming unperturbed by Jason and Tim’s reluctance to follow him. 

Tim’s heartbeat began to speed up as he followed Dick around to the back of the manor. He’d been to Mr. Wayne’s house before for galas, but he’d never ventured beyond the few rooms that were designated for entertaining guests. Now he was going to get a firsthand look at where Batman, Robin, and Agent A lived! Maybe he could figure out where they kept all their bat-related materials — he’d once overheard Robin mention something about a batcave during patrol, and he was confident that said cave would be found underneath Wayne Manor. 

“Alfred!” Dick sang, opening the back door for them. “We’ve got company!”

The kitchen was lovely — it was smaller than Tim had been expecting and had a homey feeling compared to the white marble countertops and stainless steel appliances of Drake Manor. Instead, a moderately sized wooden table filled one corner. The quartz countertops were drenched in afternoon sunlight, and he could see a variety of practical, well-used, well-cared-for kitchen implements.

A vaguely familiar dignified-looking gentleman (that was the only way to describe him; calling him just a ‘man’ seemed inadequate) appeared in the doorway as Tim finished looking around.  

“Ah, it’s good to see that our guests have arrived. Master Bruce called me to notify me of your approach.” He turned to face Tim and Jason, who were hanging back by the door. “Welcome. I am Alfred Pennyworth, Mr. Wayne’s butler.”

Wow, it was Agent A! Tim overcame his nerves for a moment and stuck out his hand for a handshake like he’d been taught. 

“I’m Tim Drake. This is my cousin, Jason Todd. Thank you for having us.”

Alfred’s grip was firm and warm, and there was a kindness in his genteel gaze that set Tim at ease. Even Jason managed to offer his hand for a handshake as well without any snide comments. 

“It’s my pleasure, Master Tim and Master Jason.”

Footsteps approached from the opposite direction, and Mr. Wayne appeared in the doorway. 

“Glad to see you made it, boys! Tim, I bet you and Dick can find some dry clothes to change into. Jason, do you want to come with me, and we can get those cuts taken care of before we eat?”

Jason took a reflexive half-step backward toward the door. 

“If I may,” Mr. Pennyworth interjected. “Perhaps Master Tim should accompany you and Master Jason so that he doesn’t have to traipse around the manor in his uncomfortable wet clothes. Master Dick can find some outfits while I finish preparing lunch.”

Jason relaxed slightly at Tim’s side. 

“That sounds like a plan,” Mr. Wayne agreed easily. 

“On it, Alf!” Dick chimed in. 

Tim’s positive opinion of Mr. Pennyworth continued to rise as he saw how Batman and Robin respected the man’s judgment. 

“Alright, come along, boys, I have a first aid kit in the bathroom down here. Should only take a few minutes.”

So Tim hovered near the doorway of the bathroom while Mr. Wayne cleaned Jason’s cuts and scrapes with proficient, clinical ease. He handed Jason a few band-aids to apply to the worst scrapes, probably sensing that Jason wanted to be touched as little as possible. 

Tim channeled his mother and gave Jason a look as Mr. Wayne began to clean up.

”Thanks,” Jason grunted, not sounding at all thankful. 

“Glad you’re okay, chum,” Mr. Wayne replied good-naturedly. 

“I brought you guys clothes,” Dick announced, appearing in the hall. They all vacated the bathroom so that Jason could change, and then it was Tim’s turn. 

He knew that Dick had tried to find his smallest clothes for Tim to borrow, but Dick was eight years older than him, so Tim was practically swimming in fabric when he emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, clutching the pair of basketball shorts (that were more like pants) at the waist so they didn’t fall down. 

Dick let out a noise that could only be described as a coo. “That’s so cute, Timbo!”

Tim would’ve been mortally offended if anyone else said that to him, but it was Dick Grayson, so he merely scrunched up his nose in consternation. 

Jason scowled like he was daring Dick to call him cute. He was drowning in Dick’s clothes, too, but he didn’t look quite as ridiculous as Tim did. 

“Dick will throw your clothes in the dryer, and they’ll be ready for you after lunch,” Mr. Wayne assured them both. 

With a cheerful salute, Dick disappeared with the pile of wet clothes, and Mr. Wayne led them back toward the kitchen.

“What’s wrong with your ceiling?” Jason asked bluntly, pointing at scorch marks covering the lofty ceiling in the hall. Tim elbowed him, but Jason ignored him. If Tim had ever called attention to a detail like that at someone’s house, his mom would’ve dug her nails into his arm, dragged him from the house, and made him wait in the car, regardless of the weather or time of day. 

Mr. Wayne’s mouth quirked as he looked up too. Despite being the most prominent member of Gotham society, he hadn’t reacted at all to Jason’s poor manners. 

“I’m afraid Dick had a slight gymnastics mishap with the chandelier,” he said, scratching his jaw ruefully. “The lightbulbs were quite old, and when they shattered, the ceiling got a bit…hot.”

“Whoa, cool,” Jason said. He seemed impressed despite himself, no doubt picturing whatever kind of stunt Dick had pulled to set the ceiling on fire. 

Mr. Wayne winced. “Don’t tell Alfred I gave you boys any ideas, now.”

“Too bad the chandelier at Drake Manor is so modern,” Jason sighed. “I don’t think it would break like that.”

“Right this way, young masters. Do either of you have any food allergies I should be aware of?” Alfred said as they reached the kitchen. 

He and Jason both shook their heads and thanked Alfred for the meal. The simple spread smelled delicious, and to Tim’s surprise, the table was set for them to eat here, rather than in a formal dining room. There were sandwiches and soup laid out with a pitcher of water and pitcher of juice.

Mr. Wayne sat down on one side of the table, and through unspoken agreement, Tim and Jason sat across from him.

“Looks great, Alf!” Dick exclaimed as he burst into the kitchen behind them, dropping into a chair next to his dad. “I’m starving!”

“No, you’re not,” Jason retorted. 

Everyone looked at Jason, and Tim fought back a groan. It was as though Jason was trying to be as antagonistic and confrontational as possible to get all of them to dislike him, in spite of how nice they were being. Tim was no psychology expert, but after the way that Jason had initially pushed him away, too, he supposed this was Jason’s enchanting ritual for greeting every new person who entered his life. 

He desperately wished he could tell Jason that he was talking to Batman and Robin, and they already helped a lot of hungry people in Gotham. 

“None of you know anything about starving,” Jason continued fearlessly, his chin held high. Tim was half-horrified and half-impressed. “There are tons of kids in Gotham who don’t know where their next meal is coming from, and that’s definitely not the case in this house.”

Tim held his breath and braced himself for the yelling to start — for him and Jason to be thrown out of the house and off the property — for Mr. Wayne to call his parents to report their son (and their nonexistent nephew) for egregious misbehavior. Then the jig would be up — his parents would be so angry that they might actually consider coming home early to sort out his wrongdoing. It would be much harder to keep Jason’s presence a secret if a reputable adult like Mr. Wayne told his parents about his existence. 

Instead, Dick let out a thoughtful hum as he poured himself a glass of juice. “Good point, Jason. I was exaggerating, but you’re right — having access to food is something I definitely take for granted.”

Mr. Wayne took a bite of his sandwich as though this was a perfectly normal conversation. Jason seemed to deflate — he obviously hadn’t expected Dick to take his criticism on board so well. 

“No, I…I overreacted,” he muttered, staring down at his plate. “I…have some friends who used to live on the streets, that’s all. It’s a sensitive subject.”

“Well,” Mr. Wayne chimed in. “Wayne Enterprises has been doing a lot of charity work focused on eradicating hunger in Gotham, but we’ve always had a difficult time getting food to children who live on the streets, specifically. If you have any distribution suggestions or ideas from your friends, Jason, I’d be happy to talk them over with you.”

Jason blinked. “I’ll consider it,” he said suspiciously, picking up his sandwich. 

Everyone started eating then, which Tim was immensely grateful for. Still, his mother had taught him to never allow a conversation to lapse on an awkward note, so he chimed in with the only safe topic he could think of. 

“How are your stocks performing, Mr. Wayne?”

Mr. Wayne’s face twitched — perhaps his soup was too hot. 

“Ah, stonks,” Dick echoed sagely. In spite of his apparent determination to dislike Dick, Jason snorted. 

“The market is doing well, Tim, thanks for asking,” Mr. Wayne said, ignoring his son’s antics. “How is business going for your parents?”

”Very well, sir,” Tim reported gravely. 

“You know, you can just call me Bruce.”

There was absolutely no way that Tim could do that, but he gave an obedient nod.

”Thank you again for your hospitality,” Tim added. 

Next to him, Jason took an obnoxiously loud slurp of his soup. 

“It’s really no trouble, Tim — I’m always glad to help a neighbor out. When do your parents return from their trip?”

Uh-oh. This was dangerous territory.

“Next week,” he lied. “Unless they get delayed. That happens sometimes.”

Like, all the time. 

“Well, you boys are welcome to come over any time if you get lonely,” Mr. Wayne offered. 

One part of Tim could hardly believe that he had a standing invite to Batman’s house. Another part of him was growing increasingly paranoid about why Mr. Wayne was being so nice to them. Did he know that Tim and Jason had been following him around on patrol? What if he took them to the batcave and interrogated them? What if he had their memories wiped so they’d forget his identity?

“I have to say, I didn’t know there was anyone home at Drake Manor. I assumed you traveled with your parents,” Dick chimed in. “It always seems so quiet over there.”

Red alert, red alert!

Fortunately, Jason jumped in to rescue him. 

“Timmy used to travel with his parents, but now that he’s a little older, they don’t want him missing so much school. That’s why I came to stay with him for a bit, to keep him company.”

“Do you both go to Gotham Academy? I’m a junior there; I’ll keep an eye out for you in the halls from now on!” Dick said.

“I do,” Tim said. “Jason is, uh…homeschooled.”

“My parents are hippies,” Jason lied with a breezy air. “They run a wellness company and travel with Tim’s parents a lot.”

“And your housekeeper is watching you both while your parents are gone?” Mr. Wayne confirmed, his brow creased with neighborly concern. 

They both nodded emphatically. 

“Oh, yeah, Mrs. Mac is great,” Tim said. “She runs a tight ship.”

Fortunately, Mr. Wayne let the matter drop after that, and the rest of the meal passed with idle chatter about the Gotham Knights’ season record and Tim and Dick’s classes at Gotham Academy. 

After thanking Alfred for the meal, he and Jason changed back into their dry clothes, and Dick led them over to the den where he kept his gaming console. It was a beautiful room, reminiscent of something from Hogwarts, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, soft lighting, a deep red oriental rug, and warm-toned furniture. 

Upon seeing it, Jason seemed to forget their earlier agreement to leave as soon as they got their dry clothes back. He made a beeline for the bookshelves, his tough facade cracking as he began examining the spines of various books.

“Holy crap!” He gasped, his expression reverent. “Is this a first edition of The Great Gatsby?”

Dick shrugged, seeming unfazed by the treasure trove of knowledge that surrounded them. 

“Probably. Want me to ask B? These are his books.”

“No,” Jason said quickly, casting a longing look at the bookshelves before grabbing a controller and sitting on the couch next to Tim. 

“It’s nice to have other people to play with,” Dick commented as he set up the game. 

“You say that now,” Jason smirked. “Just wait until I kick your ass on Rainbow Road, Dickface.”

Dick’s grin only grew — Tim didn’t quite understand if he and Jason liked each other or were mortal enemies. “Oh, it’s on, Todd.”

Dick and Jason’s rivalry worked out well for Tim — they spent so much time ramming each other off the course and shooting shells and banana peels at one another that Tim’s path forward was relatively clear. Eventually, they gave up the guise of trying to beat each other and both started campaigning against each other to get Tim to win.

“Send it, Timmy!” Dick shouted, blasting Jason with a blue shell. 

Tim pressed on the accelerator and just barely managed to pass the finish line ahead of Jason, who didn’t seem all that upset at losing. 

“Best of nine?” Dick suggested. They’d said best of seven two games ago. 

We shouldn’t be here, Tim thought to himself. We shouldn’t be inviting Mr. Wayne’s scrutiny — both because of Jason’s living situation and because of Batman. 

But Jason pressed the button to start another round, and Tim failed to protest before the little guy in the cloud counted down to the start of the race.

“Aww, motherfu—” Jason spat as he hit an upside-down item box that Dick had planted. 

Someone cleared their throat behind them, and Jason tensed. 

“Language, Master Jason,” Alfred remarked, his expression mild. He was holding a plate of cookies that smelled amazing. 

“Sorry, Alfred,” Jason said, appearing genuinely chagrined. Tim was now half-convinced that Alfred had magical powers if he’d managed to win over Jason this quickly. 

“That’s alright, Master Jason,” Alfred said in a dry tone. “I understand that the stakes are quite high in Mario Kart.”

Between Alfred’s delicious cookies and Jason and Dick’s incessant bantering, the rest of the afternoon flew by. Before Tim knew it, the rosy light of the sunset filled the room. 

“We should get going,” Tim said. He hoped that Mr. Wayne wouldn’t be annoyed at them for overstaying their welcome so much. 

“Aw, can’t you guys stay for dinner?” Dick asked. 

Jason had grown loose-limbed and animated over the course of the afternoon, but he seemed to suddenly recall his earlier theory that Bruce Wayne was going to kidnap them. 

“No, Mrs. Mac will be waiting for us,” Jason said, scrutinizing Dick’s reaction. “She’ll get worried if we’re not home before dark.”

“Darn. Well, it was great having you both over. B can give you a ride home.” Before Tim could stop him, Dick stuck his head out into the hallway. “HEY, B!” He hollered. “Can you give Tim and Jason a ride home?”

“We can walk,” Tim protested, mortified. If he shouted a demand at his parents like that, their office door would slam open with an angry bang. He’d be yelled at in return and they’d probably make him skip dinner or refuse to drive him anywhere for a month. 

Tim dug his nails into his palms as he waited for Mr. Wayne to start yelling at Dick.

Instead, Mr. Wayne emerged from an office across the hall. “Sure, not a problem,” he said, sounding just as good-natured as before. 

“We can walk,” Tim insisted again.

“It’s no trouble to drive, chum,” Mr. Wayne assured him. “It’s such a short distance.” 

“Yeah, plus someone’s got to make sure you two don’t take a dive into the pond again,” Dick snickered. 

Tim watched with horror as Jason dove head-first at Dick, trying to tackle him onto the couch. It took him a few seconds to realize that they were play-fighting, not actually fighting. Dick, using his strength and grace from years of gymnastics (and from being Robin, though he was clearly holding himself back), quickly got Jason into a loose headlock and gave him a noogie in retribution. 

Jason twisted in the hold, but he was no match for Robin’s skill and agility. Still, he managed to elbow Dick in the gut, and Dick let go of him. 

“Oof, you’re pretty strong,” Dick complained, sounding impressed and slightly winded. The whole exchange made Tim even more confused about whether they liked each other or not.

Mr. Wayne let out a sigh at the older boys’ antics, but he seemed more amused and exasperated than angry. “Alright, let’s head out before something gets broken and Alfred catches wind of it.”

Dick winced. “Yeah, on that note, it was great to have you both over!”

He approached Tim, who eyed him warily, wondering if he was going to be put into a headlock too. Instead, Dick dropped into a crouch and pulled Tim into his arms, just like he’d done all of those years ago, and — oh. Dick was hugging him!

It was the first hug he’d gotten since Alicia left a few months earlier, and he couldn’t remember when the last time was that someone had hugged him before that. Sure, Jason slept next to him every night, which helped him feel less alone, but he wasn’t exactly a touchy-feely person. 

It felt like all of Tim’s worries and problems drifted away — his nerves over being here, his fears over his parents finding out about Jason, his terror that Batman might know about their secret nighttime exploits — it all seemed muffled and distant in Dick’s arms, and he found himself melting into the unexpected embrace. There was almost no chance that Dick recognized Tim from the circus years ago — he just thought he was giving the neighbor kid a hug goodbye — but it still felt special, all the same. 

“It was good to see you again, Timbo,” Dick said, smiling as he released Tim. 

Tim’s heart suddenly felt bruised in his chest, like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. 

“Thanks, Dick,” he replied softly.

***

“We shouldn’t have done that,” Tim said after Mr. Wayne (“Call me Bruce, chum!”) dropped them off at Drake Manor, loaded up with a meal prep container full of Alfred’s cookies. 

“Yeah,” Jason agreed, shooting a dark look at Wayne Manor as they walked up the driveway, bike and skateboard in tow. “They were nice. Too nice — I bet they have some kind of torture chamber hidden under that house.”

Tim choked on the cookie he was eating. Jason had no clue how close he was to being correct — except it was a secret vigilante lair, not a dungeon.   

“I don’t think Mr. Wayne is a murderer or a creep,” Tim said, but he couldn’t exactly provide evidence to back this claim up without bringing up Batman’s secret identity. “He is an influential adult, though. We don’t need him sniffing around and asking questions about our parents and who’s watching us.”

“Right. We’re in agreement, then — no more field trips to Wayne Manor.”

They let themselves into the silent house, and Tim tried to ignore the way that he instantly compared the sleek, colorless interior of Drake Manor to the storied decor of Wayne Manor. 

In fact, over the next few days, he caught himself frequently thinking about Wayne Manor and its occupants against his better judgment. He craned his neck in the cafeteria and during passing periods to see if he could catch a glimpse of Dick mingling with the other high schoolers at Gotham Academy. His eyes automatically sought out Alfred in the parking lot at the end of each school day. And at night, when he and Jason chased Batman and Robin across the rooftops, he recalled Batman insisting that they call him Bruce. 

To make matters worse, Dick texted him and Jason on Friday evening. 

Dick 7:39

Yooo movie night at my place tomorrow? I’ll let you guys pick the movie!

Plus Alfred will make us popcorn :)

“What do we say?” Tim asked Jason, dread filling him at the idea of rejecting Dick’s kind invitation. 

Jason shrugged. “Make up an excuse or something — say that we have, um, a dentist appointment or some shit like that.”

Tim raised his eyebrows. “On a Saturday night?” 

“I don’t know; do I look like I’ve received consistent dental care at any point in my life?” Jason shot back. 

“He’s just going to keep asking if we make up a one-time excuse. Maybe we should say that our parents want us to focus on school and we can’t hang out for the foreseeable future?”

“Okay, you send the message.”

“Why me?” Tim asked, frowning. 

“Because you came up with it!”

Tim chewed on a hangnail. 

Their phones buzzed again. 

Dick 7:44

Btw jason, i told b that you were interested in the books and he said he’ll give you a tour of his rare book collection the next time you come over

“Oh, no,” Tim said quietly to himself. 

“On second thought,” Jason mused with a philosophical gleam in his eyes. “We didn’t get murdered the first time we went over there, right? So what harm can it do to go one more time? We just have to keep up the story that Mrs. Mac is watching us like a hawk and will notice right away if we disappear.”

Well…come to think of it, Tim supposed that Jason kind of had a point. After all, Mr. Wayne hadn’t dragged them down to the batcave and deleted their memories on their first visit — why would he bother waiting until a second visit to do so?

In fact, it would actually be smart to go to Wayne Manor again so he could keep an eye on Mr. Wayne and Dick and see if they acted like they were plotting to erase their memories. That would probably be the responsible thing to do. 

“Okay, but this will be our last visit over there,” Tim warned. 

“Right, totally,” Jason agreed. “This will be our last visit.”

Chapter Text

It did not, in fact, turn out to be their last visit to Wayne Manor. 

“Good evening, young masters,” Alfred greeted them at the front door with dignity and aplomb. 

Meanwhile — “You made it!” Dick shouted from the hallway above. He jumped onto the banister and slid down it at a dizzying speed, leaping in front of them with a breathless flourish.

“Master Dick, please set a good example for your young friends,” Alfred said, his expression long-suffering. 

Can you teach us how to do that? Jason mouthed once Alfred’s back was turned. 

Dick winked. “Sorry, Alfie,” he said contritely. “C’mon, let’s head to the den!”

So they traipsed after him to the den, which was even cozier with a fire crackling merrily in the large hearth. It had started to get chilly when the sun went down, the first sign of the changing seasons. The only other difference from the last time they’d been here a week ago was the tall figure looming near a bookshelf. 

“Hey, B, Jason and Tim are here!” 

“Yes, I heard one of your patented banister leaps and assumed that was the case,” Mr. Wayne said, turning to face them with a wave. “Hi, boys.”

“Hi, Mr. Wayne,” Tim replied politely. 

“Hi,” Jason muttered, eyeing Mr. Wayne with an unfriendly expression. 

“It’s Bruce, Tim,” Mr. Wayne — Bruce — reminded him. 

Tim chewed on his lower lip, trying to decide what would infuriate his mother more — if he called an adult by their first name, or if he didn’t obey when an adult instructed him to call them by a specific address. 

Mr. Wayne — Bruce — gave him a small smile, which seemed to indicate that he wasn’t expecting an immediate response from Tim. He clapped his hands together. 

“Now, then, I’m told we have a rare book enthusiast in our midst. Jason, would you like to look at books before or after the movie?”

The hunger in Jason’s eyes was unmistakable as he scanned the vast bookshelves of the room, but he seemed reluctant to say so. 

Dick let out a laugh, giving Jason a little push forward. “He looks like Belle from Beauty and the Beast. You better give him that tour first before he explodes, B. Tim and I can figure out what movie to watch — unless you’d prefer to look at books, too, Timmy?”

Tim knew that he wouldn’t get the same appreciation out of the experience as Jason would, so he shook his head. “I’m more of a computer nerd than a book nerd,” he explained. 

“Respect,” Dick replied, leading him over to the case of DVDs. “I’m not good at reading or computers.”

Tim frowned at Dick’s self-deprecation — this was Robin, for crying out loud! He was selling himself way short. 

“You’re amazing at gymnastics,” Tim pointed out, since he couldn’t compliment Dick’s alter ego. “And talking to people. I’m not very good at either of those things.”

And you’re the best at giving hugs, Tim didn’t say — it would’ve been way too embarrassing.

“Well, I suppose we’re all good at different things. But I like talking to you, Timbit.”

Tim hoped his ears weren’t turning red — he still couldn’t believe that he was here, hanging out with Robin, and Robin was saying nice things about him!

To quell his self-consciousness, he glanced over to check on Jason. Jason had been stiff at first, but now he was paging through an old book, a rare expression of wonder and fascination on his face. Bruce was explaining something to him, and Jason nodded rapidly and replied — probably offering some obscure tidbit of trivia.

“So, what do you want to watch?” Dick asked him. “You’re the guest, so you get to pick.”

Tim’s palms started to sweat, and he wiped them nervously on his jeans. He hadn’t expected to be put on the spot like this! What if he picked a bad movie and Dick and Jason were bored and annoyed during it, and movie night was ruined because of him? He’d never been invited to someone’s house for a movie night before, and now he was probably going to mess up his only opportunity!

He thought frantically as he looked at all the options, most of which were unfamiliar. Tim hadn’t seen many movies — his parents thought it was a waste of time and wouldn’t tolerate their heir lazing around watching TV. Sometimes his nannies would put on Disney movies for him when his parents were traveling and they didn’t feel like supervising him. On the few occasions that he’d seen his parents sit down and watch something, it was always the news, archeology documentaries, or award-winning foreign films that were extremely long, dry, and difficult to follow. 

“I don’t know,” Tim shrugged helplessly. 

“Well, is there a certain kind of story you like?”

Tim thought this over — he wasn’t a fiction lover like Jason. He mostly read non-fiction to learn things about his interests, like photography, computers, and crime. When he’d been younger and his teacher had required him to choose a fiction book for quarterly book reports, he’d usually picked Sherlock Holmes stories or Hardy Boys mysteries. 

“I guess…I like mysteries?” Tim ventured, hoping this wasn’t a bad opinion. 

Dick’s answering grin set him at ease.

“You have that in common with B. Hmm…let’s see what we have that would fit the bill. Probably nothing too gory or scary, since you haven’t hit double digits yet.”

He ruffled Tim’s hair, and Tim swallowed an indignant protest that he followed Batman and Robin around and was exposed to plenty of blood and gore on a nightly basis. 

Dick selected a few DVDs for him to look at. 

“What’s Clue about?” Tim asked tentatively, latching on to the only thing he recognized. “Is that like the board game?”

“Ooh, that’s a good choice! It’s based on the board game, but it has its own story. Plus it’s funny, so it hits multiple movie genres.”

Tim heaved a tiny sigh of relief — he seemed to have passed the test. Dick got the movie set up on the TV and the two of them scattered a variety of pillows and blankets around the couches and chairs. Bruce and Jason were still looking at books — Tim overheard Jason say something about a first-edition Jane Austen novel in an awestruck voice, and he looked close to tears over it. 

He could tell Dick was starting to get restless. “Want to sneak back out into the hallway and practice the banister thing?” He asked Tim quietly. 

Tim was about to nod when Bruce raised his voice slightly, displaying his uncanny detective skills. 

“I think we should wrap up and start the movie, Jason, but you’re more than welcome to come over anytime you’d like to read or look at the collection.”

He could tell that Jason was valiantly trying to maintain his overt hostility toward Bruce, but he seemed to be failing miserably. He looked like he was walking on a cloud as he drifted over to the couch and took a seat next to Tim. 

Dick sat down on Tim’s other side, and to Tim’s bewilderment, Bruce sat in one of the armchairs. Tim noticed that his body language was different tonight — a little less bright and affable, but not nearly as imposing or gruff as Batman. He seemed mellow but serious and watchful. 

Perhaps this was closer to the real Bruce Wayne, the truth behind the dual identities of Batman and Brucie. 

“Did your parents make it back from their business trip safely, Tim?” Bruce inquired. 

Tim hesitated — the truth wouldn’t sound great, but lying was risky. 

“They got delayed, unfortunately,” he said. “Hopefully they’ll be back soon, though. In the meantime, Jason and I have Mrs. Mac for help.”

Bruce nodded thoughtfully. “Hn. Would you mind sharing your parents’ phone numbers with me? I’d feel more comfortable if we could contact each other in case you boys ever need help.”

Oh, this was definitely a trap. Jason shifted uncomfortably next to him, but fortunately, Tim was used to adults disapproving of his parents’ travel schedule, and he had contingency plans for everything.

“They’re usually not reachable by phone when they’re abroad, but I can give you their email addresses,” he offered.

Last year, Tim’s homeroom teacher had started growing suspicious over why his parents hadn’t returned the school nurse’s calls when Tim got sick, why they didn’t show up for parent-teacher conferences, and why they’d skipped the school’s annual awards ceremony, where Tim had won a certificate of achievement for his grades. 

So Tim had spent a weekend learning how to spoof email addresses, and he’d created convincing fake versions of his parents’ official Drake Industries email accounts. He’d been using the accounts ever since to sign school permission slips and communicate with teachers. 

The Janet and Jack Drake of his emails were loving, attentive parents who regretted that their busy international travel schedule took them away from their son so often. They communicated with Tim frequently, made sure the housekeeper was always there for him, and were doing all of this for the good of the company that Tim would inherit one day. 

(Never mind the fact that almost all of DI’s business was domestic, not international, and it had nothing to do with archeology.) 

His final step had been to encrypt as many of his parents’ accounts as possible so that if anyone ever investigated, it would be difficult to find a record of their travel schedules or financial transactions. 

“I’d appreciate that, Tim,” Bruce said before turning his attention to the doorway. “Ah, and here’s Alfred!”

“That smells delicious,” Dick sighed happily as Alfred placed a tray of popcorn and soda on the coffee table in front of them. The Zesti was the sugar-free, caffeine-free kind, but Tim would take what he could get. 

“Thanks, Alfred,” he and Jason chorused. To Tim’s surprise, Alfred took a seat on the other armchair and produced a knitting project. Dick pressed play on the movie, and both Alfred and Bruce looked like they were settling in for the long haul, which confused Tim even further. 

Were Alfred and Bruce seriously going to watch the movie with them? This was Bruce Wayne — Batman — for crying out loud! Surely he had better things to do with his Saturday evening than watching some silly mystery movie with the neighbor kids! 

Tim’s parents never would’ve asked Tim to pick a movie for them to watch together — the very idea was laughable. And they never would’ve allowed their staff, like Mrs. Mac or one of Tim’s nannies, to join them in such a pointless activity. 

But does it add value for our shareholders? His mom was fond of asking when deciding how to spend her time. She’d asked that very question about Tim’s science fair last year, and the answer had been a resounding no.  

Tim found himself watching Bruce as much as he was watching the movie at first. The man chuckled a few times, especially as Dick began making wisecracks comparing Alfred to the butler Wadsworth. 

Watching a movie with the Waynes was a very different experience from the times he’d been left alone in front of the massive TV in Drake Manor. For one, Dick kept up a constant stream of comments and quips, and Jason quickly joined in, showcasing his sarcastic wit. Dick paused the movie frequently so they could laugh about funny scenes or reenact bits of dialogue, and neither adult seemed annoyed by the delays. 

Tim soon found himself laughing so hard his sides hurt. Alfred’s knitting needles clicked rhythmically, the popcorn tasted amazing, and Dick had draped a blanket over his shoulders for warmth at some point. It was hard to believe that just a few months prior, he’d been alone, looking at Wayne Manor from his porch and daydreaming about what it would be like to step foot inside the house.  

“Whodunnit, Timbit?” Dick asked, pausing the movie just before the ending. “What do you think?”

Tim thought for a moment, considering all the different characters, their motives, and possible clues that the movie had provided. 

“I don’t know if they gave us enough information to narrow it down to one person,” Tim hedged. “I still think it could be a few different people. For example, Miss Scarlet…”

Tim mused about his theories for a minute, and nobody sighed or checked their watch like his parents usually did when Tim talked too much. 

“Oh my god, Alfred, there’s two of them! Watch out, B, you have some serious competition,” Dick said when Tim finished theorizing, elbowing his dad. 

“Dick’s right, Tim, you have a very analytical way of thinking about the mystery,” Bruce agreed. 

Tim bit the inside of his cheek to keep a huge grin from breaking out on his face. Gotham’s best detective had praised his deductive skills! And sure enough, Tim’s hypothesis was proven correct — there were three different endings to the movie, each revealing that a different character was the murderer. 

“Well, now that we’ve watched Clue, we need to have a game night next weekend and actually play the board game,” Dick declared after the movie was over, as though it was only a natural progression of events. 

No! Tim thought firmly to himself. He and Jason had both agreed that they couldn’t keep coming over here after this. 

But…he did miss playing Clue. He’d played with Ives sometimes before he moved away — until Ives got sick of him always winning, that is. If Bruce and Dick were involved, they’d probably provide some serious competition for once. 

And, well…surely something would’ve happened by now if Bruce had caught on to their nighttime adventures. 

“I’m gonna wipe the floor with Jason again, just like I did when we played Mario Kart,” Dick added.

And in the end, that was the final nail in the coffin. 

“Like hel — like heck you are!” Jason spat, casting a deferential look in Alfred’s direction as he stopped himself from swearing. 

Mr. Wayne — Bruce, Tim kept reminding himself — made it even worse when he drove them home after the movie. (Tim had once again insisted they could walk home but had been shot down by every member of the Wayne household since it was dark outside — as if the night somehow posed a hazard to Tim, who spent his evenings haunting the rooftops of Gotham.)

“Thanks for coming over,” Bruce said sincerely when he parked in front of Drake Manor. “I know Dick is older than both of you, but he’s had a hard time making friends in the neighborhood ever since he came to live with me. I’m sure you’re both aware of this, but people in Bristol can be judgmental, and he’s had to deal with a lot of snobby kids in the past.”

It was hard to imagine that anyone could be mean to kind, cheerful Dick Grayson, but unfortunately, Tim knew all too well what Bruce meant — Gotham society’s elite were like vultures, circling anyone who was different from them and waiting for their moment to strike. They raised their children to be the same way — maybe Tim was lucky that his parents were gone so much, or he would’ve become cutthroat and predatory like his peers over time. 

“Eh, Dick’s alright,” Jason said, but he didn’t sound quite as dismissive as he was aiming for. 

Bruce chuckled. “Have a good night, you two. See you at game night next weekend.”

Tim sighed to himself as he climbed out of the car — he was beginning to feel like they were in over their heads and would soon be swept out to sea, but neither he nor Jason could find the willpower to turn back to the shore. 

***

The following Monday morning, he left Drake Manor at the usual time, walking to the public bus stop. It was raining steadily, and there was an autumn chill in the air that seemed to seep into his bones. He’d forgotten his umbrella in his locker at school, and raindrops quickly seeped through his school blazer, making him shiver. It was horrifying that Jason had once been living on the streets and dealing with weather conditions like this on a regular basis. 

In fact, Jason had woken up, taken one look outside, and proclaimed that he was going to conduct his normal self-directed studies at Drake Manor instead of the Gotham Public Library today. Tim supposed he couldn’t fault Jason for that — he wished he was indoors, too. Fortunately, Mrs. Mac and the cleaners didn’t come on Mondays, so Jason could have the house to himself without hiding. 

Tim was so absorbed in his own misery that he nearly missed the sound of a car honking. He stepped to the side of the road, wincing at the way his shoes squelched in the mud and praying the driver wouldn’t send a cascade of water splashing over his head.

“Timmy!” A voice shouted over the rain. 

He glanced over to see Dick Grayson leaning out the window of a black sedan and waving furiously at him. 

“Get over here!” Dick called in an urgent tone. 

His teeth chattering, Tim hurried over to the car to see what Dick wanted. 

“Hi, Dick. Hi, Alfred. What’s up?” Tim asked, approaching the passenger-side window that Dick had rolled down. 

“What do you mean, what’s up? Get in the car before you drown or freeze to death!”

That was a little dramatic — it wasn’t that cold out, and it was only another half-mile to the bus stop. Still, Tim didn’t want to make Dick late for school or waste Alfred’s time, so he obediently climbed into the back seat. 

“Good morning, Master Tim,” Alfred said, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. “There should be a spare blanket under your seat that you can use to dry off. As well as an umbrella you can borrow.”

He fiddled with one of the knobs on the dashboard, and Tim soon felt an amazing blast of warm air wash over him. He grabbed the blanket as instructed, wincing as he realized that he was dripping rainwater onto the expensive upholstery.

“T-thanks, Alfred,” Tim said between shivers. “But I could’ve—”

“—walked. You could’ve walked, yes, I know; that’s one of your top three favorite phrases,” Dick interrupted, sounding aggravated. 

Alfred shot Dick a warning look, and Dick sighed. 

“Sorry, Timbo, I just got worried when I saw you walking by the side of the road like that. Your housekeeper doesn’t drive you to school?”

Tim dried his hair with the blanket to buy himself time to answer. “No, I take the public bus. Mrs. Mac is really busy with chores in the morning, and my parents want me to learn independence.”

(That was putting it mildly.) 

“Still…they’re okay with a little kid like you taking the public bus? Into Gotham? ” Dick asked incredulously. 

“I’m not little,” Tim said grumpily. “And it’s mostly safe during the daytime.”

Emphasis on mostly. Tim had gotten off before his intended stop several times when he noticed people watching him with calculating expressions, weighing how easy of a target he would be with his private school blazer and expensive backpack. But, hey, he was still alive, so it was mostly fine!

Alfred gave Dick another look before he could reply, and then his gaze returned to Tim’s. “It would add virtually no additional time to our commute to give you a ride, Master Timothy, if your parents are amenable to such an arrangement.”

“Uh, okay, I’ll ask them,” Tim lied, looking out the window. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but he also didn’t want to be interrogated. 

Up in the front seat, Dick shed his school blazer and began to roll the sleeves up into cuffs. 

“Here, you can wear this one since yours is wet. I have a spare in my locker at school,” he explained, passing it into the backseat. 

Tim knew he should protest — his classmates would tease him for wearing such an oversized blazer, but that wasn’t exactly anything new or unexpected. Plus this was the Dick Grayson offering his jacket — it would be rude to refuse. And…it would be nice to be warm and dry.

It felt like a pale imitation of receiving a hug from Dick as Tim pulled the blazer over his mostly-dry uniform shirt. 

“I’ll launder your blazer and return it to you at the end of the school day,” Alfred promised as they pulled up in the drop-off line. 

“We’ll meet back here at 3, okay, Tim?” Dick told him, grabbing his backpack. 

And just like that, Tim was now on the hook for a ride home at the end of the day. The two of them were sneaky — not only had they convinced him to accept a ride to school, but they’d roped him into a ride home, too. Well, no matter — it would be a one-time thing. Tim would come up with some fake excuse from his parents, and he’d turn down the offer of future rides.

But for now, he knew when he had lost a battle — he would’ve had to return the borrowed umbrella at some point, anyway. 

“Okay, thanks, Alfred. Thanks, Dick,” he said with a stiff society smile that would’ve made his mother proud, following Dick out of the car.

“Have a good day, Timbo,” Dick said cheerfully, ruffling Tim’s damp hair before taking off for the high school building on the other side of campus. 

Tim sighed. It was really hard to stay annoyed with Dick Grayson, he was learning.

***

The email arrived that evening.

To: [email protected]

Cc: [email protected]

From: [email protected]  

Subject: Hello, neighbors

Received: 7:58 p.m.

Dear Janet and Jack,

It’s been awhile since we’ve seen each other — I believe we may have spoken briefly at the Kimmer gala over the summer? I’m sure Tim has filled you in since it sounds like you’re in constant communication with him — he and your nephew have recently befriended my son Dick. Tim and Jason are both wonderful boys, and Dick has enjoyed having neighbors to spend time with. As I’m certain you know, Bristol can be a boring place for growing boys.

I wanted to reach out since it seems like the boys will be getting together regularly for the foreseeable future, and I’m more than happy to host them at Wayne Manor in your absence. Tim tells me that you are on a business trip in China that was unfortunately delayed. I wasn’t aware that Drake Industries had any business endeavors in Asia — are you looking to expand? If so, I can put you in touch with WE’s liaison in Shanghai. It would be my pleasure to help a fellow Gotham business. 

I also hear from Dick that Tim takes the public bus to school. It would be no trouble at all for my butler, Alfred Pennyworth, to give him a ride to Gotham Academy along with Dick. If you have any concerns about Alfred’s qualifications, please know that I trust him wholeheartedly with my own son’s safety, which is the highest testimony I can provide for his character. I’m sure you can have no further objections knowing this. 

Finally, I must confess that I was surprised to learn that you have a nephew, since we were all school chums back in the day, and I seem to remember that you were both only children. What a happy discovery! Jason is very bright, just like Tim. You must miss them both terribly and look forward to seeing them again very soon. 

Safe travels and kind regards,

Bruce Wayne

“Fuck,” Jason said feelingly. 

“Yep, that about sums it up,” Tim concluded grimly, staring at his laptop screen with dismay. 

Reading between the lines of polite society talk, it was clear that Bruce was suspicious about his parents’ travel schedule and their decision to leave him and Jason at home for an extended period of time with a housekeeper. He’d essentially set it up so that Tim’s “parents” would seem defensive and hostile if they turned down the offer of Alfred’s chauffeuring services. And he’d called Jason’s cover story into question. 

All in four paragraphs. 

It would be impressive if it wasn’t so alarming. 

“Look, you gotta do whatever you can to get the heat off of you,” Jason spoke up, his tone bracing. “Damage control. Wayne seems like a do-gooder. The last thing you want is for him to get suspicious and start poking around or calling CPS because he views himself as some kind of hero swooping in to save the children. I think your parents royally suck, too, but trust me, the foster care system is way worse than your current situation.”

With a sigh, Tim began typing. He didn’t just have himself to worry about anymore; he needed to think about Jason’s best interests, too. In fact, after Jason had moved in a month earlier, he’d applied his amateur hacking skills to encrypt or delete as many of Jason’s past records as possible, much like he’d done for his parents’ records last year. At the time, he’d been worried about his parents finding out about Jason and investigating him — now he had Batman on the case!

He could only hope that the falsified records delayed or distracted Bruce until he lost interest in the neighbor kids, but he was keenly aware that they were walking on a knife’s edge. If they were too insistent on staying away from Dick and Wayne Manor, they’d seem suspicious. But the closer they got to the Waynes, the higher their risk of slipping up was, and the more opportunities Bruce would have to observe them.

“You wrote Arthur instead of Alfred,” Jason pointed out, skimming through his draft while Tim made sure his VPN indicated that he was emailing from Beijing.

Tim shook his head. “Trust me, that’s how my mom writes. She doesn’t pay attention to the names of people like Alfred.”

“Wow, for someone who doesn’t like creative writing, you have a flair for this,” Jason said, his eyebrows going up. 

Tim snorted. “Trust me, I’ve been training for this my whole life.”

***

To: [email protected]  

Cc: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Hello, neighbors

Sent: 11:02 p.m.

Dear Brucie,

How lovely to hear from our neighbor and old school chum! Ni hao, as they say here. Apologies for emailing so late, but it’s the early afternoon here. I do so appreciate your offer of support with setting up business endeavors in China. Unfortunately, the project we are working on is confidential and requires extensive NDAs, so we can’t share further details at present. Rest assured that it’s a thrilling opportunity for Drake Industries — we do miss our dear Timothy every day, but we’re doing our utmost to build up Drake Industries to set him up for a bright future, and we hope to be home very soon. Being a father yourself, I’m sure you can appreciate the sacrifices required to strengthen the family business for one’s children. 

There are certainly no concerns on our end about the boys spending time at the Manor — of course we trust our closest neighbor with our precious son and nephew! It would be quite helpful if Arthur could give Timothy a ride to school. To tell the truth, Mrs. McIlvaine’s eyesight isn’t the same as it used to be, which is why we temporarily asked Timothy to take the bus while we search for a driver we trust. 

Lastly, we were also rather surprised to learn about Jason’s existence a few years ago — it turns out that Jack has a younger half-brother that he didn’t know about. I trust that you’ll keep this information to yourself, since it’s not well-known in society circles for obvious reasons. Tim and Jason get along beautifully, and it’s wonderful to hear that they’ve made an additional friend in your son. These childhood connections often form the professional networks of the future, and Jack and I look forward to continued collaboration with you and your family. 

-Janet Drake

The contents of this email may contain confidential and/or privileged information and may be legally protected from disclosure. 

Chapter Text

Now that they were spending more time with the Waynes, Tim couldn’t help but wonder if Jason would discover their secret. It seemed comically obvious to Tim since he knew the truth, and he often wondered how other people hadn’t guessed that Bruce was Batman and Dick was Robin. 

Okay, he had to give it to Bruce — the man’s civilian cover as Brucie Wayne was pretty good. But Dick…well, Robin’s costume allowed more of him to be seen than Batman. It was evident to anyone with eyes that Robin was a young man with black hair, olive skin, and an athletic physique. Both Batman and Robin lowered the pitch of their voices when they spoke, but Dick’s voice sometimes returned to its normal register when he was fighting or chasing someone, which was a fair amount of the time. 

And then there was Robin’s clear gift for acrobatics. Dick had a gym he went to after school some days, and he taught kids’ gymnastics classes on Sunday mornings — how had nobody recognized his stunts? It was what had tipped Tim off, after all. 

On second thought, maybe most other people didn’t have the kind of free time that Tim had to obsess over such matters. 

“That was so cool!” Jason whispered to him, peering down through his binoculars as Robin ushered several hostages out of the Gotham Art Museum. “Two against, like, twenty bad guys, and the bats won!”

It was earlier in the night than usual — just after 8 p.m. He and Jason had hopped on the bus and gone batwatching when the news reported a breaking hostage situation at the museum. The night sky had been illuminated by the bat signal as the bus pulled into the city, sending a chill of awe and fear down Tim’s spine.  

Batman emerged from the museum next, briefly conferring with Commissioner Gordon before both of them returned to the museum, likely to deal with the now-subdued criminals. Robin kept bringing hostages out, and the police began to fan out now that the immediate threat was dispatched — some headed toward the museum, but others began breaking off down various nearby streets to look for clues and accomplices.

“We should climb down before we’re seen,” Tim whispered back — it wouldn’t be a good look if they were spotted up here. 

Jason nodded in agreement, and they quickly and quietly descended the nearest fire escape. Tim paused to look both ways before attempting to sneak out of the alley, and it proved to be a lifesaver, because Robin was walking straight toward them!

He darted back into the shadows, yanking Jason with him. Maybe Jason wouldn’t recognize Dick, but Dick would definitely recognize both of them, and that would lead to a lot of questions that Tim really didn’t want to answer.

“...you were really brave. We’ll just get that bump looked over by the EMTs, and then you’ll be on your way, okay?” Robin was saying soothingly. The ambulances must’ve been staging nearby, and Tim could see that Robin was walking with a boy who was about Jason’s age.

The boy sniffled in response, probably in shock from everything that had just happened. 

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” Robin assured him, the genuine care obvious in his voice. “The police are going to have your parents meet us by the ambulance, and they’ll be here before you know it.”

“I wasn’t brave, Robin,” the boy blurted out tearfully, shaking his head. “I was so scared!”

He let out a choked sob.

“Aw, kid — hey, can I give you a hug?” Robin asked. The boy nodded, and Robin embraced him for a few seconds. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Robin said, and this was the closest Tim had ever heard him sound to Dick Grayson’s actual voice while acting as Robin. 

The boy nodded, wiping at his eyes. 

“I was scared, too,” Dick admitted. “It’s normal to be scared — it’s our body’s way of protecting us in a crisis. You stayed calm and made it out, and that took great bravery, no matter how frightened you felt inside.”

The boy looked up at Robin, relief and gratitude clear in his gaze. “Thanks, Robin,” he said softly, standing a little straighter, and then the duo resumed walking.

Tim couldn’t help but look at Jason expectantly, hoping he’d connected the dots. In Tim’s opinion, Robin’s compassion was a clear mirror of Dick Grayson’s effervescent kindness, plus the physical similarities between Robin and Dick were unmistakable. 

“Let’s go before Robin comes this way again,” Jason muttered instead, motioning for Tim to follow him. 

Repressing a disappointed groan, Tim followed obediently, and they made their way out of the arts district with no further incident. 

To Tim’s surprise, his phone buzzed with a text from Dick in their group chat a few minutes later. 

Dick 8:49 p.m.

Hey you guys weren’t in gotham tonight, right? I heard about some crazy hostage situation on the news :o Stay safe!

“Did you see what Dick texted us?” Tim asked meaningfully — it was pretty coincidental that they’d just seen Robin at the scene of the heist, and now Dick was trying to make sure they were okay. 

Jason was distracted by the second-hand bookstore they were walking past. He checked his texts and then switched to his phone camera. 

“Yeah, I saw it. Hey, look at this book! I’m gonna send a picture to Dickface and tell him it reminds me of him.”

Jason chortled as he zoomed in on the book in question, which featured a grotesque alien on the cover. 

Jason 8:52 p.m.

we’re good

why didn’t you tell us someone wrote a book about u??

IMG_022.jpg

Dick 8:53 p.m.

Dick disliked “IMG_022.jpg.”

Tim allowed himself an audible groan this time. He supposed getting Jason to figure out the Waynes’ alter egos was a work in progress.

***

If Bruce was in any way suspicious about the emails he’d exchanged with “Tim’s parents,” he didn’t let on the next time they saw him. 

It was Saturday, and Tim and Jason walked over to the Manor after dinner for game night. As they headed up the now-familiar path to the front door, Tim was startled to realize that he had seen Dick and Alfred every single day this week. Alfred had continued to give him rides to and from school, and Jason had started tagging along as well. He’d invented a homeschool group and fabricated a tutor that he met with at the Gotham Public Library, and Alfred dropped him off at the closest library branch after he dropped Tim and Dick off at Gotham Academy.

Tim had been reluctant to accept the rides at first, but he had to admit that it was nice…really nice. He was often running on fumes in the morning, especially after nights when he and Jason had gone batwatching. As the weather got colder, it was a relief to know that a warm car was waiting for him at the end of the driveway or in the parking lot after school. Instead of spending the morning and afternoon trudging up the lane and guarding his valuables on the bus, he now exchanged amused looks with Alfred in the rearview mirror as Jason and Dick bickered over which music they should play on the drive and who got shotgun. 

Dick had even started walking into school with him, and a few of his classmates who normally picked on him had let up a little bit upon seeing that Tim had somehow found himself under the protection of an upperclassman — an upperclassman who was Bruce Wayne’s son, to boot. 

So while he was starting to feel more and more comfortable spending time with Dick and Alfred, he was still nervous in front of the head of the Wayne household (although the more Tim got to know Alfred, the more he was convinced that the butler was secretly the one in charge of everything related to Wayne Manor, Wayne Enterprises, and Batman). 

Bruce was sitting at the kitchen table when they entered, dressed casually in jeans and a faded Wayne Enterprises t-shirt and sipping from a mug of coffee. Tim had assumed it was a one-time fluke when Bruce joined them for movie night last week, but now he seemed to be part of game night, too. Being around Bruce made him nervous, especially because of the recent emails, but he couldn’t deny that some part of him still relished in any opportunity to spend time with his idol.

“Evening, boys. Take a seat,” Bruce greeted them, gesturing to the open chairs around the table. Tim could see a stack of board games sitting off to the side. 

“I’m going to grab a Zesti. Jay, Timmy, what do you want to drink?” Dick asked. 

“I’ll take a Zesti, too,” Jason said.

“Can I have coffee?” Tim asked, eyeing Bruce’s cup hopefully.

“No,” chorused Jason, Dick, Alfred, and Bruce in unison. Jason looked grudgingly impressed by the Waynes, probably welcoming any support he could get in his crusade to make Tim eat and drink healthily. 

“I think it’s a bit late for that much caffeine, chum,” Bruce continued, his tone mild. 

“Fine,” Tim mumbled. “I’ll have a Zesti, too, then.”

Bruce let out a little chuckle. “It’s good to know we have another coffee enthusiast around here — just not at 7 p.m., okay? Don’t follow my bad example.”

Tim nodded, perking up a bit as Dick returned with sugar-free, caffeine-free Zestis and some of Alfred’s famous cookies. He supposed Bruce drank coffee at this time of night to prepare himself for patrol in a few hours. Tim couldn’t exactly say that he drank it for the same reason, so he accepted the soda instead. 

They started with Clue, since that was the board game that had inspired game night. 

“Are you going to play with us, Alfred?” Jason asked while Dick set up the board. 

“No, Master Jason — I’m going to be making some bread for the week ahead. I’ll be here in the kitchen while you play, though.”

“Alfie can be our referee if things get out of hand,” Dick said, casting a slightly guilty glance at Bruce.

Bruce smiled dryly. “Which has been known to happen from time to time.”

“Hey, it was one time, and I was nine! You can’t fault me for having poor emotional regulation skills at that age!”

“What happened?” Tim asked curiously. It was hard to imagine Dick getting angry or misbehaving. 

“Bruce beat me at Monopoly — which was no fair, if you ask me, since he’s managed a multi-billion dollar company since before I was born. I got so mad that I threw the board, all the pieces, and all the fake money out the kitchen window and into the garden,” Dick said, laughing at the memory. “Then I had to spend most of the weekend cleaning it up. There was Monopoly money blowing around in the breeze for weeks after.”

“I found the top hat game piece in the hydrangeas just last summer,” Alfred noted.

Tim tried to envision how his parents would react if he had such a childish reaction to losing a game. He couldn’t even imagine what they might do — drag him to his room and lock him there for days on end? Throw away all his games, books, and other sources of entertainment to teach him a lesson? Kick him out of the house and not allow him back in until every game piece was accounted for? Whatever the ensuing punishment was, he was fairly certain he wouldn’t reminisce about it happily years later.

“Anyway, consider yourself warned — B doesn’t go easy just because you’re a kid,” Dick concluded.

Sure enough, Bruce correctly guessed the murderer, the location, and the weapon by his third turn during their first round. 

Clearly, Tim was going to have to step up his game. Filled with determination, he poured every ounce of his concentration into the second round, studying his cards, the clues he got from everyone around the table during his turn, and the unspoken clues that could be gleaned from watching the other players. He guessed on his fourth turn, taking a calculated risk that paid off. He beamed proudly when Dick opened the envelope and revealed that he was correct.

“Well done, Tim! I see I have a rival,” Bruce complimented him, applauding.

“I don’t get it,” Jason said, appearing baffled as he looked down at his partially filled-out sheet. “How are you two doing that? Isn’t it supposed to be a process of elimination? There’s no way you have enough information to guess already!”

“Ugh, they’re like two peas in a pod,” Dick groaned. “Bruce guesses stuff based on body language and inferences, and I’m guessing that Tim is doing the same.”

“This is no fun; we’re barely getting to even play before the game ends! I think Bruce and Tim should play each other in the next round,” Jason declared. 

Tim looked at Bruce uncertainly. “We don’t have to, Mr. Wayne —”

Bruce stuck out his hand. “Let’s settle this once and for all, partner,” he said with an exaggerated Western drawl, tipping an invisible cowboy hat in Tim’s direction with his other hand. 

It was so unexpectedly silly that Tim couldn’t help giggling as he accepted the handshake. 

“Tim! Tim! Tim! Tim!” Dick began chanting as Bruce set up the board for another round. Jason quickly joined in. 

“Gee, son, good to know where your true loyalty lies,” Bruce remarked dryly as he picked up his cards. 

Tim carefully studied Bruce in between glances at his own cards. He was at an obvious disadvantage here — he was an eight-year-old kid, and this was Batman, for crying out loud! But maybe that was actually his main advantage — Bruce might underestimate him. He wasn’t aware that Tim knew he was Batman and had been carefully observing him for months, learning how he worked as a detective. 

Tim felt nervous as he rolled the dice for his first turn, but beneath that, he felt alive — fully locked in on the challenge that lay in front of him, his mind blissfully empty of every other thought and worry. He and Bruce both took their time with their turns, studying their cards, their notepads, the board, and each other’s movements across the board as though surveying a real crime scene for information. 

“It’s like watching grand chessmasters play,” Dick muttered to Jason. 

“I think it’s more like a nature documentary,” Jason snickered. Even Alfred stopped what he was doing to come watch them. 

By the end of the fifth turn, Tim was getting close to making a guess. He’d figured out that the murderer was most likely Mrs. Peacock, and she’d been in the billiards room with either the knife or the rope. 

Knife or rope? That was the question. 

He calculated that he had about a 40% chance of it being one or the other (another 20% of uncertainty accounted for the fact that he’d eliminated a few other options without definitive proof). 40% was decent odds…but was it good enough?

Best wait one more turn, just to be sure, he thought, picking up the dice to roll them. 

But then he glanced at Bruce and saw that the man’s body language had changed ever so slightly — something that Tim never would’ve recognized if he wasn’t so used to watching him in action as Batman. There was a subtle sense of anticipation in his frame, like he was preparing to leap into motion and chase after a criminal. He’s going to guess on his next turn, Tim realized. 

He put the dice down. “I’d like to guess,” he said, trying to sound confident. 

Bruce’s eyebrows went up. “Okay — Dick, will you do the honors?”

Dick grabbed the envelope eagerly. “Man, this is better than watching the Gotham Knights play!”

“Come on, Timmy,” Jason urged, doing a drumroll on the table. “You got this.”

Tim took a deep breath. “I think it was Mrs. Peacock in the billiards room with the rope.”

He crossed his fingers under the table for good luck. 

Dick skimmed the cards, and then his face fell. “Ugh — sorry, TimTam. You’re so close — but that’s not right.”

Damn it! It had been the knife after all.

“B?” Dick prompted. 

Bruce looked slightly apologetic as he said, “Mrs. Peacock in the billiards room with the knife.”

Tim’s shoulders hunched. He felt his ears turn red with embarrassment — who was he to think he could take on Bruce Wayne in a game and win? 

Foolish brat, sullying the Drake name, he imagined his dad hissing. Never gamble with a business partner if you can’t deliver results. You’ll make yourself and your brand look weak. 

“Dang — that’s right, B. Well, great game, anyway, Tim!” Dick brightened up again, wrapping an arm around Tim’s shoulders and squeezing. 

“Excellent job, Tim,” Bruce told him in a sincere tone. “That’s the hardest I’ve had to work at this game in years.”

“I can confirm,” Alfred added, “since the last time I beat Master Bruce at Clue, he was about your age, Master Tim.”

“You’ll get him next time,” Jason said, bumping his shoulder against Tim’s other shoulder. 

Tim looked at everyone around him, surprised. Nobody was lecturing him on his mistakes, teasing him for being a loser, or saying that he’d disappointed his family lineage. They were just…having fun. It was hard to feel too bad about losing with everyone being so encouraging. Tim tried to shove away the little disappointed voice that sounded like his parents, managing a small smile.

“Thanks for playing, Mr. Wayne. It was a lot of fun.”

Bruce smiled in response. “It’s Bruce, chum,” he reminded Tim for the dozenth time, but he said it as though it was an old joke shared between the two of them. 

“Can we play something that doesn’t require mind-reading now?” Jason asked. 

Dick grabbed the deck of Uno cards. “Coming right up, Jay!” He said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. 

***

Uno was an utter bloodbath. 

Tim had played Uno with Ives before, and he’d always thought it was a pretty boring game, mostly based on luck and requiring no real skill. He’d also enjoyed a few leisurely afternoons playing with Alicia, who’d taught him how to say numbers and colors in Portuguese as they went. 

He hadn’t accounted for how fiercely competitive Jason and Dick would be. Their first game lasted 30 minutes until Jason finally eked out a victory, and Tim was half-afraid that Dick was going to throw the Uno deck out the kitchen window. Instead, Dick demanded a rematch and ran out of the room before reappearing a few minutes later, clutching a small deck of cards triumphantly. 

“That’s it — I’m pulling out the big guns,” he announced, slapping the extra cards down onto the table. 

“What’s that?” Jason asked, looking skeptical. 

“I call it ‘Double Uno,’” Dick said proudly. “Basically, I took all the wild cards, draw twos, reverses, and skips out of a second deck. Now we’ll have double the amount of those cards in the game, which will make things really interesting.”

“If it’s ‘Double Uno,’ shouldn’t it just be called ‘Dos’?” Bruce mused, beginning to shuffle the new cards into the game deck.

“Yeah, call it dos for the number of games I’m about to win!” Jason crowed.

Tim almost immediately regretted his choice of seat as Bruce dealt and the game began. He was sandwiched between Dick and Jason, who were constantly skipping his turn, reversing before he could put a card down, and playing draw twos and draw four wilds like Gotham PD handing out parking tickets. 

“Why couldn’t you two just sit next to each other?” Tim sighed, struggling to hold all the cards he’d picked up. 

“I suspect we’d be left cleaning up the rubble of this kitchen if we let them play without a buffer,” Bruce replied, looking at his own sizable hand of cards.

Of course, the advantage of having way too many cards was that he could then start foiling Dick and Jason’s plans. 

“Hang on…how many cards do you have, Jay?” Tim asked when he noticed that Jason was holding his hand suspiciously under the table and out of view. 

Jason shot him an irritated look but lifted his hand to reveal that he was down to his last two cards. 

“No!” Dick wailed, playing a red 7. “Not again! B, you gotta stop him!”

But Bruce gave a rueful shake of his head on his turn, playing a red 3. “I don’t have many useful cards right now.”

“How is that possible; you have half the deck!” Dick complained.

“I have the other half of the deck with all the useful cards,” Tim sighed.

“He’s gonna win unless you do something!” Dick said urgently. He and Dick groaned in unison as Jason played a blue 3 on his turn. 

“Uno,” he said smugly.

Tim had plenty of good cards, but he couldn’t do anything to help from his position unless the order was reversed. 

“Come on, B!” Dick pleaded as Bruce began to pick from the pile. “You’re the only one who can stop him now!”

“Yeah, Bruce, please!” Tim added, caught up in the excitement. “He’ll be insufferable if he wins, and I have to go home with him!”

Bruce looked up at him, his amused grin turning into a warm smile as he continued picking cards.

“Not to worry, boys,” Bruce said a moment later, finally playing a blue reverse and sending the game back to Dick. “It’s still anyone’s game.”

They both sagged in relief, and Tim readied himself to play a draw four wild on his turn so that Jason would have to pick up more cards. 

“No table talk,” Jason protested sullenly, “that was unfair!” But he also looked a little excited that the competition would continue. 

As Tim was lying in bed at home a few hours later, he couldn’t help but think about how much his parents would’ve hated his behavior that night. 

He’d embarrassed himself by losing at Clue. He’d been giggling and laughing like some kind of uncivilized cretin (one of his mother’s favorite insults) the whole night. He’d knocked Jason’s can of Zesti over by accident at one point, and it had spilled all over the Waynes’ nice oak table. (To his surprise, nobody had gotten mad — Alfred had just handed him a tea towel to wipe it up with.) He’d practically shouted at Bruce Wayne, of all people, over a game of Uno. 

It was the most fun Tim could remember having in ages (even though Jason had eventually won the second game and had, in fact, been insufferable). 

As he was about to drift off to sleep, he suddenly realized something else.

He’d finally managed to call Bruce by his first name without even noticing it . 

***

A few nights later, he and Jason crouched behind two gargoyles, watching the meet-up happening down below. The cold stone of the gargoyle bled through Tim’s pants, and he tried his best to ignore it. 

From their vantage point, they could just barely make out the dark shadow of Batman in an alley, waiting to make his entrance at the right time. Robin was watching from a different alley, ready to swoop in if Batman needed backup. 

“How the hell do you think Batman found out about this?” Jason asked softly. “This guy has been wreaking havoc for a year now, and Gotham PD hasn’t managed to pin shit on him!”

Tim peered through his camera lens, trying to see if he recognized the leader of the gang, Abruzzi, who had been running a very successful weapon smuggling scheme for the past year, providing the less savory occupants of Crime Alley with a free flow of guns and ammo.

“Remember those guys Batman took down at the docks a few weeks ago?” Tim whispered back. “I think that they were Abruzzi’s lieutenants.”

Jason hummed thoughtfully. “So Batman takes down the people Abruzzi trusts, and Abruzzi has to rely on other people — people who might not be as loyal.”

“Exactly — I think one of the replacements let something slip, leading Batman here tonight.”

“But how did Batman identify all these people in the first place? They all dress the same and they disappear right back into Crime Alley where they blend in with all the other criminals and thugs.”

“Detective work,” Tim shrugged. “It’s not all fighting and battles — Batman hacks into cameras; he does stakeouts; he reviews financial records.”

“He’s a really good detective.”

Tim looked at his friend. “Yeah,” he said, keeping his tone casual. “Kinda reminds me of Bruce.”

Jason scrunched up his face. “No way — Bruce Wayne? Seriously? Being good at a board game has nothing to do with being a hero. Bruce wouldn’t last an hour in Crime Alley — unlike Batman.”

Well, so much for that hint. 

Down below, it looked like Batman was preparing to make his move. Tim zoomed his lens out a little to get a full view of the scene. In the alleyway, Robin did a silent but thoroughly unnecessary flip over a garbage can as he crept closer to the action — it was a move that exasperated Jason whenever Dick did it, which was basically every single day.

He shot another glance at Jason, but Jason was watching Batman, not Robin. 

With a weary sigh, Tim began shooting photos of the action. 

***

The next few weeks flew by in a blur of movie nights, rides to school, and batwatching. 

Before Tim knew it, September had faded into October. The air took on a definitive chill each morning and evening, and the coolness lingered longer and longer in the day. The trees lost their remaining leaves, and the landscaping crew made quick work of them at Drake Manor, as though they feared that Janet Drake would somehow know the precise number of stray leaves on the ground all the way from Asia and deem it unacceptable. (His parents were now in Cambodia, according to the last email he’d received from their secretary.)

Bruce also employed a legion of landscapers for his property (they all seemed significantly happier and better paid than the workers at Drake Manor), but Alfred didn’t allow them to work in his garden. As a result, Tim and Jason spent a Sunday afternoon raking all the leaves in the garden with Dick. 

Jason grumbled about unpaid child labor, but he seemed to delight in shoving leaves down the back of Dick’s sweatshirt. Tim brought his camera along, and he took some action shots of Jason and Dick throwing leaves in the air, as well as some landscape photos of the changing seasons — the rolling hills of the Wayne estate; the midday sun hitting barren trees; a flock of migratory birds passing overhead, reflected in the pond that he and Jason had once taken an accidental swim in. 

“Can I see the pictures, Timbit?” Dick asked when they traipsed into the kitchen for a snack. His cheeks were flushed from exertion and he had a leaf stuck in his hair. 

“Sure,” Tim shrugged, passing the camera over and taking a sip of lemonade. 

Dick was completely silent for a minute, which was unlike him.

“Tim…” he said finally, just as Tim was starting to get nervous. “These are amazing!”

Tim blinked at the unexpected praise. Jason liked his photos too, but those were Batman-related. These were just…pictures Tim had taken because he liked the light. 

“I thought they were just going to be fun photos, but this is, like…art, Timmy! Can I show B and Alfred?”

“Oh, you really don’t have to…” Tim protested weakly. Dick apparently viewed this as assent, because he took off with the camera clutched carefully in his hands. 

“B! Alfie! Come see what Tim did.”

Tim cringed at the attention, hovering on the threshold of the kitchen as Bruce and Alfred responded to Dick’s beckoning. 

“He took these pictures out in the yard! Aren’t they good?” Dick held the camera out like a proud parent, and Tim had never been so grateful that he held rigorous standards for safeguarding his batwatching photos. After each night out, he transferred the photos to a USB drive that he hid under a loose floorboard and deleted them off his camera. 

Still, he shifted his weight from foot to foot nervously, awaiting judgment. 

“These are wonderful, Tim,” Bruce said a moment later, looking up with a smile. “You really captured the feeling of a fall afternoon.”

“I think I’d like to print this one, Master Tim,” Alfred said, showing a candid photo Tim had snapped of Dick and Jason mid-leaf fight. “Can you send it to me?”

“R-really?” Tim stuttered disbelievingly. 

“Yes, really. The only shame is that you couldn’t be in the picture, but I suppose that can’t be helped since you were the photographer.”

“Could you tell me about the settings you used, Tim? I tried to get into photography once, but I found it all a little overwhelming,” Bruce said. 

Tim felt like his eyes were going to bug out of his head — Alfred Pennyworth wanted a photo with Tim in it? Bruce Wayne wanted photography tips from him? What was his life ?

It still felt like a dream sometimes, the way his day-to-day existence was becoming increasingly entangled with Jason, Dick, Bruce, and Alfred’s. 

But he was also waiting for the other shoe to drop. People didn’t stay in his life — it was a fact that he’d learned at an early age. Tim simply wasn’t interesting enough to keep people invested for the long run. They would all probably get sick of him soon — Jason would wonder why he was living with some random kid, and the Waynes would realize that they didn’t need to take an interest in some neighbor whose own parents didn’t even want to be around him. 

Still, selfishly, like a weed sucking valuable resources from the soil around him, he couldn’t help enjoying it for as long as possible. 

“Sure,” he told Bruce, eager to talk about photography with anyone who would listen. “So my aperture is set to…”

When he was alone again, at least he would have these memories to keep him company. 

Chapter Text

Tim awoke with a start, rolling out of bed and into a defensive crouch, as though his body was sensing an imminent attack of some kind. He half-expected to find himself facing down an army of thugs on a Gotham rooftop.

He was very disoriented, however, to find that he was in his bedroom and Jason was snoring peacefully on the other side of the bed. It was raining, but the rain was a gentle, soothing patter on the roof, not a stormy torrent. 

Perhaps he’d been having a nightmare that he couldn’t remember?

But then he heard it — a faint thumping noise coming from below. The sound of someone at the front door. 

Tim scratched at his bed head, bewildered. It was a Saturday, so there were no landscapers, cleaners, or housekeepers expected to drop by. A glance at the clock showed that it was almost noon. 

His parents! Could they be back from their trip? They weren’t due back until the November board meeting, but it wouldn’t be the first time they’d shown up unexpectedly, forgetting to call or email Tim about their travel plans.

He needed to hide Jason, ASAP!

Their loose plan for if/when Tim’s parents came home was that Jason would spend a few days up in the attic. His mom and dad almost never ventured up there, and Tim had set up a sleeping bag, a case of water, and a stash of granola bars and other nonperishable food behind several crates packed with antiquities. Jason would have to sneak out to use the bathroom, which wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t an insurmountable obstacle since his parents were usually swept up in a flurry of meetings and social events during their time in Bristol. 

“Get up,” he hissed, shaking Jason vigorously. “I think my parents are here!”

Jason grumbled and rolled over.

Tim shook him more frantically as the doorbell chimed downstairs. 

“Get up or I’m going to pour water on your library books!”

This got Jason to sit bolt upright. 

“You wouldn’t!” He gasped, sounding appalled. 

“Then grab your books and let’s go!” Tim retorted, grabbing Jason by the arm and tugging him into the hallway. 

The attic had to be accessed by a trapdoor, and Jason looked more alert and wary as Tim pulled the rope to lower the ladder. 

“You…you won’t abandon me up there, right? What if your parents stay for more than a few days?” Jason asked, a surprisingly vulnerable expression on his face.

”I would never abandon you,” Tim promised. “Now get up there!”

Jason climbed up the step-ladder, casting a reluctant glance back at Tim as he pulled the rope to shut himself inside the upper level. 

Tim felt bad, but it was worth it if Jason’s existence was kept a secret. His parents were barely willing to take care of one kid; he couldn’t imagine they’d be thrilled if Tim pleaded with them to adopt an additional kid, especially one with a Crime Alley accent and dubious family lineage. 

Allowing himself a single deep breath to ease his nerves, he turned and hurried toward the staircase as the doorbell chimed again. This was no ordinary visitor, since any normal member of Gotham society would know it was impolite to keep knocking and ringing someone’s doorbell for ten minutes straight. 

So that left his parents. But…why would his parents be knocking on their own front door? Maybe they’d lost their keys? He checked his phone reflexively, but there were no missed calls — and his mom certainly wouldn’t hesitate to call him if she needed Tim to let them into the house. 

Tim crept down the stairs. He could see a single silhouette at the front door under an umbrella, which confused him even further. He peered through the peephole, half-expecting to see a thug dressed in all black and carrying a gun, preparing to kidnap the Drake heir for ransom. The umbrella was an odd touch, though. 

“Dick!” He exclaimed when he saw who it was, swinging open the front door with a giddy, relieved laugh. 

It seemed obvious now, but in his defense, Dick had never come over before.

”Hey, Timmy! Sorry, did I wake you?”

Tim stifled a yawn. He supposed there was no point in denying it, since he was dressed in his pajamas.

”Yeah, but it was past time for me to get up anyway. Want to come in?”

”You know, I never pegged you as the type to sleep in til noon,” Dick said cheerfully, stepping inside and looking around with open curiosity.

It was a marvel that Dick was this alert and upbeat, since Tim knew firsthand that he’d been out fighting Poison Ivy at the botanic gardens until 3 last night. 

“Oh, Jay and I were up late last night watching a scary movie.”

”Nice. You guys are so lucky that you get to live together! Hey, where is Jason?”

Tim froze. “Um…he went to look for something in the attic. Jay!” He yelled upstairs. “You can stop looking! I don’t need that…plate anymore.”

He fought back a wince, glancing at Dick out of the corner of his eye. Not his smoothest subterfuge. 

He heard the answering thump of the attic ladder descending.

“Hope it’s okay I stopped by,” Dick continued. “I get bored of being at the Manor sometimes, especially when the weather is crappy.”

”Of course it’s fine. Are you hungry? Jay can cook us some breakfast,” Tim offered. 

“I’m always hungry,” Dick grinned. “Nice place you’ve got…it’s, uh…fancy. And…white.”

It was hideous compared to Wayne Manor, but Tim nodded graciously like his mother had taught him to do. 

Jason appeared at the top of the stairs, looking decidedly grumpy over the false alarm. 

“Hey, Dickface,” he grunted. “Did you get lost? I know all these rich-people houses look the same, but I thought you could at least recognize Wayne Manor by now.”

“Hardy har,” Dick replied without heat. “Hey, Timmy, can I test your chandelier?”

“No,” Tim replied.

“Yes,” Jason said simultaneously.

They frowned at each other. 

“My parents will kill me if the chandelier breaks!” Tim exclaimed.

“Well, I’m older, so I’m in charge of the house right now, and I say Dick can do it,” Jason argued.

“I promise I’ll be careful, Tim,” Dick said earnestly. Tim wasn’t sure how a sixteen-year-old could pull off puppy dog eyes, but Dick was somehow doing it. 

“No,” Tim repeated, shaking his head fervently, an air of desperation creeping into his voice as his heartbeat thudded in his ears. This wasn’t a joke! Dick and Jason didn’t know his parents. If something went wrong, Jack and Janet wouldn’t react like Bruce, laughing off Dick’s mishaps with fond amusement. Tim had accidentally knocked over an expensive statue in the dining room when he was five, and they hadn’t spoken to him for almost a month. 

“Whoa,” Dick said. “Okay, Timmy, no worries! I was mostly kidding anyway; Bruce doesn’t mind if I destroy things at the Manor, but he’d be mad if I was that careless at someone else’s house.”

“Yeah, Timbit, if you like the ugly chandelier, then we’ll leave it be,” Jason added reassuringly, wrapping an arm around Tim’s shoulders. “C’mon, let’s get started on breakfast. I’m hungry.”

Everyone tried to move on as though Tim hadn’t just had a minor freakout, which Tim appreciated, but he didn’t miss the looks the two older boys exchanged above his head when they thought he wasn’t looking, as though asking each other, Do you know what that was about? No, do you?

“Mrs. Mac is off today?” Dick asked, looking around the kitchen. 

“Yep,” Tim said. “She gets Saturdays and Sundays off.” 

And Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. And she was only here for two or three hours on Wednesdays and Fridays. Now that Dick had shown up once unannounced, Tim was going to have to be on guard — if any of the Waynes showed up on a weekday when Mrs. Mac wasn’t here, he’d have to be ready with an excuse to explain her absence. 

“Well, you can come over to our house anytime on the weekends; I swear the more people Alfred gets to feed, the happier he is.”

“Somehow I don’t think Alfred would approve of us sleeping in until noon, though,” Jason said, arching an eyebrow as he cracked a few eggs into a frying pan at the stove.

Dick snorted. “Definitely not. Hence why I was awake enough to come over here. Which scary movie did you guys watch last night?”

Fortunately, Jason was good at going with the flow. “Halloween. Gotta show Tim the classics.”

Dick let out an impressed whistle. “I’m surprised you two watched that while your parents aren’t home. I had to sleep in Bruce’s room for a week straight after I saw The Ring for the first time.”

For a bitter moment, Tim remembered calling his mom on the phone the second night he was home alone over the summer, on the verge of tears from how scared he was and hiding in his bathtub. She’d complained about how expensive the call was and hung up after about thirty seconds. 

They continued discussing their favorite scary movies over breakfast, and the conversation soon turned to Halloween itself. The holiday was coming up, and it was like the city was holding its breath to see whatever the villains and rogues were planning for the big day.

“What are you going to dress up as, Tim?” Dick asked him, pouring an ungodly amount of syrup on his pancakes. 

Tim flushed — he couldn’t exactly admit that the only costume he had was a Robin costume. He’d worn it for the past two Halloweens in a row. 

“I don’t know — I hadn’t thought about it yet.”

Dick let out a thoughtful hum. “Maybe we can do a group costume!” He suggested.

Jason wrinkled his nose. “Aren’t you a little old for costumes, Dickwad?”

Dick shrugged, unconcerned. “Yeah, some of my friends think we’re way too old to go trick or treating. But it’s free candy! Plus, Timmy’s still a little shrimp, so that’s my excuse.”

“Hey! I’m in the 39th percentile for height in my age group,” Tim protested — sure, he was a little short, but it wasn’t exactly fair to compare him to a sixteen-year-old and a twelve-year-old.

“I dunno,” Jason continued with the dubious nature of someone who’d grown up in Crime Alley. “Isn’t Halloween kind of dangerous in Gotham?”

“Trust me, Bristol’s not like that,” Dick replied. “I thought the same thing when I first moved in with B. Plus, most of the houses give out king-size candy bars.”

Jason, likely due to his experiences on the streets, looked intrigued by the promise of free food. 

“I guess it’s really only embarrassing for you, since you’re the one who’s practically an adult,” he decided. 

“Gee, thanks, Jay, you really have a way of making me feel better about myself,” Dick snorted. 

“We could be characters from Star Wars?” Tim suggested. “Or…Harry Potter?”

“Maybe Dick should be a Draw Four Uno card since he picked so many of those last week!” Jason snickered.

“What about Lord of the Rings?” Dick suggested, flipping Jason the bird but ignoring his taunt.

“Oh, those books are amazing,” Jason agreed immediately. 

“Books? I’ve only seen the movies.” 

Jason’s mouth fell open. “You-you can’t call yourself a fan if you haven’t read the books! That’s the original source material — come on, Timbo, back me up here!”

Tim shrugged. “I haven’t read the books or seen the movies.”

Now both Jason and Dick looked aghast. 

“Well, I know what we’re doing today!” Dick declared. “Jay, we must right this cosmic injustice immediately.”

It was such a rarity for the two of them to outright agree on anything, and Tim knew he wouldn’t be able to wriggle out of a movie marathon. He considered protesting as he was frog-marched over to the TV — he’d planned to spend the day editing photos and catching up on sleep. But he took in the dreary weather conditions outside and Jason and Dick’s arguing over who was going to sit where and who got to control the remote, and he relented. 

It was amazing how Jason and Dick’s presence could make even Drake Manor’s clinical, austere environment feel warm and alive. 

***

“Hey, Timmy,” Jason said, swinging his legs and taking a bite of his batburger. They were staking out Batman and Robin’s stakeout at a warehouse that Scarecrow was known to frequent. “I was thinking — should we invite Dick to come batwatching with us sometime?”

Tim choked on the french fry he was eating. 

“Wh-what gave you that idea?” He asked, clearing his throat and hoping he sounded casual. 

Jason shrugged. “Dickhead’s not so bad, right? He kind of grows on you after a while, like ringworm or something.”

“Like ringworm,” Tim repeated slowly, looking down at Robin, who was fiddling with the radio in the batmobile. “You want to invite Dick to come batwatching.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Jeez, what’s with you tonight, space cadet?”

Tim could only rub his chin in befuddlement — somehow, in all his attempts to get Jason to realize Dick and Bruce’s identities, he hadn’t anticipated this. 

“We can’t,” he said. “Dick is…uh…not able to sneak out. He doesn’t live alone like us.”

Jason appeared to consider this. “Oh. Yeah, I guess Wayne Manor probably has some crazy security system, huh?”

Latching on to this lifeline, Tim nodded profusely. “I remember hearing about it at a gala that Bruce hosted years ago. He’s got hidden cameras all over the exterior and the grounds.”

“Hn,” Jason hummed in a way that sounded a lot like Bruce. 

“We can’t tell Dick about batwatching, either — he might think it’s unsafe for us to be out here and tell his dad.”

Jason nodded, seeming to accept this easily enough. “Yeah, you’re right — he seems like the type to snitch. No way Wayne would let his kid out to do something cool like this. Never mind; good call, Timbit.”

Tim heaved a small sigh of relief. He did not want Dick or Bruce to know that he and Jason followed them around at night. 

He felt entitled to steal a few of Jason’s fries when he wasn’t looking — he needed to keep his energy up to deal with keeping everyone’s secrets safe. 

***

Dick’s visit to Drake Manor had lulled him into a false sense of security, and Tim almost ruined everything by being careless the following weekend.

He stretched and hopped out of bed, scrubbing at his tired eyes — it was just after 8 a.m. on a Sunday, and Batman, Robin, Tim, and Jason had been patrolling until 2 a.m. He’d woken up because he heard familiar noises downstairs.

He padded into the hallway, half-amused and half-annoyed at having a visitor at this hour. 

“Jeez, how are you awake this early, Di —”

Tim froze at the top of the stairs. 

“Dad?” He croaked. “Mom?” 

He stood stock still and gaped down at his parents uncomprehendingly. They were standing at the front door, dressed in traveling clothes. He blinked again, but the mirage didn’t dissipate. 

“Tim! Come help us with our bags, would you?” His mom called. 

His heart leaped — his parents were home! This was an amazing surprise, since he hadn’t expected to see them for another month.

But at the same time, his blood ran cold with the realization that Jason was snoring in his bedroom, totally unaware that his parents were here. 

“Sure, one second!” He called down. “Welcome home!”

“Now, Tim,” his dad barked, irritation clear in his tone. “We’ve been traveling for almost 24 hours straight.”

“Oh, uh, okay,” Tim agreed, casting an anxious look back toward his bedroom. His parents almost never ventured into his room, but he’d left the door cracked open like an idiot, and it would only take one glance to reveal Jason’s slumbering form.

Still, he’d learned not to push his luck when his dad used that tone of voice — he just had to hope that his mom and dad would disappear into their office instead of going upstairs to take a nap. 

He hurried downstairs. “It’s great to see you guys,” he said warmly, hoping to sway his dad into a better mood. His dad just grunted, but his mom accepted a brief, awkward hug before releasing him and heading toward the kitchen. 

Tim headed out to the driveway where a shiny rental car was waiting, the trunk full of boxes and suitcases. He jogged over to the garage, grabbed a dolly, and began the laborious process of loading it up and dragging everything inside. Tim wasn’t very strong (although his nighttime adventures were helping on that front), and he was sweating by the time he managed to drag the dolly up the front steps.

He made as much noise as possible when he entered the house, bumping the dolly on the floor and hoping that the sounds might alert Jason that something was happening. 

“Tim, please try to be quieter,” his mom sighed, clutching a cup of coffee in one hand and rubbing her temples with the other. “You know traveling gives me headaches.”

“Sorry, Mom,” he apologized, beginning to separate out the suitcases that needed to go upstairs from the boxes full of artifacts that would be sold or join his parents’ collection on the main level of the house. He tried not to glance at the upstairs landing too often — it felt like he was trapped in the story of the tell-tale heart that Jason had told him a few weeks ago. 

Tim cleared his throat. “How was your trip?” 

His mother took a long sip of her coffee, her expression dark. “It was going well until the incompetent buffoons your father hired messed up our proposal for a multi-million dollar contract.”

His father stormed out of the office, clutching a glass of scotch in one hand. “Don’t blame me; you have equal weight in the executive hiring process, Janet,” he snapped. “I recall you saying that you had a good feeling about Pete when you interviewed him."

Uh-oh. It was never a good sign when his parents were arguing with one another. 

“What’s the contract for?” He asked, hoping to distract them — they usually liked it when he took an interest in Drake Industries business. 

Fortunately, his dad took the bait. Unfortunately, this meant his intense, disgruntled attention was now wholly fixed on Tim. “The federal government is buying thousands of new computers for government agencies. There’s an RFP process going on, and we’re competing against Wayne Enterprises, LexCorp, and others for the contract. The R&D team bungled the proposal draft, however, and it’s due this week.”

“It would be the kind of opportunity that would cement Drake Industries as a global household name, instead of a national one,” His mom added, and he could practically see the dollar signs floating in her eyes. 

Personally, Tim thought it was a bit of a stretch to call Drake Industries a national household name — his parents’ company made components that were used in all sorts of technology, from computers to medical devices. People didn’t usually wonder who made these individual parts, however; they thought about the brand name on the final product. 

“Wow,” he said instead of pointing this out. “That sounds amazing. I’m sure you guys will get it.”

His dad’s chest puffed out a bit. “See, Janet? Tim believes in us and our company — too bad his own mother doesn’t feel the same way.”

His mom’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “How dare you say I don’t care about our company? In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one who turned your father’s struggling little business around and transformed it into a multinational conglomerate —”

“I’m not sure if one satellite office in Toronto for tax purposes counts as multinational —” Jack said scornfully. 

“I’d better take these suitcases upstairs,” Tim said quietly, backing away slowly as his parents continued bickering. 

Nobody stopped him, so he grabbed one of the bags and dragged it upstairs. As soon as he was out of sight, he ran to his room. 

“Jason!” He hissed, shutting the door behind himself and locking it. “Jay, get up!”

Jason was a heavy sleeper, and Tim had to shake him three times before he blinked fuzzily at Tim. 

“Wha —?”

Tim shushed him urgently. “Get in the closet, now. My parents are here — we can’t risk them coming up here, and the attic door is too loud and noticeable to open right now.”

Jason rubbed his eyes. “Your parents? But…they didn’t tell you they were coming today, did they?”

Tim shook his head. “No, but they’re here anyway — they have a big work proposal due this week. Now get in the closet! I’ll see if I can sneak you some breakfast.”

Fortunately, Jason didn’t protest further, perhaps due to the obvious strain in Tim’s voice. The closet wasn’t ideal in the long run, but Jason would be comfortable in there for the day, albeit bored. 

As Jason gathered up a few of his belongings, Tim returned to the hall, feeling like he could breathe a little easier. He continued working on the luggage for another 30 minutes, listening periodically to the sounds of his parents’ heated voices ebbing and rising in the office. 

His mom and dad stormed out into the hall just as Tim was trying to work up the courage to knock and ask if they wanted more coffee. 

“We’re heading into the office to start untangling this mess, Tim,” his mom said, glaring at his dad as though to make it very clear who was responsible for said mess in her eyes. 

His dad didn’t say anything; he just downed the rest of his scotch. 

“Oh, okay,” Tim said, trying not to sound disappointed. “Do you want me to order dinner for us tonight?”

“Sure, dear. That would be nice.” His mom spared him a brief upward curve of her mouth, and Tim gave a small smile in return. It was a shame that they were so busy with work after he hadn’t seen them for months, but that was to be expected, and at least they could catch up over dinner later. He would ask questions about their digs in China and Cambodia to distract them from work — that always seemed to make them happy. 

With this plan in mind, he watched them pull away from the house, feeling oddly bereft and lonely as their rental car grew smaller and smaller in the distance. It was like he missed them more when they were close by than when they were halfway across the world. 

His phone chimed with a text alert as he returned to the house. Dick had sent a selfie at the gym, a balance beam and tumbling mats visible in the background. 

Dick 10:40 a.m.

Just finished teaching my 5-6 year old class! They’re sooo cute. Gonna workout and head home. You guys want to come over later?? Alfie’s making lasagna for dinner!

Seeing Dick’s bright smile in the photo made something in Tim’s chest loosen. At the same time, it pained him to have to say no — he desperately hoped Dick wouldn’t be annoyed or pull away from their friendship. He still wasn’t sure what Dick saw in him, and it seemed terribly rude to reject even a single invitation to spend time together. 

With a sigh, he typed out a reply. 

Tim 10:42 a.m

Hey, Dick! Have fun at the gym. We actually can’t hang out today — my parents just got home from their trip, and we’re doing a family dinner thing tonight! I’m really sorry!

Dick replied almost immediately. 

Dick 10:43 a.m.

Omg, Timmy! That’s such good news! :)  Glad they made it home and so happy you guys get to have family time. No need to be sorry at all! Enjoy!!!

That response probably should’ve made him feel better. He could picture Dick saying exactly what he’d written with an excited, genuine grin — but some small part of him worried that Dick was just being polite. 

Ugh. Why was everything so complicated, all the time?

He trudged up the stairs — at least Jason didn’t need to stay locked up all day. They’d have to be on high alert in case his parents came home early from work, but that was unlikely. 

“Jay? You can come out now; they’re gone,” He called as he entered his room, flopping onto the bed and trying to process the morning’s events. 

Jason’s messy head of hair poked out of the closet. “They’re gone ?” He asked, appearing mystified. “Already? But they just got here!”

“They had to go into the office for the day, but they’re coming back for dinner later.”

Jason frowned. “Tim, they haven’t seen you for months — they couldn’t have stuck around for more than an hour to spend time with you?”

Tim shrugged, reiterating what he’d learned as a toddler. “Their business is really important — my parents employ a lot of people, and if they don’t keep DI running smoothly, it could affect those people’s livelihoods.”

Jason shook his head. “It shouldn’t be more important than you, their only son! Surely they could manage their time better to prioritize both you and their dumb company!”

Tim felt a flicker of frustration — Jason had grown up under totally different circumstances, and he didn’t understand. Tim wasn’t like other kids — he was mature for his age. Independent. He didn’t need his parents around — they understood that and he understood that, so why couldn’t Jason?

“Can we talk about something else?” Tim said, unable to keep a bit of irritation from creeping into his tone. 

Jason was quiet for a long minute. “Sure thing, Timbit. C’mon, I’ll make us some brunch. You can even have coffee, and I won’t complain about it.”

Recognizing this as a white flag, Tim accepted Jason’s hand, and Jason pulled him off the bed. He also wrapped his arm around Tim’s shoulders as they walked down the kitchen. It wasn’t necessary — Tim didn’t need to be coddled; nothing was wrong — but it felt too nice to push him away. 

***

Drake Manor was unusually quiet that afternoon — Tim hadn’t realized how comfortable he and Jason had gotten with playing music and shouting across the house to one another. Now, however, it was like they were waiting for his parents to materialize at any second.

After brunch, they took up residence in Tim’s room, acting as though they were wax figures in a museum display. Tim sat stiffly at his desk and stared unseeingly at the same sheet of math problems for nearly an hour straight. Jason was camped out in a small nest of blankets and pillows in the closet, just in case Tim’s parents came home earlier than expected and he needed to hide. He’d been reading the same page of his book without turning the page for nearly a quarter hour. 

The house around them was totally silent, and Tim caught himself straining to hear the rumble of an approaching car engine. 

Finally, after an eternity passed, it was 5 p.m. Tim ordered food from a fancy Italian restaurant in Bristol that he knew his parents loved. He hoped they wouldn’t question the extra portion he’d bought, which he intended to sneak up to Jason later that night. 

“Maybe I should just stay in your closet,” Jason said, biting his lip. “I don’t know if you should be left alone with your parents.”

Tim did a double-take at this. “They’re not…my parents don’t, like…hit me or anything, Jay. I’m perfectly safe.”

Sure, he’d been lectured, yelled at, and locked in his room over the course of his life, but his parents had never punished him physically, other than grabbing his arm so they could march him to his room or out of a social gathering. From what he heard from his peers, it was normal for parents to yell and send their kids to time out, so there wasn’t anything unusual about his mom and dad’s behavior. 

Hell, even Dick and Bruce argued sometimes — he’d overheard some heated exchanges between Batman and Robin during patrol, where Dick’s impulsive, idealistic nature sometimes clashed with Bruce's strict, methodical approach to vigilantism. More recently, they’d been fighting over Robin’s independence — Batman wanted his son to stay close to the nest, but Robin wanted to do more solo work now that he was older and more experienced. 

Jason’s expression darkened. “There are a lot of ways to hurt someone that aren’t physical.”

“I’m fine,” Tim said firmly. “You need to hide. If you’re nervous about being up in the attic, maybe you could go stay with the Waynes?”

To be honest, he was also reluctant to be far away from Jason right now, but it would be much safer if he was out of the house for the next few days. 

Jason shook his head almost immediately. “That doesn’t fit our cover story. Your parents are supposed to be my aunt and uncle, remember? Why would I go stay with the Waynes when my family is visiting?”

Damn — Jay had a point there. Those were the kind of inconsistencies that would be glaringly obvious to someone like Bruce. 

“I think I have enough cash for you to get a motel room —” Tim started. 

“Tim,” Jason said seriously. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”

Jason held his gaze for a long moment, his eyes resolute. A distant light flickered on the road outside, and Tim feared they were running out of time. 

“Okay,” he sighed, relenting. “Just…text me if you need something up there, okay? I’ll figure out how to get it to you, I promise.”

“Same applies to you. Text me if you need me to come kick your parents’ butts.”

He said it with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

It had been stressful when he’d shut Jason in the attic last weekend, but that had been a false alarm. It felt much worse this time, knowing that this was the real deal — if Jason made too much noise or someone paid an unexpected visit to the attic, it would be all over. His parents would call the police, Jason would be dragged off to juvie for trespassing, and Tim might never see him again. Not to mention how furious his parents would be with him for letting a stranger into the house.

A car was pulling up to the house, and Tim couldn’t afford to be panicking about what-ifs. He settled a pleasant expression over his face that his mother had taught him years ago — he just needed to keep his parents happy and distracted, and everything would be fine. 

***

The car turned out to be the food delivery, not his parents. 

At 6 p.m., he dropped off Jason’s food at the attic, returned downstairs, set the table, and sat down to wait. 

When 7 p.m. passed, he put the food away in the fridge, deciding he could quickly heat it up as soon as he heard their car coming. 

When 8 p.m. rolled around, he figured his parents had gotten distracted at the office — it had been known to happen before. 

At 9 p.m., he wondered if jetlag was affecting their appetites and circadian rhythm. Cambodia was 11 hours ahead, after all, which could really mess with a person’s eating and sleep schedule. 

At 10 p.m., he checked his phone for the dozenth time in five minutes. All he had on the screen was a text from Jason.

Jason 9:14 p.m.

Everything going okay with dinner? It’s really quiet up here; I can’t hear anything going on down there. 

At 11 p.m., he thought wistfully of the lasagna that they’d missed at Wayne Manor earlier that evening. He wondered what Dick and Bruce had discussed while they ate — cases they were working on, maybe? Or perhaps Dick’s schoolwork? Or maybe something even more mundane, like Dick’s plans for Halloween in a few days? Were they out patrolling this evening?

He couldn’t help but envision the comforting atmosphere of the kitchen at Wayne Manor — the delicious smells of Alfred’s cooking, the soft classical music Alfred often played on the radio, Jason’s reassuring presence next to him at the kitchen table, Dick’s laugh, and Bruce’s dry wit. 

He must’ve pillowed his head on his arms and dozed off at some point, because he woke up around midnight to the sound of the front door opening. 

“Mom? Dad?” He called groggily. 

His parents appeared in the kitchen, talking and laughing with one another. They seemed to be in much better spirits than before, so at least that was a relief. 

“You didn’t have to wait up for us, Tim,” his mom scolded lightly. “It’s a school night.”

“Oh, I thought we were supposed to have dinner together,” Tim said, feeling oddly embarrassed to be caught waiting for them. Clearly he’d misunderstood his earlier interaction with his mom when she agreed to dinner. “I ordered Italian food if you want some —”

“Your father was supposed to text you — Jack, did you remember to text Tim? — we went out for dinner, dear.”

Tim swallowed. “That’s nice. I guess you can have the leftovers tomorrow, then.”

Never mind the fact that Tim himself hadn’t eaten because he’d been waiting for them.

“Good thought, son,” his dad said. His eyes were bleary in a way that meant he’d indulged in a few drinks with dinner. “Well, we’d best head to bed — jetlag; you know how it is!” He chortled, patting Tim on the shoulder.

Tim didn’t know — he’d never traveled out of the country before. But he nodded agreeably. 

“Goodnight. I’m glad you’re both home,” he said with a smile.

His parents both bade him goodnight. Then they disappeared, leaving Tim alone in the kitchen once more. 

***

Tim tried to fall asleep, but he was still tossing and turning an hour later when his phone buzzed with an incoming call. 

“Jay?” He mumbled tiredly when he picked up. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, Timbit. A rich person’s attic is hardly the worst place I’ve ever slept. I’m just pretending I’m Mrs. Rochester from Jane Eyre. ” 

It was a relief to hear Jason’s voice, and he realized that part of the reason why he hadn’t been able to fall asleep was the silence. He’d grown accustomed to Jason’s snoring over the past two months, and now it felt wrong to sleep without hearing it. 

“You shouldn’t call unless it’s an emergency,” Tim lectured half-heartedly. “What if my phone volume was on and my parents heard someone calling me?”

Jason snorted. “You never have your phone volume on.”

Tim couldn’t really argue with that, because it was true. 

They lapsed into silence for a moment.

“Your parents didn’t show up for dinner, did they?” Jason asked softly. 

Tim’s eyes were suddenly burning, and he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t the first time his parents had been busy or forgotten him, so why did it still hurt so much?

“Tim?”

Tim was glad Jason wasn’t able to see his face. He took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together.

“Want me to read to you?” Jason asked. “I have a copy of The Hobbit up here. I wanted to re-read it since we watched the Lord of the Rings movies.”

It was silly — Tim wasn’t a baby. Jason had read Bridge to Terabithia out loud, but that was for a school assignment. Otherwise, Tim hadn’t had anyone read to him for comfort since he was four and learned to read by himself. But…Jason was offering, and it was easier to accept when he was lying alone in the dark, where nobody could see him and judge him for his weakness.

“Okay,” he whispered.

Jason cleared his throat and began to read quietly. 

"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort…”

Tim slipped peacefully off to sleep to the sound of Jason’s voice, imagining himself far away in Middle Earth — setting off on adventures with his friends by day and returning to a warm hearth each night, where there would always be warm food waiting and plenty of good company to share. 

Chapter Text

“Jack, did you call us a company car?” His mom asked the next morning, peering out of the kitchen window. 

Tim looked up from the lunch he was hastily packing (Jason would be pissed if he saw Tim taking ramen for his meal, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him). 

Shit! He’d been distracted and completely forgotten to account for the fact that Alfred would swing by to pick him up for school. Sure enough, the familiar black car was idling at the end of the long driveway. 

“Hm? No, dear,” his dad murmured absently, turning the page of his morning paper. 

“That’s actually my ride,” Tim admitted, because he couldn’t think of a way around it. “Our neighbor Dick Grayson attends Gotham Academy, too. He saw me walking to the bus stop once, and now his butler gives me rides to school sometimes.”

He held his breath, awaiting judgment — it was hard to predict how his parents would react to this development. They often showed extreme distrust of their wealthy peers and neighbors, viewing them as competitors. Still, it was best if they knew that he was getting rides from Alfred, since they’d agreed to it in the fake emails Tim had exchanged with Bruce. Heaven forbid they ran into Bruce during their business dealings this week and were totally unaware that Tim had been hanging out with Dick at all. (Also, heaven forbid they ran into Bruce for other reasons, namely: Jason’s entire existence.) 

“Grayson…” His mom tapped her chin thoughtfully. “That’s the boy that Bruce Wayne adopted?”

“Yes,” Tim nodded. “You and dad always tell me to consider my future professional network, so it seemed prudent to befriend him.”

“Yes, I suppose it would be useful to have a more direct line of insight into Wayne Enterprises,” his dad mused. “Well done, Tim.”

Tim grinned — it was so rare to get praise from his parents. “Thanks, Dad! I have to go — hope you guys have a good day!”

He hurried outside, backpack bouncing on his shoulders. He spared a glance back at the manor — poor Jason would be stuck in the attic until his parents left for work, hopefully soon. Then he’d have the house to himself until Tim got back from school later. 

“Timbit! I missed you. It feels like we haven’t seen you in ages!” Dick exclaimed exuberantly as soon as Tim slid into the backseat of the waiting car. 

“Indeed, the Manor was much quieter than usual this weekend without you and Master Jason visiting,” Alfred added. 

Tim felt himself flush — they’d missed him? Him? Tim Drake? After just a few days of not seeing him? His own parents didn’t seem too bothered by not seeing him for two months. 

“No Jason today?” Dick asked, brow wrinkled in concern. 

“No, he’s a little under the weather,” Tim lied. 

“That’s a shame. Did his parents come home too?”

Tim shook his head. “They stayed behind to keep working in Cambodia. They’re teaching a…uh, meditation class.”

“Master Tim, I could prepare some soup for Master Jason and bring it to you at school pick-up time,” Alfred offered like the saint that he was, which made Tim feel horrible for lying.

“Thank you, Alfred, but Mrs. Mac and my parents are taking good care of him.”

“It’s too bad that he’s sick,” Dick said sympathetically. “Well, at least he gets to see his aunt and uncle.”

Tim managed to plaster a smile on his face. “Yeah, he was really happy to see my parents. We had Italian food for dinner last night.”

“That’s fun, Timmy. If B had to go on a long work trip like that, I’d be freaking out with happiness when he came home,” Dick said, a fond expression on his face as he thought about his adoptive father. “But don’t tell him I said that or it’ll go to his head.” He winked at Tim. 

Fortunately, Dick filled up the rest of the drive with chatter about his gymnastics classes and his upcoming math test, and Tim watched the houses and businesses flicker past as Bristol turned into Gotham. He was pleased that his parents were proud of him for befriending Dick, and he was glad that Dick and Alfred were happy to see him, but he also felt like there was a stone in his stomach, growing heavier and heavier with every lie he told. In fact, he was pretty sure he’d said more untrue things than true things in the past twenty-four hours. 

He couldn’t tell the Waynes the truth about Jason because they might call social services. He couldn’t tell his parents about Jason because they would call the police. And he couldn’t tell Jason about the Waynes’ vigilante activities because it wasn’t his secret to tell, and it was extremely dangerous information to possess. 

It was all for a good cause — keeping Jason hidden and protecting Bruce and Dick’s identities — but…it was a lot to maintain, this complex network of half-truths and obfuscations. He wondered if this was how Bruce and Dick felt about their alter egos. It was exhausting and stressful, having to second guess his every word and action all the time. 

“You okay, Timbo? You’re quiet this morning,” Dick remarked as they thanked Alfred and climbed out of the car in front of school.  

Tim nodded. “I’m just tired — I was up late catching up with my parents. They were telling me all about their trip.”

Dick nodded in acknowledgment, ruffling his hair and telling him to have a good day.

It was just another lie to add to his growing collection. 

***

His parents’ visit had gotten off to a rough start, but things smoothed out as the week wore on. His mom and dad were working long hours, but he got to see them briefly each morning and evening, which was a major improvement over the rare phone calls he received when they were traveling. Plus, they were both in a better mood now that they’d gotten over their jetlag and were fixated on this computer contract proposal — he’d found that his parents were always happiest when they were working, whether it was archeological digs or Drake Industries business. 

Their intense work schedule also meant that Jason didn’t have to hide in the attic unless it was nighttime, which made Tim feel a little better about the situation. Jason continued to call him each night, and they were now on chapter five of The Hobbit. 

Wednesday was Halloween, and Gotham Academy was buzzing with excitement and anticipation. Tim was glad to be part of the festive atmosphere — there had been a few years before he met Ives when he hadn’t had anyone to go trick or treating with. He missed Ives, but now he had Dick and Jason. He’d been careful to keep up the cover story that Jason wasn’t feeling well in front of Dick and Alfred, but he’d made it clear that Jason was healed enough for trick or treating today. 

“You guys want to get changed and come over in an hour?” Dick asked when Alfred dropped Tim off in front of Drake Manor after school. “I think B wants to take a picture of us before we leave.”

“Yep, see you soon!” Tim called, waving goodbye and hurrying up the driveway with a grin on his face. After school last week, Alfred had dropped him, Dick, and Jason off near a thrift store in Gotham, where they had carefully constructed their costumes. After some obligatory bickering between Dick and Jason, it was determined that Dick would be Aragorn, Jason would be Legolas, and Tim would be Frodo. Jason had even found a long blond wig, which was going to be hilarious. 

He was still smiling as he burst in the front door.

“Timothy, what have I told you about running in the house?” 

Tim froze in place — why was his mom home at 4 p.m. on a weekday?

“M-mom?” He stammered. “Sorry, I thought you were at work.”

His mom sighed. “So you admit that you would be running if I wasn’t here to remind you not to? You’re just feet away from a priceless cuneiform tablet; what if you’d knocked it over?”

“No, you — you caught me off guard, that’s all. I’m sorry for running. Is everything okay at work?”

His mother gave him an odd look. “Yes, dear. Everything’s fine; why do you ask?”

“Well…you’re usually not home this early.”

“We have the dinner tonight, remember?”

Tim was certain that nobody had mentioned a dinner to him. “I must have forgotten, sorry. When are you and Dad leaving?”

His mom pursed her lips. “You’re coming with us, Timothy. We’re leaving in thirty minutes.”

Tim felt his stomach sink. “What? But…I can’t go to dinner. It’s Halloween, and I’m supposed to meet up with friends for trick or treating.”

His mom appeared unimpressed by this objection. “Timothy, you’re much too old for all of that nonsense, really. This evening is vital to our family business — your father has managed to secure a meeting with one of the senators who’s sponsoring the computer project, and this dinner could make or break our chances of getting the contract.”

“But — I promised my friends —”

“Success requires sacrifice, Tim,” his mom said succinctly. “There will be other Halloweens in the future. Now, I’ve laid your suit out on your bed — go change and have a snack. I won’t have your stomach growling during the meeting, understood?”

Tim gaped soundlessly like a fish for a minute, but he knew there was no getting out of a social gathering when his parents had decided he was attending. It was all part of their strategy to present themselves as loving parents who valued family in addition to their business.

God, Dick was going to hate him. This was the second time in a row Tim was letting him down. 

He plodded up the stairs, feeling sick to his stomach. Sure enough, his suit was waiting for him on the bed. On top of his misery over missing Halloween, it chilled him to know that his mom had been rummaging around in his closet. Thank god he’d insisted that Jason hide up in the attic. 

Speaking of Jason, he pulled out his phone and swiped to their text conversation, typing out a message. 

Tim 4:07 p.m.

I can’t go trick or treating. My parents are making me go to a business dinner with them. 

Jason 4:08 p.m.

Wtf!!!!!!! Ugh no way

Can’t you tell them no??

Tim 4:08 p.m.

Unfortunately not. But you can still go trick or treating with Dick once my parents and I leave

Jason 4:09 p.m.

Timbit, our fellowship can’t go trick or treating without Frodo! :(

Tim 4:10 p.m.

Sorry, Jay. I don’t have a choice. 

Before Jason could protest further and before he lost his nerve, he found Dick’s contact info and pressed the call button. 

“Hey, Timmy!” Dick greeted him. “Long time no talk. I found an old ring of Bruce’s that I’m going to put on a chain for you — the one ring to rule them all!”

“Hey, Dick,” Tim said, his throat tight and scratchy. 

Dick was quiet for a few seconds. “Uh-oh. You okay, Timmy? You sound upset.”

Tim screwed his eyes shut, willing himself not to cry or whine like a baby. “I forgot that my parents have a business dinner tonight. I have to go with them — I’m really sorry. Jay can still go trick or treating with you, though.”

“Oh,” Dick said, his voice full of compassion that Tim didn’t deserve. “That’s okay, Tim. I understand how it goes — sometimes B and I have to do stuff like that for Wayne Enterprises. It sucks that you don’t get to trick or treat, though — that’s really bad timing for a business dinner.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim repeated helplessly, hoping Dick didn’t hear the slight hitch in his voice. “I promised I would go trick or treating, and I didn’t mean to break my promise —”

“Hey, hey. No worrying on my account, Baby Bird,” Dick soothed. “I’m just sad that you’re missing out — you don’t deserve that.”

“Baby Bird?” Tim echoed. 

There was a beat of surprised silence, like Dick himself hadn’t realized what nickname he’d used. “Yeah, Baby Bird,” he affirmed with a huff of laughter. “Because you’re tiny and your bedhead when I came over last weekend reminded me of a little bird.”

Despite Dick’s explanation, he couldn’t help but wonder if “Baby Bird” was a subconscious reference to Robin. That was probably insane wishful thinking on Tim’s part, though. 

“Tim!” His mom called from down the hallway. “Are you dressed?” 

“I’ve got to go,” Tim sighed. “Have fun tonight.”

“We’ll get tons of candy for you, okay, Timtam?”

“Thanks, Dick.”

“Anytime, Baby Bird.”

***

He had to hand it to his parents; they were shrewd businesspeople. 

It was immediately evident why Tim had been brought along to the meeting — the senator, Hank Morena, was young for a politician — in his early 30s, perhaps — and his wife Sara was pregnant with their first child. 

His mom and dad played up their roles as doting parents, seating Tim between them during the meeting in Hank’s office. Tim knew how to play his part, too — swinging his legs a little, smiling guilelessly as though the conversation was way above his head, and showcasing the impeccable manners that his mom had drilled into his brain since he was a baby. 

“What a polite boy you are, Timothy,” Hank remarked, glancing fondly at his wife and her rounded stomach, probably hoping that he would end up with such a well-behaved child. 

“You must be getting hungry, Timothy,” Sara added kindly. “This was a long meeting to sit through.”

“Right-o. Well, you heard Sara,” Hank said, closing the folder his parents had presented him with. “As much as I’ve enjoyed discussing business with you here, I think we may enjoy discussing things more over dinner.”

Personally, Tim wanted to discuss whether it was a form of bribery for his parents to give Senator Morena a box of expensive Cuban cigars and pay for his dinner in hopes of being awarded this contract. 

They left Senator Morena’s office and climbed into his parents’ waiting car. His mom and dad had hired a driver for the evening, and the man pulled into rush hour traffic, heading toward one of his parents’ favorite exclusive restaurants.

“So, Timothy, you’re eight? Does that mean you’re in third grade?” Sara asked. 

“Oh, Tim’s quite advanced for his age. He actually skipped two grades, so he’s in fifth grade now,” his mom said with modest pride. 

“Wow, that’s quite impressive, sport! What’s your favorite subject?” Senator Morena asked. 

“I like math,” Tim replied with a beatific smile. 

The conversation continued in this vein until they reached the restaurant. As he climbed out of the car, Tim noticed some kids around his age dressed in costumes and clutching bags of candy, and his perfectly curated expression almost slipped. He thought wistfully of Dick and Jason, making their way from house to house in Bristol right now. 

Fortunately, the adults had resumed their discussion of the bill that would fund the computer contract, so nobody noticed Tim’s distraction. His dad ordered a bottle of wine for the table and began pouring glasses for those who could drink alcohol right away. 

“Cheers,” Sara said conspiratorially, holding out her glass of water for Tim to clink his own glass against.

Tim gave her a small but genuine smile. He hoped she wouldn’t become warped and jaded by the cutthroat culture of Gotham politics and society over time.

Tim wasn’t required to say much at dinner, which was fine by him. His dad kept the drinks flowing, refilling Hank’s glass and his own any time they were close to empty. His voice steadily got louder and his cheeks grew flushed and ruddy as the evening progressed. 

“I tell you, Hank, it’ll all be worth it when you hold your child in your arms for the first time,” his dad said, thumping the prospective father on the back. “You’ll have an heir to carry on your legacy — nothing better than that, eh, Janet?”

It was news to Tim that his father had been moved by his birth in any way. His mother nodded. Her jaw was set in a way that meant she thought his dad was drinking too much. 

“You’ll get to enjoy all the special moments — their first steps, teaching them to play catch, going on camping trips.”

Tim barely managed to repress a snort, staring hard at his asparagus so his mom wouldn’t see his face. Based on the stories he’d heard, he was pretty sure his parents had been out of the country when Tim took his first steps in front of a nanny. He’d never gone fishing with his dad or played catch with him, unless you counted his dad throwing him the car keys so that Tim could grab their luggage. 

“I can’t wait,” Hank said, beaming at Sara, who settled her hand on her stomach. 

Tim’s phone buzzed in his pocket. 

“Mom, may I please be excused to use the restroom?” Tim asked.

His mom nodded. Relieved, Tim stood and hurried out of the private dining room his parents had booked. He slipped into a dark alcove next to the bathrooms and pulled his phone out of his pocket. 

Dick 7:03 p.m.

Calling it a night. Miss you Timbo! We got you king size Snickers!

There were two pictures attached — a selfie of Dick and Jason in their costumes, and another photo of their impressive candy haul. He guessed that Dick had to get home in time for patrol — Batman and Robin were definitely going to need to be on guard now that the sun had gone down. 

He gave a heart reaction to the photos and slipped his phone back into his pocket with a smile. He was still disappointed about missing trick or treating, but at least Dick and Jason had enjoyed themselves. Hopefully the dinner would wrap up soon — Sara had mentioned that she tired easily at this stage of her pregnancy. He was relieved to see a waiter heading toward their private room with the dessert that his mom had ordered. 

“I can take that,” Tim volunteered. The waiter gave him a torn look — on the one hand, Tim was pretty sure that the waiter was supposed to deliver any food to the table himself. On the other hand, the guy was probably stretched thin, given how packed the restaurant was. 

“Thanks, kid,” he said, handing Tim the plate and holding open the door to the private room so Tim could slip inside. 

“Looks like Tim found our dessert,” Sara remarked with a smile as he approached. 

“I’d like to propose a toast!” His dad exclaimed, rising to his feet. He was swaying slightly as he lifted his glass of whiskey toward the ceiling. “To the future of the Morena family!”

It all seemed to happen in slow motion — Tim was still walking toward the table when his dad took a sudden step backward. Tim tripped over his dad’s foot, and the plate went flying from his hands. 

He watched in horror, totally powerless to intervene, as the plate hit the table like a grenade and splattered chocolate mousse all over Senator Morena and his wife. 

***

The drive home was utterly silent. Tim hardly dared to breathe in the backseat. His parents’ severe expressions signaled that he was in big trouble.

Never mind the fact that it was an accident. Never mind the fact that his dad had played a significant role by tripping Tim. Never mind the fact that Senator and Mrs. Morena had politely laughed off the incident, wiping chocolate mousse off their faces and clothes with napkins and refusing his parents’ profuse promises to pay for dry cleaning or new clothes. 

The silence was worse than yelling, in Tim’s opinion. It was the unknown — the anticipation of what was to come — the weight of disappointment and judgment he could feel emanating from the front seat. 

When the driver dropped them off at Drake Manor, Tim trudged behind his parents like he was walking to the gallows. 

They remained stonily quiet as they hung their jackets in the closet, and Tim finally couldn’t bear it any longer.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “It was an accident.”

He cringed as his dad rounded on him. Damn — Tim was really off his game tonight. If he hadn’t opened his big mouth, maybe his parents would’ve waited until tomorrow to lecture him, and their tempers would’ve cooled off by then.

“You’re sorry?” His dad spat, his face turning so red it was nearly purple. “Sorry doesn’t cut it, Tim!” 

He approached, jabbing a finger in Tim’s direction. “Now every time Morena thinks about Drake Industries, do you know what he’s going to remember? Not our stellar financial performance and streamlined supply chain — he’s going to think about chocolate fucking mousse!”

His mother seemed a bit calmer, but she had a way of looking at him that made him feel about two inches tall. “You really need to pay attention to your surroundings, Tim. You’re much too old to be making these kinds of foolish errors,” she lectured, her gaze cool and disapproving. 

“You might have just cost us the biggest contract of our careers!” His father shouted. “We do this for you, Tim — for the future of our family business — and then you throw it back in our faces like an ungrateful brat!”

Tim felt tears gather in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to — it won’t happen again, I swear.”

“You’re damn right it won’t!” His dad clamped onto Tim’s bicep like a vise and began dragging him toward the stairs. It was a little painful, and Tim had to fight the urge to wriggle out of the iron grip — he knew from experience that his dad would only grab him harder if he resisted. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears — he wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen his dad quite this mad before. 

“You’re not coming with us to another dinner or event until we can trust that your behavior is worthy of the Drake name,” his dad continued harshly. 

Well, that wasn’t a bad punishment, although Tim knew better than to say so. They’d reached the top of the landing, and he was being pulled toward his room. 

“And if you lay a single toe out of line again, you’ll be shipped off to military school! Clearly our trust in you has been misplaced, and you need a firmer hand to guide you.”

Tim’s blood ran cold — his parents had mentioned sending him to boarding school a few times in the past — usually when they were forced to go through the hiring process for yet another nanny — but military school had never been on the table.

“I’m really sorry, Dad,” he croaked. “I promise I’ll be better. Please, you don’t have to send me away.”

His dad just glared. “We’ll see about that.”

Tim heard a small noise above, and he fought not to reflexively stiffen or look up. Jason! He’d been so distracted that he’d forgotten about his friend hiding in the attic.  

“Now go to your room and think about your behavior. Your mother and I have to do some serious damage control for your mistakes.”

He pushed Tim into his room and slammed the door shut, locking it from outside. Tim had a lockpicking kit and a window he could escape through in an emergency, but being locked in made him nervous. He hurried over to the window and opened it with trembling hands, sucking in cool night air to remind himself that he wasn’t actually trapped. His legs were shaking, too, and he sank to sit in front of the window, curling into a little ball. No matter how hard he tried to make his parents proud of him, something always seemed to go awry. He tugged at his tie, suddenly feeling like he couldn’t get a deep breath. Overhead, he heard a faint but insistent tapping noise, and he realized with a jolt that his phone was buzzing angrily in his pocket. 

He pulled it out, unsurprised to see Jason’s contact info pop up on the home screen. 

“Hi, Jay,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. 

“Tim! Jesus fucking Christ, kid, answer your phone!” Jason whisper-shouted, sounding frantic. “I was about to come down there and start throwing punches if you didn’t respond!”

Tim let out a shaky exhale — Jason blowing his cover was the last thing they needed right now. 

“What the hell happened?” Jason interrogated. Tim could hear the quiet noises of him pacing overhead like a caged tiger. “I thought I heard yelling downstairs.”

Tim sighed. “I messed up at the dinner and accidentally spilled some food on the guests.” He quickly recounted the story, and Jason was silent for a minute when he finished.

“That’s it?” His tone was disbelieving. “Your dad made it sound like you stabbed someone!”

“I may as well have, by my parents’ standards,” Tim said miserably. 

“That’s — that’s beyond fucked up, Timbo. It’s abusive.”

Tim recoiled. “My parents aren’t…don’t say that! They’re just under a lot of pressure at work right now, okay?”

He tried not to think of the lingering ache in his upper arm where his dad had grabbed him. As long as he didn’t look in the mirror when he was changing his shirt for the next week or so, he wouldn’t have to see if it was bruised.

“Under pressure? I just heard your dad threaten to send you away because you dropped a plate! That’s not right, Tim. I knew they were shitty and neglectful, but this is worse than I thought!”

Tim was pretty sure he was just going to spontaneously combust from stress and anxiety one of these days. He knew Jason was only trying to help, but he had gotten the wrong idea about Tim’s parents in his head, and he would only make matters much worse if he tried to tell an adult that Tim was…being abused or something. 

“Jason, you can’t…you can’t tell anyone, okay?” He pleaded. “My dad didn’t do anything wrong — parents are allowed to yell at their kids and send them to their room, you know? And my dad was just mad; he didn’t mean it about the military school thing.”

Probably, anyway.  

Jason snorted. “I should tell someone. I really should — you don’t deserve to live with these assholes, Tim. But…I don’t trust the system — I’ve seen it fuck over way too many kids.”

Tim’s shoulders sagged with relief. His parents would never let Tim be taken away by child services, anyway — it would be too damaging to their reputation. They had expensive lawyers and could point to the fancy house and private education they provided Tim as proof of their care and affection for their son. 

“We could run away,” Jason suggested. “You and me. Start over somewhere new.”

Tim automatically shook his head, his gaze straying to Wayne Manor. How could he leave Dick, Bruce, and Alfred behind now that he knew them — knew them as real, imperfect humans, not just distant heroes? How could he abandon Batman and Robin, whom he’d idolized for years?

“We can’t run away,” Tim said logically. “We’re kids — nobody would hire us. How would we afford to stay alive?” His parents would cut off his credit card access once they realized he’d left. Tim had some money saved up but certainly not enough to last until he was eighteen. 

“I did it,” Jason pointed out. 

“Yeah, but…no offense, you didn’t seem like you were doing too well when we met.”

Jason huffed. “I was alive and I wasn't being abused by anyone. I’d say I was doing pretty damn well for myself.”

Sensing that he’d touched on a sore spot, Tim redirected the conversation. 

“My parents are barely ever home, Jay. It’s much safer to stay here where there’s shelter and food than to strike out on our own. They’ll finish their project soon, and then everything will go back to normal.”

“I don’t know, Tim,” Jason said skeptically. “I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.”

Tim scrubbed a hand over his face. He felt a bone-deep exhaustion that was more mental and emotional than physical. 

“Can we talk about something else now?” He ventured wearily. 

Jason sighed. “Let me get The Hobbit, Timbo.” His voice had softened, and Tim knew the argument was over. He muted his phone so he could change into pajamas and use the bathroom, and then he climbed into bed, utterly spent. 

He fell asleep just a few paragraphs into the chapter and woke up a few hours later to the familiar sound of his mom’s footsteps in the hallway. He held his breath as he heard her unlock his bedroom door from the outside. He waited to see if she was going to poke her head inside and check on him, but her footsteps faded back down the hallway instead. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved by that.

It was barely light out, so he rolled over and went back to sleep. By the time he woke up for real a few hours later, Jason was in the kitchen making breakfast. 

“Jay!” He hissed in a panic when he rounded a corner and saw his friend standing at the stove. “What are you doing; you have to hide —”

“They’re gone,” Jason told him, expression apologetic. “I saw them through the attic window. They packed up their suitcases and left early this morning.”

Tim sank into one of the kitchen chairs. “Oh,” he said, not sure how to feel. 

“Yeah.”

They were quiet for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. 

Tim wondered if it made him a bad son to admit that some part of him was mostly just relieved that his parents had departed again, like a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. 

Everything is okay, he told himself. You survived their first visit with Jason here. He stayed hidden, and that’s what’s most important. 

Still, he was unnerved by his dad’s intense anger the night before. He’d been angrier than usual, and Tim was starting to worry about his ability to protect Jason if Jason’s presence was discovered or if Tim got shipped off to military school. 

His stomach churned with nerves, and he ripped up little pieces of the toast that Jason had served him and crumbled them onto his plate instead of eating them. 

He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he was afraid that his living arrangement with Jason had an expiration date, and that date was rapidly approaching. 

Chapter Text

“Tim!” Dick called, hopping out of the car and embracing Tim like he hadn’t seen him in a year instead of just yesterday. Alfred was waiting in the car and Jason was lagging behind — he’d been trying to track down all of his overdue library books in Tim’s room — so it was just the two of them at the moment. 

Tim couldn’t help but lean into the hug. He knew that Dick was Robin and he treated all kids like this, but he wanted to pretend that he was special, just for a moment. 

“Sorry you missed trick-or-treating yesterday, Baby Bird,” Dick said gently as he pulled back. “Did Jay give you the candy we got you?”

“He did — thanks for saving it for me. What happened to your cheek?”

Dick had a dark bruise on one side of his face, which Tim knew was courtesy of an Arkham breakout last night. He’d heard about it on the morning news while he and Jay ate breakfast. He felt bad putting Dick on the spot when he was probably sore and exhausted, but it would be weird if Tim didn’t profess any concern for his friend’s injuries.

“Oh, it was the craziest thing. Some kid who was trick-or-treating at Wayne Manor accidentally smacked me with his plastic lightsaber. It doesn’t feel as bad as it looks.”

Tim tried not to look dubious at this tale, nodding along as if it was a perfectly reasonable explanation. Jason arrived then, flushed and out of breath, his backpack looking ready to burst at the seams from all the books crammed inside. They all got into the car, and Alfred greeted him and Jason with a warm smile. 

“It’s good to have you back with us for the morning commute, Master Jason.”

Jason looked the same way Tim had felt when Dick hugged him — like he couldn’t quite believe someone noticed his presence in or absence from their life. 

“How was your business dinner last night, Tim?” Dick asked curiously. 

Tim fidgeted with his backpack strap and didn’t look in Jason’s direction. “It was fine.”

“I didn’t see your parents’ car this morning — did they leave early for work?”

Dick was unknowingly showcasing Robin’s investigative skills, and Tim weighed how to answer — he hadn’t wanted to mention that they’d left town again so quickly, but now that the topic had come up, he also didn’t want to be caught lying. 

“They had to go on another business trip, actually,” he said. “But it’s a short trip this time — they’ll be back soon for a board meeting.”

A v-shape of concern and confusion formed between Dick’s eyebrows. “They left again? But they just got here!”

“Work is really busy for them right now — it’ll ease up soon, though.” Tim flashed a fake smile that would’ve made his mom proud. 

In the front seat, Dick gave Alfred a look that Tim couldn’t interpret before turning back to them.

“Well…if you two are alone with your housekeeper again, then we need to pull out the big guns.”

“The big guns?” Tim echoed, confused.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Dick continued, doing a drumroll on the center console to build up the suspense.

“That my Halloween costume was better than yours?” 

Dick rolled his eyes at Jason. “No. We should have a sleepover at the manor this weekend!”

Tim couldn’t help the way his heart leaped at the idea. A sleepover at Batman and Robin’s house? Maybe he’d be able to spot the entry to the bat cave if he got to see more of the house!

“I’ve never been to a sleepover before,” he confessed shyly. 

“Me neither,” Jason said. “Unless you count me staying at your house, Timbo.”

Tim smiled, remembering Jason’s first night at Drake Manor, when Jason had been half-delirious with fever. It certainly hadn’t been anything like the sleepovers Tim had seen in movies. 

“Well, that’s perfect, because I haven’t either,” Dick admitted. “We’ll figure it out together!”

It should have been a good day — Tim now had his first proper sleepover to look forward to, and it was a relief to return to their usual routine. Jason was no longer trapped in the attic, and Tim could sense his excitement to visit the library. A lot of stress had been lifted now that his parents weren’t at risk of discovering Jason at any moment. 

Still, Tim couldn’t seem to find peace or equilibrium that day. As he sat through his classes, he fretted over the events of the previous night, particularly his dad’s threat to send him to military school if he messed up again. There was almost zero chance that he’d make it to age 18 without angering or disappointing his parents. Even when he tried his best and put his whole focus into following his parents’ rules and expectations, he always seemed to mess up somehow. 

It wasn’t like Jason could just keep living in Drake Manor if his parents kicked Tim out, either. Without Tim there, his parents would probably lay off Mrs. Mac and turn off the water and electricity when they traveled to save money. On the rare occasions when his parents were around, there would be nobody to serve as a lookout and warn Jason to hide. 

And even if his dad hadn’t really meant the threat of military school, the situation was still too perilous for comfort. Tim was now realizing that he had been shortsighted when he’d invited Jason to live with him — Jason wouldn’t be an adult for six years, which was a long time to keep the charade going. Now that they knew the Waynes, too, there were outside forces observing their dynamic. It would eventually become incredibly suspicious when Jason’s parents never returned from Cambodia for a visit. And the next time his parents ran into Bruce at a gala or event, it was almost guaranteed that Bruce would mention Tim and Jason to them. 

So all of this left Jason right back where he started: fending for himself on the streets. 

Tim wasn’t naive; he knew the statistics about Gotham street kids. In spite of Wayne Enterprises’ charitable efforts, there were high odds of Jason dying before his eighteenth birthday due to an untreated illness, poor nutrition, or violent crime. The gangs and drug-dealing outfits in Crime Alley often recruited teenagers by threatening them with two options: join up or receive a one-way ticket to the bottom of Gotham Harbor. Then Jason would be forced onto the wrong side of the law, and he’d become just another target in Batman and Robin’s crusade for justice. 

All of those outcomes were utterly unacceptable. Tim was going to have to be on his absolute best behavior to avoid angering his parents, and he was going to have to brainstorm some viable alternatives for Jason’s living situation. 

There had to be another way to keep Jason safe. Tim refused to believe otherwise. 

Now he just had to figure out the right solution.  

***

“That has no structural integrity — do you want us to be crushed and suffocated in the middle of the night?” Jason glared, hands planted on his hips as he surveyed the fort they were building. 

“I know, but it looks so cool!” Dick exclaimed, draping another blanket over the side of their lopsided creation. 

When they’d arrived for their sleepover after school, Dick had given them a tour of the family wing of Wayne Manor and shown Tim and Jason two guest rooms they could sleep in. But Tim knew that Jason didn’t even like to sleep alone at Drake Manor, where there was nobody around except for Tim, so when Dick suggested a blanket fort in the den, he was quick to voice his support for the idea. 

He hadn’t accounted for how complicated it would be to build a blanket fort big enough for three people to sleep in, however. Or how complicated it would be to get Jason and Dick to cooperate with one another for more than one minute straight. 

“Yeah, but if you move a single pillow, watch what happens,” Jason argued back, snatching one of the pillows out from underneath a blanket and watching smugly as the entire fort toppled over and collapsed like a jenga tower. 

“Aww, mother—” Dick seemed to remember his audience at the last second, because instead of swearing, he grabbed a pillow of his own and started whacking Jason with it. 

“En guarde!” Jason yelled, taking up a fencing stance and beginning to strike back. Dick was obviously holding himself back from fighting with Robin’s strength and agility, but he couldn’t resist putting on a show. He flipped backward to avoid being hit.

Tim let out a giggle, and the older boys both turned to him. 

“Whose side are you on, Timbo?” Jason asked, pointing the pillow dramatically at him like it was a blade. 

Tim looked from Dick to Jason and back again. Struck by a sudden fit of daring, he seized his own pillow off the floor. 

“Neither!” He shouted, and then he ducked around the couch as they both started chasing him.

***

Their pillow fight quickly breached the containment of the den, and that was how Tim found himself tiptoeing down an unfamiliar hallway a few minutes later. He hid behind a large potted plant as Dick thundered past. 

When the coast was clear, he sidled further down the hall. Not only was he having fun, he was also getting a better sense of the manor’s layout, which was useful Bat intel. He didn’t want to snoop or betray the trust the Waynes were placing in him by inviting him here, but he figured there was nothing wrong with paying close attention to his surroundings. 

He doubled back in the direction he’d just come from, only to tense when he heard footsteps growing closer — probably Jason, since Dick was good at walking quietly from his Robin training. 

He didn’t have time to run back down the hall, so he did the only thing he could think of — he opened the door to the closest room and slipped inside. 

Oh, no.

He recognized his mistake immediately, and the realization felt like he’d been doused in cold water. He could hear the low tones of Bruce’s voice further into the room, and he turned around slowly, taking in his surroundings. 

He was in a study, and it was just as warmly and richly decorated as the rest of Wayne Manor. Bruce himself sat behind a large mahogany desk with a laptop in front of him, obviously engaged in some sort of video conference.

Tim froze, wondering if he could make a quick escape before Bruce noticed the intrusion. But before he could attempt to extricate himself, Bruce looked up, mid-sentence, and his eyes met Tim’s. 

Tim felt his stomach sink — he’d screwed up again! He’d been so focused on the need to follow all his parents’ rules at Drake Manor that he’d forgotten to apply the same rules when visiting Wayne Manor. 

He was tempted to take the coward’s way out and simply flee the room, even though Bruce had already noticed him, but if this were his parents, that would just make them angrier. They’d taught him to take accountability and apologize when he didn’t behave in a manner befitting the Drake family name.  

Bruce’s gaze flicked down to the pillow Tim was clutching, and then…he smiled?

Tim wasn’t sure if this was some kind of trap or test. He knew that Bruce was easygoing in comparison to his own parents, but surely Tim’s actions had crossed a line. It had been drilled into his head since infancy that business was the number one priority for any adult worth his or her salt, and Bruce owned one of the most successful businesses in the whole world. 

Standing there, his back pressed against the door, a faint memory suddenly returned to Tim — he’d been about four or five years old, and he’d hadn’t felt well. It was his nanny’s night off, and his parents were working in their home office. He’d laid down on the carpet in front of the door, clutching his stomach. He’d been too little to recognize the signs that he was about to throw up, but he knew something was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to interrupt, but he’d been scared, and he’d burst into the office just in time to empty the contents of his stomach on the floor. 

He still remembered the pinched, disgusted expression on his mom’s face when she’d seen him standing there. She’d called the nanny and promised her overtime pay if she came to deal with Tim’s vomit and put him back to bed.  

Present-day Tim could hear Dick and Jason yelling in the hallway, their voices coming closer. Bruce put himself on mute, turned away from his laptop camera, and made a subtle motion to beckon Tim closer. 

“You can hide behind the couch there,” he told Tim with a wink, pointing. Then he turned back to his call, unmuted himself, and resumed speaking about Q4 strategic priorities. 

That…that was it? That was the totality of his reaction?

Dick’s voice was right outside the door now, so Tim did as he was bade, darting forward and taking refuge behind the room's emerald green couch. 

Just seconds later, the door to the study opened again, much louder this time. 

“Hey, B!” Dick’s voice greeted. “Have you seen Tim? Sorry for interrupting,” he added in a perfunctory sort of way. 

“Excuse me for one moment,” Bruce said to whomever was on the line, presumably muting himself again. “No, I haven’t seen him. Have you checked the kitchen?”

Naturally, Tim’s sinuses chose this precise moment to act up, and he let out a small, stifled sneeze. 

There was a beat of silence, and then…

“Get him!” Jason hollered like a war cry. 

“Here, Tim,” Bruce called, holding out his hands. 

Without thinking, Tim tossed the pillow in his direction, then watched with bemusement as Bruce rose from his chair and began chasing after Dick and Jason. A laugh bubbled up in Tim’s throat — he could only hope that Bruce had turned his camera off, or his employees were getting a very strange view of their CEO’s personal life. 

“Et tu, Brute?” Dick gasped as his dad thwacked him on the head with Tim’s pillow.

“More like ‘et tu, Bruce’!” Jason cackled. He had good natural instincts, and he neatly side-stepped Bruce’s attempt to swipe at him. 

But Bruce’s long stride was no match for Dick or Jason, and they were quickly chased out of the room. Bruce returned the pillow to Tim, barely out of breath, not a hair out of place. 

“Here you go, chum,” he said, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Sounds like they went left — you should probably go right.”

He patted Tim on the shoulder and walked back over to his desk. 

Tim knew he should leave, but he lingered awkwardly in place for a moment. “Uh, Bruce?” He called. Bruce looked up expectantly, not a hint of impatience or annoyance on his face. 

“Thanks,” Tim blurted out shyly, and then he turned around and hightailed it out of the study before he could embarrass himself further. 

***

The rest of the evening passed in a similar lively fashion — they ate a delicious dinner prepared by Alfred and played video games while eating way too much of Dick’s Halloween candy stash. 

Dick and Jason both passed out around midnight in the middle of the fourth Star Wars movie, but Tim was unable to fall asleep. He’d been blissfully distracted from his problems by the fast-paced activities of the sleepover, but now that he was the only one left awake, his worries returned with a vengeance. He tossed and turned for almost an hour before finally admitting defeat and crawling out of the blanket fort. 

He normally dealt with insomnia by going batwatching, but that wasn’t exactly an option tonight. One, Robin wasn’t out patrolling. Two, he was confident that Wayne Manor had a much more elaborate security system than Drake Manor, and he had no clue where the cameras were hidden. 

He felt the urge to move, to do something, but he didn’t want to disturb Dick or Jason. It was 1 a.m., so Bruce was almost certainly out patrolling, and Alfred was likely assisting him or sleeping. Surely nobody would be annoyed or upset if Tim walked around in the hallway for a bit, just to work off some energy and clear his head? He’d be quiet and he wouldn’t try to sneak anywhere he didn’t belong. 

Deciding that this was a safe enough plan, Tim crept from the room and began pacing back and forth down the long, lofty hallway. As soon as he was in motion, his thoughts began to flow more smoothly. 

Maybe I could hire an actor to play my fake uncle and Jason’s fake dad? He considered. It’s probably expensive, so I’d have to use up a lot of my allowance, but it would alleviate any suspicion from the Waynes, and we’d only have to hire this person to put in an appearance every once in a while. But we’d have to keep them employed for six years, which is tricky…

Maybe I could screen prospective foster parents until we find someone to foster or adopt Jason?

He continued in this vein for an unknown amount of time, brainstorming different ideas and systematically evaluating their strengths and weaknesses. The worst part was that he couldn’t even include Jason in the discussion. Jason deserved to decide his own future, but Tim knew that if he confessed his concerns about the long-term feasibility of them living together at Drake Manor, Jason would probably just run away and return to the streets out of a misguided and self-sacrificial desire to make Tim’s life easier. 

It would be best for Jason to find a permanent foster placement, or, better yet, to be adopted. He was only two-thirds of the way to adulthood, and he deserved to have stability, to be able to enroll in school, and to have an adult who cared about his well-being for the next six years and beyond. 

But Jay was already extremely jaded and skeptical of the foster care system. Plus, Tim knew that most adoptive parents were looking for infants or toddlers, not twelve-year-olds with attitudes the size of Jupiter and a tendency to push everyone away with a ten-foot pole when he first met them. And anyone could act kind and genuine for a brief period of time — there was no way to be 100% certain that Jason’s prospective foster parents had good intentions, which made Tim uneasy. 

So it had to be someone Jason trusted. 

Tim heaved a sigh — that was a tall order — almost impossible to fill. 

“Tim?” A quiet voice pierced his reverie, the sound so unexpected that he almost tripped and knocked over a suit of armor. 

“Sorry!” Tim gasped automatically, clutching his chest. 

Apparently Batman had decided to take the night off, and now Tim had been caught out of bounds a second time in the same day. 

“Whoa, easy there,” Bruce said, brow furrowed with concern. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just heading to bed and thought I’d check on you boys first. Is the sleepover going okay?”

“Oh, yes,” Tim said, bobbing his head. “Everything is great.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Everything except the sleeping part?”

Tim sighed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me — I just can’t seem to fall asleep.”

Bruce hummed thoughtfully. “I think that’s pretty typical when you stay somewhere new for the first time. What do you say to a game of checkers?”

Tim had to blink a few times to make sure this wasn’t some bizarre dream he was having. Bruce Wayne was asking him to…play checkers at 1 in the morning?

“Checkers?” Tim parroted. 

“Yes, checkers. Or we could do something else — I know when I can’t fall asleep, it’s usually because my mind is too busy. It sounds paradoxical, but doing something unrelated that requires concentration can help.”

Tim supposed that made sense — it was like his brain kept spinning in circles over the same topic. He couldn’t get it to be quiet when he laid down. But if he could redirect that restless mental energy toward something more neutral…

“I don’t want to keep you up. You said you were going to bed,” Tim protested. 

Bruce gave him a small smile. “To tell you the truth, chum, I have a lot on my mind, too. I think a game of checkers could help both of us wind down for the night.”

So that was how Tim found himself back in Bruce’s study for the second time that day, this time seated on the green couch with a hot cup of Alfred’s favorite blend of chamomile tea. They played in silence for several minutes, but it wasn’t an awkward silence, like the kind that Tim had been taught to fill with meaningless chatter about the weather and the stock market. They were each lost in their own thoughts, contemplating the game and their own preoccupations. The room filled in the quiet with its own sounds, like the grandfather clock ticking peacefully in the corner and the small fire crackling in the hearth.

As the minutes wore on, Tim found himself subtly studying the man sitting in front of him. Bruce had always seemed larger than life in the past when Tim had met him at galas, seen him on the news, or witnessed Batman in action. But now, in the middle of the night, dressed in comfortable clothes, his hair slightly unkempt like he’d been running his hands through it while he worked, he looked more human than Tim had ever seen him before. Like he was just Dick’s tired, careworn dad, not a hero or a celebrity.

“Do you want to talk about whatever is on your mind?” Bruce offered, backing one of Tim’s pieces into a corner. “That can sometimes help, too.”

The crazy thing was, Tim actually contemplated it for a moment — just spilling everything; all the secrets he was keeping, all the fears he held close to his chest. He had a sudden conviction that if he told Bruce his problems, he would listen and then he would find a way to fix them. Not because of the power and influence he wielded as Batman or Brucie Wayne, but because of who he was as Bruce, the man that Tim had steadily gotten to know since that fateful day Jason crashed into the pond. 

Still, as tempting as the idea was, Tim knew he couldn’t risk confiding in Bruce — he’d probably get the wrong idea like Jason had and decide that it wasn’t okay for Tim’s parents to leave him home alone for such long periods of time. He might also decide to call child services to report Jason’s lack of a suitable guardian.

“No, thank you,” Tim replied politely, jumping one of Bruce’s pieces. “King me, please.”

“Nicely done,” Bruce complimented, adding a piece on top of Tim’s new king. “It must be hard to have your parents travel so often.”

Tim looked up sharply — it was a neutral sounding remark, but this was the world’s greatest detective he was talking to. 

“Not really,” Tim shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

He’d meant to assuage Bruce’s concerns, but his words seemed to backfire as Bruce’s expression softened.  

“I’m sorry to hear that, Tim. This is only my opinion, of course, but I don’t think children should be used to being separated from their parents.”

Tim repressed a wince as he digested this comment — Bruce had lost his own parents when he was only a little older than Tim; of course he wouldn’t take kindly to the idea of parents willingly abandoning their kid to travel the world, even if it was (supposedly) for business purposes. Tim’s tiredness was making him sloppy. 

“If there’s anything I’ve learned from raising Dick,” Bruce continued, “it’s that you can’t get time back once it’s gone.”

His gaze drifted toward his desk, and Tim’s eyes followed. Bruce was looking at a framed photo of himself and Dick — Dick was younger, probably around Jason’s age, and he and Bruce were sitting in front of a birthday cake with lit candles. Dick was grinning broadly, and Bruce’s countenance was more subtle, but his happiness was clear.

“What I wouldn’t give for a time machine,” Bruce concluded with a slightly wistful smile. “But enough of me being a maudlin old man.”

They lapsed back into silence, and Tim found his gaze repeatedly straying back to the photo. Younger Dick bore a passing resemblance to Jason, and —

The answer slammed into him like a brick wall. It was so obvious that Tim didn’t know how he hadn’t seen it before. The solution had been staring him in the face all along, but he hadn’t viewed it as a serious possibility, because…well, it just seemed so far-fetched and presumptuous.

But Bruce had basically just confirmed that he missed having a twelve-year-old son, and Tim had a twelve-year-old boy on his hands who needed a father.

It has to be an adult that Jason actually trusts. 

That was Tim’s main stipulation, and he was looking right at one such adult. Okay, so Jason didn’t fully trust Bruce yet, but he’d come a long way in a short time. Bruce had never balked at Jason’s blunt comments and suspicious attitude, either. And he’d successfully become Dick’s guardian, so it would be easy for him to navigate child services to gain custody of Jason. Also, there was nobody Tim himself trusted more than Bruce Wayne — he could rest easy knowing that Jason was in good hands.

It was the perfect solution — Jason would live next door, so Tim could still see him. He would have the best education money could buy, and he’d have a family who already cared about him. 

Now Tim just had to convince Jason and Bruce that this was the right path forward for everyone involved. 

“Well, that’s the game,” Bruce said, interrupting his racing thoughts. Tim blinked and looked down at the board — he had gotten distracted and his performance had slipped. Bruce had double-jumped two of his pieces to win the game. 

“Thanks, Bruce,” Tim said, his mind already speeding off in this new direction. “This was…really helpful. I think I’m ready for bed now.”

Bruce smiled. “Glad to hear it, chum. And…just so you know, if you ever want to talk about something, I’m happy to listen.”

Bruce walked him back to the den and bade him goodnight before heading off to his own bedroom. Instead of returning to the blanket fort, however, Tim made a beeline for his backpack. He took a seat by the fireplace — the flames were burning low, but they provided just enough light to see by. 

He pulled out a notebook and clicked his favorite green pen. His mother would criticize him for making a project plan without doing a SWOT analysis first, but he definitely did not intend to share this particular project plan with anyone at Drake Industries, so he figured he could get away with breaking corporate protocols. 

He chewed on his pen cap, considering how to proceed. It would be a very delicate operation. He had to convince Jason that the Waynes were trustworthy, good people, which was a unique challenge considering his history. 

He also had to get Bruce to want to adopt Jason without actually spilling the beans that Jason was an unsupervised street kid. If Bruce realized that Jason was a street kid before deciding he wanted to adopt him, he might call child services and ruin everything. 

Then there was the matter of Batman — if Jason was going to be adopted into the Wayne household, he really should know the full extent of what he was signing up for. But thus far, he hadn’t picked up on any of Tim’s hints about Bruce and Dick’s alter egos. 

If everything worked as Tim intended, the plan could also benefit Dick — since Robin had started expressing that he wanted more independence and less supervision, Jason could fill in as a Robin understudy. But Jason deserved the chance to willingly commit to such a dangerous lifestyle.

Finally, after a lot of contemplation, Tim had assembled a rough outline of what needed to happen. 

Tim’s 7 step plan to get Bruce to adopt Jason, he wrote with a flourish. 

1. Find ways to get Jason to spend time alone with Dick, Bruce, and Alfred
2. Get Jason to realize Bruce’s nighttime activities
3. Get Jason to trust Bruce
4. Confirm Jason’s interest in being adopted by Bruce
5. Confirm Bruce’s interest in adopting Jason
6. Once interest is 100% confirmed, tell Bruce that Jason is an orphan
7. Adoption!!!

There — that was a decent start. Tim would have to be adaptable — these events might not actually transpire in this particular order, but that was okay so long as they arrived at the same end result. 

He stretched and yawned, surprised to see the faintest hint of blue appearing on the horizon through the window. It was past 4 a.m., and he’d totally lost track of time. He was finally ready for bed, though, and his mind was blank and clear as he crawled into the blanket fort and settled himself next to Dick. 

His last thought before his head hit the pillow was that he really needed to get some sleep — he had his work cut out for him, starting tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Tim was dreaming that he was jumping from rooftop to rooftop in downtown Gotham when an incredible smell distracted him. He missed the ledge of the roof that he was aiming for, but instead of falling, he floated onward to the next building, buoyed by the delicious scent in the air. 

“See,” a voice whispered as he stirred. “I told you it would work!”

Tim blinked against the morning sunlight that was suddenly piercing his eyelids.

“Coffee?” He mumbled hopefully. 

Jason and Dick burst out laughing. 

“Sorry, Timbo — it’s just coffee mix, not the real deal,” Jason’s voice apologized. 

A few more blinks revealed that he was in the den at Wayne Manor, and Dick was holding an instant coffee packet near his face.

“Alfred won’t let us have breakfast until you’re awake, but Bruce told us to let you sleep. So this was Jason’s solution to get you to wake up on your own,” Dick explained.

“Coffee?” Tim repeated pitifully.

“Sorry, bud — I don’t think you’ll have much luck getting Alfred to budge on his ‘no coffee for children’ rule. But he’s making pancakes!” Dick gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder.

Tim wanted nothing more than to burrow under his blanket and sleep for a few more hours, but he could hear Jason’s stomach rumbling loudly. It wasn’t Dick and Jason’s fault that he’d been up half the night hatching a secret adoption plot, so he groaned and stumbled out of the sagging blanket fort like a zombie.

He was feeling a bit more awake when he arrived at the kitchen a few minutes later, having brushed his teeth and splashed cold water on his face. He needed to focus — this was no longer just a friendly sleepover; it was part of the mission that he’d committed to last night. Like Batman’s crusade to rid Gotham of evil, Tim now had his own quest to guide his every move on the path forward. And like Batman when he’d first started out, Tim was walking this path alone, holding his secrets close to his chest. 

Tim had changed back into his clothes from yesterday, since his mom would’ve been furious if he dared to wander around someone else’s house in his pajamas, but Dick, Jason, and even Bruce were all still in their pajamas. It was a bizarre sight to behold, Batman in a robe and plaid pants with a five o’clock shadow. Even Alfred was dressed more casually than usual in a sweater and slacks.  

“Morning, Tim — did you sleep well?” Bruce asked, looking up from his newspaper as Tim slid into his typical chair at the kitchen table. 

A look of understanding passed between them, and Tim knew Bruce was also thinking about their late-night game of checkers in the office. He was grateful that Bruce wasn’t making a big deal out of it or mentioning it to Dick and Jason.

“Yes, thanks,” Tim replied politely, serving himself some eggs, fruit, and pancakes. He eyed Bruce’s coffee longingly but poured himself some orange juice instead. 

“These two didn’t wake you up, right?” Bruce asked, motioning to Dick and Jason, who were suddenly very preoccupied with fixing their own plates of food. 

“Nope,” Tim reported cheerfully, crossing his fingers under the table. “I totally woke up on my own.”

“Hn,” Bruce grunted suspiciously, but Tim saw how he hid a small smile as he looked back at the paper. 

While Tim ate he listened to conversations flow around him and tried to envision Jason’s future as a member of the Wayne family. In past moments of extreme boredom, he’d read some of his parents’ business and entrepreneurship books, and he’d learned about the power of visualizing your desires to help you manifest them. 

If things went according to Tim’s plan, there would be many mornings like this in Jason’s future — Jason would sit in his normal chair across from Dick in comfy pajamas, reading the arts & culture section of the paper that he’d filched from Bruce. He’d have a permanent bedroom upstairs across from Dick’s, and he’d probably get roped into the vigilante lifestyle. Bruce would enroll him in Gotham Academy or some other school of Jason’s choosing, and he would be at the top of all his classes and join whatever clubs or teams he preferred. 

Would he still have time for Tim then? Or would Tim be forever relegated to the role of the superfluous neighbor kid — the rooftop watcher in the shadows, mainly interacting with his heroes through the lens of his camera?

It doesn’t matter, Tim reminded himself, this is about Jason, not you. 

“You okay, Timmy?” Dick asked. “You’re awfully quiet this morning.”

Tim forced a smile onto his face. “I’m fine,” he said placidly. 

Because he was fine. He would be fine. He needed to be, in order for the plan to work. 

***

Tim’s plan was time-sensitive, and he knew he needed to get started right away. His parents were due back for a board meeting in a few weeks, and they might send him to military school if they found his behavior unsatisfactory during their visit. Or they might run into Bruce at a social event and discover that a random twelve-year-old was living in their house with their son. Any number of other things could go wrong in the interim that would topple the house of cards he and Jason had built. 

The first priority was to get Jason to spend more time by himself with the occupants of Wayne Manor, and there was no time like the present. After some deliberation, he decided to start with the member of the household that Jason trusted the most. 

At the end of breakfast, he hung back in the kitchen when Bruce went to do some work in his office and Dick and Jason headed back to the den to play video games. 

“You guys go ahead,” Tim assured them. “I’ll be there soon.”

Then he was left alone with Alfred in the kitchen. 

“Is there something you need, Master Tim?” Alfred asked, wiping down the countertop with a damp rag. “Perhaps some more juice or a snack to take to the den?”

“No — well, kind of. It’s more of a favor I’d like to ask you,” Tim said, burying his hands in his pockets so he couldn’t wring them nervously. He hadn’t missed the fact that Alfred’s gaze could be just as keen and omniscient as Bruce’s. 

“Why don’t we sit down with a cup of tea and talk it over?” Alfred suggested.

“Okay,” Tim agreed. “I…tried some of the chamomile that Bruce has in his study. It was really good.”

Tim wasn’t sure why he’d admitted that — it wasn’t relevant to the conversation he wanted to have, and he was basically confessing to the fact that he’d had trouble sleeping last night, like some kind of baby who couldn’t handle a sleepover. He bit his lip as he looked to see whether Alfred would judge him or not. 

“Ah, yes, that blend is an old favorite of mine. Master Bruce has always enjoyed it on sleepless nights, too,” Alfred remarked fondly. He began the process of making tea — turning the kettle on to boil, and pulling out a small basket with various teas from one of the cupboards. His movements were relaxed and unhurried, as though he had all the time and attention in the world to give to Tim. 

It was so different from the brisk, businesslike interactions that Tim had with all the adults at Drake Manor, from his parents to the landscapers to the cleaners — even Mrs. Mac, who was caring but wanted to do her job and leave promptly. Oddly, Tim found himself thinking that Alfred and Alicia would’ve gotten along well if they’d met. 

“Master Dick often tells me that I should just microwave the water, but I prefer to do it the traditional way,” Alfred continued, perhaps noting Tim’s close observation of his actions. “The routine is comforting — this is how I’ve made tea ever since I was a young boy.”

Tim wondered about the life Alfred had lived that had led him to this point, serving as the butler to Bruce Wayne and the right hand of Batman. It would be fun to sit with him and hear stories from his past some time — but this was about securing Jason’s future, not slaking Tim’s curiosity. 

“Which tea do you recommend?” Tim asked, looking through the selection. 

Alfred patiently talked Tim through the options, explaining the different flavors and pointing out his favorites, as well as the ones that Bruce and Dick liked.

“I think I’ll have the Earl Grey,” Tim decided (because it had the highest caffeine content). 

Alfred gave him a knowing look but didn’t protest his choice. He poured the boiling water into two mugs and brought everything over to the table, where he took a seat across from Tim. 

“Now, then, Master Tim, what’s on your mind this morning?”

Tim felt the same pressure building up within his chest that he’d felt last night — the desire to blurt out everything and relieve himself of some of the burden he was shouldering. He pushed the urge down, feeling terrible for the half-truths he was about to tell.

God, he was about to try to manipulate Alfred, who’d been nothing but welcoming to him — who’d fed him delicious meals and given him countless rides to and from school. Who’d set Jason at ease from the first day they stepped foot in Wayne Manor. 

It’s for a good purpose, Tim reminded himself. Jason and the Waynes might end up hating him when this was all said and done — when they realized how he’d been pulling strings behind the scenes. But it would be worth it for Jay to be okay. For Jay to live to adulthood. 

He took a deep breath, stirring the steeper around to infuse the tea evenly. 

“It’s about Jason,” Tim said, staring at a knot in the wood of the table. 

“Ah. What about Master Jason?” Alfred asked, his tone utterly casual, as though he was asking Tim to pass the salt. 

“He…he doesn’t talk about it much, but I know he misses his parents. It was hard for him because I got to see my parents recently, but his parents weren’t able to come home.”

He chanced a glance up, and Alfred nodded knowingly. “It must be difficult for both of you boys to have parents who are unavailable so often. I’m glad you’ve befriended Master Dick — I think it’s done a world of good for both our household and yours.”

It filled Tim with a warm feeling to know that he and Jason were somehow making the Waynes’ lives better, even though it sounded absurd to his ears. 

Feeling encouraged, Tim continued, carefully laying the groundwork for his request. “Jason really enjoys cooking — he learned from his mom, and he’s really good at it.”

This statement was an educated guess on Tim’s part. However, it was clear that Jason had learned to cook from someone. He didn’t use recipes, which made it seem likely that he’d gleaned his knowledge from a person rather than a cookbook. He chopped, diced, and sauteed with an ease that made it clear he’d been practicing for years, and there was genuine care and attention poured into everything he made.

Plus, the only times he’d heard Jason mention his mom had been in relation to food — he’d once told Tim that she made amazing tamales, and on another occasion he’d lectured Tim about how to hold knife safely, telling him that his mom had made him dice a dozen onions to practice before trusting him on his own. 

“I’ve always found that food can be very powerfully tied to memories. It makes sense that cooking would remind him of his mother if she taught him,” Alfred reflected. 

Tim took a deep breath. “I was wondering if maybe you’d invite him to cook with you sometimes? I think he’d really like it — and he’s good at it, too, you wouldn’t really have to teach him anything!” Tim blurted all of this out and then crossed his fingers under the table for good luck. 

Alfred gave him the same kind smile as always, and Tim felt himself relax in his chair. 

“It would be my pleasure to cook with Master Jason, Master Tim. I’ll speak to him about it when the right moment arises.”

“Oh — thanks, Alfred!” Tim could hardly believe it had been so easy. “I think it would make him really happy.”

Alfred’s expression turned wry. “Yes, well — we could use another decent cook around here. Both Master Bruce and Master Dick have been known to burn water and set microwaves alight.”

“I’m afraid I fall in that category myself,” Tim admitted ruefully. 

“No matter — we all have our strengths and weaknesses. And speaking of strengths — I wonder if you might be interested in learning to knit, Master Tim? I’ve observed that you are quite attentive to details, and that’s a useful skill for fiber arts.”

Tim blinked, taken aback. He’d come to Alfred to schedule one-on-one time between Alfred and Jason, not Alfred and himself. 

Perhaps sensing his confusion, Alfred continued. “I’m guessing that Master Bruce has introduced you to his checkers and chamomile ritual for insomnia — personally, I prefer knitting and chamomile myself. It might benefit you to try a few different methods to relax at night if you struggle to sleep.”

“That’s nice of you to offer,” Tim said, because it was. It was far more than Tim deserved — to now have two adults he wasn’t related to worry over his sleep difficulties and try to help him come up with ways to solve it. 

He tried to imagine what his parents’ reactions would be if he told them he was having issues sleeping — his mom would probably give him some of her sleeping pills so he'd stop pestering her about it, and his dad would tell him to run through his elevator pitch until he drifted off.

“You think it over and let me know,” Alfred said, patting Tim on the hand. “I’m here any time you want to learn.”

“Thanks, Alfred,” Tim said, taking a sip of his tea. “Oh, and…if you don’t mind, could you ask Jason without telling him that I talked to you? I think he’s a little sensitive about it.”

“Your secret is safe with me, Master Tim,” Alfred assured him.

Tim heaved a small sigh of relief. He’d laid the foundation for phase one; now he needed to wait and watch it come to fruition. 

***

Fortunately, Jason came downstairs a few days later clutching a stack of cookbooks from the library.  

“Guess what, TimTam?” He asked cheerfully, appearing in the kitchen where Tim was doing his homework.  

“What?” 

Jason beamed. “Before he dropped me off at the library this morning, Alfred asked me to cook with him! He said he likes to try new recipes for dinner on Wednesdays and asked if I want to help tonight. He even said that I could suggest some recipes myself, so I got all these cookbooks to look through.”

Tim gave him a genuine smile. “That’s great, Jay. I’m glad he asked you.”

“Do you think he’s going to think I’m good enough to help him?” Jason asked, wringing his hands. Tim looked up from his homework, startled — he’d never heard Jason express insecurity about any of his abilities before. 

“What?! Jay, you’re one of the best cooks I’ve ever met, and do you know how many fancy restaurants my parents have dragged me to?”

“You really mean that?” Jason asked hopefully. 

Tim bumped him with his shoulder. “‘Course I do.”

He was still sitting at the kitchen table when Jason appeared a few minutes later, wearing his jacket and carrying a backpack stuffed with the books he’d checked out. 

“Well?” Jason queried. “Aren’t you gonna get ready?”

“Ready for what?” Tim asked, feigning ignorance. 

Jason stared at him blankly. “...to come to Wayne Manor with me?”

“Oh, I’m going to stay here. You know I’m not a good cook; I’d just get in the way.”

Jason frowned, tilting his head. “But…you love going to Wayne Manor. You’re always dying to be over there.”

Tim shrugged. “Mrs. Mac will be here soon, and I think she gets suspicious if I miss her visits. I’d better stay.”

Jason looked torn for a moment, as though he was weighing the perils of visiting Wayne Manor alone against how fun it would be to cook with Alfred. Tim tried not to look like he was holding his breath as he skimmed through his textbook, his eyes unfocused on the words. 

“Okay, Timmy,” Jason decided eventually. “I’ll bring you leftovers, alright? And text me if you need anything.”

“Yes, Mom,” Tim recited. Jason flicked him on the forehead and then disappeared into the hallway. 

He listened to the familiar noises of Jason digging his shoes out of the coat closet and humming to himself as he left. The door slammed shut, and the house grew still. 

Tim heaved a sigh to himself — he supposed he should get used to being surrounded by silence again. 

***

The cooking lesson was a smashing success, as Tim had suspected it would be, and Jason came home wielding a container of leftovers and a big smile on his face. He ranted and raved about the experience of making pasta from scratch and detailed his plans for next week’s Wednesday dinner, when he and Alfred planned to try their hand at falafel and shawarma. 

It was plain to see that Jason was blossoming under the one-on-one attention, even after just one day. It warmed Tim’s heart and assured him that he was on the right path. Hoping to continue his streak of progress, he pressed Dick for any opportunities that would help him further assimilate Jason into the Wayne family. 

“What are you up to this weekend?” He asked curiously as they waited for Alfred to pick them up after school on Thursday. 

“Ugh,” Dick groaned, doing a sad cartwheel into a handspring. (What did it say about Tim’s life that at some point he had learned to recognize the difference between Dick’s sad acrobatics and his happy ones?) “The opera.”

“The opera?” Tim questioned.

“There’s a benefit night for the children’s hospital on Saturday — Bruce is a major donor to the cause, so we have to go.”

Dick flopped to the grass morosely, as though the very idea drained all the energy from him. 

Personally, Tim had to agree. His parents were season ticket holders at the opera, mostly so they could be on the donor list and so they could bring clients and investors there to schmooze, and he’d been dragged to a few operas in the past. He’d much rather spend an evening out taking photos on the rooftops than sit in some stuffy theater with a bunch of people who were drinking and making business deals with old music being performed in the background.

But Jason would love the opera, Tim suddenly realized. The drama, the history of it, the classical music…

“Hey, that’s a coincidence," Tim said. “I forgot to mention; my parents support that charity too, and they asked us to attend the fundraiser on their behalf.”

***

“This is so cool!” Jason remarked, rocking back on his heels and looking around the opulent lobby with wonder in his eyes. He was wearing a suit that Tim’s mom had bought him to grow into, and it was slightly too short and too tight on him. It never would’ve passed Janet Drake’s critical inspection, but at first glance, Jason looked exactly the part of a wealthy Bristol boy.  

“Did you know that the architects of this theater combined influences from the Art Deco movement and ancient Rome —” Jason continued. 

“Tim! Jason!” A familiar voice called, interrupting what would’ve no doubt been an impressive lecture. Dick was standing near the stairs, waving at them. 

Jason tilted his head with confusion. “Why is Dickface here?”

“Huh, what a coincidence!” Tim remarked, trying not to shift in place or appear suspicious. “But I guess it’s not too surprising…Bruce supports all the same causes as my parents, you know.” 

He hastily steered Jason toward Dick and hoped that Dick would distract Jason from overthinking this serendipitous meeting.

“Hi, guys! Thank god you’re both here,” Dick exclaimed when they approached him. “I told Bruce they should hold the fundraiser at the new rock-climbing gym in town, but for some reason, the hospital preferred this dumb opera.”

Tim couldn’t have chosen a better opening line himself to distract Jason, who gasped, scandalized, as though the ghost of the composer might materialize out of nowhere and begin berating Dick. 

“It’s not even an opera; Carmina Burana is a scenic cantata, Dickface!”

“Caramel Burrata? Sounds weird, but to each their own.” Dick winked at Tim as he said this, and Tim could practically see Jason’s blood pressure rising. 

“It’s not caramel burrata; it’s Latin for Songs of Beuern,” Jason hissed. “Show some respect for the arts.”

Dick snorted. “You’ll fit right in with B and Alfred, Jay. They were just debating about the Latin translations of the lyrics, and I was about to pull the fire alarm so they’d cut it out. Come on up.”

Jason shot Tim a concerned look. “Oh…we have general admission tickets from Tim’s parents’ season pass. Are we allowed to come up to where you’re sitting?”

“`Course you are, silly. It’s B’s private box; come on, you’ll see.”

Sometimes Tim forgot that Jason wasn’t born into this life like he was, that things like private boxes and tuxedos and operas were all new to him. Tim supposed that he’d grown a bit numb to it all himself, and it was interesting to witness an experience like this anew through Jason’s eyes. 

When they reached the upper level of the theater, Bruce was standing just outside the Wayne box — he had been waylaid by a few businessmen that Tim vaguely recognized from various society events he’d attended with his parents. He glanced up from his conversation as they approached, giving both Tim and Jason a nod and a warm smile of acknowledgment when he saw them standing with Dick. 

“— could be an excellent opportunity for WE to expand into the cybersecurity space,” one of the men was explaining. He took a sip of his expensive champagne, obviously trying to seem casual and unstudied, but Tim could spot a rehearsed business proposal from a mile away. 

He was sure Bruce could, too, although he was putting on a good Brucie Wayne performance. 

“Intriguing idea, Jacob,” he said genially, patting the man on the shoulder. “I’ll mull it over and have Lucius reach out to you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to watch the show with my family.”

Tim knew that Bruce was referring to Dick and Alfred, but his heart did a funny little skip in his chest when Bruce mentioned his family and looked over at the three of them. 

“Of course,” Jacob replied, practically tripping over himself to get out of the doorway to the Wayne private box. 

Tim repressed an eye roll at the man’s fawning behavior, and Bruce caught his eye and smiled, escorting them into the box. 

“Whoa,” Jason exhaled as they entered, awe glowing on his face as he took in the velvety drapes and ornate furniture. He darted forward to peer over the railing and into the cavernous theater. “This is an amazing view!”

Jason’s wonder persisted through the rest of the show. While Dick subtly played Candy Crush on his phone and Tim thought absently about the ISO settings he’d been using for nighttime photography, Jason perched on the edge of his seat, rapt with attention for the entire hour. 

Jason didn’t turn his head at all when Dick poked him and tried to get his attention. He had tears in his eyes during a number called In Trutina, drinking in the music as though nothing else existed in the world. Alfred was listening with his eyes closed and a mellow smile on his face, but Tim caught Bruce glancing at Jason during the song, an unmistakable hint of fondness on his face.

He found himself oddly moved by Jason’s reaction as well. As he glanced around the rest of the theater, he spotted people drinking and chatting with one another, probably discussing business deals and society gossip. Jason seemed to be the only one who was truly, wholly absorbed by the song, and there was something profound about the way he found such beauty in the music, like he was listening to something the rest of them couldn’t hear. Tim almost wished he had his camera so he could capture the emotion on Jason’s face, but he supposed that it was better to experience some things in the moment than try to preserve them forever. 

“I guess the O Fortuna song is pretty badass,” Dick mused after the show. (“Language, Master Dick.”) “Otherwise, I wish they sang operas in English so you could understand what the he— heck they’re talking about.”

“It’s a scenic cantata, you uncultured swine,” Jason reiterated, shaking his head in despair. “And it was written by monks in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries; why on earth would you want to hear it in English? I think it’s incredible that their words have been preserved for all these centuries, and we're still listening to them hundreds of years later!”

Jason trailed off, seeming embarrassed by his impassioned speech. 

But Bruce patted him on the shoulder. “I’m glad you liked it, Jaylad,” he said gently, which was a nickname Tim had never heard him use before. “We’ll have to come back in the winter when they perform Carmen.”

“Ugh,” Dick groaned. “Count me out. Timmy and I will have a movie night that night, and you and Jason can argue about Latin declension as much as you want, old man. What do you say, Timbo?”

“Carmen is actually in French, not Latin,” Jason piped up helpfully, looking like he was gearing up for another historical lecture. “Although it’s set in Spain —”

“I’m cartwheeling away now,” Dick announced dramatically. “I can’t take this any longer.”

“Master Dick! No cartwheels in the theater,” Alfred cut in, looking both exasperated and amused at his charge’s antics.  

“Aww, Alfred, come on. You said no cartwheeling during the show earlier, but the show’s over now!”

Tim listened to the Wayne family cheerfully bicker and joke with one another as they exited the theater (after a vote, it was determined that Dick was allowed to do cartwheels in the parking lot). For the first time since he’d met the Waynes, he felt like he was standing on the other side of a window and looking in at them. 

They accepted a ride back to Bristol from Bruce, and during the drive, Tim imagined the end of his plan coming to fruition in a few weeks or months — Jason going home to Wayne Manor at the end of each night and Tim returning to Drake Manor by himself. The two houses were roughly the same size, but Drake Manor felt so much larger and emptier. He drew in a breath with tight lungs as they rounded a bend in the road and his darkened mansion came into view. 

There was one key part of his plan that he’d put off thinking about, but he couldn’t avoid it any longer. In order for Jason to get more comfortable with the prospect of joining the Wayne family, Tim needed to start stepping away and fading into the background. After all, he already had parents and a home, unlike Jason. He didn’t need the Waynes like Jason did, and Bruce, Dick, and Alfred needed to be able to differentiate between their relationship with Jason and their relationship with a random neighbor kid.

It would be painful to keep himself increasingly apart from the Waynes, but he had to remember that it would be worth it in the end. Whenever he felt sad about dampening his connections with the family he was also coming to care for deeply, he’d have to focus on his visualization of the future — of Jason, happy and healthy and part of a family who loved him, just like he deserved, and that vision would give him the strength to carry on. 

There was no other option if he wanted to keep Jason safe and grant him the childhood he deserved. As his mom had said, success requires sacrifice.

Chapter Text

With Jason successfully booked for one-on-one time with Alfred on Wednesdays, Tim turned his attention to Dick next. He didn’t think that Jason was mistrustful of Dick himself, per se — it was hard to imagine anyone truly feeling threatened by such a caring, happy-go-lucky person. Rather, Jason was simply slightly on guard around anyone who was older and stronger than him by default. He’d probably had to fight older kids for resources during his time on the streets, where it was every man, woman, and child for themselves. 

So Tim decided to kill two birds with one stone — to find a way to help Jason feel more secure and get him to spend time with Dick. 

To do so, he broke out of his usual routine one Tuesday afternoon. The cleaners were working at his house, so Jason had stayed late at the library, which meant he wouldn’t notice Tim’s unusual absence. Shortly after school, he changed into casual clothes, skateboarded to the bus stop, stashed his board in the bushes, and took the bus back into Gotham. 

It was the second week of November, and the sun was setting depressingly early. He wandered through the gloomy downtown streets until he found what he was looking for: the Gotham Gymnastics Academy. He slipped inside nervously — he’d grown accustomed to being in Gotham late at night when most other people remained at home for their own safety. He wasn’t used to being in crowded, densely populated public places anymore, and the gym at 5 p.m. was packed. 

He shouldered his way through a gaggle of kids who looked to be around his age, feeling out of place. His plan had only extended to coming here; he hadn’t thought about the logistics of actually finding and speaking to Dick. 

“Are you new, honey?” The woman at the reception desk asked. “The U7 class is starting in ten minutes.”

“No,” Tim said, fighting back the urge to scowl over the fact that she thought he belonged in the class for seven-year-olds when he was clearly older than that. “I was actually looking for my neighbor…Dick Grayson? I missed my bus and need to get a ride home with him.”

The receptionist’s expression softened. “Technically, I can’t let you in if you’re not signed up for a class. But…if you happened to walk past me when I was turned around, Dick would probably be working on vaults in the back right corner,” she said, pointing in the correct direction. 

Tim nodded gratefully. “Thank you!” He said, gamely waiting until she started assisting a woman and her daughter with paying for a class, and then darting past the reception desk and into the gym itself. 

He skirted the perimeter of the cavernous room, not wanting to accidentally step in someone’s way and trip them up. He craned his neck, peering through the sea of kids practicing on floor mats, balance beams, uneven bars, and rings. Finally, a familiar blur of motion caught his eye. Dick was sprinting down a runway, his arms pumping with military precision, his gaze utterly focused as he approached the vault. 

Tim watched with awe as he leaped, used the vault for leverage, and executed a complicated flip-twist combination in midair before landing neatly on a waiting mat. As Robin, every move Dick made was economical, designed to be as efficient and safe as possible as he subdued criminals, rescued civilians, and provided Batman with invaluable back-up. But here in the gym, he could see Dick’s pure technical skill as a gymnast. The way he soared through the air was like art — like the way Alfred’s cooking tasted, like the way words flowed out of Jason like a river when he wrote, like the vision Tim strived to execute in his photography. 

Seeing Dick’s joy as he stuck the landing reminded Tim of that night at the circus all those years ago, and he felt a pang at the recollection of everything Dick had lost. 

Dick’s coach was saying something to him, but perhaps sensing Tim’s eyes on him, Dick looked up, his expression cycling through surprise and worry when he saw Tim standing nearby. 

He said something to his coach and then hurried over toward Tim. “Timbit! You okay, kiddo?”

Tim hadn’t expected to be greeted with so much concern. “I’m fine,” he assured Dick quickly. “Everything is fine.”

“Oh, good,” Dick sighed, relief turning to confusion. “Why are you here, then, bud?”

Tim now felt foolish for showing up and disrupting Dick’s workout. He chewed on his lower lip before responding. “It’s nothing important — sorry for bothering you. Never mind.”

Dick’s brow creased. “You’re never bothering me, Tim. You know you can tell me anything, right?”

If only, Tim thought wearily to himself. 

“Well…there is something I wanted to talk to you about. But it’s not urgent. You should finish your workout.”

Dick scanned his face, and Tim wondered what he saw there. 

“Okay,” Dick said slowly. “I’ll be done in a few minutes, anyway. You want to sit over there while I finish up?”

He pointed out a bench near the wall, and Tim nodded. He watched as Dick did a few more vaults, wishing he’d brought his camera. His fingers itched to try to capture Dick mid-flight, as graceful as the bird his alter ego was named after.

He observed that many of the younger kids in the gym watched Dick while they waited for their turn to do their own exercises. Tim could see the admiration and reverence in their eyes, and it filled him with a weird sense of pride, which didn’t make sense, because it wasn’t like Tim could take any credit for Dick’s success as a gymnast. 

Finally, Dick exchanged a few words with his coach, got a drink of water, and made his way over to the bench. 

“You were amazing!” Tim found himself gushing. “The way you can do so many flips with just the leverage from the vault is insane!”

Dick smiled and ruffled Tim’s hair. He settled onto the ground and began stretching his hamstrings. “Thanks, Timbo. I’ve had a lot of good teachers help me get to this point,” he said modestly. “Now, what brings you here?”

Tim fidgeted with the zipper of his jacket. Talking to Alfred had been nerve wracking, but he felt even worse about trying to manipulate Dick, who’d been one of his personal heroes since he was just a toddler. 

“I wanted to talk to you without anyone else around. It’s about Jason.”

Dick stiffened ever so slightly before relaxing again, so quickly that Tim almost thought he was imagining things. But the small tell was a good reminder that he was talking to Robin. Dick had spent years assisting the world’s greatest detective, and Tim shouldn’t underestimate his powers of observation. 

“Okay, TimTacToe. What’s up?” 

Tim scrunched up his nose at the atrocious nickname, but let it go for the moment — he had bigger things to focus on, and he couldn’t afford to get distracted. 

“Well…I was thinking. You may have noticed that Jay is, uh…a little prickly when you first get to know him.”

Dick laughed, switching to a butterfly stretch. “Prickly, huh? Yeah, I guess if I was going to compare him to a plant, a cactus would be a pretty good match.”

Tim smiled to cover his anxiety. “Yeah, but the thing is…he has a good reason to be that way. Before he came to stay with me, there were some older kids who were giving him a really hard time. It’s part of the reason why he’s homeschooled now. He doesn’t talk about it, but I know it kind of messed him up.”

The corners of Dick’s mouth turned down. “I’m sorry to hear that, Timbo. Bullying sucks.”

Unfortunately, Jason’s experience had been even worse than bullying — more like survival of the fittest on the streets. But Tim couldn’t exactly come out and say that, so he just nodded and pressed onward. 

“Anyway, I was thinking that maybe learning something like gymnastics might make him feel more confident. You know, it could make him stronger and more agile. So…maybe you could teach him?”

Dick hummed and rubbed his chin thoughtfully at the proposal. “It’s not a bad idea. But gymnastics wouldn’t exactly help him learn to defend himself.”

Tim stared down at his hands, trying not to visibly deflate. This technique had worked out with Alfred on the first attempt, but he should’ve known better than to think it would be this easy a second time. 

“Oh. Right — good point.”

“But…” Dick began. 

Tim glanced up hopefully. 

“Bruce and I practice martial arts in our home gym on Thursdays. I can ask B if you guys could join us?”

Tim’s heart leaped in his chest at the suggestion. Learn martial arts from Batman and Robin themselves? He’d always wondered about their training regimen — obviously, if he agreed to it, Bruce would censor his tutelage to scrub any clear links to Batman and Robin, but still, the opportunity was beyond Tim’s wildest dreams.

But… no, he thought to himself. He couldn’t join them — the whole point was for Jason to spend more time with the Waynes on his own. Not Tim. 

“I actually can’t,” he said, affecting what he hoped was a convincing smile on his face. “My parents and I are trying to have a weekly phone call to catch up on Thursday evenings. But I bet that would work for Jay.”

“Hn,” Dick hummed in a Brucelike manner. “Unfortunately, Thursdays are the only evenings that work for B’s schedule right now — unless he could switch his meetings around?” Dick tapped his chin consideringly. 

Tim drew back in horror — he couldn’t allow Bruce Wayne to rearrange his busy schedule around Tim’s fake phone calls with his parents. 

“No need for that,” he said hastily. “The phone call thing is only temporary while my parents are traveling. I can join you on Thursdays in the future when their schedule lightens up and they aren’t traveling as much.”

Which would be never, but Dick didn’t need to know that. 

Fortunately, Dick seemed to be appeased by this compromise. “Okay, I’ll talk to Jay and invite him.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” Tim added. “Can you be subtle about it? I don’t want him to know that I told you about the whole bullying thing, since he doesn’t like people to know.”

Dick nodded understandingly, and Tim felt like an absolutely terrible person. 

“Now, come on,” Dick said, wrapping an arm around Tim’s shoulders as he stood, hefting his gym bag over one shoulder. “Alfred will be waiting — he can give you a ride home, okay?”

Tim knew he should probably protest since Alfred would no doubt find it odd that Tim had randomly materialized at Dick’s gym. But Dick’s arm around him felt nice, and he allowed Dick to shepherd him through the chaotic gym environment, watching shyly as people waved and greeted Dick left and right as he passed by.

“Hey, Grayson — is that your little brother?” A teenage girl asked in a friendly tone, nodding in Tim’s direction. 

His cheeks turning scarlet, Tim immediately spoke up. “I’m his neighbor,” he clarified, embarrassed on Dick’s behalf.

He ducked his head, not meeting Dick’s gaze as they stepped out of the gym and into the cold evening air, which, despite Gotham’s smog problem, felt crisp and pure after the stuffy, noisy environment of the gym. 

Dick already had a little brother, and it wasn’t Tim. It was best that Tim kept reminding himself of that fact so he didn’t get his feelings hurt. 

***

“Timbit!” Jason shouted, bursting giddily into the house after making dinner with Alfred at Wayne Manor the next evening. “Bruce offered to teach me martial arts on Thursdays! Dick was showing me some of his karate moves, and Alfred said no sparring in the kitchen, so then Dick said that if I wanted to learn, he and Bruce practice martial arts in their gym on Thursdays. Do you want to learn, too?”

He spilled all of this in a single breath, his face flushed with euphoria. 

“That’s cool, Jay! But I can’t,” Tim said ruefully. “My mom and dad promised to start calling me on Thursdays. They’re in Australia now, so it’s been hard to coordinate a time to catch up with them. I can’t miss it.”

Jason scratched his head, frowning. “Your parents never call you,” he pointed out bluntly. 

“Well, they promised to call me tomorrow,” Tim lied, trying and failing to suppress a defensive note in his voice. 

Jason gave him a skeptical look. Maybe he wasn’t as obsessed with detective work as Tim, but he was no slouch, either, and this was the second activity in a row that Tim had wriggled his way out of. Much like Dick, he knew he shouldn’t underestimate Jason’s ability to recognize patterns of behavior in the people around him, either — those instincts had kept Jason alive on the streets. He needed to tread lightly. 

“Look, I know you don’t like them, but they’re my parents. I miss them, and this is important to me,” Tim declared. 

He felt bad for playing the parents card, but it worked like a charm, so it was worth it. Jason’s face softened, and his suspicion disappeared. 

“Okay, Timbit,” he said gently. “But if they stand you up tomorrow, you better get your butt over to Wayne Manor, understood?”

Tim nodded, even though he planned to do no such thing. 

The next evening, he heard the familiar sound of Dick honking the horn of Alfred’s car, here to pick Jason up for training. As the door swung shut behind Jason, Tim imagined being welcomed into the gym at Wayne Manor, learning different stretches and exercises through Bruce’s patient instruction and Dick’s eager support. 

He felt sick over voluntarily skipping out on the opportunity, and he spent the next half-hour wandering aimlessly around Drake Manor, taking in the vast space and empty rooms that surrounded him. He was starting to feel like a ghost — like once Jason left for good to go live with the Waynes, Tim might just fade into a figment of everyone’s imagination. His parents would barely notice his absence, Jason wouldn’t need him anymore, the Waynes had never needed him to begin with, and he had very few other friends and acquaintances. 

He envisioned being doomed to haunt these halls for the rest of eternity, a specter that others occasionally glimpsed in dusty corners and darkened windows.

“Yes, the crown molding is authentic…oh, that over there? Don’t worry about it; just a trick of the light,” he imagined his mom saying while showing the house to prospective buyers, glaring at his ghostly form in the corner and hissing at him about driving the property value down.  

“You’re being melodramatic,” Tim told himself out loud, using the same voice his mom would use to scold him. “Get it together.”

To make himself feel better, he stopped by his room and grabbed his notebook, flipping to his adoption plan. He could cross step one off the list, which was a definitive sign that he was making progress. 

Tim’s 7 step plan to get Jason adopted by Bruce

1. Find ways to get Jason to spend time alone with Dick, Bruce, and Alfred
2. Get Jason to realize Bruce’s nighttime activities
3. Get Jason to trust Bruce
4. Confirm Jason’s interest in being adopted by Bruce
5. Confirm Bruce’s interest in adopting Jason
6. Once interest is 100% confirmed, tell Bruce that Jason is an orphan
7. Adoption!!!

His spirits should’ve been buoyed, but his mind kept drifting back to what he was missing at Wayne Manor. In an effort to distract himself, he pulled up some instructional karate videos on YouTube and began following along. It paled in comparison to being taught by Batman and Robin, but Tim supposed he needed to settle for whatever he could get. 

***

Jason had accepted his excuses and the Waynes didn’t seem suspicious of how he’d coached them into spending more time with Jason. Still, Tim knew he couldn’t move too quickly or turn down too many invitations to hang out at Wayne Manor without calling attention to himself. 

Plus, selfishly, it was hard to quit his friendship with the Waynes cold turkey. So when Jason asked Tim to accompany him to the city with Bruce the following weekend, Tim accepted. 

The visit was for charitable purposes — Jason had evidently taken Bruce up on his offer to work on getting Gotham’s street kids better access to food. He could tell that Jason was excited about the prospect of helping kids who were in the same situation he’d once been in, but he was apprehensive about going alone with Bruce, which was another reason why Tim had agreed to tag along. 

“You boys stick close to me, okay?” Bruce told them as he pulled into a nondescript parking lot on the outskirts of Crime Alley. “This area is pretty safe during the daytime, but it’s still Gotham.”

Jason looked like he was barely repressing an eyeroll — likely thinking about how he’d lived on these very same streets independently for months. Tim elbowed him and plastered a cautious expression on his own face, trying to look like a wide-eyed Bristol kid. 

Of course, Jason ruined the effect by opening his mouth. 

“I still don’t see why we can’t go to Crime Alley proper — I’m telling you, that’s where I — where my friend said the kids need the most help,” he complained. 

“Out of the question, chum,” Bruce said. His voice was kind but authoritative. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable with either of you being in that neighborhood, and I’m sorry your friend had to go there at all.”

“What is this place, then?” Tim asked curiously, looking up at the brick building in front of them. 

“The Martha Wayne Children’s Home,” Bruce explained, climbing out of the car. Next to him, Jason did a double take at the building. 

Bruce glanced around as though to make sure they weren’t about to be ambushed. There was something very Batman-like in his expression as he determined the parking lot was safe, and Tim watched with fascination as he transformed into his Brucie Wayne persona like the flip of a switch when the front door opened to reveal a kindly-looking middle-aged woman waiting to greet them. 

“Mr. Wayne! It’s so wonderful of you to visit.”

“Maggie! Great to see you, too — and let me remind you, it’s Bruce. Mr. Wayne was my father,” Bruce said in a jovial tone. 

She nodded in acknowledgment, turning to Tim and Jason. “And who have you brought with you today?”

“These are my neighbors, Jason and Tim — they’re both eager to help WE develop its program to help youth on the streets gain access to food.”

Maggie smiled at them both. “Lovely to meet you, boys — we need all the help we can get, and it’s nice to see two young people take an interest in our cause.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Tim said politely. Jason echoed Tim’s words, but he looked a little trepidatious. Tim supposed this environment was probably bringing back bad memories, and he stuck close to Jason’s side as Maggie led them down a hallway.

“Most of our children come to us through the foster care system. They stay temporarily while they’re waiting for a new placement,” Maggie explained as they walked. 

“Why don’t they have placements?” Jason asked sharply. 

Maggie was undoubtedly accustomed to interacting with traumatized children, so to her credit, she didn’t react to the bite in Jason’s voice. Her smile turned sad. “The system is overloaded, unfortunately, and some children have more complicated cases than others. Some have medical issues, or sometimes we get siblings who need to be placed together, and it can take them a longer time to find a good placement. Thankfully, Mr. Wayne — Bruce — started this establishment ten years ago to help fill the gaps, and since then, we’ve helped hundreds of children.”

Jason went quiet at that, glancing at Bruce with an inscrutable expression. 

“We also get kids from the streets every now and then. A few of them agreed to talk to you today about their experiences with food,” Maggie informed them, leading them toward a playroom. Through clear glass windows, they could see a few children waiting inside. Tim spotted two girls who looked like siblings sitting on a rug — one was about Jason’s age, while the other was a few years younger than Tim. A boy around Tim’s age sat at a table, and a staff member was sitting in the corner reading books to a toddler. 

He noticed Jason peering around the room with a critical eye, ready to find fault with the WE-sponsored facility, but it appeared to be clean, bright, and well-furnished. The outside of the building was nondescript, probably so it wouldn’t become a target of rogues and petty criminals, but no expense had been spared on the interior. 

At first glance, it appeared that the kids were playing, but when he looked closer, Tim could see that this wasn’t the case. They were all sitting with toys or games in front of them, but they weren’t actually interacting with them. Everyone except the toddler bore the same haunted, blank expression that Tim remembered Jason wearing when they first met — a tragic mark of living in survival mode for too long. 

Tim subconsciously found himself pressing even closer to Jason, as though he could somehow protect Jason from events that had already happened. 

“How do you think we should approach these interviews, Jason?” Bruce asked seriously. 

Jason looked up at Bruce with surprise — he clearly hadn’t expected to be asked for his input. He looked back at the room, surveying the kids and thinking it over. 

“I think we should split up so nobody feels like they’re being interrogated,” Jason said after a minute, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “And we definitely shouldn’t pressure any of the kids to answer questions if they don’t want to. Bruce, you talk to the boy at the table. Tim and I can talk to the girls — but Tim, hang back and follow my lead, okay?”

Tim nodded, thankful to have an easier assignment. He hadn’t spent much time around kids his own age, let alone kids who were younger than him, and he wasn’t quite sure how to ask questions about a sensitive subject like homelessness and food insecurity. 

“Sounds like a plan, chum,” Bruce said agreeably.

They split up, with Bruce meandering over toward the boy at the table, his posture casual and non-threatening, and Jason and Tim walking over to the girls on the rug. 

“Hey,” Jason greeted them softly. “I’m Jason, and this is Tim.”

The older girl stared at them warily, shifting slightly so that she was between the two of them and her younger sister. 

“You don’t owe us anything,” Jason assured her, taking a seat a healthy distance away. Tim followed suit. “Just because Maggie asked you if you would talk to us doesn’t mean you have to, you know.”

The girl glanced between Jason and the doorway where Maggie had been a minute earlier. 

“Bruce Wayne pays for this place,” the girl remarked in a thick Crime Alley accent. The comment didn’t make sense to Tim, but Jason nodded in understanding. 

“Yeah, but Bruce isn’t like that,” Jason said confidently. “He’s not going to cancel his funding just because you don’t want to talk.”

Oh. Her reticence made more sense now — she’d accepted this interview out of obligation, not a genuine desire to share her experiences with them. 

The girl shrugged dubiously. “Ask your questions, but leave Sadie out of it.”

Jason nodded. “Timmy, why don’t you and Sadie find a board game to play?” He suggested. 

Fortunately, Sadie was much less jaded and mistrustful than her older sister (whose name was revealed to be Zoe). She selected the board game Pretty Pretty Princess, which turned out to be a race to collect jewelry and a crown (as far as Tim could gather, anyway), and then she talked his ear off about her favorite color (purple), her age (six), and the bunk beds she and Zoe shared here at the Martha Wayne Home.

“You have to wear your jewelry,” Sadie complained when Tim placed a green clip-on earring on the carpet in front of himself. Tim obediently clipped the earring onto his ear, wincing slightly at the way the cheap plastic pinched his earlobe. 

Next to them, Jason and Zoe’s conversation was far more stilted and serious. 

“How do you know Mr. Wayne won’t accidentally make things worse by interfering?” Zoe asked in a low voice. “What does some billionaire know about Crime Alley, anyway?”

“Not much,” Jason admitted. “But he wants to help, and he has the money to do it.”

Frankly, it was a sign of immense growth that Jason acknowledged even that much about Bruce’s character. Tim glanced over to check on how Bruce was doing — he appeared to be playing cards with the boy sitting at the table. 

Zoe frowned, her chin raised defiantly. “Maybe we don’t want his money — we survived just fine on our own.”

Jason took a deep breath. 

“You know, I thought the same thing — until I got off the streets and realized how bad things really were for me there.”

Tim fought not to tense, shooting a frantic look in Jason’s direction. 

What the hell are you doing?! He wanted to hiss. This wasn’t in the script — Jason was supposed to protect his secret past at any cost, lest he risk getting shoved into the foster care system himself!

He could see the skepticism written into Zoe’s body language as she took in Jason’s healthy weight and nice clothes (hand-me-downs from Dick that Alfred had recently insisted he take since they were gathering dust in Dick’s closet and “Master Dick certainly wasn’t getting any shorter.”).

She opened her mouth, probably to rebuke him for presuming to understand her struggles, but Jason was faster. 

“Where were you and Sadie getting your food from? The dumpsters near the Iceberg Lounge? I used to visit on Sunday afternoons when they’d —”

“— throw away the leftovers from dinner the night before,” Zoe finished for him, her eyes wide and round. “You…”

“Wayne Enterprises currently sponsors a children’s day at the food bank just outside of Crime Alley, right?” Jason continued confidently. “But you can’t go to it, because you can never be sure the staff won’t call child services on you. Plus, there are adults who wait on the streets nearby to ambush kids and take the food from them.”

“How do you know that?” Zoe asked, incredulous.

“I told you; I used to live on the streets myself. Keep it to yourself, though, okay? These do-gooders can’t resist sticking their noses where it doesn’t belong.”

Zoe eyed Jason with newfound respect, and Tim released the breath he’d been holding, now convinced that Jason’s risky gamble had paid off. Jason had given Zoe information that she could use against him, which put her in a position of power in the conversation, and he’d made it clear that he understood her plight firsthand. In exchange, the entire tenor of the discussion shifted, and Jason and Zoe began earnestly sharing various ways they’d found food on the streets, as well as their ideas for what could be done to make it easier.

In the meantime, Tim kept playing with Sadie. She giggled when she got to confiscate the crown from Tim, and he couldn’t but smile at her childish glee. He suspected that her ability to laugh with abandon could be attributed to her older sister shielding her from the harsh realities of life in Crime Alley. 

And as he looked over at Jason, he observed his earnest determination to help — to do whatever it took to make things right for kids like Sadie and Zoe. It reminded him of Robin, and for a moment, Tim felt like he was staring into a crystal ball and seeing a vision of Jason in the future — a stalwart defender of the innocent, wearing Robin’s colors or some uniform of his own design, patrolling the streets of Gotham alongside Bruce and Dick. 

“Here’s my phone number,” Jason said at the end of the conversation, scrawling the numbers on a scrap of paper and shoving it in Zoe’s direction. “If you and Sadie ever feel unsafe or need anything, I’m a call away.”

He could see doubt in Zoe’s expression, but she shoved the paper into her pocket, nonetheless, giving Jason a nod of acknowledgement as they stood up.

Tim was feeling emotionally wrung out and exhausted, and he could only imagine how taxing this experience had been for Jason. They walked over to Bruce, who was entertaining his charge with a card trick, wearing his patented charming Brucie Wayne grin. 

“Is this your card, Alex?” He asked the boy, holding up a jack of spades.

Alex shook his head. “No! It was the seven of hearts!”

“Ah, the seven of hearts? That’s interesting. Why don’t you check under your water?”

Alex’s eyes widened, and he moved his water bottle aside, revealing a card underneath. He flipped it over and gasped as the seven of hearts was revealed. 

Next to Tim, Jason suddenly went rigid. But before Tim could react or ask if he was okay, he abruptly relaxed. 

“How did you do that?” Alex asked with amazement. 

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Bruce told him with a smile, tapping the side of his nose mysteriously before turning to Jason and Tim. “You boys ready to go?”

They both nodded, and Bruce thanked Alex for his time. They were all quiet on the drive back to Bristol, lost in their own thoughts. 

“I’m very proud of both you boys,” Bruce told them as he parked in front of Drake Manor. “Why don’t we take some time to collect our thoughts and then we can debrief later?”

Jason gave Bruce a look that Tim couldn’t interpret before wordlessly climbing out of the car. 

“Thanks, Bruce,” Tim said softly before hurrying after Jason’s retreating figure. He wondered if Bruce suspected anything about Jason’s past after today. He probably should’ve been fretting about that, but he was more concerned about Jason’s wellbeing.

For the rest of the day, he tried to give Jason space without straying too far away. He assumed Jason was lost in painful old memories and didn’t want to press him. But when they climbed into bed that night and Jason was still silent and withdrawn, Tim couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. Jason normally fell asleep quickly and slept deeply — Tim was the one who laid awake for hours at a time. As the minutes ticked by and Jason’s breathing didn’t even out, he grew increasingly worried. 

“You okay, Jay?” He whispered finally. 

Jason was silent for a long time, until Tim wondered if he’d fallen asleep or was simply going to ignore the question. 

“Tim,” he replied hoarsely. “I don’t know how to say this. I probably shouldn’t say it.”

“You can tell me anything, Jason,” he promised, heart racing.

Jason sat up and flicked on the bedside lamp. 

Tim’s stomach twisted in knots, afraid of whatever terrible past incident Jason was going to reveal. Visions of kidnappings, starvation, and beatings on the street filled his mind, and as a result, he was totally unprepared for what Jason actually said next.

“Tim…Bruce is Batman,” Jason announced, his expression utterly serious. It didn’t sound like a wild guess or idle speculation — it sounded definitive. Like he had incontrovertible evidence to back up his claim. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Tim sat up so fast he almost got a crick in his neck.

“Bruce?” He asked weakly, his voice sounding too high-pitched to his own ears. “Bruce Wayne? No way.”

Apparently this wasn’t convincing, because Jason’s mouth fell open. “You knew?!” He glared accusingly. 

“What? No!” Tim protested. “You know?!”

They stared at each other, wide-eyed and stunned. 

Tim supposed they both had some explaining to do.

Chapter Text

Jason’s story emerged in fits and starts.

“It was a five of clubs for me,” he began, as though that should make sense to Tim. 

To make matters even more confusing, Jason climbed out of bed, went to Tim’s closet, and reappeared with his old backpack — the one he’d been using on the streets to protect his most important worldly possessions. 

Tim watched as Jason rifled through the contents, pulling out and setting aside a scrap of fabric that looked like it might’ve once been a baby blanket, a few dogeared paperback books, some loose change, and a spare pair of socks. Finally, he located a well-worn envelope and reverently lifted it out of the bag. He opened it carefully, and Tim caught a glimpse of some old photos inside. Given Tim’s hobby of photographing Batman, it would be funny if Jason had discovered the truth by taking a photo of Bruce in action at some point. 

But Jason didn’t pull a picture out of the envelope — he removed a single playing card. 

Five of clubs, Tim thought, remembering the magic trick Bruce had done at the Martha Wayne Home earlier that day and how Jason had stiffened next to him. The two things were connected; that much was clear. But how?

“It was about a year ago — my first winter on the streets. I…wasn’t doing well.”

Jason’s gaze grew distant, like he was transported far into the past. He began to pace across the carpet as he spoke. 

“I was cold and hungry. It made me careless — I had pickpocketed a woman that day, and she had $10 in her wallet, which was a big find. I used some of it to buy a sandwich at a bodega — it wasn’t much, but the food was warm. The owner said I couldn’t stay inside to eat, so I took it outside with me. I was so hungry that I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. Some older kids jumped me and took the food and my change.”

Jason shook his head at the memory, his expression dark. 

“I was so angry that I fought back, even though it was four of them against one of me. I would’ve gotten my ass kicked, but Batman showed up and chased them off at the last second. And then…”

Tim suddenly knew where the story was going. 

“He did the same magic trick in front of you.”

Jason nodded. “He walked me over to Bat Burger and bought me a ton of food. Scared the workers, too — they didn’t dare look in our direction the whole time we were there. He did the magic trick while we were waiting on our order — I think he was trying to distract me so I wouldn’t run off before he could feed me. I was too old for magic tricks…but I was curious about how he did it, all the same.”

Jason flipped the card over — under the center club, the words Martha Wayne Home and the address were scrawled in black ink. 

“He told me about the Martha Wayne Home — said that if I ever needed a safe place, to go there and they would help me. I knew I would never do it — I never would’ve trusted a place like that back then — but…I kept the card, just in case.”

Tim suddenly understood with perfect clarity why Jason had never picked up on his hints comparing Bruce and Dick to Batman and Robin. This was clearly a sacred memory — a single starburst of light in the darkest period of Jason’s life. When he was at his lowest, Batman had saved him and provided him with what he needed most to go on — food, warmth, and an emergency lifeline. No wonder Jason had never seriously considered the idea that vapid, charming, wealthy Brucie Wayne could’ve been his savior — Batman had probably become a larger-than-life, almost mythical force in Jason’s eyes after that fateful encounter. 

Hell, Tim understood perfectly — he had his own formative memory of Bruce tucked away in a distant corner of his mind. 

“I was afraid he was going to kidnap me and take me to the Martha Wayne Home himself, but I think he knew I would never go willingly,” Jason continued. “After we ate, I told him I had to go to the bathroom, and then I snuck out the kitchen door in the back. I heard the batmobile driving around later that night, but I hid so he couldn’t find me.” His smile grew wry. “I found $200 in cash in my backpack the next morning — enough to feed me for weeks. I don’t know if I would’ve survived that winter otherwise.”

Tim blanched at the thought. “Do you think Bruce recognized you when we met him?” He asked, wracking his brain to remember how Bruce had acted that first day when Jason had crashed into the pond.  

Jason shook his head. “I’m almost certain he didn’t. I was smaller and younger then. It was freezing, so I was covered practically from head to toe in whatever clothes I could find. And my face was dirty from those kids shoving me into the ground. Plus, I’m pretty sure Batman and Robin do that kind of thing pretty regularly — I don’t think I would’ve stood out.”

Tim nodded, readily recalling a few instances he’d witnessed of Batman and Robin buying food for street kids on their nightly patrols. 

“And it was Bruce all along,” Jason said in a tone mixed with wonder and disbelief, like he still didn’t know how to reconcile the two entities in his mind: Batman, his mysterious protector, and Bruce Wayne, the neighbor who hosted them for sleepovers and movie nights.

Jason gave himself a little shake, his eyes narrowing as he wheeled on Tim. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you weren’t surprised by this news! Your turn to spill, Timbit.”

Tim winced. His automatic instinct was to scramble for a cover story — but in the face of Jason’s vulnerability and honesty, he couldn’t bring himself to deny the truth. He recounted his trip to the circus, his first hug, the death of Dick’s parents, and seeing the quadruple flip on TV a few years later.

“But…you were seven! And you figured out Batman and Robin’s identities on your own? Without ever talking to either of them?” Jason exclaimed with alarm. 

Tim shrugged, not sure what was so special about that — he’d simply followed the facts to their natural conclusion. “Well, yeah.”

“And a year later you decided to start following them around Gotham at night by yourself?”

Tim wasn’t sure why Jason was repeating things that he already knew. 

“Yep,” he confirmed.

Jason sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We’re all fucked if you ever decide to turn evil, aren’t we?”

Tim planted his hands on his hips indignantly. “I would never turn evil!” 

“Are you sure about that? You didn’t think to fill me in at any point?! Or were you planning to wait until I tripped over a false step in Wayne Manor and accidentally fell into the bat cave?” Jason griped, mirroring Tim’s stance. 

“I tried giving you hints, but it wasn’t my secret to tell!” He protested. “And…I haven’t been able to find the bat cave entrance yet; want to help me look?”

“Timothy Jason Drake!”

“It’s actually Jackson.”

“Not anymore,” Jason declared. “I’m more responsible for you than your dad is — and clearly, someone needs to keep a close eye on you in his absence.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I’ve known for over a year, and I’ve been totally fine.” 

Minus the time he was almost mugged and Jason had to save him. Fortunately, Jason’s mind was occupied by other matters, so he didn’t call out Tim’s blatant hypocrisy.  

“Oh my god.” A gleeful light appeared in Jason’s eyes as a realization hit him. “I beat Batman and Robin at Uno. Twice.”

It was an immense relief to finally be able to talk openly about this with Jason. 

“It’s weird that they’re just regular people, right? I couldn’t believe it either when we first started going over there,” Tim reminisced.

“No wonder you looked like it was the best day of your life when Dick hugged you for the first time!” Jason snickered. “You little fanboy!”

Tim flushed. “He gives good hugs,” he mumbled defensively. 

Jason gave him a knowing look. 

“Anyway, now you know why I trust them so much,” Tim said in a more serious tone. He didn’t want to push Jason too hard — trust had to be earned, after all — but trusting the Waynes was a crucial step in the adoption plan, and it was the one that Tim had the least control over. 

Jason shrugged. “Bit weird to trust people who lie constantly about their identity, isn’t it?”

He still seemed ambivalent about the whole concept, but his gaze was thoughtful as it strayed out the window and toward Wayne Manor, and Tim noticed how careful he was when he returned to the five of clubs to its waiting envelope.

***

Just because Jason was spending more time with the Waynes didn’t mean that Tim was bored. In fact, he felt busier than ever as November rapidly progressed. 

First and foremost, he had his adoption scheme brewing. The plan was mostly in a monitoring phase at the moment — ever since Jason had realized their identities, Tim had caught him closely observing both Bruce and Dick, trying to make sense of their alter egos. He figured it was best to give Jason space and time to process the revelation for now, but at least Tim was able to cross another item off his to-do list, and he hadn’t even had to do anything to accomplish it!

1. Find ways to get Jason to spend time alone with Dick, Bruce, and Alfred
2. Get Jason to realize Bruce’s nighttime activities
3. Get Jason to trust Bruce
4. Confirm Jason’s interest in being adopted by Bruce
5. Confirm Bruce’s interest in adopting Jason
6. Once interest is 100% confirmed, tell Bruce that Jason is an orphan
7. Adoption!!!

In the meantime, Tim had decided that he needed to forge a new role in the Waynes’ lives in anticipation of Jason’s adoption. Once Jason was safely ensconced in their family, Tim wouldn’t be useful to them anymore in their civilian lives. He planned to focus his efforts on assisting their nighttime personas instead. Rather than moping around Drake Manor while Jason was cooking with Alfred and learning karate with Bruce and Dick, he’d begun to investigate some of Batman and Robin’s open cases.

He didn’t dare risk hacking into the batcave’s computer, although he was sorely tempted. Instead, he did everything from scratch, compiling his batwatching photos and steadily building a database of patrol routes, informants, and known rogues and criminals. He scoured the police radio and the newspaper for reported crimes to keep track of what Batman and Robin might be investigating. When they went batwatching, he crept as close as Jason would allow him in order to listen in on Batman and Robin’s conversations and confrontations with various Gothamites. He started tentatively attempting to figure out how to hack into the GCPD database without being detected so he could review police reports and evidence. 

He wasn’t trained to fight like Bruce and Dick were, but he was small and young, and people underestimated him because of that. He had a unique ability to sneak around in plain sight without drawing the kind of attention Batman and Robin received with their signature uniforms. Plus, he knew the city like the back of his hand after all these months, and he could watch things unfold from a unique bird’s eye view on the rooftops. And he just so happened to have a state-of-the-art camera to capture evidence. 

So when the time came, he’d gracefully bow out and help the Waynes from afar in the only way he knew how. And he was starting with investigating mysterious activity in a particular warehouse down near Gotham Harbor. 

Batman and Robin had apprehended Scarecrow nearby during the Halloween Arkham breakout, and Tim was curious why the villain had broken away from the rest of his comrades and been found loitering down by the docks instead of causing mayhem in downtown Gotham like the others. 

He was steadily forming a theory of what Scarecrow might be up to, but he didn’t want to jump to any conclusions. He stopped by the warehouse each night, and he’d started to recognize a pattern — every third night, a small shipment of unlabeled crates were transferred from vans into the warehouse by a crew dressed in all black. 

Tim had a bad feeling that the crates contained enough fear toxin to take out the entire eastern seaboard, but he had no hard evidence other than a hunch. He considered calling Gotham PD to report his concerns, but he had no hard evidence to tie Scarecrow to this particular warehouse — other than the fact that Scarecrow was here on the night of the Arkham breakout, which was circumstantial at best. 

He also considered trying to send an anonymous tip to Batman, but it wouldn’t carry much weight without photographs or video to back up his claims — he knew that Batman received hundreds of tips each month, and he was necessarily limited to only following up on things that were particularly compelling.

“Timmy, remind me why I’m freezing my ass off at the docks every single night when Batman and Robin are warm and toasty in the batmobile somewhere on the other side of town?” Jason groused. Tim crept closer to the edge of the rooftop they were on, and Jason grabbed onto the back of his jacket like an overprotective mother. 

“I told you, there’s something going on at this warehouse,” Tim reminded Jason, zooming in with his camera lens as much as possible to see the crates that the men were carrying inside. 

“Yeah, there are people bringing stuff in and out. That’s kind of how warehouses work.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Yes, but it’s the middle of the night, and the stuff that they’re bringing in and out might be dangerous and illegal.”

“Right, which would be a first for Gotham,” Jason muttered, rubbing his arms for warmth. “Heaven forbid.”

“We’d be warmer if we snuck inside the warehouse, you know —”

“Not this again,” Jason groaned. “Repeat after me: We don’t trap ourselves inside buildings with criminals when we have no combat training, weapons, or back-up —”

Tim tuned out Jason’s ranting — whoever led this crew, they were good. The figures below moved quickly and silently, and it was impossible to see their faces or identify any information about their cargo. Tim knew that lurking here every night and hoping for them to slip up and reveal something was a long shot — he needed to get inside and gather evidence before Crane had a chance to enact whatever terrible scheme he was planning. 

Jason was still going, pacing around and waving his arms in the air and bemoaning the fact that he’d somehow found himself responsible for an eight-year-old with a death wish who wanted to lurk on rooftops instead of going to a trampoline park like a normal kid.

“I want to go to a trampoline park,” Tim piped up. “I like trampolines.”

This sent Jason off on another lengthy tangent, and Tim began packing up his camera gear, accepting that he wouldn’t get any more intel tonight. Clearly, he needed to find a way to return without Jason in tow, which was going to be tricky. They always went batwatching together — he could try sneaking out alone, but the odds of Jason waking up and discovering him missing during the multi-hour period it took to get to Gotham and back seemed too high for comfort. 

The only time Jason didn’t share a room with him was when his parents were there…which was a whole other problem. It was the other thing that was occupying his time and energy besides the adoption and his investigation: Thanksgiving and his parents’ upcoming visit for the quarterly DI board meeting. The board meeting was scheduled for the first half of the holiday week, which meant that his parents might actually be home for Thanksgiving this year — the first time in Tim’s recent memory. 

Normally, he would’ve been over the moon about the prospect of spending a holiday with his mom and dad, but this year, he had Jason to worry about. Now that the temperatures had dropped and the first snow of the year seemed imminent, the attic wasn’t as warm as the rest of the house, and he didn’t want Jason to be trapped up there for too long. 

Jason had already refused to stay at a motel last time Tim’s parents visited, and he trusted them even less now that he’d overheard them yelling at Tim, so he’d probably refuse to leave the manor again. And just like last time, it would seem suspicious if Jason went to stay with the Waynes when his aunt and uncle were supposedly visiting, especially during the holidays. 

On top of that, the threat of being shipped off to military school still loomed over Tim’s head like a stormcloud. 

It was a lot to juggle. 

“I’ll take you to a trampoline park every day for a week if it means we don’t have to come back here again,” Jason vowed as they traipsed down the fire escape. 

“Okay — we don’t have to come back here again,” Tim promised.  

Jason stopped and stared at Tim suspiciously. “You’re seriously going to give up on investigating this warehouse? After two weeks of dragging me here?”

“Yeah, it’s clear I’m not going to find any evidence under these circumstances,” he shrugged innocently. 

Jason’s eyes narrowed — he knew Tim too well. “...and are you going to find it under other circumstances?”

“I told you, we don’t have to come back here again,” Tim repeated vaguely but confidently, jumping from the last rung of the fire escape to the ground. 

“Thank god,” Jason exhaled, appearing to buy it. He was so relieved that he didn’t notice Tim turning around to look back at the warehouse in question with an assessing eye. 

Tim had been telling the truth — he and Jason didn’t have to return to investigate together. But Tim would be back as soon as he could slip away on his own. 

***

Tim had a bad feeling that Jason and the Waynes had noticed his recent absence from Wayne Manor and were doing some plotting of their own. There was no other explanation for how he ended up at a Gotham Knights game the following Thursday. 

He was ambushed; there was no other way to describe it. He climbed into the backseat of Alfred’s car like usual after school, surprised to see Jason already waiting there. Alfred usually picked him up from the library after he collected Dick and Tim from Gotham Academy. 

“Jay? What are you doing here?” He asked. 

The only response he received was, bizarrely, Jason chucking a black-and-yellow piece of fabric at his face, temporarily blinding him. 

“Put that on,” Jason instructed him. 

“Huh? What is it?” Tim asked, wrestling the material off his face. 

“A Gotham Knights jersey! B got us all tickets for the game tonight,” Dick announced from the front seat. “It’s another fundraiser — an interesting one this time!”

“Oh,” Tim said, staring down at the knight decal emblazoned on the jersey. “Uh…I can’t. My parents call me on Thursday nights, remember?”

“Don’t worry about it, Timmy,” Jason assured him traitorously, patting him on the knee. “I already texted Uncle Jack and Aunt Janet to let them know we had plans for tonight. They told us to enjoy the game!”

Tim fought the urge to glare at his “cousin.” He wasn’t supposed to be tagging along on family outings and taking up room in the Waynes’ lives, Jason was!

“Thanks for the invitation, but I still don’t know if I should go,” Tim protested. “My parents are coming home soon, and I have a lot of stuff I need to prepare.”

“Oh, really? I talked to Mrs. Mac, and she said everything is well in hand for your parents’ arrival,” Jason lied easily.

“Well, it sounds like it’s all settled,” Dick agreed brightly, shedding his school shirt and pulling his own jersey over his undershirt. 

Short of tucking and rolling out of the car when Alfred stopped at a light, Tim couldn’t think of a way out of the excursion, which was how he found himself sandwiched between Jason and Bruce at the game an hour later. 

They had amazing seats, courtesy of Bruce, but it was bitterly cold in the early winter twilight. Bruce bought them several Gotham Knights blankets to bundle under, and Alfred had supplied disposable hand and foot warmers, as well as a thermos of hot chocolate. (Tim had watched mournfully as Alfred waved goodbye and drove off to enjoy a quiet, warm evening alone in the manor). 

It wasn’t all bad — Bruce’s large frame blocked out most of the wind, and Tim was pretty comfortable as long as he stayed wrapped up in his blanket. They were all so layered in clothing that nobody from the general public had recognized Bruce or Dick yet, which Tim knew was a precious rarity, given Bruce’s fame. 

Tim’s parents thought football was uncouth and uncivilized, so he watched with mild bewilderment as the players ran around the field and tackled each other, seemingly at random, while Dick and Jason either groaned or cheered enthusiastically in response to each play. It was very different from golf, his dad’s favorite sport and the one that Tim was most familiar with. 

“I thought they were supposed to kick a field goal after a touchdown,” Tim remarked, puzzled, after Bludhaven scored their first touchdown. 

“They’re going for a two-point conversion, the dirty, cheating sons of—”

“Language,” Bruce chided lightly before Dick could finish this colorful explanation. “The team that scored can either kick a field goal for one point or try to run a play for two points,” he explained. He took pity on Tim’s ignorance and narrated the next few plays, and after a while, Tim started to feel like he understood what he was watching. 

He pulled out his camera in the second inning (“They’re called quarters, ” Jason gasped, expression horrified) so he could capture action shots of the players. 

“I’m going to get some snacks before the halftime rush at the concession stand — any requests?” Bruce asked, standing.

“Nachos!” Dick exclaimed. 

“Got it — Tim, Jaylad, what do you want?”

Tim and Jason exchanged glances, and he could see the same uncertainty in Jason’s gaze that he felt — they’d eaten a million meals at Wayne Manor, but there was something different about allowing Bruce to buy them food during an outing. Plus, Bruce had already paid for the tickets, the jerseys, the blankets — hell, Dick had even jammed a warm black hat with a yellow pom pom onto Tim’s head at one point.

“I can pay,” Tim offered, fishing around in his pocket for his wallet.

“Absolutely not — I invited you here, so it’s my treat,” Bruce said kindly but firmly. 

Jason looked as torn as Tim felt.

“How about I just get a bit of everything?” Bruce suggested. “If you don’t want something, I’m sure Dick will take it off your hands.” 

“At your service,” Dick agreed with a salute. He was going through a growth spurt, and his bottomless appetite was legendary around Wayne Manor at the moment.  

“Dick, you’re in charge while I’m gone — call me if anything comes up, okay?” 

Dick rolled his eyes. “I think we can handle sitting here for a few minutes, B.”

Bruce disappeared into the crowd then, and Dick and Jason both leaned forward in their seats as the clock counted down to the end of the first half. At the sound of the buzzer, the players began to clear off the field, heading to their respective locker rooms. 

Most of the actual football fans, including Dick and Jason, had stopped paying attention to the events on the field, which was probably why Tim spotted the solitary figure first. The person was making their way onto the field, moving with unusual stealth for such a public venue. The announcers had mentioned that the Gotham High marching band would be performing during the half-time show, since the game’s fundraiser was for the sports, art, and music programs at Gotham’s public high school district. He could see students congregating on the sidelines, and he grabbed his camera and zoomed in on the scene, wondering if it was the band conductor. 

His stomach dropped as he instantly recognized the figure’s black and blue outfit — this was no musician. 

“Dick!” he gasped, grabbing Dick’s sleeve and pointing frantically. “It’s Mr. Freeze!”

Dick had been arguing about some football statistic with Jason, but he instantly transformed from a relaxed teenager to an experienced vigilante. 

“We have to go,” he said grimly and without any hesitation, jumping to his feet and grabbing Tim and Jason’s arms to shepherd them out of their row of seats. “Bruce has a private box in the upper deck; we can barricade ourselves in there."

“But we have to warn everyone!” Tim protested desperately as Dick dragged him up the steps of their section. All around them, innocent people were laughing and talking, totally unaware of the villain infiltrating the field. 

“Already taken care of,” Dick promised, indicating the watch that sat around his wrist. “After he adopted me, B gave me a panic button that connects to GCPD in case someone tried to abduct me — I pressed it, and it’ll notify —”

Whatever he was going to say next was lost as a booming voice on the field announced its presence. 

“Good evening, Gotham,” Dr. Freeze called, opening his arms wide like a great orator about to make a speech.  

“What about Bruce?” Tim hissed, craning his neck to see if he could spot the man anywhere nearby. A hush had fallen over the stadium, worried whispers rippling through the crowd. 

“He can fend for himself — trust me; I’m doing exactly what he’d want me to do if he was here,” Dick assured them, ushering him and Jason through a set of doors that led to the inner part of the arena. 

Outside, Tim heard Mr. Freeze promise anyone who dared move from their seats a swift and chilling ending — Dick had gotten them out in the nick of time, but there were still thousands of people left in danger. 

“I thought this was supposed to be a football game, not an ice hockey game,” Jason grumbled jokingly, but his eyes were darting around nervously as Dick led them through the inner maze of the arena. 

Tim strained to hear what was happening outside — Mr. Freeze had always been one of the less dangerous foes of Gotham since he was motivated by wanting to save his wife rather than madness or a blind desire to hurt others. Still, his freeze gun was lethal, and the situation was precarious. After all, he was trying to hold an entire stadium hostage — he could spark a deadly stampede if people panicked and fled, or he could end up indiscriminately killing people with his weapons if no one gave into his unreasonable commands. 

As they climbed up several flights over stairs, he could hear Mr. Freeze demanding millions of dollars from Bruce Wayne.

“I know you’re here tonight, Brucie! If you’re rich enough to donate millions to some school kids, then surely you won’t mind contributing to my cause too! Now come out and play, unless you want these kids to feel my wrath!”

Dick’s face was pale and grave, but he didn’t seem impacted by the taunting against his dad. 

“Don’t worry,” he told them as he typed the access code on the door of Bruce’s private box. “GCPD will light the bat signal, and Batman will be here soon. He’ll put a stop to this. And in the meantime, Bruce will find a way to hide — this isn’t his first rodeo.”

Tim and Jason exchanged a look, and he knew Jason was thinking the same thing: It felt selfish for them to flee to safety in the private box, especially because Robin could be out there helping Batman if Dick didn’t feel obligated to look after Tim and Jason. 

Dick slammed the door of the private box shut behind them and began dragging furniture to barricade them inside. Tim rushed to help, and Jason followed suit. He supposed that Dick was probably a target, too — if Mr. Freeze couldn’t get to Bruce, he might try to find his son. 

After the door had been sufficiently blocked, they hurried over to the large glass window that overlooked the stadium just as the crowd began screaming. Tim peered through the crowd to see Mr. Freeze holding his freeze gun up to a hostage’s head. It was hard to see from here, but it looked like the hostage was one of the high school band students — she was clutching a trumpet in one hand. 

His heart in his throat, Tim scanned the arena. 

“There!” He shouted, relief making his knees weak as Batman grappled down toward the field. Some distant part of Tim clamored to take a photo of the arresting scene — Batman swooping like a dark omen, the bat signal illuminating the night sky above him. 

A much larger part of him was scared for Bruce. Batman had faced far worse enemies than Mr. Freeze, but Tim knew Bruce would prioritize the hostage’s safety over his own. 

Mr. Freeze began firing blasts of ice in Batman’s direction, and Batman gracefully dodged and evaded each volley. They watched his dark figure dance around Mr. Freeze and the hostage, advancing and retreating between the jagged shards of ice that had been impaled in the ground to try to get an opening to disarm the villain. 

Dick’s hands spasmed on the windowsill as Batman disappeared in the maze of ice after one particularly vicious blast was sprayed in his direction. For a horrible moment, the stadium seemed to collectively hold its breath, waiting to see if the mighty Batman had been felled by the freeze gun. 

“Dick…” Jason whispered. Tim knew he wanted to tell Dick to suit up and get out there as Robin. He understood because he felt the exact same way, but he couldn’t let Jason ruin the secret. They had to trust that Dick and Bruce knew what they were doing, and they would choose to reveal their identities on their own if the situation truly called for it. 

Fortunately, before Jason could say anything to expose them, there was a flurry of motion on the field below. Batman had stealthily crept around behind Mr. Freeze, and he burst into action, tackling him from behind, confiscating the gun, and setting the hostage free in what seemed like the blink of an eye. 

Bludhaven and Gotham fans alike erupted into uproarious cheers, and some of the football players even raced over from the sidelines, pinning Mr. Freeze to the ground and holding him there while Batman smashed the freeze gun into smithereens so it couldn’t harm anyone else and turned to the hostage to make sure she was okay.

The crisis over, Dick sagged with relief, reverting back to his usual upbeat persona. “Some halftime show, huh?”

Jason appeared shaken up. “Do you think Batman is okay?” He asked Dick, staring down at Bruce, who had tied up Mr. Freeze and was guarding him as GCPD officers began making their way onto the field. 

“Batman? Yeah, he’s tough — he’s survived much worse. Man, B will be disappointed that he missed the big showdown. I wonder where he hid.”

Jason shot Dick a disgruntled look at the misdirection — he probably viewed it as an insult to his intelligence now that he was in on the big secret. In return, Tim stepped on his foot warningly. 

“We should probably get comfy,” Dick continued, hopefully oblivious to the subtext passing between them. “It’s going to be a madhouse for a while as they evacuate the stadium.”

They put the furniture back where it belonged and settled themselves onto a comfortable squashy couch. 

“I wish Mr. Freeze could’ve waited until after halftime to pull that stunt,” Jason sighed woefully, rubbing his empty stomach. “I wanted snacks.”

“So rude of him,” Dick agreed. “You okay, Baby Bird?”

Tim blinked — when had his eyelids grown so heavy?

“I’m fine,” he said, rubbing his eyes and sitting up straighter so he wasn’t listing toward Dick’s side. “Why are football games so long?” He complained. “The quarters are only fifteen minutes long, but the first half of the game took almost two hours."

This sparked a lively conversation about the various things the football team was doing on the sidelines in between plays and all the strategy that went into the game. Tim valiantly tried his best to follow along with the discussion, but he could feel himself closing his eyes for longer and longer every time he blinked. He dimly pondered how Bruce had gotten a batsuit so quickly — maybe he’d cached them in strategic places around the city? But how did he prevent anyone else from stumbling upon them by accident?

Between one long blink and the next, Bruce finally appeared in the doorway of the box. His hair was disheveled and his mouth was pressed into a thin line, his eyes alight with an emotion that seemed close to fear.  

“Boys!” He exclaimed, quickly closing the distance between them with his long strides. 

Tim saw Bruce walking toward them, but he assumed he was heading for Dick. Sleepiness had dulled his reaction time, so he was totally caught off guard by what happened next — Bruce wrapped his arms around all three of them and pulled them unceremoniously into a hug.

“Thank goodness you’re all okay,” he murmured, even though he was the only one of them who’d been in any real danger. 

While Tim initially stiffened with surprise at the unexpected contact, as the seconds ticked by, he couldn’t help but relax into the embrace. Bruce’s solidness and warmth was irrefutable proof that he was unharmed and well. Even Jason wasn’t protesting the indignity of a group hug. 

After a minute, Bruce drew back, examining each of their faces with concern. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here — that was bad timing on my part.”

Was Bruce actually worried about me? Tim found himself wondering. 

Nah, he’s probably just relieved that he doesn’t have to call my parents and tell them that he got their son frozen to death at a Gotham Knights game. 

“Did you at least bring us nachos?” Dick joked, trying to lighten the mood. 

“Hn. Unfortunately, they got covered in ice instead of cheese. You still want them?”

“Pass,” Dick winced. “Bat Burger?”

“Under the circumstances, I think Alfred could be convinced to visit the Bat Burger drive-through. He’s waiting out back,” Bruce told them. 

Jason and Dick made a beeline for the exit, already discussing their orders. Tim jogged after them, not because he was desperate for Bat Burger, but because he didn’t want the full weight of Bruce’s formidable attention focused on him. 

Bruce had been able to deal with today’s situation, but what if he hadn’t already been present in the stadium and it had taken him a few minutes longer to arrive? What if Dick hadn’t been there to press his panic button and alert GCPD so quickly?

And what if the villain of the day hadn’t been Mr. Freeze — what if it had been Scarecrow? The freeze gun was deadly, but it wouldn’t kill anyone unless they were hit by a shard of ice or frozen through direct contact with a blast. What if Scarecrow had taken over the stadium and released fear toxin into the already-terrified crowd?

Tim shuddered to imagine it — he needed to get into that warehouse. 

Chapter Text

His mom and dad’s visit got off to such a great start that Tim should’ve known disaster was imminent. Naively, however, he was just relieved. 

“Tim!” His mom exclaimed immediately when she passed through the front door, walking right over and embracing him. 

He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding as the familiar scent of her perfume filled his nose. He hadn’t heard from his parents at all since they’d stormed out after their last visit, and he’d feared the worst upon their arrival — the silent treatment, more yelling, or being sent straight to military school with no chance to defend himself.  

“Hi, Mom,” he replied, trying not to squeeze her too tightly — if he made it weird, she wouldn’t want to hug him again. 

“My goodness, you’re growing up so fast! Have you gotten taller since the last time we were here?” She remarked, letting go of him but keeping her hands on his shoulders. 

Tim puffed out his chest and tried to look as tall as possible. “Maybe! I’ve been eating really healthily.”

“That’s excellent, son,” his dad said, patting Tim on the back. “It shows what a mature young man you’re becoming.”

Tim blinked dazedly, half-wondering if his parents had been replaced by pod people while they were in Australia. Maybe they felt bad for being so angry over the chocolate mousse incident and they were trying to make it up to him?

“Why don’t we go out to dinner as a family tonight?” His mom suggested. “Your father and I will rest and freshen up, and then we can leave in a few hours, okay?”

Tim tried not to gape at them. They never wanted to do anything as a family unless it was for strategic purposes. And they were normally harried and stressed before quarterly board meetings, not happily planning a family outing.

“Okay,” he agreed slowly. 

“You can pick the restaurant, sport,” his dad added.

Tim pinched himself as he walked up the stairs, but he didn’t wake up from a dream. 

“Seems sketchy as hell,” Jason said when Tim called him to let him know the plan. He had taken up his station in the attic once again, and Tim could perfectly picture his squinty, judgmental expression. 

“It’s not suspicious! I told you, my parents were really stressed the last time they were here. Now they’re in a better mood.”

“Hn,” Jason grunted. “Well, watch your back, Timbo.”

Tim rolled his eyes — his parents were hardly going to sell him to a kidnapper for ransom or poison his food! The very idea of being on guard around them was ridiculous. 

Still, his parents’ behavior was unusual, and Tim found himself fidgeting anxiously as they arrived at the restaurant — a fancy sushi place that he’d chosen because he knew his dad loved the food.

“You know, son,” his dad said as they took their seats. “Now that you’re getting older, maybe you can come on a trip with your mom and I sometime soon.”

Perhaps Jason’s paranoia had rubbed off on him, but Tim found himself glancing around the restaurant as though a villain might pop out from behind a plant and reveal that his parents were evil imposters, and this had all been an elaborate set-up.

When no such criminal appeared, Tim stammered out a reply. “Oh, uh, wow, Dad, that would be great!”

The waiter brought their drinks — water for Tim, wine for his mom, and whiskey for his dad. 

“To the future success of Drake Industries!” His dad toasted, exchanging a smug look with his mom. He threw his whole drink back in one gulp and signaled to the waiter for another. 

“I take it business is going well?” Tim asked carefully, wondering about their knowing glances to one another. 

“Swimmingly,” his dad chortled. “One of our main competitors dropped out of the bidding process for that computer contract.”

“Yes, unfortunately, it was discovered that the chair of the board of directors was sleeping with his secretary, and they recused themselves to avoid a scandal.” His mom said with a pleasant smile, but there was something cool and cutting in her eyes. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll get the contract,” Tim said, because he guessed that was what his parents wanted to hear. 

“How’s school going, dear?” His mom asked, changing the subject. 

“It’s good. I’m performing well in all my classes,” Tim reported. He’d been especially careful to keep his grades up since report cards were coming out next month. 

“That’s great, sport. Still friends with the Isaacs boy?” 

“You mean Sebastian Ives? He moved away, remember? But we still text each other sometimes.”

His mom brushed past this. “Very nice, dear. I hear from Jenny Newton that you and Dick Grayson are quite close nowadays.”

This put Tim on high alert. Jenny Newton was the CEO of the Gotham Gazette, and she ran in his parents’ social circles. Her son Russell was in Tim’s class, and he seemed to take a particular delight in shoving Tim in the hallways and throwing dodgeballs extra hard at him in gym class.

Tim fidgeted with the napkin in his lap — he wasn’t quite sure why, but he sensed that he should downplay any connection with the Waynes. “We get along well,” he shrugged. “But Dick is much older than I am, so it’s not like we’re best friends or anything.”

His mother hummed thoughtfully. “Jenny indicated that the Grayson boy seems quite fond of you — she’s seen the two of you walking together in the school parking lot. Tell me, Tim, do you spend time with Grayson’s father at all?”

The question was asked artfully — casually and warmly, with neutral curiosity. But Tim wasn’t some gullible sucker applying for an internship at Drake Industries — he knew his mom. 

His stomach sank as he realized that this had been a set-up after all — just not a villainous one. His parents had mentioned in passing that Wayne Enterprises was also bidding for the same computer contract they were working toward, and it sounded like they were trying to dig up dirt on their competitors. Reading between the lines, they’d already eliminated at least one other business from the running through corporate espionage, and now they were gunning for another.

He felt his cheeks flush as he stared at his plate — he’d been foolish to assume that his parents actually wanted to take him out to dinner, hear about his classes, or take him on a trip with them — they’d been buttering him up for information!

“Mr. Wayne is very busy — I hardly see him,” he replied dully. 

His mother’s expression flickered with a hint of disappointment, and his dad made short work of knocking back the second whiskey that had been delivered to their table. 

“She seemed to be under the impression that you may spend a lot of time at Wayne Manor,” his mom continued, still pressing. 

“I’ve visited once or twice when Dick invited me inside,” Tim replied carefully. “But like I said, Mr. Wayne is usually unavailable.”

As he said these words, several contradicting memories flashed through his head — Bruce playing Uno at the kitchen table, Bruce chasing Dick and Jason during their pillow fight, Bruce sitting across from him and contemplating a checkerboard late at night, Bruce explaining football plays to Tim at the Knights game. 

His dad tsked disapprovingly. “Figures that he would adopt the boy and not spend any time with him. Brucie knows how to play up his do-gooder image for the press, that’s for certain.”

Tim wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry over the irony of his father labeling Bruce an absent parent. 

“Have you seen anything…strange when you’ve gone over there? Anything that stood out to you?” His mom asked. 

Tim shook his head firmly. There was no way he was giving up the Wayne family’s secrets, not even to his own parents!

“Well, no matter,” his mom said, a calculating gleam in her eyes as their food was delivered. “We’ll have a chance to observe Brucie in the flesh at the gala next week.”

Tim paused with an avocado nigiri halfway to his mouth. 

“Gala?” He asked, his heart beginning to beat faster, his palms breaking into a sweat. “Sorry, what gala?”

“Oh, did I forget to email you about it?” His mom asked. “The Waynes are hosting a gala the day before Thanksgiving this year — some charitable effort to feed homeless children or something.”

Tim remained frozen in place with horror, chopsticks still suspended in midair. 

“I say that my tax dollars already go to funding too many of those programs,” his dad grumbled, signaling to the waiter for a third drink. “I don’t see why I should have to donate on top of that.”

“Do I have to — I mean, am I expected to attend?” Tim croaked. 

His mother gave him a look as though he was being particularly dense. “Of course you’ll attend — your connection to Dick Grayson could prove useful in the future. We need to keep nurturing it.”

They seemed to have conveniently forgotten that his dad had yelled at Tim last month and told him he couldn’t attend any social events with them until he behaved like a proper heir to the Drake family lineage. 

“It’ll be fun, sport,” his dad assured him, clapping him on the shoulder. 

A gala at Wayne Manor, where his parents were definitely going to talk to Bruce.

A gala where Bruce and Dick would expect to see Jason present with his “family.” 

A gala where he had to prevent anyone from finding out about Jason’s secret while impressing his parents with his behavior.

“Fun,” Tim echoed faintly. 

***

Any hopes he had of somehow keeping Jason out of the fray were dashed when Alfred gave them a ride home from school the next day. It was Friday, and there was a jubilant air in the Gotham Academy parking lot since they were off the entire next week for Thanksgiving break. His parents had left early in the morning for a meeting and they wouldn’t be back until late that night, so Jason had risked sneaking out of the attic to visit the library for the day. 

“What are you guys doing for Thanksgiving?” Dick asked once they picked Jason up from the library. 

“Hmm? Oh, just the usual family stuff,” Tim replied vaguely. He wasn’t sure how people typically celebrated Thanksgiving, other than the few things he’d gleaned from books and movies. “How about you guys?”

“B always signs us up to volunteer at a homeless shelter on Thanksgiving morning,” Dick explained. “Then we go home and cook a big meal with Alfred — or, well, Alfred cooks and we try not to burn the house down.”

Tim smiled, envisioning the cozy scene. “Sounds fun.” 

“We could really use Jason’s cooking skills, though. Jay, are your parents coming home for the holiday?”

“Nope,” Jason responded blithely. “Yoga retreat in Bali.”

“Bummer. Well, I’m sure you’ll have fun with your aunt and uncle being home. Oh, and by the way, B wanted me to ask — you guys are coming to the gala on Wednesday, right?” 

“What gala?” Jason asked.

Dick gasped with alarm. “You have to be there! It’s going to be so boring if I’m alone.”

“My parents mentioned it to me last night, but I didn’t have time to tell Jason yet,” Tim replied cautiously. 

“It’s a fundraiser for the thing you’re working on with B,” Dick explained.

Jason appeared bewildered. “Huh?”

“You know, the charity you two are starting to feed unhoused kids in Gotham?”

Tim would’ve missed it if he hadn’t already been looking at Jason — a tidal wave of emotion swept across his friend’s face before he managed to smooth it out into his usual nonchalant expression. 

“Oh,” Jason said in a small voice, “he-he didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, well, that’s B for you — once he fixates on a problem, he’s pretty unstoppable until he solves it,” Dick replied cheerily. 

“I’ll be there,” Jason said in a soft, determined tone of voice that let Tim know there was no hope in talking him out of it. 

“Great! It’s gonna be fun,” Dick said. 

There was that word again.

Fun. 

Tim allowed his head to thunk against the car window. Only Alfred’s watchful gaze in the rearview mirror kept him from banging it against the glass a few times. 

***

Unfortunately, crime didn’t stop just because Tim was in the midst of a personal crisis.

That night, he waited until Jason was safely ensconced in the attic and his parents had returned from whatever social engagement they’d attended. His dad had been stumbling slightly as he climbed the stairs, a sure sign that he’d been drinking, and he knew his mom relied on sleeping pills to assist with jet lag. He gave it an hour before dressing in all black and slipping out of the house, camera bag in tow. 

It felt peculiar to make the trip to Gotham alone after so many shared nights with Jason. He could only hope that Jason, along with his parents, would remain asleep and blissfully unaware of his absence for the next few hours. 

When he arrived in the city, he climbed up his favorite rooftop near the bus stop to do some reconnaissance. Based on usual patterns of behavior, Batman and Robin would be concentrating their efforts on the area surrounding Crime Alley — it was a Friday night, and crime tended to skyrocket around there. 

It was a relatively safe night to investigate the warehouse, since it wasn’t a delivery day according to Tim’s observations. The skyline was clear, with no bat signal, distant plumes of smoke, or sounds of screaming. The police radio reported that Batman and Robin were investigating an illegal fight club in the basement of an office building near Crime Alley, so Tim descended and began making his way to the harbor. He ducked behind buildings and into alleyways any time he saw someone walking on the same block, since there would be no Jason to save him if he got into trouble tonight. 

As he crept toward the familiar building, his heart began racing in his chest. 

Am I really about to do this? He asked himself. He’d seen the guns that the men carried, and he knew they would shoot first and ask questions second. He was unarmed, other than a small penknife he’d stolen from his dad’s desk. 

Common sense dictated that he should turn around and go home — should call the cops or Batman and Robin and let them handle things, never mind the fact that he had no hard evidence to back up his hunch. 

But then he thought back to the aura of tension in the crowd at the Knights game, the way it had felt like a single spark could make the whole arena go up in flames. He imagined how badly fear toxin could’ve exacerbated the situation, and his resolve strengthened. This was something he could do to help, so he wasn’t going to let fear stop him. He had to be brave like Batman and Robin. 

Taking a deep breath, he leaped onto a dumpster just outside the building, landing silently after months of practice. From there, he climbed carefully up the brick wall on the outside of the building, aware that he’d be in big trouble if he fell — not only would it hurt, it would be loud. Still, his size was a major advantage — his smaller feet and hands were able to gain purchase on the bricks, but he was pretty sure an adult wouldn’t have been able to scale the building this way. 

He slipped in through a window on the second story, which was fortunately unlocked. He’d been prepared to break it, but it was a good omen that he didn’t need to. He could only hope the rest of his excursion would go this smoothly. 

He gave his eyes a minute to adjust to the darkness inside the building, listening closely for voices or footsteps. Hearing nothing, he crept forward. He’d entered a small office area on the second floor, but he needed to get down to the actual warehouse floor, so he crept out of the office and into the nearby stairwell. 

He had to breathe through the beginnings of a panic attack at this point — the stairwell was illuminated with flickering fluorescent lights, and it made him feel incredibly exposed and vulnerable. His hand was shaking as he turned the doorknob to let himself into the warehouse proper. 

It was even darker down here, since there were no windows on the first floor. All Tim could see were the massive outlines of crates, rising up like a miniature city skyline. He pulled out his flashlight and his camera, tiptoeing down an aisle so that his light wouldn’t be visible from the main pathway through the warehouse. He chose a crate at random, carefully lifting the lid. His breath caught in his throat as the contents were revealed — jackpot!

It was even worse than he’d imagined — instead of the small handheld canisters that Tim had seen Scarecrow use in the past, there was a large drum in the crate — probably at least 50 gallons. He recognized the familiar chemical name of the fear toxin emblazoned on the side, and he began snapping pictures. 

Replacing the lid, he turned to capture the scale of the warehouse’s holdings, his mind already racing with thoughts about who was funding Crane’s accumulation of so much fear toxin, and what they planned to do with it. 

He was being careless — focusing on things in the future instead of the present moment — and that’s when it happened — he’d placed his flashlight on a nearby crate, and it rolled off and hit the warehouse floor with a clatter that seemed to resonate like a sonic boom.

Tim’s breath caught in his throat, and he immediately dropped to his knees, grabbed the flashlight, and extinguished it. For several seconds, there was only silence resonating through the large room. But then he heard something that sent a shockwave of terror so powerful through his system that he almost wondered if he’d been dosed with the fear toxin. 

“What was that?” A gruff voice called in the distance. 

“I dunno — sounded like it came from over there,” another voice answered. 

Crap! Tim had forgotten to account for security — it would make sense that Crane wouldn’t risk leaving such a large and valuable cache unguarded!

The aisle he was down was a dead end, so he had no choice but to duck behind a stack of nearby crates as footsteps stomped closer to his hiding spot. Holding his breath, Tim watched with terror as two hulking security guards walked by, their flashlights sweeping alarmingly near to his hiding spot before moving on to the next aisle. 

Once he was confident they were out of hearing range, he quickly stuffed his camera in his backpack and zipped it shut.

It took him several additional minutes to gather enough courage to stand on shaky legs and creep out from behind the crates. He couldn’t go out the same way he’d come in — the stairwell was way too exposed now that they were looking for an intruder. Plus, he’d be a sitting duck as he climbed back down the side of the building.

Fortunately, he’d studied the warehouse blueprints before this expedition, and he knew there was a nearby back exit — now he just had to make it there undetected.

Tim kept his footsteps as silent as possible as he walked down the main aisle and turned to the left. To his horror, however, there was a security guard standing in front of the door he wanted to escape through. This probably meant that the other guard was blocking the other first-floor exit. 

Tim was trapped. 

He ducked behind a crate, giving himself a minute to think.

What would Batman do?

He definitely wouldn’t panic, that was certain. But Bruce was significantly taller and stronger than Tim, and he was an amazing fighter who dressed in kevlar from head to toe — he wouldn’t be phased by two security guards. 

Okay, perhaps a better question was, What would Robin do?

After all, Dick was an excellent fighter, but he tended toward evasive maneuvers rather than direct confrontation. Dick would probably cause some kind of diversion and then take advantage of it to escape.

So before Tim could think about it too much or stop himself, he hefted his flashlight and threw it as hard and far away as possible. 

It hit the floor with a metallic clang a few aisles away, and the guard took off in that direction. Tim didn’t waste any time — this was his only chance to get out, and he wasn’t going to miss it. His heartbeat thudding in his ears, he sprinted for the exit, his arms pumping madly, his legs straining to carry him. 

He heard distant shouts behind him and the crackle of gunfire, but he didn’t allow himself to dwell on it. He just kept moving until he was throwing open the door and heaving in deep, blissful lungfuls of smoggy night air. 

He knew he couldn’t stop running, though, so he turned and sprinted deeper into the harbor district, hoping they’d assumed he was heading back to the city and had gone the opposite way. Judging by the continued staccato of gunfire, however, he’d been spotted.

His side had a stitch and his lungs were beginning to protest. He could see the two figures were still hot on his trail, showing no signs of allowing Tim to escape into the night. 

A bullet whizzed past his elbow, and Tim did something very stupid: he jumped into the Gotham Harbor. 

It was an insane move, driven by pure animal instinct to get away from the most imminent threat. As he hit the frigid water, however, he realized that he’d introduced a whole new set of problems. The water was icy cold, instantly stealing his breath away and making his body break out into a pins and needles feeling. 

He paddled frantically toward shore, but the current was strong, and it wanted to pull him further into the harbor. Thankfully, the water was carrying him away from his pursuers, but now he was in even more danger of drowning. 

He swam desperately for the first few moments, but his limbs quickly started to go numb. Holy shit, I’m actually going to die, he realized with startling clarity as he kicked fruitlessly toward shore.

To conserve his dwindling energy, Tim stopped trying to swim against the current and simply focused on keeping his head above water for as long as possible.

He had been foolish and reckless, and now he was going to pay the ultimate price. Nobody would know where he was — due to the strong currents, bodies in the Gotham Harbor usually ended up in the ocean. They’d all think Tim had just…vanished. Nobody would ever know what had happened to him. The evidence he’d uncovered would be of no use, and Crane would carry out whatever dastardly scheme he was plotting. 

His parents would get over his death quickly, but Jason would be left on his own, and Tim would have to hope the Waynes would take pity on him — otherwise he’d end up back on the streets. And…selfishly, he wanted to believe that Jason, Bruce, Dick, and Alfred would miss him if he disappeared without a trace.  

Tim swallowed around a lump in his throat, his eyes burning with tears as his strength flagged. He looked up at the sky, wishing he could see just a single star through all the pollution — something bright to fix his gaze on before he slipped under the water for good. 

But the night was cloudy, so instead he closed his eyes and imagined that he was in the safest place on earth — the den at Wayne Manor, with a fire flickering in the hearth and a blanket draped over his shoulders, surrounded by the family that he secretly longed to be a part of. 

Tim was so immersed in this last daydream that he almost didn’t react when he bumped against something solid. Then he bumped against it again, and his eyes flew open.

The pier! Through sheer luck or a minor miracle, the current had carried him sideways instead of sweeping him out to sea, and he was now being pushed against a wooden support beam of one of the docks on the other side of the harbor. 

Letting out a sob of relief, Tim clung onto the wooden pole. It was an agonizing process to slowly shimmy upward with his numb limbs. The evening breeze had felt mild before, but now that he was wet, it cut like a knife. He had to stop a few times to cough up water that he’d swallowed. But he was alive, he hadn’t been shot, and he had clear evidence on his camera (thank goodness his parents had shelled out for the waterproof model). 

Tim collapsed onto the pier, and he could’ve almost kissed the wooden platform. He laid there for a few moments, gasping and coughing and telling himself that his face was wet because of the harbor water and not because he was crying. Then he pushed himself to his feet and staggered back toward the city. His job wasn’t finished yet: he had to get that evidence to Batman before Crane’s men moved everything out of the warehouse.

***

It felt like years later that he finally crawled in through his bedroom window. His clothes and shoes were still damp, and he stank of harbor water, but his task was complete. 

He’d broken into Gotham Academy and used the photo lab to print out his evidence. Then he’d spent an hour altering the security footage so his trespassing wouldn’t be detected. He wrote For Batman on the envelope and paid a random woman who’d been smoking outside of a bar $100 to deliver it to GCPD. He’d watched from the bushes to make sure she carried out her task, and then he paid her an extra $200 to buy her silence. She seemed intoxicated, and he could only hope that her memory of him would be fuzzy if Batman or the police interrogated her about the interaction. 

With all of that accomplished, he took the bus back to Bristol and trudged up the hill toward Drake Manor. His thoughts felt foggy, and he dimly recalled that he should be on guard against hypothermia. His teeth had been chattering when he’d first climbed out of the harbor, but that had ceased, and he found himself oddly tempted to lie down by the side of the road and take a nap. 

Only the thought of his warm, dry bed pushed him onward, and he almost collapsed as soon as he was safely ensconced in his room. Stripping out of his wet clothes, he took the hottest shower possible. He still didn’t feel warm afterward, and he bundled into several layers of clothes and blankets, finally allowing his eyes to fall shut just as the sun peeked over the horizon. 

He awoke a few hours later feeling like he’d been run over by a truck, but it was all worth it because of the breaking story on the news that morning: Batman and GCPD had conducted a bust in a warehouse near Gotham Harbor, and they’d confiscated thousands of gallons of fear toxin, preventing a disaster that would’ve no doubt cost hundreds, if not thousands, of lives. 

***

Tim turned his attention to the gala next. 

He was running on fumes, though, and he still couldn’t quite seem to get warm, even though it had been two days since his near-death experience. Fortunately, his parents were busy with work, so they didn’t notice that he was quieter and more tired than usual. Jason was mostly confined to the attic since his parents were working from their home office in between board meetings. Dick knew his parents were home, so he was leaving them alone to have “family time.” There was no school because of Thanksgiving, so he didn’t see Alfred or Dick for the daily commute. 

With no one around to scrutinize his behavior, Tim took a lot of naps, wore as many warm layers as possible, and took several hot showers. He’d woken up that morning to the unpleasant realization that his head was pounding and his chest felt tight. In an attempt to deny the obvious, he’d taken tylenol and chugged water, telling himself that he was just dehydrated, not sick. 

He didn’t have time to be sick, not when such an important event was looming. 

“— and remember, if you talk to my parents, you’re my friend from school — “

Jason’s sigh came through loud and clear on the phone. Tim’s parents had come home from a late dinner an hour earlier, so they were forced to talk quietly on the phone with one another. “This is the fifth time you’ve told me this.”

”Okay, well, it’s really important —“

”Timbit, I’m hardly about to mix up Bruce and your parents; give me some credit.”

”You keep Bruce and Dick distracted; I’ll keep my parents distracted,” Tim continued.

“Your voice sounds weird. Are you sick?”

Tim cleared his throat, which was, in fact, starting to feel scratchy and sore. “No. The phone is probably distorting my voice.”

”I know you’re worried about keeping our story straight, but I’m looking forward to the gala. It’s so boring up here I could cry. I could do with a little drama and subterfuge.”

Tim winced. Here he was, bundled up in his comfy bed and surrounded by all his possessions, while Jason was stuck up in the freezing attic like some kind of servant. It would be like this for the foreseeable future unless Tim kept making progress with his adoption plan. 

He chewed on his lower lip consideringly. Then, his mind made up, he grabbed his notebook off the bedside table and flipped through it until he came to his list. They were still working on number 3, getting Jason to trust Bruce. But maybe he could skip ahead a little bit in the meantime.

4. Confirm Jason’s interest in being adopted by Bruce

“You still there, Timbit?” Jason asked. 

“Yeah. Hey, Jay?”

”Yeah?”

”Do you ever think about what we’re going to do in the long run?” He asked cautiously, knowing that this was a sensitive subject. 

Jason’s voice was guarded. “What do you mean, the long run ?”

”I mean…I love having you here; don’t get me wrong! I just worry about keeping this up for six more years until you become an adult.”

“So, what? You want to get rid of me?” He could hear the tension in Jason’s tone — the desire to lash out preemptively before he let someone else hurt him.

”No!” Tim exclaimed. “Never! I’m just worried about you…you don’t deserve to have to hide away like some kind of criminal whenever my parents visit. And you’re so smart; you should be in school!”

”This attic is still leagues above living on the streets,” Jason said, sounding somewhat mollified. “Plus, who would look after you if I left? You were eating burnt toast and egg shell bits when I met you!”

Tim took a deep breath, hoping his nerves wouldn’t be audible through his voice.

“Maybe you can go live with the Waynes,” he suggested. “We’d be neighbors, and we could see each other all the time. Bruce adopted Dick; maybe he’d adopt you too.”

“No way!” Jason protested immediately. “And leave you alone here in this big house? Leave you alone with your shitty parents? I’m not going with the Waynes unless you do, too.”

It spoke to how much progress Jason had made toward trusting Bruce, Alfred, and Dick that he was even entertaining the idea. 

Tim shrugged, twisting a loose thread from his blanket around his finger. “I can’t live with the Waynes; I already have parents, Jason.”

“Neglectful, asshole parents,” Jason said bitterly.

“They’re not usually here, sure, but my needs are provided for. My parents would never let child services take me; it would be bad for business.”

“Bad for business,” Jason scoffed. “What about being bad for you?”

Tim didn’t have a ready answer to that. 

“I’m staying with you. Besides, I’m not Wayne material, Timbit. I’m a street rat.”

“Dick didn’t come from money originally,” Tim argued logically. “You could go to college and be whatever you want to be. You could even train like Dick and help out with their, y’know, nighttime activities!”

Jason shrugged, but Tim knew he had to be tempted by the idea of partnering with Batman. “Sounds like a nice idea on paper, Timmy, but what would Bruce get out of adopting another orphan?”

Tim frowned at the way Jason undervalued himself. “He certainly doesn’t seem to regret adopting Dick; why wouldn’t he want another great kid?”

“It’s not up for discussion, Tim; I’m not leaving you alone.”

They lapsed back into silence, Tim’s heart rising and soaring in his chest as he abruptly realized that Jason hadn’t said no. Sure, he’d expressed reservations over whether Bruce would want to adopt him and whether he’d fit in with their family. But his main objection was Tim, and that didn’t matter. Tim would be fine on his own.

When it was time, Tim would go behind Jason’s back and tell Bruce that Jason wasn’t really his cousin; he was a kid without parents who needed someone to look out for him. Even if Jason tried to complain to Bruce afterward about Tim’s lack of supervision, it wouldn’t matter — his parents would just hire a new nanny or extend Mrs. Mac’s hours if they were threatened with any kind of legal action. 

Jason might never forgive him for the breach of trust, but it would all be for the best once he was adopted.

Tim grabbed his pen and triumphantly crossed out number four on his list. 

1. Find ways to get Jason to spend time alone with Dick, Bruce, and Alfred
2. Get Jason to realize Bruce’s nighttime activities
3. Get Jason to trust Bruce
4. Confirm Jason’s interest in being adopted by Bruce
5. Confirm Bruce’s interest in adopting Jason
6. Once interest is 100% confirmed, tell Bruce that Jason is an orphan
7. Adoption!!!

“Do you think he’d even be a good dad?” Jason asked softly, shattering the silence that had fallen over the line. 

Tim wondered if Jason was also replaying that moment when Bruce had found them after Mr. Freeze’s attack — the hint of panic and worry in his eyes that had dissipated when he saw that they were all unharmed. 

Or perhaps he was remembering a cold night when Batman had brought him to Bat Burger and given him the strength to carry on. 

Tim swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, staring up at the ceiling and allowing himself to recall his own moment with Bruce Wayne that had changed everything.  

***

The thing was — when Tim was six, he fell asleep at Bruce Wayne’s annual charity gala. 

This was a cardinal sin in his parents’ book, and he knew it. Heck, he’d dared to yawn at a golf outing the previous year, and his mom had made him get out of the golf cart and walk the final six holes under the scorching sun as a punishment for appearing disinterested in front of business partners. His parents had told his nannies to stop allowing him to take afternoon naps after that to help toughen him up.

So by the time he was six, he knew better than to allow his head to nod and his eyes to close at a social gathering. But the party was so loud, and it was almost midnight, and there was a little blue couch near the bathrooms, away from the party but not so far removed that it would seem like he was snooping or trespassing in Mr. Wayne’s family wing. 

He told himself that he was just going to sit for a minute. If his parents saw him, he’d tell them that he was taking a break so he could compile a list of potential investors that he’d networked with tonight. They’d like that. 

In order to think up fake names of investors, naturally, he had to close his eyes. From there, it was a slippery slope to slide into a laying-down position. The velvety fabric of the sofa felt nice against his cheek. 

I’m mentally reviewing our quarterly financials, he imagined telling his mom and dad if they caught him. It takes great concentration and focus, so I have to lay like this.

He fell asleep between one breath and the next, sensing that he was teetering on a precipice but unable to find the willpower to stop himself from plunging over the edge. 

When he woke up, it was to someone gently shaking his shoulder. 

“Diversification of assets!” Tim blurted out, struggling to lift his eyelids. To be honest, he wasn’t sure what it meant, but it seemed like something his parents would want him to say. 

“Whoa, easy there, chum,” an unfamiliar baritone voice said with a hint of amusement. “It’s a bit late to be talking business, isn’t it?”

Tim blinked, trying to get his brain to come back online and compute the situation. When his vision cleared, he was startled to see Bruce Wayne himself kneeling in front of the couch. 

Shoot. He sat bolt upright — he had really screwed up now! His parents were going to be furious that he’d disturbed their host by drooling on his furniture like a dog!

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Mr. Wayne continued. “I saw you sleeping here and thought that maybe we should find your parents. You’re Jack and Janet Drake’s son, right?”

Through still-bleary eyes, Tim carefully surveyed the billionaire. He didn’t seem angry or annoyed by Tim. His eyes were crinkled slightly in the corners as he looked at Tim, like he wanted to smile. 

“Yes, sir,” Tim replied solemnly, his training kicking in as he held out his hand. “Timothy Drake, Drake Industries.”

Mr. Wayne definitely looked like he was trying not to smile now, but it wasn’t in a mean way, like how the older kids at school smirked when they knocked him to the ground during games at recess. “Bruce Wayne, Wayne Enterprises. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

They shook hands. 

“Now then, Timothy, should we go find your parents together? I used to attend these parties when I was your age, and I remember falling asleep in many corners, too.”

Ugh. This was bad — Mr. Wayne would probably tell his parents that Tim had been sleeping. But on the other hand, he knew that his parents were eager to break into Mr. Wayne’s social circle. Maybe they’d be happy that Tim had drawn Mr. Wayne’s attention? Either way, it didn’t seem like he had much choice in the matter — he definitely didn’t want to make Mr. Wayne angry with him or his family.  

“Thank you, sir,” Tim said, feeling shy. “Uh, you can call me Tim.”

To his surprise, Mr. Wayne held out his hand again for Tim to take in his own. “And you can call me Bruce. Right this way, Tim.”

Mr. Wayne’s hand was warm and large as he steered Tim toward the party and into the throng of people. It was a huge party, and it took a long time for them to wade into the ballroom. Tim’s legs were beginning to grow tired, and he was glad that Mr. Wayne was holding his hand, because he would’ve gotten lost in the crowd by now otherwise. 

“Do you know what colors your parents were wearing, Tim?” Mr. Wayne asked him over the din, scanning the room. His height definitely lent him an advantage over Tim.

“Black,” Tim replied, fighting a yawn. 

“Hmm, that doesn’t exactly narrow it down,” Mr. Wayne murmured. He didn’t seem upset, but it still made Tim worried. 

“I’m sor — ” he began to apologize for being such a nuisance, when a man bumped into him, sloshing champagne all over himself. A little bit landed on Tim, who would’ve been plowed over if it weren’t for the fact that Mr. Wayne was holding his hand. 

The man let out a raucous laugh as he turned to look down at Tim, but he froze when he saw Mr. Wayne looming behind Tim. 

“So sorry, Mr. Wayne,” the man apologized hastily, quickly backing away. 

Mr. Wayne let out a sigh. “You okay?” He asked Tim, who nodded wearily, wishing more than ever that he was home and in his bed. 

“Can I pick you up, Tim? It would make it easier for us to get to the other side of the room. I’ll have my butler, Alfred, look for your parents if we don’t find them on the way.”

Tim could only nod, equal parts exhausted, embarrassed, and relieved as Mr. Wayne lifted him up and began weaving through the crowd. Tim’s head came to rest on Mr. Wayne’s shoulder, and hearing Mr. Wayne’s strong heartbeat in his ear suddenly made the noise of the crowd seem less overwhelming, like it had faded into the background. Out of some half-forgotten instinct, he awkwardly wound his arms around Mr. Wayne’s neck, holding loosely to anchor himself in place. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had carried him somewhere — maybe the time his nanny gave him a piggyback ride a few years ago when he’d fallen at the park and cut his knee? His parents didn’t think that hugging was dignified, and he honestly wasn’t sure if either of them had held him since he was an infant. 

Mr. Wayne smelled nice, like coffee and cologne. His grip on Tim felt safe and secure, and the smooth, consistent motion of his steps lulled Tim back toward sleep, no matter how much he struggled to stay alert.

“Who’s that, B?” A new voice asked, and Tim managed to peel his eyes open again to see Dick Grayson peering at him curiously. What an odd coincidence that Tim’s first hug came from Dick, and his second hug was coming from Dick’s dad!

“This is our neighbor, Tim. We’re looking for his parents — Jack and Janet Drake. Have you seen them?” Mr. Wayne replied.

Dick shook his head, smiling at Tim with easy warmth, just like he’d done that fateful day at the circus a few years earlier. 

“Hiya, Tim. No, I haven’t seen them, but I’ll start looking.”

“Thanks, chum,” Mr. Wayne said, giving Dick an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder before he took off into the crowd. 

Tim dozed through most of the next few moments — Mr. Wayne had a conversation with Mr. Pennyworth, his butler, and then he heard the telltale clicking of his mom’s heels.  

He managed to drag his head off of Mr. Wayne’s shoulder, but it felt like it weighed a million pounds, just like his eyelids. 

“Ah, hello, Jack, Janet,” Mr. Wayne greeted them in a friendly tone. From his position in Mr. Wayne’s arms, Tim could feel Mr. Wayne’s chest rumble slightly as he talked, which was an odd but not unpleasant feeling.

“Brucie!” His dad exclaimed in the jovial tone he used with investors. “So sorry about Tim here. We told him to take a nap earlier, but he just wouldn’t do it. You know how stubborn kids are, I’m sure, since you have a teenager of your own.”

“It was no trouble, Jack,” Mr. Wayne said smoothly. “Tim’s a great kid. But I think you’d best get him home and off to bed.” 

He held Tim out in midair, and Tim and Jack stared at each other uncomprehendingly for a long second before Tim realized that Mr. Wayne was trying to get his dad to take Tim from his arms. The idea of Jack carrying him was so ludicrous that Tim almost burst into a fit of shocked giggles. 

“He can walk,” his mom interjected quickly. “Jack has a bad back, I’m afraid. Come along, Tim, it’s just a short way to the car.”

So Mr. Wayne set Tim down, and Tim tried to ignore the odd sense of loss he felt upon standing on his own two feet again.

“Good night, Tim. It was nice to meet you.” Mr. Wayne said with a kind smile. He shook hands with Tim’s parents, and disappeared back to the edge of the ballroom where Dick was waiting for him. 

“We will talk about this more on the ride home,” his mom hissed as soon as Mr. Wayne was out of hearing range. “Now, come on.”

Ugh — not only had Tim embarrassed himself and his parents; he’d also forced his parents to cut their night short.

Still, Tim chanced a glance over his shoulder as they departed. Mr. Wayne had an arm wrapped around Dick’s shoulders as they looked out at the ballroom together, and he laughed at something his son said. 

As Tim clambered into the backseat of the waiting car, bracing himself for a long lecture on proper decorum, he caught a faint whiff of Mr. Wayne’s cologne on his tuxedo jacket. Some small, dangerous seed of want materialized in his chest — some yearning that he couldn’t put into words. He did his best to keep its roots from spreading, but long before he knew that Mr. Wayne was Batman, he’d already formed an unshakeable association between Bruce Wayne and safety. 

***

A few minutes had passed since Jason had asked the question, and Tim could tell that he had fallen asleep from his slow, steady breathing on the line. 

Still, that didn’t stop Tim from whispering an answer quietly into the darkened room. 

“Yeah, Jay. I think he would be.”

Chapter Text

Tim’s life was beginning to feel like a Shakespearean play, but he wasn’t sure if it was a comedy or a tragedy. He’d have to ask Jason his opinion if they survived the night. 

Or perhaps it was more like a sitcom episode — Tim, the protagonist, forced to navigate a seemingly impossible scenario while an audience laughed at his misfortune. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” he muttered to himself as he stood in the entryway of Drake Manor, waiting for his parents to finish preparing for the gala. 

Whether he was going to be sick due to the fact that he had a temperature of 100.7 degrees or the fact that his parents, Jason, Dick, and Bruce were all going to be in the same room was yet to be determined. 

He’d hoped that taking it easy for a few days would help him feel better, but his condition had only worsened. His tickly throat had turned into a harsh cough. He’d spiked a low-grade fever that stubbornly refused to go down. His other delightful symptoms included a headache, aching joints, and an exhausted, dizzy feeling whenever he stood for more than a minute or two. 

He hadn’t been sleeping well, either, dozing fitfully each night and waking groggily from repeated nightmares about drowning in the Gotham Harbor while Batman and Robin watched impassively from a nearby pier, refusing to respond to Tim’s cries for help.

Still, he was a Drake, and Drakes remained presentable at all times. To prepare for the evening, he’d chugged an electrolyte drink, popped a few children’s tylenol, and downed a half-dose of cough syrup. His pockets were stuffed with tissues and cough drops. He was as ready as he’d ever be. 

“Tim, dear, you really need to spend more time outdoors — your complexion is positively sickly,” his mother sighed, floating gracefully down the stairs in a floor length black gown.

Tim’s facial muscles felt frozen as he attempted to smile. “You look great, Mom.”

He hadn’t seen his parents much this trip — they’d mostly been holed up in their home office, the Drake Industries board room, and whatever parties and dinners they were attending in the evenings. 

“Where is your father? We’re going to be late,” his mother remarked impatiently, wrapping herself in an elegant shawl. 

“Coming, Janet,” his dad called. He took one last sip of a glass of whiskey as he emerged from the office, doing up his cufflinks.

“Tim, don’t lean on things like that; it’s an atrocious American habit,” his mom snapped, indicating the pillar that was responsible for supporting 75% of Tim’s weight. 

“Yes, Mom,” he replied, dutifully pushing off the wall and hoping his legs would hold him. 

Lights flashed in the driveway, and his mom shepherded them out the door. It had seemed silly when his mom told him she’d hired a driver for the evening, given that they lived a mile away from Wayne Manor. Now, however, Tim was immensely relieved that he didn’t have to walk the short distance. A few flurries danced on the cold wind, and Tim could see his breath as they climbed into the car.

His parents were quiet, but they didn’t seem to be in a worse mood than usual, so Tim risked a question. 

“Mom?”

“Yes, dear,” his mom said, checking her hair in a compact mirror. 

“Are you…are we…” 

His mom looked up with a frown — she hated when he stammered. 

“Are we doing anything for Thanksgiving tomorrow?” He spat out in a rush. 

His parents exchanged a surprised look. 

“Tim, we have a red-eye flight to Bolivia tonight after the gala. Didn’t we tell you?”

“Sorry to miss it, sport — we’ll be home for Christmas, okay?”

Tim’s stomach sank — or maybe it was just twisting with nausea. It had seemed promising that they would stick around for the holiday since they were actually here for once, but why had he even bothered to get his hopes up? There were scant odds that they would show up for Christmas, too, since there was no board meeting that week. 

Tim nodded in acknowledgment and remained silent for the rest of the short ride. He needed to get his head in the game if he was going to make it through the next several hours. 

He resisted the urge to turn around and look over his shoulder — Jason was supposed to wait for Tim and his parents to leave and then follow on foot, making his entrance slightly after the Drakes did. Tim had forged a copy of his parents’ invitation for Jason to present at the door, since he would be arriving separately. If Jason ran into any trouble, Alfred, Dick, or Bruce would certainly vouch for him as part of the Drake party. 

Then the real work of the night would begin. The objective was simple: keep his parents and the Waynes from talking to each other. 

Things got off to a rocky start — when he and his parents checked in at the door, he spotted Dick waving furiously in the crowd. Dick started to make his way over, and Tim had to break away from his parents to head him off. 

“There’s Dick,” he said. “I’m going to say hi!”

He didn’t wait for his mom and dad to approve or disapprove; he simply took off into the entry hall, darting through the growing crowd of attendees. Unfortunately, this meant that Bruce could approach his parents while they were unguarded, so Tim was going to have to keep a sharp eye out. 

“Timbit!” Dick pulled him into a tight hug. Tim allowed himself to relax for about three seconds before he politely pulled back. “Jeez, you’re like a heat lamp. Are you okay?”

Tim’s nervous chuckle almost turned into a hacking cough. Was there heat radiating off of him? If so, he certainly couldn’t feel it — he was chilled to the bone. “I’m fine — the driver was blasting the heater on the way over.”

“Where’s Jay?”

“He’ll be here in a minute. He was just tying his shoe when we got out of the car.”

Tim got his first break of the night then — as if on cue, Jason appeared in the entryway. Dick waved at him, and upon seeing Bruce Wayne’s son greeting a guest, the doorman let Jason pass without more than a cursory glance at his invitation. 

“Jaybird!” Dick exclaimed, pulling Jason into a hug. Jason scrunched up his face and was quick to retreat, but he didn’t protest. Tim couldn’t help but notice that Dick had also bestowed a bird-themed nickname upon Jason — although ‘Jaybird’ was way less embarrassing than ‘Baby Bird.’

“It’s so great that your parents are here, Tim — are you guys excited for Thanksgiving?” Dick asked eagerly. 

Jason gave his patented I’m-too-cool-for-things-like-that shrug, and Tim tried not to think about the fact that his parents would be boarding a plane for South America in a few hours. At least he and Jason could enjoy the holiday together, even if it would be a little depressing to celebrate alone in a big, empty house. 

Tim noticed Bruce moving through the crowd out of the corner of his eye, and his heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t tell if Bruce was deliberately angling in his parents’ direction or if he just happened to be passing that way, but Tim couldn’t risk it either way. 

“Excuse me,” he said hastily. “I need to go talk to my mom — I forgot to ask her if one of their business partners is attending tonight.”

It wasn’t his smoothest work, but it got him away from Jason and Dick for the moment. He hurried over toward his parents, feeling better than he had all week — the adrenaline rush of the situation was temporarily keeping his symptoms at bay. 

Tim knew better than to barge into a conversation like a little kid, so he loitered next to his dad. His parents were talking to an old friend of theirs, Blanche Granger, who was a history professor at Gotham University, about their trip to Australia. 

“It’s fascinating to hear about the opal deposits in Australia,” Tim piped up innocently when there was a lull in the discussion. “You know, I think Mrs. De Vries mentioned one time that she has an opal necklace from Ethiopia.” 

He knew that his comment would draw in Mrs. De Vries, who was standing in an adjacent circle. The older woman was known to yammer on ceaselessly, but she was nearly as rich as Bruce, so Gotham’s elite tolerated her. He could only hope that the prospect of getting trapped into an hours-long conversation with her would deter Bruce from trying to enter the circle. 

Sure enough, Mrs. De Vries looked gleeful at being granted an audience for one of her old stories. As she began waxing poetic about the opal deposit her father had discovered in the 1970s, his mom barely concealed an eye roll and his dad downed his champagne in one gulp before snagging a replacement from a passing waiter. Tim chanced a glance over his shoulder. It appeared that Jason was taking his role of distracting the Waynes seriously, because he and Dick had made their way over to Bruce. Now Jason just needed to keep Bruce occupied while Tim kept his parents busy. 

Easy as pie, right?

From there, he innocently asked Mr. Shah how his newest grandchild was doing, which prompted Mr. Shah to give them a complete rundown of his other nine grandchildren’s ages and recent activities, with a cellphone slideshow included. Standing in another social circle, Tim casually remarked that it was unseasonably warm for November, and Mrs. Finch (who never let anyone forget that she came from a long line of Pennsylvania farmers) gave them a detailed rundown of the expected temperatures for Gotham for the next six months according to the farmer’s almanac.  

Tim was fascinated and wanted to learn more about how shifts in the jet stream affected crop rotation, but his mom had had enough at this point. 

“Tim, dear — perhaps you should spend some time with your little friends and leave the boring adult conversations to us?” His mom phrased it as a question since other people were listening, but her nails felt like claws where she gripped his shoulder, and he could hear the command through her gritted teeth — he was driving her batty (no pun intended) by making her talk to the most annoying members of Gotham society. 

“Yes, Mom,” he chirped innocently. 

Luckily, it appeared that Bruce was standing by the stage and preparing to make a speech, so Tim was free to check in with Dick and Jason. As he crossed the ballroom, he was pleased to overhear a few people talking about Batman’s recent fear toxin bust, and he fought the urge to puff out his chest with pride at what he’d helped Batman accomplish. He supposed it had been worth swallowing half of Gotham Harbor to keep people safe. 

He cringed as he approached Jason and Dick’s conversation, however. 

“...you boys looking forward to the big holiday tomorrow?” Mr. Waits, a banker, was asking them in a jovial tone. 

“No. I don’t celebrate the legacy of colonialism,” Jason sniffed, his nose in the air. 

Mr. Waits sputtered, his moustache twitching in astonishment. Dick snorted into his drink, and Tim smoothly stepped in, plastering his best PR smile on his face. 

“Hello, Mr. Waits; how’s Sheila doing?”

Mr. Waits was appeased by Tim’s polite manners and unblinking interest in his wife’s recent hip replacement. 

“Ugh, I don’t know how you can do that,” Jason muttered when they finally escaped. “It’s like you turn into a robot around these people.”

Tim shrugged, rolling his neck to try and ease some of the tension building in his shoulders. A waiter offered them a tray of hors’devours, which Dick and Jason sampled ravenously. Even glancing at food had Tim’s stomach roiling, and he was thrilled when they all had to sit down for Bruce’s speech. 

It was mostly the same stuff that Tim had heard a million times in the past — Bruce wore his patented Brucie Wayne grin, he welcomed them all to the event, and he joked about Mr. Freeze trying to kidnap him from the Gotham Knights game while he was stuck in the concession stand line buying nachos.

“As we all know, Thanksgiving is a time of gratitude,” Bruce said when the laughter died down, the slightest hint of the real Bruce shining through. “And I think many of us in this room take for granted the fact that we know our next meals will come from — as well as the meals that will feed us for the rest of our lives.

“I’d like to encourage all of you to take a moment to put yourself in the shoes of those less fortunate tonight. We all walk and drive past unhoused children every day in Gotham — children who have not had the same opportunities that each of us do. If we have the ability to help, then how can we turn away? My parents, Martha and Thomas Wayne, believed strongly in this mission…”

Bruce spoke for a few minutes about Wayne Enterprises’ charitable giving efforts over the years, as well as the history of the Martha Wayne Children’s Home. 

“I was recently inspired to renew my efforts to address youth hunger in Gotham when a young friend reminded me of how many children go hungry while I sit comfortably in my manor.” 

Here Bruce’s eyes found Jason, even though they were sitting on opposite sides of the room. Jason was holding his breath as though a spotlight illuminated him, appearing startled by the recognition.

“I want to thank that friend tonight. If the children of our city already know the right thing to do, then how can we not follow their example?”

The crowd was hanging on Bruce’s every word as he worked up to the big finale.

“That’s why I’m pleased to pledge one million dollars to expand the Martha Wayne Children’s Home to include a youth food pantry and soup kitchen! I hope you’ll join me in making additional contributions of your own to this worthy cause tonight.”

The crowd burst into raucous applause, and Maggie walked on stage to accept one of those large ceremonial checks, the emotions on her face unmistakably genuine.

Dick thumped a shell-shocked looking Jason on the back. “‘Atta boy, Jay! You started all of this!”

Jason turned to Tim, his eyes round with stunned disbelief. They didn’t need to exchange words; Tim just offered a small smile and a nod of support as he applauded. 

“Wow, I need to hire Brucie’s speechwriter for my next PR crisis,” a woman at the table next to them gushed. Around the room, Tim saw people pulling out checkbooks and wallets left and right. 

Jason ducked his head and began rummaging in his pockets, presumably trying to get a handle on his emotions. He eventually placed a handful of bills and coins on the table — no doubt the change from the allowance money that he and Tim split each week. 

While his donation probably added up to less than $50, Tim thought it was the most valuable one in the room. 

***

After that bright spot, the rest of the night seemed interminable. Bruce was waylaid by admirers after his speech, so Tim was able to stay seated, observing him from afar and making sure he didn’t get too close to his parents. 

To pass the time, Dick and Jason sampled and ranked all the available desserts while Tim pushed a slice of pumpkin pie around his plate much like he’d pushed around his salad during the main course. They played I Spy and 20 Questions, and if Tim was a little slower on the uptake than usual, well, he could blame the overwhelming gala environment. 

“How much longer is this going to last? I’m dying for a smoke,” Jason sighed, fidgeting with his bowtie. 

Dick blinked. “You smoke?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Tim interjected, glaring at Jason. 

“Well, this party is making me want to,” Jason grumbled, staring longingly at a group of men puffing on cigars on a nearby balcony. 

“Maybe we can sneak away and play video games,” Dick suggested. “We’ve been here for long enough to put in a respectable appearance.”

Tim thought wistfully of the soft couch in the den that was just a few hallways and staircases away, deep into the family wing of the manor. He couldn’t risk leaving the party, though — there would be no way to monitor whether Bruce and his parents were interacting. 

“You guys can go — my parents always want me to stay nearby at galas in case one of their potential business partners has a kid for me to entertain,” Tim said, rubbing his forehead tiredly. 

Dick and Jason exchanged a glance. 

“No way, Timbit — we won’t abandon you!” Dick assured him loyally. 

“Yeah, let’s keep playing,” Jason chimed in. “I spy with my little eye…something chartreuse.” 

“What the fuck is a chartreuse?” 

“Are you boys having fun over here?” A familiar voice asked, and Tim jumped in his seat. Even turning around felt awful, like the room around him was swimming. The medication had definitely worn off, and he’d forgotten to bring a second dose, so the fever was hitting him again in steadily growing waves. 

“It’s pretty boring, B, but I’m glad you’re raising money for a good cause,” Dick told Bruce honestly. Tim wasn’t sure how Bruce had gotten over to them, and it scared him a little, because he was supposed to be paying attention to things like that. He couldn’t afford to slip up, especially when they’d made it through most of the night!

“I can see what F. Scott Fitzgerald was critiquing in The Great Gatsby,” Jason chimed in, gesturing toward the opulence of the room and the attendees. Ducking his head, his voice suddenly quieter, he added, “But…uh…thanks. You know. For all of this.”

Bruce reached out and put a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “I meant what I said up there, Jaylad. This is all thanks to you.”

They held each other’s gaze for a few seconds. Then, seeming to sense that he was on the verge of overwhelming Jason, Bruce squeezed Jason’s shoulder once before letting his hand drop and shifting his attention to Tim.

“And how are you faring, Tim?”

Tim was not faring well — the little food he’d managed to swallow was now trying to come back up, and the room seemed to have turned into a carousel that was slowly spinning in circles. 

“Excuse me; I need to use the restroom,” Tim said, mentally thanking Janet Drake for the composure she had instilled in him since he was a toddler. She was the reason that he was able to maintain a polite, neutral smile as he stood, calmly walked out of the ballroom, and entered the men’s restroom. He held it together until he locked the stall door and started puking. He tried to stay as quiet as possible, but he heard someone make a joke about certain partygoers being too open with the open bar.

Tears streamed down his cheeks by the time he was finished, and he felt utterly humiliated and wrung out. Maybe it was childish, but he didn’t feel good, and he just wanted to go to bed and not deal with all these stupid secrets anymore. He even found himself staring at the smooth tile floor of the bathroom, which suddenly looked temptingly cool and flat.  

But he was a Drake, so he squared his shoulders, rinsed out his mouth, sucked on a cough drop, and splashed cold water on his cheeks. 

Just another hour or so, and then you’ll be scot free, Tim chanted in his head as he left the bathroom and walked back toward the party, his head throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He’d been sad initially when his parents told him they had a red-eye flight, but now he was counting down the minutes until they left and he could be as sick as he wanted with just Jason to keep him company.  

“Tim? You feeling okay, chum?”

Normally, Tim was thrilled to see Bruce, but now he had to repress a groan. 

“You looked a bit pale and left in a hurry,” Bruce continued, standing at the entrance to the ballroom. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“I’m fine,” Tim said, hoping his smile didn’t look as pitiful as it felt. 

Bruce frowned, appearing unconvinced. “You know, if you want to go rest —”

Tim’s stomach lurched unpleasantly as he took in the scene in the ballroom — his parents were making their way over to Dick and Jason, no doubt intending to ply Dick for information about Wayne Enterprises’ weaknesses. 

“Excuse me, I forgot that I have to tell my mom something!” Tim exclaimed, bolting across the ballroom, ignoring how rude he was being.

He made it to the group a few seconds after they converged. 

“Mom, Dad! I was just looking for you both,” he exclaimed breathlessly. 

His mom’s lips pursed at Tim’s sweaty, disheveled appearance, but she turned to Dick and Jason with a fake smile. 

“It’s always a pleasure to meet Tim’s friends.”

Mayday! Tim had to do something before his parents made it clear to Dick that they’d never seen Jason before in their lives.

“Uh, Dick — your dad was looking for you — I just ran into him over by the hall.” 

He fought back a wince as soon as the words left his mouth — Bruce hadn’t been looking for Dick, and that would become evident as soon as he walked over there. Also, his parents wanted to talk to Dick, so they would be irritated with him for sending Dick away. 

Still, Tim had bought himself a few precious minutes to think of an escape plan. 

“Sorry to interrupt the introductions,” he continued smoothly as Dick left the circle. “Mom, Dad, this is Jason Todd. He’s a friend from school.”

His parents gave Jason an appraising once-over. Jay was doing a good impression of a young Bristol socialite tonight — he was wearing an old tux of Dick’s that Alfred had given him for the event, and he’d erased all traces of his Crime Alley accent from his speech.

“Hmm…Todd. Not sure I’m familiar with that name. What do your parents do for a living, sport?” His dad asked, obviously trying to decide where Jason ranked among Gotham’s elite. 

Jason’s teeth flashed in a smile that was slightly too menacing to be polite, and Tim was suddenly petrified that he was about to proudly confess to his Crime Alley background. 

“They own a wellness company,” Tim blurted. “They travel a lot; you probably wouldn’t have heard of them.”

“Tim has told me a lot about you both,” Jason said with a casual air that set Tim on edge. “As distinguished archeologists, surely you’ve read Orientalism by Edward Said. Tell me, how do you contend with the ethics of removing ancient cultural artifacts from developing nations and keeping them as part of a private collection in the United States?”

His mom’s expression turned glacial, and a vein began pulsing in his dad’s forehead that meant certain trouble. 

“Now see here —” his dad began. 

“Mom? Dad?” Tim interjected desperately. “Can we go home? I don’t feel good.”

It wasn’t a lie — black spots began to dance in his vision, and he clung to the back of a nearby chair for support. 

“Nonsense, Tim, you can wait another hour until the gala ends,” his mom said snippily. “Now stand up straight; Bruce Wayne is coming over!”

No. 

Dread and defeat washed over him like the ceaseless currents of the Gotham Harbor. After all his efforts to keep everyone apart, he was going to fail after all. 

Jason shot him an alarmed, questioning look, but Tim responded with a little shake of his head. If they were unsuccessful at keeping Bruce and his parents apart, Tim’s only back-up plans were for him to play sick or for Jason to pull the fire alarm. Tim had tried option one and failed, and option two would be too obvious at this point. Plus, it would take too long — Bruce was walking over now. 

The jig was well and truly up. 

“Ah, Jack, Janet,” Bruce said, strolling up to the group with Dick by his side — was his voice cooler than usual as he addressed Tim’s parents?

Tim felt like he was racing to get through a locked door, but each key he tried didn’t fit the lock — there had to be a way out of this situation; he just had to find the right key on the ring. 

“Evening, Brucie,” his dad boomed. “Mighty fine gala you put together.”

“I’m glad you could attend, since I know your travel schedule often takes you out of the country.”

Uh-oh — there was a definite chill in those words. His parents had never actually received Bruce’s pointed email a few months ago, however, so they couldn’t read between the lines. 

“Yes, well, all part of the business — I’m sure you understand,” his mom said, and he could hear a hint of puzzlement beneath her practiced laugh. 

“I know the boys have missed —”

“Um,” Tim interrupted. He didn’t care how rude it was; he could not let Bruce finish that sentence.

“Yes, Tim?” Bruce asked, his expression going from flinty to warm in an instant. 

Everyone was looking at Tim now. Tim could barely see them, though, through his rapidly tunneling vision. 

God, there had to be some diversion he could pull off! But what?

“I…” Tim stammered. “I…”

In the end, his body made the decision for him, and he did succeed in derailing the conversation — namely, by crumpling to the floor and passing out in the middle of the ballroom. 

Chapter Text

The next few hours passed in a blur of sensations and vague impressions. 

A pair of hands caught him at the last second before his head hit the ground, and then he was lifted into someone’s arms. Whoever the person was, they were strong, because they picked Tim up as though he weighed nothing. There were concerned voices jabbering all around him and it hurt his head, so he allowed himself to sink back into blissful unconsciousness. 

***

The next time he became semi-aware, he was being deposited onto some kind of medical table. The paper crinkled under him, and the world’s heaviest blanket was placed over his torso. 

He shifted uncomfortably, coughing a few times, feeling it rattle deep in his sternum. 

“Easy,” a voice soothed. “Dr. Thomkins just needs to get a quick chest x-ray, okay, chum?”

None of those words made sense to Tim, who continued floating. The next thing he knew, a hand was carding through his hair. His inner detective automatically cataloged the sensation. It was a big hand, probably belonging to an adult male. Tim tried to lift his eyelids, but they felt as though they’d been glued shut. He could smell cologne, and it was a familiar scent, but why?

“Dad?” He questioned. Would his dad really comfort him like this? But who else could it be? Although…his dad was supposed to be on a plane. A plane to…Brazil? Belize? Bolivia?

The hand in his hair paused, and Tim let out an embarrassing sound of misery before it resumed again. 

“It’s Bruce, Tim.”

Oh — Bruce! There was something about Jason that he was supposed to tell Bruce…or was it something he wasn’t supposed to tell Bruce?

“I can’t tell you,” he explained sadly to Bruce. “The plane is going to Bolivia.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” Bruce replied. “You’re sick, but we’ll have you feeling better in no time. Just rest.”

Rest sounded like a good idea, so that’s what Tim did. 

***

Tim dreamed that he was on a boat, and he was rocking gently on the waves. 

“Right this way, Master Bruce; I’ve prepared a room…”

The voice confused Tim — what was Alfred doing in the ocean?

“Is he going to be okay?” That was Jason’s voice, and he sounded stressed. 

Tim managed to crack one of his eyelids open, and he realized that he wasn’t on a boat at all — Bruce was carrying him up a set of stairs in Wayne Manor. Tim didn’t even have the energy to feel humiliated, which was saying something about his physical state.

Jason’s pale face came into view nearby. Tim attempted to smile at him reassuringly, but his body wasn’t quite responding to his commands. 

“That was scary, B,” Dick added, appearing over Jason’s shoulder, his expression somber. 

“...fine once the medicine starts kicking in,” Bruce assured them. 

Bruce laid him down on a bed that felt like a cloud, and Alfred drew cool, refreshing sheets over him. 

Tim wanted to make sure Jason was okay, but he was out like a light. 

***

The next time Tim woke up, his eyelids finally worked properly. The bright sunlight hurt his eyes, and he held up a hand to block it out. 

A moment later, the blinds were drawn, and the room grew blissfully dim. 

“Sorry about that. How are you feeling?” Bruce asked, taking a seat in a chair next to the bed. 

Tim opened his mouth to speak, but he ended up lapsing into a coughing fit instead. 

“Take your time — you have an impressive case of walking pneumonia,” Bruce informed him, handing him a glass of water. 

Tim felt his cheeks warm as blurry memories of the previous night filled his head — ugh, he’d swooned and fainted like a little baby in front of all of Gotham high society! His parents were probably furious with him. And he was pretty sure Bruce had left his own gala to take Tim to a doctor or something.

“Sorry,” Tim rasped. 

Bruce frowned. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Tim highly doubted that. He sipped his water, enjoying the way it soothed his raw throat and pondering how to ask his next question. He vaguely recalled seeing Jason at some point last night, but he had no memories of his parents after the gala. Did that mean that Jason’s secrets were still safe?

“My parents,” Tim ventured. “Did they…are they here?”

Bruce must have misread his uncertainty as sadness, because a muscle in his jaw clenched before he responded. 

“They chose to get on their flight to Bolivia.”

Oh boy — Bruce was definitely pissed off. At his parents for abandoning Tim and sticking Bruce with the responsibility of getting him medical care? Or at Tim for being such an inconvenience?

“I feel much better now,” Tim announced, throwing the blankets off his legs and trying not to wince at how cold the ambient room air felt. “Thanks for letting me stay last night, but I can go home now.”

Unfortunately, this just made Bruce frown even more. “Easy, Tim — you’re still quite sick. I tried to call your house to speak with your housekeeper, but I didn’t get a response. Jason informed me that Mrs. Mac is off for a few days due to the holiday. I can’t in good conscience let you go home in this condition with no adults there.”

“I can take care of myself,” Tim assured Bruce. “And Jason can help until Mrs. Mac is back. He won’t mind.”

Bruce’s expression was unreadable. “I believe you, but you two shouldn’t have to manage this on your own.”

That didn’t really make sense to Tim — he’d taken care of himself loads of times when he was sick. His nannies had covered the basics, like bringing him soup and water, but they’d mostly stayed far away when he was under the weather, periodically checking that he was still alive and then retreating from his bedroom. He couldn’t blame them — now that he was older, he understood that his parents hadn’t provided them with health insurance, so they couldn’t afford to get sick. 

Bruce released a small sigh. “It would make Alfred, Dick, and I feel much better to have you close by, at least until Mrs. Mac is back. Is that okay with you?”

Tim suddenly remembered what day it was.

“It’s Thanksgiving,” he gasped. He was totally ruining the Waynes’ holiday!

Once again, Bruce seemed to misinterpret the cause of his emotions. 

“Not to worry — you can’t enjoy Thanksgiving food today, but Alfred promised to prepare a similar meal around Christmastime when you’re feeling better. For now, your job is just to rest as much as possible.”

There was a slight sound of shuffling feet just outside the door. Bruce’s mouth quirked up. “I think there are some people who want to see you, if you feel up for visitors.”

Tim nodded eagerly. 

“Okay, boys — you can come in, but no crowding Tim,” Bruce called. Jason and Dick burst in half a second later. 

“Timbit!” Dick exclaimed. 

Jason disregarded Bruce’s warning, hurrying forward in full mother hen mode. Within seconds, he’d plumped Tim’s pillows, adjusted his blankets, and felt Tim’s forehead with the back of one hand. 

“I’m fine, Jay,” Tim said, shrugging away from the cough drop that Jason was trying to shove in his mouth. 

“Don’t scare me like that again,” Jason snapped, but he took a seat on the edge of Tim’s bed, looking ready to settle in for the long run.

“I’m going to see if Alfred has some broth you can eat, and then it’ll be time for another dose of medicine,” Bruce informed them. 

Tim opened his mouth to protest — Bruce had done far too much for him already — but he was already gone. 

The rest of the day passed in a similar fashion — Tim was waited on hand and foot by the occupants of Wayne Manor. The broth revived his strength a little, and when he professed a desire for a shower to rinse off the sweat and grime of the fever, Jason hovered anxiously outside the bathroom door, calling out every two minutes to make sure Tim hadn’t fainted. Dick gave him a piggyback ride back to bed after he’d changed into clean clothes — even the brief excursion to the bathroom had sapped his strength. Alfred brought tea and crackers, and he sat next to Tim’s bed with a knitting project while Tim napped.

When he woke up, Bruce was there, and he was dressed in a business suit. “Just came to see how you were faring — I need to go to a meeting with my lawyers, but I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

“A meeting on Thanksgiving?” Tim remarked with alarm, pushing himself into a seated position. Even his parents weren’t that masochistic. 

“Afraid so — rest assured that we’ll be brief, and these lawyers are compensated very handsomely for their time,” Bruce said, patting Tim on the knee before departing.  

“Is everything okay?” Tim asked Dick as he took Bruce’s vacated chair. “Must be urgent if they’re meeting on a holiday.”

Dick’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s an important matter, but it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

Tim wondered if it was Batman-related…did Batman ever need lawyers? He did beat up a lot of people, and his vigilante acts operated in a very gray area of the law, which might incur him significant liability. Tim should probably research vigilante laws if he wanted to support Batman with photo evidence moving forward...

“Jay is helping Alfred with dinner. If you’re feeling up for it, he gave me this.” Dick interrupted his meandering thoughts, holding up Jason’s well-worn copy of The Fellowship of the Ring, which had a bookmark stuck in the chapter they’d been reading. 

Tim nodded, and he drifted off yet again to the soothing sound of Dick’s voice. Sleeping all the time was annoying, and he still felt tired when he woke up an undetermined amount of time later. It was dark out and he was alone, the only light in the room coming from a fire in the hearth. He wondered if Bruce had returned from his meeting yet. Maybe they were all enjoying Thanksgiving dinner downstairs together. 

It was stupid, but tears burned in his eyes as he shifted to get comfortable. He’d already taken up so much of their time and energy today, and they deserved to celebrate the holiday without him impeding. 

It just…hurt to be so alone. He felt like an inconvenience and a burden no matter where he went. His own parents hadn’t wanted to spend Thanksgiving with him even when he was healthy; why would his neighbors want to do so when Tim was sick?

“Shh, he might still be sleeping,” he heard Dick whisper in the hallway. 

Tim hastily wiped at his eyes as the door cracked open. 

“Baby Bird?” Dick asked softly. “You awake?”

“Yep,” he rasped, hoping his watery eyes could be attributed to a recent coughing fit. 

“Great! We didn’t want to bother you if you were sleeping. Since you couldn’t come to Thanksgiving, we brought Thanksgiving to you.”

Dick pushed the door fully open, and then he entered with a tray, flicking on a lamp that emitted a soft, warm glow. Jason, Alfred, and Bruce were right behind him, all carrying plates and cups. Bruce had a folding table tucked under one arm that he positioned close to the bed. 

Tim watched, floored, as everyone pulled chairs up to the table. The tray placed in front of him held only broth, crackers, juice, and the next dose of his medication, but they were including him in the meal as much as possible. 

“Can you pass the salt, B?” Jason asked. Tim didn’t think he’d ever heard Jason call Bruce that before. 

Bruce handed the salt over, and then he turned to Tim with that gaze that missed nothing. 

“Alright, chum?” He asked. 

Tim just nodded, not trusting his voice. As silverware clinked and the room filled with chatter around him, he was reminded of the old adage, Don’t meet your heroes. 

He found himself thoroughly agreeing with the sentiment — not because his heroes had let him down, but because he’d been left wanting more from them than he could ever have.

***

Tim’s condition improved steadily over the next few days. 

He’d hoped to go home Friday so that he wasn’t taking up anyone’s time and attention for longer than necessary, but he could still barely manage more than a few trips to the bathroom that day without feeling exhausted and winded. He was more alert, however, and Jason and Dick entertained him with a ceaseless stream of books, board games, and movies. 

It was as if the passage of Thanksgiving had triggered the official arrival of winter, and the weather turned gloomy and bitterly cold. Fortunately, nobody seemed to mind being indoors under the circumstances. 

Bruce was still busy with whatever crisis had involved his lawyers, so Tim only saw him briefly each day. His feelings over that were complicated — he’d derived great comfort from Bruce’s steady presence during the worst of his illness, but he also knew he couldn’t come to rely on it. 

By Saturday afternoon, he felt strong enough to take a short walk over to the guest room next door where Jason was staying. Jason excitedly pointed out his view of Alfred’s garden, informing him that Alfred was going to teach him to grow all sorts of vegetables and herbs this summer. The other window held a sweeping vista of Bristol’s distant hills — it reminded Tim of some of the views that Jason had adored in the Pride and Prejudice movie. (He’d forced Tim to watch the three-hour adaptation a few weeks prior, and Tim honestly hadn’t understood 90% of the dialogue or events. He’d spent most of the movie waiting for something interesting to happen, like a murder or a kidnapping, but no such plot ever materialized. The cinematography had moved Jason to tears, however, and he’d threatened promised to show Tim the six-part mini-series next.)

Tim also couldn’t help but notice an empty bookcase in one corner of Jason’s guest room, as though the room was just waiting for a permanent occupant to come and fill the shelves. 

He paid more attention to his own room when he returned to it that night. It was a lovely space, if a bit impersonal, as guest rooms tended to be. He appreciated the fact that it faced the west — he was a night owl even when sick, and he didn’t like the sunrise beaming directly into his room in the mornings. He could see his beloved Gotham skyline from one window, and a towering oak stood guard next to the other window. He imagined that when the tree had leaves during the warmer months, it would feel like sleeping in a tree house. 

He felt well enough to sit on the bay window, and he settled there quietly for a while, taking in the noises of the house around him. He could hear Dick playing music in his room, as well as periodic conversations between Dick and Jason as they called to one another from across the hall. A fire crackled in his hearth, shielding him from the cold seeping in through the windowpanes. He imagined Alfred in the kitchen below, perhaps cleaning up from dinner and brewing himself a final cup of tea for the evening. 

It was peaceful to simply sit and exist in the manor. All of his previous visits here had been for the express purpose of hanging out with Dick and Jason, and there was something different about passing the time here without a particular objective or motive. 

He was just beginning to nod off where he sat when his phone buzzed with a notification. To his surprise, he had a new email from his parents. 

To: [email protected]  

Cc: [email protected]

From: janetdrake@drakeindustries.com   

Subject: Checking in

Received: 9:11 p.m.

Timothy,

Apologies for not writing sooner; your father and I are just getting settled in here in Bolivia. It’s lovely this time of year since we’re in the Southern Hemisphere.

Your father and I hope that you are feeling better, and we’re sorry we had to leave so suddenly when you were under the weather. However, our contact here assures us he can get us over the border to Peru and back without detection for a visit to Machu Picchu, where we have a lead on some rare and priceless artifacts. We couldn’t pass this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity up. I’m sure you understand, and it seemed like you were in very good hands with Brucie and your friends.

While you are convalescing with Brucie, do take note of anything unusual happening in the house and report back. You don’t have to feel guilty for sharing intel about your friend’s family — you’re not being deceptive; you’re simply engaging in smart business practices. 

However, be certain not to linger at Brucie’s for too long — it was unfortunate that we had to leave the gala as quickly as we did, and I wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea about how much we love and care for you. On that note, I’ve upped Mrs. Mac’s hours, and she’ll now be present at the house from Mondays-Fridays from 4-7 p.m. 

We hope to see you soon for Christmas — we’ll find out if we got the computer contract in a few weeks. Looking forward to celebrating our victory the next time we’re in Bristol!

-Your mother

Janet Drake

The contents of this email may contain confidential and/or privileged information and may be legally protected from disclosure. 

Tim let out an irritated huff at his mom’s continued attempts to get him to spy on Bruce. The fact that she’d upped Mrs. Mac’s hours was interesting, too — she must be aware that it looked bad, the way they’d left Tim after he’d fainted.

He typed up a brief response and sent it before he could overthink it too much. 

To: [email protected]  

Cc: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Checking in

Sent: 9:20 p.m.

Dear Mom,

Thanks for your email. I’m feeling much better and should be able to go home tomorrow. 

Mr. Wayne has been taking good care of me. I’ve been too sick to get out of bed, though, so I haven’t noticed anything strange. They’ve been very kind to me. 

I hope you both have a safe and enjoyable trip. 

Love, 

Tim

It wasn’t his best writing — he’d learned that his mom was way more inclined to reply to his emails if he expressed his eagerness over their travels, but he was still recovering from a major illness, and he couldn’t muster any fake enthusiasm about them plundering a UNESCO world heritage site right now. 

He tossed his phone next to him with a sigh. A moment later, he was startled by a light knock on the door. 

“Come in!” He called. 

Bruce poked his head inside, smiling when he saw Tim out of bed.

“Good to see you up and about. How are you feeling?” 

“Much better, thanks! I can definitely go home tomorrow,” Tim chirped confidently. 

“I wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”

Oh, no. Warning klaxons began blaring in Tim’s head. It was bad enough when random nannies started prying into his relationship with his parents — this was Batman scrutinizing Tim’s life. 

“I —”

“How about we discuss it over a game of checkers?” Bruce smiled reassuringly, holding the checkers box out as an offering, using his Batman-talking-to-kids voice to set him at ease. Tim didn’t appreciate it being applied against him. 

He really didn’t appreciate the fact that it kind of worked. 

“Okay,” he agreed warily. He watched silently as Bruce dragged over a side table and a chair so that he was sitting across from Tim. 

Tim chose the black pieces and quickly made his first move, hoping by some miracle that Bruce was going to forget the topic at hand. He did grant Tim a reprieve for a few minutes before speaking again, but by that point, Tim was on the edge of his seat, wondering if he was about to be grilled about his parents’ travel schedule, Jason’s apparently non-existent parents, and/or the fact that his mom and dad had left their sick eight-year-old son with a neighbor they barely knew. 

Instead — “I was wondering if you and Jason might like to stay here until your parents get back from their trip,” Bruce offered lightly, moving one of his pieces closer to Tim’s. 

Tim tried not to deflate with relief. Maybe Bruce really had bought their cover story after all. 

“Thank you,” he demurred politely, “but Mrs. Mac will be back from her vacation tomorrow, and she does a great job taking care of us.”

“I’m glad you like her so much. I certainly understand, given how influential Alfred was in my life when I was your age.” 

“Yeah, it’s nice to have someone like her around,” Tim agreed with a smile, but the words felt vacant when he compared his brief interactions with Mrs. Mac to Alfred’s decades-long dedication to the Wayne family. 

“Do you know when your mom and dad are going to be back from Bolivia, chum?” Bruce asked, and Tim swore he could see a hint of Batman lurking in the man’s eyes, despite his relaxed, casual demeanor as he moved one of his checkers.

Tim shrugged, jumping one of Bruce’s pieces. “Not exactly, but they said they’d be home for the holidays, so in a few weeks.”

He didn’t mention that the odds of them keeping their word were extremely slim, unless their computer contract required them to be stateside for awhile. 

“A few weeks? Are you sure you won't reconsider staying with us?” 

Bruce’s tone was unmistakably earnest, and Tim found himself glancing around the room. It was a tempting offer — too tempting. He could imagine staying here for the next few weeks, falling into this life and deluding himself into the fantasy that he actually belonged here. 

“I prefer to be at home, but Jason could stay if he wants,” Tim suggested. It would actually be an incredible strike of luck if Jason stayed — at that point, adoption was just a hop, skip, and a jump away. 

Bruce’s mouth curved upward. “I doubt you’ll have any luck convincing him to separate from you — he’s pretty protective of you. I could barely get him to leave your side so I could take you to the doctor the other night.”

They lapsed into a thoughtful silence for a few minutes. Tim wasn’t doing very well at the game. He wondered if it was selfish of him to go back to Drake Manor knowing that Jason would follow. 

“Tim,” Bruce said, picking up one of his pieces and surveying the board with a contemplative look. “If Mrs. Mac is on vacation and your parents had booked a trip to Bolivia, who was going to watch you and Jason over the holiday weekend?”

Tim’s guard had obviously slipped at some point in the conversation, because he found himself fighting not to visibly stiffen in his seat. 

“They were supposed to bring Jason and I along,” he blurted, since it was the first thing he could think of. “Obviously, that got canceled when I got sick.”

Bruce let out a thoughtful hum. His attention appeared to be completely focused on the checkerboard, but Tim knew better than to trust appearances where Batman was concerned. He felt pinned in place in his seat, as though one twitch of his face or nervous movement of his hands could topple the whole house of cards he’d painstakingly built over the past few months. 

“I don’t recall you or Jason ever mentioning an upcoming trip to Bolivia,” Bruce commented, finally placing his piece in an open square and leaning back in his seat to look at Tim with that gaze that made him feel about two inches tall.

“It was a surprise,” Tim invented quickly. “They had just told us about it right before the gala. Y’know, like those parents who surprise their kids with a trip to Disney?”

The best lies were based in truth, so he added: “My parents like to do that sometimes. Surprise trips, I mean.”

Of course, Tim was never included in his parents’ surprise trips, but that wasn’t relevant to the conversation at hand. 

“I see,” Bruce remarked. “Well, we’ll always be here if you boys change your minds.”

There was something oddly imploring about Bruce’s expression that Tim couldn’t make sense of — like he really wanted them to stay but was trying to hold himself back from expressing it too intensely. 

But in spite of his reservations about whether it was the right move for Jason, Tim’s mind was already made up: he needed to get out of here and rebuild his walls before he forgot how to do so. 

***

Tim packed up his few possessions and bade his guest room goodbye the next morning, shutting the door behind him with a wistful feeling. It was silly and dramatic, being upset over a guest room that he’d stayed in for a few days.  

“He lives!” Dick cheered when Tim appeared in the kitchen on his own two feet. “Aw, why do you have your stuff? You’re not leaving already, are you?”

“Afraid so,” Tim confirmed, taking a seat at the table, which was piled high with breakfast foods that he finally felt well enough to eat. “You all have been amazing, but Mrs. Mac’s vacation is over, and I kind of just want to sleep in my own bed tonight.”

Dick nodded understandingly, like the wonderful person that he was. “I get that — I hate being away from home when I’m sick, too.”

“B and I can give you a ride,” Jason offered.

Tim blinked, trying to make sense of the statement. “Where are you two going?”

“Oh, we’re heading to the city,” he explained off-handedly. “We have a meeting with Maggie to start planning for the new food pantry. Remember Zoe? She’s going to be there, too!”

Tim froze in the middle of spreading jam on a piece of toast.

Jason was…Jason was going somewhere with Bruce? Alone? Voluntarily? 

It was the signal he had been waiting for since the beginning. 

He felt like he was in a daze through the rest of breakfast, to the point where Alfred expressed concern over whether he was actually well enough to go home. 

As a result, he forced himself to clear his plate, and he allowed Alfred to take his temperature for further proof of his clean bill of health, but he was distracted the entire time. 

As soon as Jason and Bruce dropped him off at Drake Manor, loaded up with medicine and leftover food, Tim made his way to his bedroom (slower than he would’ve liked; he was still getting winded and coughing every time he encountered stairs). He pulled out his notebook and stared at his list. 

He could cross not one but two items off. The evidence was clear as day: Jason trusted Bruce. He’d called him ‘B.’ He’d slept in his own room at Wayne Manor for the past few nights with no apparent trouble. He’d casually mentioned that the two of them were going to do something together, as though it hadn’t even crossed his mind to be worried about spending time alone with Bruce. 

And Bruce’s interest in adopting Jason was basically 100% confirmed — the man had thrown a gala and donated a million dollars to a charitable effort that Jason was passionate about, for crying out loud! Plus, he’d practically begged Tim to let Jason stay at Wayne Manor. 

1. Find ways to get Jason to spend time alone with Dick, Bruce, and Alfred
2. Get Jason to realize Bruce’s nighttime activities
3. Get Jason to trust Bruce
4. Confirm Jason’s interest in being adopted by Bruce
5. Confirm Bruce’s interest in adopting Jason
6. Once interest is 100% confirmed, tell Bruce that Jason is an orphan
7. Adoption!!!

There were only two items left, and one of them — the actual adoption part — wasn’t an item that Tim was responsible for.

So now…now all that was left for Tim to do was to tell Bruce the truth about Jason.

Chapter Text

Despite the fact that Tim felt confident about his plan and the steps he’d taken thus far, he decided to proceed with caution as he approached step 6 — telling Bruce that Jason was an orphan. There was definitely no putting this cat back into the bag once he let it out, and he couldn’t afford any errors at such a critical juncture. 

Selfishly, he also wanted to prolong Jason’s departure so he wouldn’t be alone at Drake Manor. But there were other reasons why he was holding off — namely, the fact that Bruce was apparently embroiled in some kind of Batman- or work-related crisis that had forced him to meet with his lawyers repeatedly over a holiday weekend. 

Tim’s parents hated to be asked things when they were busy and stressed. Well, they hated to be asked things all the time, but especially when they were preoccupied with work. He knew that Bruce didn’t have his mom and dad’s temperament, but he did want Bruce to be in a positive headspace when deciding whether to adopt an entire human being. 

So Tim decided to bide his time and look for the right opportunity. However, following sound project management principles, he set a reasonable timeframe for himself: it was December 1st, and he would tell Bruce by December 15th. That gave Tim two weeks to find the ideal moment to speak to Bruce, and if everything went according to plan, Jason could spend Christmas and New Year’s with his new family. Plus, this schedule made certain that Jason was out of Drake Manor before his parents returned for Christmas (if they were actually going to return). He didn’t think he and Jason would survive another one of their visits unscathed given how messy the last two had been. 

In the meantime, to make the transition easier for himself and Jason, he’d returned to the painful process of removing himself from the Waynes’ lives. 

It was easy enough to do for the first few days after they returned to Drake Manor. Tim was able to feign that he still felt under the weather when Jason invited him to Wayne Manor for one of his and Alfred’s Wednesday dinners. Mrs. Mac’s increased presence helped, too — it ensured that Jason spent more time hanging around Wayne Manor in the evenings, while Tim was at home with the housekeeper. 

He took a guilty sense of pleasure in the daily commutes to school, where he got to spend brief pockets of time with Alfred and Dick. That was all he allowed himself, however — he narrowly evaded a stray Thursday dinner invitation at Wayne Manor by inventing a history test that he needed to study for. Dick and Jason both offered to quiz him after dinner, but he claimed that he studied best on his own. 

Jason gave him an assessing look but said nothing. 

On Saturday, Dick invited them over for a movie night, which Tim politely turned down. 

“Okay, ‘fess up,” Jason demanded, crossing his arms over his chest when he saw Tim’s text message in their group chat. 

“What do you mean?” Tim asked, acting ignorant. He was editing some photos on his laptop, and he stared at the screen so he wouldn’t have to look at Jason. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Jason’s glare intensified. “Why don’t you want to go to movie night? You’re acting weird.”

Tim shrugged innocently. “Like I told Dick, I’m kind of tired today — plus, I have a lot of homework.”

Jason stuck one of his hands out to feel Tim’s forehead. “Are you feeling sick again?”

Tim wiggled away. “What? No — listen, it’s not a big deal. I just want a day to relax.”

Jason bit his lip, then sat on the bed next to Tim. “Look, Timbit, is something bothering you? You seem…sad lately.”

Tim blinked, caught off guard. He thought he’d done a good job of keeping himself together. “I’m fine, Jay,” he protested automatically.

Jason didn’t appear convinced. “Did Bruce or Dick do something to upset you? Because I’ll kick their asses if they did — Batman or no Batman!”

“No!” Tim exclaimed. “They’ve been amazing to me.” 

That’s the problem, he didn’t add.

“Then why don’t you want to go over there?” Jason asked, frowning as though Tim was a math problem that didn’t add up. 

Tim wanted to confide in his best friend, but how could he explain the torrent of conflicting emotions swirling inside of him without spilling the details of his secret plan? He was so close to the finish line; he couldn’t quit now. 

“I guess I’m just a little embarrassed about fainting at the gala and needing everyone to take care of me while I was sick,” Tim shrugged — it was true, after all. 

“Aw, is that all? You don’t have to worry about that, Timmy!” Jason let out a relieved laugh, draping his arm around Tim’s shoulders. “We liked taking care of you — plus, you did the same thing for me when I first moved in here, remember?”

Tim smiled at the memory — so much had changed since that eventful night. “Yeah, back when you thought I was going to kidnap you.”

“Hey, the Waynes might actually kidnap you if you keep dodging invitations. I’ll give you a free pass tonight, but give it some thought.”

Seeming appeased, Jason ruffled his hair before departing for Wayne Manor. As soon as he was gone, Tim exited his photo editing software — he was pretty sure he’d finally figured out how to hack the GCPD database without detection. He’d stopped Scarecrow’s plan to dose the entire tri-state area with fear toxin, but there was plenty more work to do, and he had all the free time in the world to do it. 

Stretching his neck and cracking his knuckles, Tim set to work.  

***

Unfortunately, the Wayne family didn’t seem to have gotten the memo that Tim wanted to be left alone. 

The first strange occurrence happened the following week. It was Tuesday, and there was a rare spot of sunny weather that made the December temperatures feel somewhat tolerable. After being sick and then stuck indoors due to poor weather, Tim was feeling cooped up. Once Alfred dropped him off at Drake Manor after school, Tim grabbed his skateboard, left a note for Mrs. Mac, texted Jason to let him know where he’d be, and headed over to the Bristol skate park. 

It had been a long time since he’d gone skating — it used to be one of his favorite activities before his life became unbelievably complicated. He wasn’t particularly talented, but he enjoyed mastering tricks, along with the thrill of dropping into the bowl. 

The Bristol park system was so well-funded that they could afford to keep the lights on in the early winter evenings, and it was cold enough that he had the park to himself. He quickly lost himself in the familiar motions of skating, his mind blissfully clear of all the lies and worries he was struggling to manage. He felt a little lighter when he finally sat down at the edge of the bowl for a rest, drinking some of the water he’d brought with him. 

He almost choked when a familiar voice behind him called out in greeting. 

“Mind if I join you?”

Tim turned around, surprised to see Dick hopping over the fence to the skate park.

“Dick? How’d you know I was here?” He asked quizzically. It seemed awfully convenient that Dick had found him here given that this was the first time he’d visited the skatepark in months. For a moment, he wondered if Jason had tipped off Dick as to Tim’s whereabouts, but he wasn’t sure why Jason would bother doing that. 

Dick dropped down to sit next to Tim. He was dressed in workout clothes and carrying his gym bag. “Alfred and I were driving by on the way back from my gymnastics class, and I recognized you. Here, want some cocoa? Alfred packed me a thermos.”

It also seemed a little odd that Alfred would’ve gone to the trouble of doing so just for a ride home from gymnastics class, but Tim was never one to turn down Alfred’s hot cocoa. 

“That was a cool trick you did on the rail!” Dick remarked as Tim sipped from the thermos. 

He ducked his head self-consciously. “Oh, thanks — that one took me like three months to learn. I’m not very good or anything.”

“Well, I think you looked really awesome! But as long as you enjoy doing it, it doesn’t matter if you’re good or not — that’s something B always told me about gymnastics.”

Tim’s dad had given him the exact opposite advice — that doing something you’re bad at in front of others only reveals your weaknesses, which will then be used against you. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Dick said lightly, bumping his shoulder against Tim’s. “Everything okay?”

“Yep,” Tim replied, feeling like a broken record. 

Fortunately, Dick didn’t press, unlike Bruce or Jason, who both had a tendency to make him feel like he was being interrogated. 

“Cool. Well, can I convince you to teach me some skateboarding tricks?”

Tim heaved a small sigh of relief. “You bet.”

So they spent the next hour or so skating. Dick picked it up quickly, as Tim knew he would, and soon Tim was having visions of Robin flying through the streets of Gotham on a bat-themed skateboard. 

Dick cheered like a proud mother when Tim, after several attempts, finally nailed a 180 ollie. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s a perfect 10 across the board from all our judges!” He exclaimed in a fake announcer voice. “And the crowd goes wild!” 

He grabbed Tim, lifted him onto his shoulders before Tim could protest, and ran a victory lap around the bowl, somehow still filled with excess energy after his gymnastics class. 

Tim broke into a grin in spite of himself as he clung to Dick’s neck. Even if his relationship with the Waynes ended once Jason joined their family, at least he’d be able to say that he’d once been friends with Robin. 

“That was fun,” Dick puffed, slightly out of breath when he set Tim down. He made a face. “But I better get home — homework.”

They walked down the road toward their respective houses in companionable silence. 

“I’m glad I spotted you at the skatepark,” Dick said as they approached his turnoff at Wayne Manor. “I’ve missed seeing you this past week — I guess I got used to having you at the Manor 24/7 over Thanksgiving break.”

Tim offered a wooden smile. “Yeah, I’ve been pretty busy lately. But I miss you guys, too.”

“Well, that’s perfect, then — Alfred actually wanted me to invite you over tomorrow! He’s doing a knitting project for charity, and he bit off more than he can chew. He really needs a knitting assistant, and I definitely don’t have the patience for it.” Dick smiled self-deprecatingly and did a cartwheel to illustrate his point. 

“Oh, uh…” Tim began, fishing around for a realistic excuse. It seemed that he’d walked right into a trap.

“Please, Timbit? It would make Alfred really happy — I know he’s stressed about finishing everything in time.”

Damn Dick and his puppy dog eyes — and damn Alfred and his kindness! It felt like a crime to reject an invitation from the grandfatherly man.

“Um…we’ll see. I suppose I could spare an hour,” Tim hedged. 

“Perfect!” Dick enthused. “You can just let Mrs. Mac know that you’ll come home with us after school tomorrow.”

Ugh — how did he get roped into this stuff? Dick had a way of kindly bludgeoning him into agreeing, and he really needed to grow a spine. But…he did need to find a time to speak to Bruce, and maybe he’d be available tomorrow. So on those grounds, he could allow himself to visit Wayne Manor. It was for the sake of his mission, after all.

“Y’know, Timmy,” Dick remarked sincerely, opening the gate that led to the side door of Wayne Manor. “I’m really glad Jason crashed his bike into our pond. I always wanted to be a big brother.”

A cheerful wave accompanied this bombshell, and then Dick disappeared onto his property, leaving Tim standing on the road, agape. 

He didn’t mean both of you, dummy, he chastised himself as he hurried home. He specifically mentioned Jason, not you!

Plus, he’ll forget all about you once Jason’s his proper brother.

Tim ducked his head and strode up the hill toward his house, telling himself that his eyes were just burning because of the cold winter wind.

***

Bruce was not available, so Tim found himself enrolled in knitting lessons the next day.

“You create two loops, like so, and then you pass one loop through the other. It’s called a slipknot,” Alfred explained, demonstrating with his yarn. 

“Oh, I love that band!” Dick remarked before lapsing into a horrible screeching sound that was probably supposed to be heavy metal music, accompanied by vigorous air guitar. 

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Master Dick, if you are not here for a knitting lesson yourself, might I suggest that you get started on your homework?”

“Alright, I know when I’m not wanted,” Dick sighed dramatically, grabbing his backpack and an apple out of the fruit bowl on the counter. He winked at Tim on his way out of the kitchen. 

Alfred gave Tim a wry look, as though they were both in on an inside joke. “As I was saying, this is called a slipknot, and it’s the first step to the process of casting on your stitches.”

Tim felt a little bit like he had two left feet for hands as he wrangled his lopsided slipknot onto one needle, but Alfred was a patient teacher. He was knitting winter hats and scarves for the homeless shelters in Gotham, and he assured Tim that he’d be knitting his first scarf in the blink of an eye.

It took several blinks, actually, but Tim got there eventually. He ripped out his first three attempts at garter stitch, which came out with extra stitches, odd lumps, and mysterious holes. Knitting, he discovered, was a bit like skateboarding — it brought his focus to the present and made all his other problems fade into the background. 

He worked on the beginnings of his scarf with a dogged, single-minded determination, enjoying how time slipped away around him. Alfred was content to work quietly on his own project, and their cozy corner of the kitchen was filled with the sound of clicking needles and the quiet strains of classical music emanating from the radio. The sun had begun to set outside, and a Tiffany lamp glowed warmly in the corner.

“You may want to take a break and rest your hands to prevent strain, Master Tim,” Alfred suggested after a while.

Tim blinked, feeling like he was emerging from a reverie. Now that Alfred mentioned it, he supposed he wasn’t accustomed to using his hand and finger muscles in this way, and they were starting to feel a little tired. 

He cracked his knuckles and stretched his hands, content to watch Alfred work for a few minutes. His stitches were tiny and perfectly even, unlike Tim’s, which were still somewhat bumpy and inconsistent. 

Behind Alfred there was a bulletin board where Alfred kept a calendar of Dick and Bruce’s activities. There were notes like “D - dentist” and “B - Gotham Hospital Winter Ball.” It looked like Alfred was planning to take a week off in January for vacation. Tim thought it was nice — he never had any knowledge or foresight of his parents’ comings and goings beyond what they remembered to tell him. 

He noticed that a few new things had been pinned to the bulletin board since he’d looked at it last. Amidst the gala invitations and Gotham Academy PTA fliers, he saw the picture that he’d taken of Dick and Jason throwing leaves at each other in the fall. Alfred had actually followed through on his intention to print it out, and now Tim’s work was on display! 

Perhaps even more surprising was the photo next to it — Alfred had also printed out a selfie that Dick had taken at the Gotham Knights game before Mr. Freeze’s attack. Dick was holding the phone and grinning, Jason was sticking his tongue out, and there was a small smile on Bruce’s face in the back of the group. And Tim was in the middle of it all, his own expression slightly hesitant, as though he wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to lean out of the picture or not. 

There were a few other photos as well — including one of a much-younger Bruce and Alfred, and a school picture of Dick around Tim’s age with one of his front teeth missing. Thomas and Martha Wayne beamed on their wedding day in a slightly yellowed photo in the upper corner of the board.

Seeing where his eyes had strayed, Alfred smiled, a hint of melancholy in his expression, as though he was seeing Thomas and Martha standing in front of him in his mind’s eye. “They were good people. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about how proud they would be of Master Bruce.”

Tim studied Bruce’s parents — young and full of hope for the future in the photograph, unaware of the tragedy that would befall them. He didn’t know much about them, but it was clear that Bruce had loved them, and their loss had completely altered the trajectory of his life. Tim wondered what it would be like to have such confidence that your parents were proud of you and the way you were carrying on their legacy. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Tim said. 

Alfred inclined his head in acknowledgment. “The grief softens some with time, but it will always be there. Nowadays, my main sorrow is the fact that they never had a chance to meet their grandson, or any other future children Master Bruce may have.”

“It’s good that Bruce and Dick have you, at least,” Tim said. He hoped that Alfred knew how important his role was in the Wayne family. 

“Yes, one of the most important lessons I’ve come to learn in this life is that family isn’t just blood — some of the most rewarding relationships are made from choice.” 

Was Tim imagining it, or was Alfred giving him a significant look to accompany this bit of wisdom?

“Of course,” he continued, reaching over to pat Tim on the hand, “that’s what I discovered in my experiences. You’ll walk your own path, Master Tim, and discover your own truths about the world.”

He flipped over his scarf and began a new row as though he hadn’t just shared something profound. As Tim picked up his own project again, he found his gaze frequently straying back to the bulletin board, cataloging the faces he saw there. 

Bruce, Dick, Jason, Alfred, Mrs. Wayne, Mr. Wayne…and somehow, Tim.

It was a family woven together like the stitches on his needles — but Tim knew better than to fool himself. He was the extra one, the outlier. The unwanted stitch that had slipped onto the needle by mistake.

And if the Waynes were too kind to rip him out of their fabric, he would have to find the strength to do it himself. 

***

If the pattern held, Tim knew who his next visitor would be. 

So he wasn’t shocked when the doorbell to Drake Manor rang around 5 p.m. on Friday. Mrs. Mac was changing a load of laundry, so Tim hopped off his stool at the kitchen counter and went to get the door. 

“Hi, Bruce,” he said when he swung the door open, unsurprised that his hunch was proven correct. 

“Hi, chum! Sorry for dropping by unannounced, but I was just on my way home from the office and thought I’d stop by.” Bruce was dressed in work clothes, but he’d loosened his tie and unbuttoned his suit coat. 

“Would you like to come in?” Tim asked. Bruce had been trying to peer over Tim’s head to see inside the house — he was subtle, but Tim was already looking for clues as to his intentions for coming over here. 

“If you don’t mind. It’s a bit chilly out here.”

Tim swung the door open wider so that Bruce could step inside. 

“Wow,” Bruce remarked, looking around the grand entryway, which probably screamed ‘new money’ to someone like Bruce Wayne. “Is that a genuine terracotta soldier?” 

He pointed at the statue in question, which was, in fact, one hundred percent genuine. Tim knew that for a fact because his parents had worked very hard to smuggle it back to America two years ago. 

“It’s a replica,” he lied, sidling in front of it to block Bruce’s view. “Do you want something to drink?” 

“Timothy?” Mrs. Mac called from the laundry room. “Was that someone at the door?”

“Yes, Mrs. Mac! Mr. Wayne from next door is here. I’m friends with his son Dick, remember?”

He didn’t think he’d ever mentioned Dick to Mrs. Mac, but hopefully she’d play along, especially given how famous Bruce was. 

Sure enough, she poked her head out of the laundry room a few seconds later, her eyes growing as round as marbles when she saw their visitor. 

“Mr. Wayne! My apologies for missing the doorbell; do come in.”

Tim noticed how Bruce’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly when he saw the housekeeper — maybe he’d feared that Tim and Jason had invented her and she was just a figment of their imaginations. 

“Ah, you must be Mrs. Mac! Tim and Jason have told me a lot about you. Call me Bruce.” Bruce gave one of his winning Brucie Wayne smiles and stuck his hand out for a handshake. 

Mrs. Mac’s gaze flickered to Tim’s for a split second, and Tim nodded frantically at her and hoped she got the memo to go along with the situation. She had no clue who Jason was, and it must’ve seemed bizarre that Bruce Wayne professed to know anything at all about her existence. He could almost see Mrs. Mac’s confusion battling against her urge to make it to her retirement date uneventfully.

“Of course. Pleasure to meet you, sir,” she said after a second, returning the handshake. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Coffee would be wonderful; thank you.”

“I’ll have a coffee too, please,” Tim added. 

Bruce opened his mouth as though he wanted to protest, but then he seemed to remember that he was at Tim’s house and couldn’t prevent Tim from drinking caffeine here. 

Mrs. Mac bobbed her head and quickly disappeared to the kitchen, leaving Tim alone with Bruce in the foyer. 

“Jason’s not here,” Tim blurted out. “He stayed late at the library today.”

“Good to know, but that’s not why I came over,” Bruce replied, dashing Tim’s hopes of escaping an uncomfortable encounter.

“Oh. Would you like to sit?” Tim offered, reverting back to his mom’s formal script for entertaining visitors. 

“Sure, chum,” Bruce agreed.

He considered leading Bruce to the kitchen, but he needed to keep things professional with the Waynes right now, so his parents’ office would have to do. Maybe if he treated this encounter like a business meeting, he’d make it through unscathed. Maybe he could even broach the topic of Jason’s adoption.   

Tim hesitated at the threshold of his parents’ office, unsure of which seat to claim. Obviously, one of his parents usually took one side of the desk, and their visitors sat on the other. Deciding that he needed all the gravitas he could muster, Tim settled in his dad’s chair, motioning for Bruce to take the seat opposite him. 

He thought he saw a flash of amusement in Bruce’s expression as he sat. Tim’s feet didn’t touch the ground, but he folded his hands in front of himself like he’d seen his dad do before to increase his aura of authority. 

Mrs. Mac tapped on the door then, and if she was surprised to see Tim sitting in Jack Drake’s chair, she kept it to herself. 

“Here’s your coffee, sir.”

“It’s Bruce. And thank you,” Bruce said kindly, accepting the cup and saucer from her. She placed the other cup on the desk in front of Tim. 

“Thanks, Mrs. Mac. So, Bruce, was there something in particular you wanted to discuss?” Tim asked as she left, trying not to fidget. He’d suspected that Bruce would come and visit him like Dick and Alfred had done, but he still wasn’t sure what their angle was. 

Bruce took a sip of his coffee, his posture relaxed and open. 

“I wanted to check on you — I know you have Mrs. Mac taking good care of you, but I was worried when you were so sick the other week.” His gaze turned serious as he studied Tim’s appearance. 

“I’m all better; thanks.”

Bruce smiled warmly. “I haven’t seen you around the manor, either, although I hear from Dick that you’re an excellent skateboarder and from Alfred that you’re an excellent knitting student.”

Tim bit the inside of his cheek to stop an unprofessional smile from forming on his face, thinking of his steadily-growing green scarf. He’d taken to knitting a few rows before bed each night, and it seemed to help his mind quiet down for sleep. 

He schooled his expression, trying to think of how his parents acted during their meetings.

“I’ve been staying busy. It seems you have, too. I didn’t see you at the Manor the other day,” Tim remarked, adding a slight questioning inflection at the end — a technique his mom often used to subconsciously encourage people to talk. 

Bruce nodded. “Yes, things at WE always get busy at the end of the fiscal year, but it’ll start quieting down next week.”

“And the situation involving your lawyers over Thanksgiving break? Has that been resolved?” He tried to sound politely curious, but his questions may have been too obvious. He normally wouldn’t dream of being so straightforward, but it was December 13th, and his self-imposed deadline was fast approaching. He might not get another opportunity like this to speak to Bruce before Bruce was swept into a dizzying circuit of holiday parties and galas. 

“Oh, that? Yes, there was a pressing situation, but it’s in a monitoring stage right now.” 

That was good — it meant that the road was clear for Tim to speak about the adoption. Across the desk, Bruce’s brow was slightly furrowed, as though he was trying to understand Tim’s line of questioning. Meanwhile, Tim found himself wondering how to start what was certain to be a long and treacherous conversation. Should he just blurt it out? Should he break the news gently?

So…Jason isn’t actually my cousin. He’s a street kid that I kind of adopted a few months ago. Since I’m eight, would you consider adopting him instead?

No, that probably wouldn’t do. 

Listen, you know how you and Dick keep fighting during your patrols over the fact that Robin wants more independence? Well, have you ever considered adopting a Robin Jr.?

That was a definite no. 

“So that leaves me with a little more free time,” Bruce continued, oblivious to Tim’s inner dilemma. “Which is the other thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

Tim blinked, trying to refocus on what Bruce was saying. 

“Have you heard of Karol Siegel? He’s got an exhibit opening at the Gotham Art Museum next week.”

His brain felt like a skipping record as it tried to change tracks from the topic of Jason to photography. Yes, of course he’d heard of Karol Siegel — he was only one of the best photographers in the entire world! He was a huge inspiration to Tim, who followed him on every social media platform possible. 

“He’s one of my favorites! I read his book, Urban Portraits, over the summer, and it taught me a ton about lighting and composition when I got my first camera.”

“Great,” Bruce smiled. “Then would you like to come with me to meet him tomorrow night?”

Tim’s mouth fell open. “I — you — meet Karol Siegel?” He would probably never be as starstruck as he’d been when meeting Batman and Robin, but the famous photographer was a close third. 

Bruce’s eyes crinkled in the corners, as though he was pleased by Tim’s reaction. 

“WE is one of the major sponsors of the Gotham Art Museum, and they host a donor event the night before a new exhibit opens,” he explained. “To tell you the truth, they can be a little stuffy, so I usually skip it — but I thought of you when I heard about this one. There’s no press allowed at the event, and if someone asks where your parents are, we can just say that you accompanied me as a neighbor and family friend.”

Tim felt a confusing jumble of emotions over Bruce’s thoughtfulness. Bruce was such a busy person, and yet, he wanted to take time out of his schedule to attend an event with Tim. Purely on a hunch that Tim might be interested in the exhibit because he’d seen a few of Tim’s photographs. He’d noticed and remembered. Meanwhile, his own parents couldn’t remember Ives’ name after Tim had been friends with him for years. 

It wasn’t fair — he was trying so hard to do the right thing; why was everyone else making it so hard? It was like the Waynes were purposely dangling the things he wanted the most right in front of him, but he couldn’t reach out and take their offerings. 

Tim drew in a deep breath — he was the one who had allowed things to get out of control, and it was up to him to reel it back in. The Waynes were his neighbors — it was normal for neighbors to hang out sometimes, or so Tim had gleaned from all the movies that Dick had shown him during their movie nights. However, it was not normal for Tim to miss his neighbor’s guest room when he had his own luxurious bedroom a mile away. It was not normal for Tim to hope that Dick would give him hugs, or that Bruce would ask him to play checkers, or that Alfred would remember how he took his tea each time he visited Wayne Manor when he already had his own manor that he lived in.

It was not normal for Tim to want to be adopted when he already had parents. 

Tim had been sad for the past few weeks, but now he felt the first stirrings of anger and frustration. How dare Bruce make this harder on Tim when Tim was just trying to help? For all that he acted understanding, he was sure making Tim’s life miserable with his misguided kindness that Tim had never asked for. 

Tim allowed this new anger to harden him — to give him the strength to do what had to be done. To sharpen him into a knife — a blade to cut the cord.  

“My apologies,” he said politely, looking Bruce dead in the eye so there was no misinterpreting his words. His mother would’ve been proud of the mask he wore on his face. “I can’t attend tomorrow.”

“Sorry to hear that. Can I ask why?” Bruce replied, leaning back slightly in his chair. His tone was pleasant and neutral, but there was something troubled in his eyes.

“My parents already bought me tickets to the exhibit as a Christmas gift,” Tim lied, smiling a smile that was all Janet Drake. “They’re taking me over the holidays, and I would prefer to attend with my family.”

Each of the words felt like a punch in the gut, but he got them out. Tim couldn’t think of a way to be clearer about the fact that he didn’t consider the Waynes to be his family other than explicitly saying so. In response, Bruce studied Tim in a way that reminded him of their games of checkers — as though he was trying to map out Tim’s strategy and thought process in his mind. 

“I see,” Bruce said, nodding and standing, his hands in his pockets. “Then I won’t disrupt your Friday night any longer, chum.”

It was exactly what Tim had wanted, but it still hurt like hell to watch Bruce walk away. 

***

Tim was distracted on patrol the next night, pacing on a rooftop and trying not to think about the donor event he’d missed earlier that evening. He wondered if Bruce had still gone, or if he’d skipped it since Tim had rudely rejected his invitation. 

To make matters worse, he hadn’t even brought up the adoption, and it was December 14, the day before his deadline! In Gotham high society language, he’d basically told Bruce to fuck off and leave him alone, which wasn’t exactly a good precursor to the conversation he needed to have about Jason. 

He was wondering if he could just email Bruce a link to the New Jersey state government’s website on adoption and call it a day when Jason cursed suddenly, grabbing his sleeve and yanking Tim behind the chimney where he was crouching. 

“Damn it, Tim! I think B just spotted you,” Jason hissed. 

Shit! Tim peeked around the chimney, his stomach dropping as he saw Batman stalking in their direction, just a few rooftops away. 

“Run!” Tim whispered frantically, racing for the fire escape. He couldn’t believe he’d been so careless and distracted that he’d let himself be seen!

They silently and quickly made their way back down to the street level. Batman had been west of them when he’d spotted Tim, so they headed east out of unspoken agreement, running through alleyways and side streets. 

He heard the sound of quiet footsteps pursuing them at one point, and he and Jason took cover behind a few trash cans at the last second. 

“Uh, Tim?” Jason whispered once Bruce had hurried past. “Why is he so intent on following us? He’s chasing us like we’re criminals!”

Tim shrugged, not wanting to think about the unfortunate hunch that was forming in his mind. 

“Let’s keep moving — he’s got Robin out here looking for us, too!” He dragged Jason to his feet, and they kept running. 

From there, it became a contest of who knew the backstreets of the city better: Jason or the bats? Tim believed in Jason’s sense of direction — it had once been a matter of life or death for him to know his way around these alleys, after all. But Bruce and Dick had split up so they could cover more ground, and he and Jason seemed to evade them by the skin of their teeth every few minutes. It was only a matter of time before they slipped up and got caught. Tim had a stitch in his side, and his legs, far shorter than Bruce or Dick’s, were exhausted. 

Bruce and Dick showed no signs of giving up their pursuit, and Tim was alarmed to realize that Jason was leading them deep into Crime Alley. Hiding from Batman was going to do them no good if they got mugged or kidnapped. 

“Jason,” he began in a warning tone. 

“Trust me, Timmy,” Jason replied, holding out his hand. And Tim did trust him, so he grabbed Jason’s hand and allowed him to pull Tim down yet another darkened alley. Even as alarm bells were going off in his mind, he followed Jason inside a small corner store that was illuminated by a single flickering lightbulb. Sparse shelves displayed dusty canned goods, drinks, and cleaning supplies. 

The middle-aged woman working behind the counter gave them an appraising glance, and Tim wanted to backpedal and take their chances on the open street. She had an average build, but her expression was hard, and a gun was openly displayed on her waist. 

After a tense stand-off for a few seconds, her weathered face suddenly broke into a large smile. 

“Jason Todd, as I live and breathe! Long time no see, kid. I barely recognized you!”

“Hey, Charlene,” Jason replied with a crooked grin, his Crime Alley accent thickening. “I’d love to catch up, but I’m sort of in need of a hiding place at the moment.”

“Well, come on back here, then.”

She allowed them to come behind the counter, which was reinforced with bulletproof glass. They ducked down and hid in an open area under the counter, where they could only be seen by someone who was already behind the counter — and just in time, too.

“Evening.” Batman’s deep rasp was unmistakable. “I’m looking for a child — about this tall, dressed in all black. I have reason to believe he or she may be in danger. They may be with another person. Have you seen them?”

“Nope. Now, if you’re not buying, I’m going to need you to leave,” Charlene said, one hand straying to her gun.

Tim held his breath, wishing he could see Batman from his position so he could read his body language. 

“These aren’t the droids you’re looking for,” she added sarcastically, waving her hand.

He heard Bruce let out a small grunt, and then the door slammed shut again. 

“Coast is clear — jeez, what’d you do to piss off Batman, kid? And who’s your friend?”

Jason crawled out of their hiding spot. “I’ll come back and explain some other time. Thanks for covering for us, Charlene.”

Charlene’s expression softened. “You got it, kid. You look good — life treating you okay?”

Jason nodded, a grin forming on his face. “Real good, actually. Hey, can I bum a smoke off you? For old time’s sake?”

Charlene nodded, reaching into her pocket for her pack of cigarettes. 

Tim glared and grabbed Jason’s arm, tugging him away from the counter. 

“Thank you, ma’am — he doesn’t need a cigarette. We have to get going now, or we’ll miss our bus.”

Jason cast a longing glance back at the pack of cigarettes but allowed Tim to drag him away. They took the back exit of Charlene’s store, and they hurried down an alley just in time to catch a bus out of Crime Alley. It was heading the wrong direction, so they had to switch to a different bus line to get back to Bristol, but Tim was finally confident that they’d lost Batman and Robin. 

“Seriously, what the hell was that all about?” Jason wondered as they walked home from the bus stop. “I get B being worried about a kid following him around late at night, but that was too intense of a reaction — he chased us for almost an hour straight! Do you think he suspected it was us?”

Tim shrugged, scratching the back of his neck and trying not to look suspicious. “Who knows?”

“And why did he tell Charlene that he believed you were in danger?” Jason continued, tapping his chin with a frown. 

“Maybe he mixed me up with someone from a different case,” Tim offered.

But he knew the truth — Bruce hadn’t mixed him up with a different case at all. As soon as Jason went to bed, Tim opened up his laptop with a sense of mounting dread. He’d hacked into GCPD’s database a few times, but he’d only done so at the level of an average police officer, not wanting to use elevated credentials in case the breach was easier to detect. But he needed intel, and he was willing to risk more to get it now. Instead of logging in as a police officer this time, he granted himself the same access level as Commissioner Gordon, and he was able to see far more information in the database. 

He immediately navigated to a folder called Batman, which was where Gordon was keeping notes and evidence related to the cases Batman worked on. Sure enough, it took only a few minutes of digging through layers of encrypted data to find what he was looking for: an APB for a child informant that had been shared with a small number of GCPD’s top brass. 

Maybe the drunk woman who’d delivered evidence about Scarecrow to the police station hadn’t been as drunk as she’d seemed, or the mysterious Oracle had somehow stitched together a profile on Tim. The bulletin listed him as between 7-12 years old, wearing all black, and possibly on the run from Scarecrow. 

Which was just great — naturally, the adults all assumed a kid as young as Tim couldn’t just be a concerned citizen trying to help. No, they probably believed that his parents were Scarecrow’s henchmen, or even that Tim was a street kid who’d agreed to work with Scarecrow and was now defecting from his operation. Which meant that they thought Tim was in danger and were looking for him. 

Classic Bruce and his hero complex, trying to swoop in and save Tim, who didn’t need saving. It was becoming a recurring theme lately. 

Tim wearily scrubbed a hand over his face. The clock had inched its way past midnight while he’d been researching, and it was now December 15th. The day of Tim’s deadline. The walls were closing in around him — his parents might be back soon. Batman was looking for him. 

The time to act was now. Either way, by the time the clock struck midnight in another 24 hours, Jason’s fate would be sealed. 

Chapter Text

Tim awoke with a lump in his throat on Jason’s last morning at Drake Manor. 

A light snow had fallen overnight, transforming Bristol into a postcard of the English countryside. There had been flurries over the past few weeks, but this was the first time the snow had stuck. 

As he and Jason went through their usual lazy Sunday morning routine, everything felt tinged by nostalgia already, like Tim was reminiscing about the last of the good old days. Back to burned toast and fishing bits of eggshell out of his food. Back to drinking way too much coffee because nobody was there to glare disapprovingly at him and sneak decaf grounds into the machine when they thought he wasn’t looking. 

“You should keep that pan,” Tim mumbled despondently. Jason was sauteing some onions in his favorite frying pan, and it made Tim think back on all the meals Jason had made with it. 

“What’d you say?”  

“It’s nothing,” Tim sighed. “Never mind.”

“Jeez, what crawled into your coffee and died this morning?” 

“Decaf crawled into my coffee and died — don’t think I can’t taste it,” Tim said, squinting darkly at his mug. 

Jason’s predictable lecture about the negative effects of caffeine on children was interrupted by the doorbell ringing. They both looked at each other, alarmed. 

“Your parents?” Jason asked in a whisper. 

There were two cups and two plates out on the table — clear evidence that someone was here with Tim. 

“Stay here,” Tim advised, “and leave out the kitchen window if you need to.”

It probably wasn’t his parents — they wouldn’t ring the doorbell — but they couldn’t be too careful. 

Jason nodded, and Tim hurried to answer the door. 

“Oh,” he exhaled with relief when he opened it. “Hey, Dick!”

“Were you expecting someone else?” Dick remarked, his expression curious. 

“No, I just wasn’t expecting company, especially after it snowed. Jay, Dick’s here!” He called.

Jason appeared a few seconds later, looking as relieved as Tim felt. “Hey, Dickhead. What’s up?”

“B and I are going to cut down a Christmas tree! Do you guys want to come?”

There was something wistful in Jason’s expression. “I always wanted a Christmas tree,” he remarked softly. 

Dick gasped. “You’ve never had one before?”

Jason shook his head, recovering hastily. “No, my parents are always traveling to tropical places, remember? Not a lot of evergreen trees around during the holidays.”

“Well, here’s your chance! I love having a tree at the Manor; it always smells so nice. Ooh, and you’ll love reading by the tree, too!” Dick enthused, full of holiday spirit. He was decked out in warm clothes, wearing a winter coat, boots, and snow pants. “Alfred packed you some of my old stuff, Jay — in case you don’t have your own winter clothes here in Gotham yet.”

He held out a bag, which Jason took eagerly. “C’mon, Timbit — let’s get changed!”

Tim didn’t want to be anywhere near Bruce right now — as either of the man’s identities. But he’d promised himself to see this through to the end, and he needed to talk to Bruce in order to accomplish that. They quickly cleaned up from brunch, and then he glumly followed Jason upstairs, digging his boots and snow pants out of the back of the closet. 

He stuck close to Jason’s side as they headed outside and climbed into the backseat of Bruce’s car. Tim tensed when Bruce’s eyes met his, but Bruce just offered his usual smile and greeted them both warmly. He didn’t act like anything was out of the ordinary as he pulled out onto the road, heading the opposite direction of Gotham, and Tim relaxed a little. He didn’t seem to suspect that Tim was the person he’d chased after last night, and if he was mad that Tim had rejected his invitation to the photography event, he was keeping it to himself. 

Meanwhile, Dick and Jason were debating what the worst Christmas song was. 

“I want a hippopotamus for Christmas!” Dick sang obnoxiously as soon as Jason nominated that song. He had his phone connected to the aux cord and he began blasting the music to accompany his off-key singing. 

“I’m in hell,” Jason announced, clapping his hands over his ears with an agonized expression. “B, make it stop!”

“Only a hippopotamus will do!”

Dick cranked the volume up even further, and Jason unbuckled and lunged into the front seat to reach the knob. 

“No crocodiles, or rhinocerosuses!”

“That’s not a real word!” Jason yelled, sounding beside himself. 

“Boys!” Bruce scolded, barely audible over the booming music. “Don’t make me turn this car around!”

He pulled the aux cord out of the console, plunging them into a sudden blissful silence. Tim was certain that Bruce had driven the batmobile in far more dangerous circumstances, but it was funny to imagine Batman, Robin, and Jason-as-Robin-in-training having a similar exchange while dressed up as vigilantes and pursuing a villain.

“Sorry, B,” Dick and Jason chorused innocently.

Fortunately, they arrived at their destination before anyone had time to make another musical selection. It was a farm in the transitional area where the suburbs of Gotham faded into rural countryside. Stepping out of the car, it felt like they were hours away from Bristol instead of 30 minutes. The air was fresh and the world felt muffled, blanketed with undisturbed snow for miles in any direction. 

Bruce paid the entrance fee to the woman who owned the property, and she loaned them a saw and told them to pick any tree they wanted. There were a few couples and families wandering around, but it was a large farm, so they were left to their own devices.

Tim remained near Dick and Jason, not wanting to give Bruce an opportunity to talk to him one-on-one. The Christmas tree farm wasn’t the right venue — once the day’s activities had wrapped up, he’d ask Bruce if they could speak, and then he’d discuss Jason’s adoption in Bruce’s office. 

He was trying not to overthink it too much, but he wasn’t quite sure how to gauge Bruce’s mood today. Bruce seemed like he was in high spirits, appearing eager for them to enjoy the experience of choosing a Christmas tree. However, there was something…watchful about him, as though he was waiting for something to happen. But what? Was it something related to Batman or Bruce?

Tim didn’t like flying blind; he was used to being able to read between the lines since he knew the truth about Bruce’s alter ego. But now it was like he was trying to read a book with random pages ripped out.

“What about that one?” Jason asked, interrupting his spiraling thoughts to point out a modest-sized tree. “It has a nice shape to it.”

Dick shook his head. “Too small — it should be at least 10 or 12 feet tall so it can fill the window in the den fully.”

“Not much bigger than that, though, or it won’t fit on the roof of the car,” Bruce warned. 

Dick snorted. “I know, B; I think I learned that lesson years ago.”

At Jason and Tim’s looks of confusion, Dick elaborated. 

“I almost killed Bruce the first time we came here because he wouldn’t let me get a huge tree.”

Jason whistled. “Ooh, there’s gotta be a good story there.”

“Death is a bit of an exaggeration, chum. It was just some bruised ribs.”

“Well, I was a grieving, pissed off nine-year-old, and it was my first Christmas without my parents. I sort of had a meltdown when B told me I couldn’t have the tree I wanted. To protest, I climbed all the way to the top before he could stop me. Then one of the branches broke, and Bruce had to catch me. It was a pretty rough impact.”

“I think it was actually that tree over there,” Bruce said, sounding fond as he pointed out a stately pine in a distant grove of trees. “It wasn’t even part of the tree farm; it was just a tree that Dick wanted.”

“Dickie, that thing is taller than Wayne Manor!” Jason laughed. “What were you going to do; cut a hole in the roof?”

Dick shrugged. “Hey, it made sense to nine-year-old me.”

As they continued perusing the selection of trees, Tim found himself thinking about Dick’s antics when he was around Tim’s age. He’d been a handful from the sound of things — understandably, since he was dealing with the tragic loss of his parents and leaving behind the only life he’d known in the circus. Tim thought about the burned ceiling at Wayne Manor, the Monopoly game that Dick threw out the window, and Dick’s casual recount of disobeying Bruce and injuring him by accident as a result. 

Bruce wasn’t even related to Dick by blood, and yet, he’d willingly chosen to deal with all of Dick’s outbursts and reckless actions. And weirder still, Bruce actually seemed to think back on those times positively — as though he wouldn’t change a thing.

Despite having borne witness to Dick and Bruce’s interactions for months, it was still hard for Tim to make sense of — the fact that Bruce seemed to center his life around his son. Dick was his clear priority over WE — otherwise, he’d never do things like game nights and movie nights and holiday traditions like this one. Instead, he’d be working late each night and attending every society event he was invited to. Hell, Tim knew Bruce had put forth a proposal for the same computer project that had dominated his parents' lives for the past few months, and Bruce had never mentioned it once, as though it didn’t even register as a blip on his list of priorities.

Dick even came first where Batman was concerned — Tim had seen with his own eyes how Batman valued Robin’s safety over catching criminals and villains. 

Maybe Tim needed to be more like Dick — kinder, funnier, always knowing the right thing to say — and then his own parents would like him more. He hadn’t mentioned it, but this was his first time picking out a Christmas tree, too. His parents viewed activities like this as a waste of time — plus, many of their artifacts required specific environmental controls and humidity levels, so they didn’t want a live tree in the house messing that up. 

The only time the Drakes had ever decorated for the holidays had been when Tim was five, and his parents had hosted a small holiday party for their business partners at the manor. The event company had done the decorating, bringing in a small army of fake Christmas trees, tasteful holiday lights, and silver garlands for one night and removing them the day after the party. 

“What do you think about this one, Timbit?” Jason asked, pointing at a tall, skinny tree that they had stopped in front of. 

Tim eyed it critically. “It seems a little sparse.”

“Ugh, you’re right,” Jason sighed. “It looks too much like the Peanuts Christmas tree.”

Tim peered into the next aisle. “What about that one?” He suggested — pointing out a tree about halfway down the row. It was a respectable height, and it had a full, symmetrical shape. 

“Hmm,” Jason hummed, approaching it and walking around it in a circle. His face broke into a grin. “It’s perfect!”

“Agreed — I think you found the one!” Dick said, ruffling Tim’s hair. 

Tim was pretty sure Bruce could’ve chopped down the tree himself in a matter of a few minutes, but he gave them each a turn with the saw, patiently teaching Jason and Tim how to use it safely. Then he finished the job himself when a snowball fight inevitably erupted between the three of them. 

They were all flushed from exertion and the cold air as they returned to the car and strapped the tree onto the roof, brushing snow off their boots and jackets so it wouldn’t melt in the car. The ride back to Bristol was peaceful, with the afternoon sun sinking behind the hills and the Christmas radio station playing a run of instrumental music. A few miles before Bristol, they stopped for pizza at a nondescript restaurant attached to a gas station (another part of Bruce and Dick’s yearly tradition). 

Alfred had cocoa and cookies waiting for them when they returned to the house, and he’d pulled several boxes of ornaments and decorations out of storage. Alfred set to work on the garland while Bruce strung the lights, and Tim, Dick, and Jason began hanging ornaments. 

The Waynes’ ornaments were a surprisingly chaotic jumble of shapes and colors — there were a few lopsided ones that Dick had made in school, several brightly colored Gotham Knights and Wayne Enterprises baubles, and an assortment of more traditional globes. Tim hid a smile as he found a Batman and Robin ornament in one of the boxes, making sure to hang it in a prominent location. 

There were also multiple different types of lights on the tree, as though various strands had broken over the years and had been replaced without care for the brand and color. Put together, the effect was a little dizzying and chaotic up close, but it felt oddly cozy from afar, so different from the picture perfect Christmas trees the event coordinator had set up in Drake Manor years ago.  

“Do you want to put the star on top, Timbo?” Dick asked when they were almost finished. “B always let me do it because I was the youngest, but I guess that’s you now!”

He held the star out — it was a beautiful burnished gold color, quite old looking. Tim was pretty certain that it had been in the Wayne family for a long time. 

“I think Jason should do it,” Tim deflected. “Since this is his first Christmas tree.”

He could tell that Jason was trying to play it cool, but there was a sense of wonder in his eyes as he cautiously accepted the star from Dick’s hands. The tree Tim had picked out was quite tall, so Jason climbed onto Bruce’s shoulders and Bruce lifted him up so he could reach the top branch. Jason carefully settled the star there, and then Bruce took a few steps back so they could all admire their handiwork for a minute. More snow had begun to fall outside, and Bruce and Jason exchanged smiles as Bruce lowered him back to the ground.

Tim felt like he’d wandered into one of the Hallmark movies his old nanny Sylvia used to watch. Now it was up to him to make sure the movie got its happy ending. He clenched and unclenched his hands a few times. After all this time and build up, the moment had arrived — it was now or never. Before he could chicken out, he cleared his dry throat and spoke. 

“Bruce, can I talk to you —”

The words died in his throat as he spotted something unusual out of the corner of his eye out the window — headlights in the distance. They passed Wayne Manor and continued, heading straight for Drake Manor — the only other possible destination for anyone traveling down this road. They were moving faster than the posted speed limit.

“Tim? Did you have a question?” Bruce interrupted his now-racing thoughts. 

“I…no,” Tim said, shaking his head and slowly backing away toward the door. “I have to go.”

“Aw, already? We’re supposed to watch a Christmas movie, remember?” Dick said, frowning. 

“I forgot to mention that my parents are coming home this evening,” Tim lied. “Jay, you can stay here if you want; I’ll tell my mom and dad where you are. But I have to go.”

He didn’t give anyone time to protest or offer him a ride; he just took off, darting into the hallway, grabbing his coat, and jamming his feet into his boots. Thankfully he knew his way around this part of the manor like the back of his hand now, because he was able to quickly weave his way to the kitchen. He burst out the back door and sprinted through the Waynes’ backyard toward his parents’ property. 

He hadn’t been expecting his parents to come home today, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. They usually forwarded their flight info to him, or at least had their secretary do it, but they hadn’t this time. 

His phone started ringing, showing his mom’s contact info. Cursing under his breath, he shoved the phone back into his pocket and started running even harder. His absence had obviously been noted, and if his parents were upset about it, the best thing to do was to get there as quickly as possible.

There was definitely no DI board meeting taking place since they already had one last month. Perhaps they’d gotten the big contract? That would be good — they’d be in a celebratory mood for their visit. Maybe they were going on a longer trip and wanted to stop by home for a few days first to see him? (Unlikely, but Tim could dream.)

His phone rang again. Gulping, Tim pulled it out of his pocket, letting out a slight sigh of relief when he saw that it was just Jason calling him. He ignored it and kept moving. 

The not-knowing made him nervous — he had no clue what he was walking into, and he wished he’d been at home to greet them. Still, at least he was only arriving ten minutes behind them. He was panting as he strode up the driveway — his legs were tired from being chased halfway across Gotham last night, plus they’d been running around at the tree farm all afternoon. 

He crept up the front steps, listening carefully for signs of life inside. He thought he could hear his dad’s voice, but it sounded muffled. Hesitantly, he pushed the front door open and stepped inside. He’d just toed off his boots and hung up his jacket when someone grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the coat closet. 

He let out a small yelp, only relaxing slightly when he saw his mom’s pinched face. 

“Where the hell have you been, Timothy?” She demanded in an oddly hushed tone, as though she was trying not to be overheard. “No, don’t answer that — I don’t want to know. I’m trying to make this easier for you, but you’re not exactly helping your case right now with your behavior!”

“Wh-what? Mom? What’s going on?” Tim stammered, his heart rate picking up. Something was definitely wrong with this picture. His mom ignored him, pulling him toward the closed office door. 

“Jack! Tim’s home!” She called. Her tone was light but in an artificial way. “Don’t provoke him,” she warned Tim in a low voice before the office door was flung open with a bang. 

His dad burst out into the entry hall — he was holding a half-full glass of scotch, and his cheeks were ruddy in a way that meant he’d been drinking for some time. Tim automatically took a step backward but his mom didn’t release her grip on his shoulder, pinning him in place. He was reminded of the last time his dad had been drunk and angry with him — only this seemed worse, and Tim wasn’t even sure what he’d done wrong. 

“Dad?” He croaked. “Is everything okay?”

It was apparently the wrong question, because his dad exploded. 

“Okay? Okay?” He bellowed, striding forward, grabbing Tim by the front of his shirt, and shaking him. “Do I look okay to you?”

“N-no,” Tim whispered.

His dad released him as though Tim was something disgusting. Tim stumbled backward, instinctively putting as much room as possible between himself and the volatile person in the room. The contrast between the peaceful environment at the Waynes’ and the sudden tension at his own house was so jarring it felt unreal, like he’d slipped into a strange nightmare.

“Tell me — do the things your mother and I do for you mean nothing?” His dad spat, pacing around agitatedly. 

“No, you and Mom provide me with an amazing life!” Tim protested, looking frantically between his parents for clues about what was happening and what he was supposed to say to deescalate the situation. “I’m so thankful for everything you do!” 

“Then how could you betray us?!” His dad demanded, advancing again, an ugly sneer on his face. “What information did you give him, and what did he offer you for it? Money? A future job? A share of his company?”

“What? Who are you talking about? Dad, please — whatever this is about, I’m sure we can straighten it out —”

“No, we CAN’T!” His dad roared, suddenly whirling on his heel and throwing his glass of whiskey at the opposite wall. It shattered into tiny pieces, and Tim and his mom both stared in shock as the alcohol trailed down the white walls like golden blood. His dad yelled sometimes, sure, but Tim had never seen him destroy something in anger before. Apparently his mom was also unnerved, because she spoke up. 

“Jack, please,” she said in a placating tone. 

His dad ignored her. “This can’t be straightened out, because Brucie Fucking Wayne stole our contract, and our own son helped him do it!”

Tim felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in his throat. That was what this was about? The stupid computer contract thing? This whole display was about the fact that Wayne Enterprises, a multi-billion dollar company, beat Drake Industries, a much smaller organization, on a business deal? 

And his dad thought WE won because Bruce was playing dirty like his parents?

“Dad,” he spoke up confidently, “that’s not what happened at all — Mr. Wayne would never —”

“Mr. Wayne would never,” Jack imitated in a high-pitched voice. “You’re absolutely worthless!” He bellowed, his face nearly purple with rage. 

Tim flinched and tried to hide the way those words cut like a knife. 

“I kept this company afloat with my blood, sweat, and tears, and my own son is trying to destroy it!”

“I would never, Dad! I swear; I didn’t give Mr. Wayne any information about Drake Industries!”

Tim didn’t know all the details of the project, but he guessed that Bruce had won fair and square by simply having a better proposal. WE didn’t specialize in computer parts like Drake Industries, but the company had far more resources than DI did. Plus, knowing Bruce, he’d probably put some positive spin on the proposal that had impressed the judges, like creating more jobs through the project, or repurposing the old computers for underfunded schools. 

“Then why,” his dad hissed, “was he so eager to take you in after the gala?”

Tim frowned. “Because I was sick, and you and mom were unavailable?”

His dad lunged forward and slapped Tim across the face with a resounding crack.

“Don’t talk back to me under my own roof, boy! You hear me?” His dad demanded. 

Tim froze, his heartbeat sounding louder than a drumbeat in his ears. His dad had…his dad had hit him! He could hardly believe it.

“S-sorry, Dad,” he whispered, his eyes watering and his cheek burning. He reached up to touch his cheek with fingers that were trembling, feeling the stinging skin with a sense of distant shock.

“And tell me why Wayne visited here the other night?” His dad continued ranting. “I saw him on the security camera, and when I asked Mrs. Mac, she said that he talked to you. In our office. So I’ll ask you again, what information did you give him?”

“Nothing,” Tim insisted desperately. “I swear! He just wanted to check if I was feeling better after getting sick!”

His dad ignored him. There was a furious gleam in his eyes that made Tim want to turn and run, but he knew that would only make things worse.  

“And then you have the nerve — the gall — to spend your day over there while your poor parents are racing back from South America to sort your mess out. I bet Brucie was gloating all day! Wasn’t he, Tim? Wasn’t he?”

Bruce, gloating? The very idea was laughable. Tim had been a firsthand witness to the fact that Bruce hadn’t spent the day stroking his ego and preening over some contract — instead, it had been a totally normal day. Bruce had seemed mostly concerned with making sure none of them accidentally sawed off their fingers and preventing Dick and Jason from shoving each other’s faces into the snow.

Tim shook his head, clenching his hands into fists so his dad wouldn’t see how they were shaking. “No, sir. I swear Mr. Wayne isn’t like that — he’s never asked me about your business at all; I’m just friends with his son.”

“Give me your phone,” his dad ordered. 

Tim cast a glance at his mom, hoping for rescue, but she was watching them coldly, the exact opposite of his dad’s tsunami of fury. Reluctantly, he fished his phone out of his pocket and handed it over, wincing as his dad threw it on the floor and began stomping on it with his heel until the screen cracked and the device crumpled in a way that definitely wasn’t fixable. 

“You are never to speak to those people again; do you hear me?”

Tim stared in horror between his phone and his dad. 

“I said, do you hear me, Timothy?”

“Yes, sir,” Tim whispered. “I’m sorry, sir.”

His dad let out a manic sounding laugh, swaying slightly in place. “Maybe I ought to go over to Wayne Manor and give ol’ Brucie a piece of my mind, eh? No way in hell that pretty boy can take a punch.”

“Jack —” his mother cautioned, probably imagining the scandal that would occur if Jack Drake attacked Bruce Wayne. Meanwhile, Tim was imagining how easily Bruce could beat his dad to a pulp.  

“Shut up, Janet!”

“Dad,” Tim said weakly, hoping to distract his dad from taking out his wrath on his mom. 

It worked — his dad wheeled around so that he was facing Tim, who held up his hands placatingly, taking a step backward. 

“Dad, please,” Tim said, keeping his voice as slow and calm as possible, which was difficult when his heart was thundering like a wild stallion trying to break free from his chest. “I’m really, really sorry that you didn’t get the contract. But I promise Mr. Wayne and I had nothing to do with it. I’m your son; I would never betray you.”

He held his breath — for a brief moment, it seemed like his words had done the trick. He could see the anger subside for a brief instant before returning, like a violent tide, drawing back and then rushing forward anew. His dad had been stoking the flames of his own fury all day, drinking and stewing in his rage until he was past the point of no return — he wasn’t going to give up until he felt like he’d vented all of his wrath at an appropriate target.

And the chosen target was Tim. 

It all seemed to happen in the blink of an eye, but Tim also saw it in slow motion. 

“You’re no son of mine,” his dad said in a low, deadly voice. 

And then — 

Tim almost couldn’t believe it. In fact, his first thought was — no way — Dad would never —

But the facts were undeniable: His dad had picked up a large glass vase from a nearby end table. He had cocked his arm. And then he was lobbing it right at Tim. 

Tim remained frozen in incredulity for a split second, but then his instincts, honed by months of batwatching, kicked in. He ducked at the last instant and heard an explosive sound just above his head. Then there was an unpleasant rain of sharp glass pouring over him. 

He straightened, his ears ringing, and stared in disbelief at the shards of glass surrounding his feet. His mom’s mouth was moving — he was pretty sure she’d let out a shriek and she was now saying something to his dad in a furious tone. He wondered if she was mad that Jack had hurt him, or if she was mad that someone might find out that Jack had hurt him. 

Tim felt a few spots on his shoulders and head light up with warmth, but he was starting to feel very remote and far away from his body. Something sticky and wet trailed down the side of his face, and when he touched it, his fingers came away red. 

Head wounds bleed a lot, he dimly remembered learning during the school’s yearly first aid module. 

His dad seemed equally as shocked as Tim and his mom, and for a moment, he thought he saw regret in his dad’s eyes before his expression became shuttered and closed off. 

“Tim —” he began, but whatever he was going to say — whether it was an apology or yet another tirade — was cut off by the door banging open. 

Tim felt a thrill of hope and horror — had Batman come to save him? Part of him wanted to be swept away from this house — to forget that he’d ever lived here or known these people. Another part of him desperately didn’t want anyone else to just see how dysfunctional his relationship with his parents was becoming. 

Tim hadn’t known the situation could get any worse, but when he saw who was standing on the threshold, it was like he’d been dunked in ice water from head to toe. 

“No!” Tim yelled, but Jason didn’t listen. 

“Don’t take another FUCKING STEP TOWARD HIM, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” Jason screamed like a war cry, and then he ran straight at Tim’s dad and attempted to tackle him to the floor. 

Jason had been practicing martial arts with Bruce and Dick and he was sober, which gave him a slight advantage. But Tim’s dad had several inches and a hundred pounds of muscle and bulk on Jason, and he didn’t take kindly to being attacked. He flung Jason off his back like he was nothing more than an annoying gnat. 

“What the hell are you doing in my house?” His dad snarled, advancing on Jason now, who was sprawled on the floor.  

“I’m gonna call the police on you!” Jason threatened, wrestling his phone out of his pocket and scooting backward. “I’m gonna call Batman!”

Tim ran toward them, uncaring of the way the shards of glass pierced through his thin socks. 

“Dad, please — Jason doesn’t mean you any harm! He’s going to leave, right?” He glared daggers at Jason, tugging on his dad’s arm. His dad shrugged him off, locked onto his new target. He reached down and grabbed Jason with a bruising grip, dragging him to his feet. Jason’s phone had fallen to the floor, and it received the same treatment as Tim’s phone had gotten. 

“No, I do mean you harm!” Jason spat, a fierce, defiant light in his eyes as he kicked at Jack’s shins. “I’ll fucking kill you if you lay a finger on him, you pathetic son of a bitch —”

“Janet, call the police,” Jack instructed Tim’s mom, easily restraining Jason at arm’s length. “Tell them that this deranged boy broke into our house and attacked our poor son, and now he’s threatening to murder us.”

Tim’s mouth fell open in horror — this could not be happening. He blinked, hoping he was about to wake up from a nightmare, but the pain in his feet and his head was very real. 

“Mom, don’t! Nobody has to call the cops at all. I’ll clean up the glass, Jason will leave, and we can all forget this ever happened,” Tim pleaded. 

Janet looked between her husband and her son. 

“Call, Janet. I want this sorted out once and for all.”

Tim knew why — his parents’ lives revolved around managing their reputations and their brand. Just like they’d used blackmail to quash their competitors, they needed to be certain that nobody had blackmail they could use against them. They wanted to eliminate Jason as a threat — to undermine his credibility and wipe him off the chessboard before he even had a chance to make allegations against them. And Tim wasn’t sure how injured he was, but if his head and neck were visibly cut up, people might ask questions. A convenient scapegoat for his injuries had just wandered into the house, and his parents wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to pin blame on someone else. 

“I’ll tell the cops the truth,” Tim declared with more bravado than he felt. “I will; I swear it.” He didn’t want to choose between Jason and his parents, but there was no way in hell he was letting Jason take the fall for his dad’s actions. 

“Who are the cops going to believe, Tim? Two well-respected members of Gotham society, or two little kids?” His dad laughed mockingly. “I remember this one from the gala — he’s a mouthy little no-name shit who needs to learn his place.”

“Dad, please —”

His blood ran cold as he heard the dial tone — his mom was actually doing it. She was calling the police. Tim could see it all play out in his mind’s eye, exactly how his dad had described. Jason would be arrested for trespassing and assault. Once the cops looked into his background, they’d find out that he was a street kid. He’d be thrown in juvie, and if he ever got out, he’d be pushed into foster care. And they didn’t send kids with criminal records to nice foster homes; Tim was pretty certain of it. 

He weighed his options — attacking his dad had proven futile thus far, and Tim was just likely to get Jason hurt if he kept trying. Both of their phones were broken. There was only one option left, but Tim didn’t want to do it — he didn’t want to leave Jason behind when his dad was acting like this and come back to find him beaten to a pulp…or worse. 

Then he imagined Jason locked in handcuffs, thrown straight back into a survival situation. He couldn’t allow that to happen. There was no way he could physically fight his dad and get him to release Jason. So, sending a mental apology to his friend, Tim sprang into action. For the second time that night, he ran out of a manor house and into the cold night air. Only this time, he didn’t have his coat or his shoes, and he was running for Jason’s life. 

The snow made his bleeding feet burn at first, but then it numbed them after a minute or two. He probably should’ve been worried about that, but he had bigger issues on his plate. Every second he delayed gave his dad more time to hurt Jason and the cops more time to drive to Drake Manor, so he struggled onward. He was beyond exhausted after all the running he’d done in the past twenty-four hours, and his body wasn’t quite obeying him. He began to stumble after every few steps in the deepening snow. There would probably be an eerie trail of blood leading from Drake Manor to Wayne Manor in the morning, which was kind of metaphorical — Jason could probably write something beautiful with that symbolism. 

The thought of Jason kept him moving. 

Batman and Robin would help. They had to.

His mouth had a metallic taste — he must’ve bitten his tongue when his dad slapped him. Or was that blood from one of the shards of glass? 

He suddenly remembered the whistle of air as the vase had soared toward his head — the way it had smashed against the wall in the exact spot where Tim’s head had been a few seconds earlier —

Holy shit, Dad slapped me. He threw a vase at me —

No, no. Tim couldn’t think about that now. He shoved the thought away. He didn’t have time to waste — Jason needed Batman and Robin. Tim could freak out later. 

He pushed onward. The mile between the two houses felt like it had stretched to the distance of a marathon. He vaguely recalled learning in history class that the Greek messenger who ran the first marathon had died right after. He’d just collapsed, all his strength and adrenaline gone. Was that what was happening to Tim? His pants and t-shirt were oddly cold and wet, and he suddenly realized that he wasn’t running anymore — he’d fallen into the snow.

He needed to get up — to keep moving, to seek help! — but his body wasn’t behaving. A WebMD article he’d read about shock flashed through his mind as snowflakes fell on his face and melted like tears. 

He stared up at the sky, his mind drifting.

In a fit of utter desperation, he allowed himself to locate and open the imaginary box that he kept tucked away in the back corner of his mind, never to be disturbed except in the case of a dire emergency. 

In the mental box were his three most precious memories. The first was the oldest — the hug he’d received from Dick at Haly’s Circus when he was three. The second was the memory of when he fell asleep at Bruce’s gala two years ago. And the third was brand new, barely a month old — a memory from the end of the night when they went to the opera.  

He imagined himself reaching into the box and withdrawing this last memory, letting the recollection flood through him. 

***

“That was amazing,” Jason sighed dreamily as they walked up the front drive of Drake Manor after Bruce dropped them off. Once they snuck around the security camera, he began to skip, humming. 

“O FORTUNA!” He shouted abruptly, startling Tim so badly that he almost thought they were under attack. “VELUT LUNA!”

He grabbed Tim’s hands and began twirling Tim around while he sang dramatically. “STATU VARIABILIS!”

Tim found himself giggling in spite of the somber mood that had settled over him as they left the theater and drove back to Bristol. It was impossible not to get caught up in Jason’s high spirits. He recognized the famous tune of the song from Carmina Burana and tried his best to sing along, but he didn’t know the actual Latin words, so they came out as gibberish.

Normally, Tim would never be so un-self-conscious as to sing in front of someone, especially when he didn’t actually know the song well. Jason was the only person he could be this free around, and sure enough, he didn’t judge Tim’s performance. He just laughed and began singing his own made-up words, and together they danced under the moonlight until they were completely breathless, singing at the top of their lungs with no one nearby to hear them. 

“Holy shit, that was a workout,” Jason huffed when the song ended, collapsing into the grass. It was a clear, cold night, and his breath escaped in small clouds of mist. 

Tim flopped next to him, his heart suddenly feeling very full. Jason was an amazing person, and he made everything more fun and enjoyable when he was around. He deserved to have an equally amazing family, and it wasn’t his fault that Tim was so unwanted by his own family and would be left on his own when Jason moved on to bigger and better things. 

Tim couldn’t hold his friend back from the life he was meant to lead, but it still hurt to think of losing him. He’d gotten used to being alone, and then he’d gotten used to having Jason and the Waynes around. Losing Jason now was like catching a glimpse of the sun and then returning to spend the rest of his days in a dark cave. 

“Jay?” He ventured after a few minutes, once he’d caught his breath. 

Jason was looking up at the sky, but he turned to meet Tim’s gaze, half of his face limned in pale moonlight. 

“What?”

“You’ll always be my friend, right? No matter what?”

“Are you kidding me?” 

Tim’s heart sank with disappointment. 

“Friends? We’re basically brothers at this point, Timbo. You’re stuck with me for good.”

“O-oh,” Tim managed to stammer.

He was suddenly afraid that he might burst into tears if he tried to say anything further. Besides, Jason’s easy description of Tim as his brother meant more to him than he was capable of putting into words, anyway.

“C’mere, punk.” Jason slung an arm around Tim’s shoulders and began pointing out constellations. 

Tomorrow, in the harsh light of day, Tim would pack up all his selfish wants and secret wishes and bury them so he could stay focused on his mission. But for now, he allowed himself to pretend — just for one night — that Jason was really his brother, and that he didn’t have a different family waiting for him to join them in the manor a mile away. 

***

It was agony to keep running, but Tim did it for Jason.

First he struggled to his knees, then he stood up on wrecked, numb feet. Batman never gave up, so Tim couldn’t either. 

His brother needed him. 

On he went — past the pond where Jason had crashed his bike months ago. Through Alfred’s garden, where Jason planned to grow fruits and vegetables this summer. He wanted to sob with relief as he approached the warm lights of Wayne Manor’s kitchen, but he didn’t have the energy for it. How could so much have changed in the hour since he’d last been here?

He pounded on the door, clinging to the doorframe as he waited. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long — Alfred must’ve already been in the kitchen. His curious expression turned into a smile when he saw Tim’s silhouette, shrouded in darkness. 

“Master Tim! Do come in —”

Alfred’s words died as light from the kitchen spilled onto the step where Tim stood. Tim had no clue what he looked like, but it probably wasn’t good. 

“Alf?” That was Dick’s voice, questioning.

Alfred reached out and gently drew Tim inside the kitchen, shutting the door behind him to keep out the cold air. 

Behind him, Dick swore. “Bruce!” He yelled. “Get over here; Tim’s hurt!”

“Sit, Master Tim,” Alfred said in a kind, reassuring tone, trying to usher Tim toward a chair. But Tim remained resolutely fixed in place, shaking his head — he couldn’t sit now; not when Jason was in danger! His mouth didn’t seem to be working, though.

Tim needed — he needed Batman. He needed the man who had stopped Mr. Freeze and kept the entire stadium safe. The man who had once exchanged himself for a dozen hostages during a bank robbery while Tim watched with alarm from a nearby rooftop. The man who had dragged Robin into a quiet alley and pulled him into a tight hug after a close call with a gun-wielding thug a few months ago. 

The man who had already saved Jason’s life once before, on a cold winter night much like this one. 

As if summoned by Tim’s thoughts or by some uncanny magic, Batman himself appeared in the doorway then, his expression grave. He wasn’t dressed as Batman, though — he was wearing his jacket and holding a set of car keys, and Tim found himself bizarrely wanting to apologize for interrupting whatever errand he’d been planning to run. 

Batman’s mouth moved, forming the shape of Tim’s name, but Tim couldn’t hear the sound that accompanied it. He blinked, and Batman was kneeling in front of him, his hands gently gripping Tim’s forearms. 

“Batman,” he whispered finally, “please — save Jason.”

His message delivered, Tim swayed again and tipped forward. The last thing he saw as Batman caught him were the twin shocked expressions on Batman and Robin’s faces. 

Chapter Text

Tim had looked into Jason’s past exactly once, and only out of necessity. 

It had been back in September when Jason first moved in with him, and Tim realized he needed to hide as much of Jason’s background as possible in case his parents (or later, the world’s greatest detective) took it upon themselves to start poking around. 

He hadn’t wanted to invade Jason’s privacy, so he tried not to dwell on the records he found. But he had to read things in order to know what to redact or edit, so some of it had stuck in his brain nonetheless. 

The court documents and CPS files painted a grim picture. Born into poverty in Crime Alley, Jason’s dad died in prison and his mom died of an overdose. Jason had been passed around to a few foster families before fleeing the system and trying his luck on the streets. Tim had hacked his CPS file and altered it significantly, deleting his classification as a runaway and making it sound like a long-lost relative — Jack Drake — had come forward and taken Jason in. It had been a rush job, but he hoped it would at least provide a first line of defense against prying eyes. 

And honestly, some part of him was grateful that he knew just how bad things had been for his friend, because it had thrown into sharp relief the contrast between Jason’s old life and his developing life with the Waynes.

He thought about it when he woke up in the now-familiar guest room at Wayne Manor. There was no confusion, no struggle to recall where he was and what had happened — just a sudden awareness and a gaping pit forming in his stomach as he thought about how he’d let Jason down tonight. 

He sat up slowly, taking in the sight of his bandaged feet. Feeling around his head and neck, he found a few additional bandages that had been applied with a military precision that he associated with Alfred. Disregarding how his injuries throbbed and protested, he climbed out of bed. The clock on the bedside table indicated that it was just after one in the morning, which meant that Tim had been out for hours. 

His throat grew tight as he began hobbling toward the door. Some part of him didn’t want to know what had transpired while he’d been unconscious — he wanted to crawl under the bed like a little kid and hide from the world. Another part of him couldn’t stand to wait a second longer to learn the consequences of his actions — to know if he’d failed his mission.

The hallway outside the room was silent, and he didn’t know what to make of that. He slowly made his way down the staircase. Had everyone left the house because Jason was in jail? Or was he in the hospital, beaten to a pulp by Tim’s dad? Or worse, was he…

No. 

Tim couldn’t let himself finish the thought. Not when he was surrounded by the memories of how close he’d been to succeeding. Here was the bathroom where Bruce had tended to Jason’s cuts on their first visit to the Manor. Down this hall was the kitchen where Jason had found solace and joy cooking with Alfred. On the other side of the kitchen was the studio where Dick and Jason practiced martial arts with Bruce. Just a few hallways away was the ballroom where Bruce had pledged a million dollars to support the cause Jason was most passionate about. There was the den where Bruce had shown Jason his rare book collection — where Bruce had lifted Jason onto his shoulders just a few hours earlier to place the star on the Christmas tree, and the two of them had smiled at each other with trust and affection. 

Tim had been so close, and he’d fucked everything up. 

It was all ruined. All his scheming, all his plans — they had turned to dust right before the finish line. He’d miscalculated and missed his window to act. He’d gotten so caught up in his own selfish feelings about losing Jason that he’d put things off for too long. As a result, he’d placed his best friend in serious danger — from his dad’s fists and his mom’s cold lies. From the police and child services. Now everyone was sure to find out that Jason was an orphan, but not in the way Tim had hoped. Plus, he’d blown their cover and revealed that he knew Bruce was Batman. This night couldn’t have turned out worse. 

Tears of despair flooded his eyes, and he sank to sit on the floor in the middle of the hallway, clutching his hair in his hands. 

He didn’t know how long he’d been there before a door opened nearby. Footsteps grew closer, walking at a rapid pace. 

“Oh, shit…Tim! Are you okay?” 

That was Dick’s voice. The speed of the footsteps increased as Dick jogged over to him. 

“Baby Bird! What are you doing out of bed?” Gentle hands gripped Tim’s shoulders. 

Tim wasn’t able to speak, which seemed to be a common theme tonight. 

“I’m so sorry you woke up alone — Alfred is handling things with the police right now and he told me to stay with you. But I wanted to slip down here really quickly and make sure Jay was okay —”

Tim’s breath caught in his lungs. 

“Jason?” He warbled.

“Yeah, it took B awhile to sort things out at your house, but —”

Dick was still talking, but Tim tuned him out, staggering to his feet like a zombie. 

“Jason?” He repeated, his voice rising into a panicked keen. “Jason!”

“Whoa, easy, Timmy — he’s in B’s study.” Dick’s hands found his shoulders again, half-holding him in place and half-holding him upright. “You really shouldn’t be walking with your feet like that —”

“Jason!” He cried, struggling against Dick’s hold. He dimly registered that he would undoubtedly feel embarrassed and guilty later for trying to fight his way out of Dick’s arms — he knew Dick was just trying to help; that was all Dick ever did — but some primitive, animal part of his mind seemed to have taken center stage at the moment. 

Dick’s eyebrows were knitted together with concern, and he was talking in that low, soothing Robin voice. But Tim only had eyes and ears for the study door down the hallway, which opened with an abrupt bang. 

“Tim? Tim!” A familiar voice shouted, sounding just as desperate as Tim felt, and then Jason stepped into view, miraculously whole and upright. At the sight of him, Tim’s knees almost gave out with relief. Jason barreled forward, and Tim would’ve faceplanted into the carpet if it weren’t for Dick’s steadying grasp on him. 

“Jason,” Tim rasped, his breath hitching with a sob.

Jason bowled right into them, grabbing onto Tim with a death grip.

“Tim,” he whispered raggedly, yanking Tim to his chest. Up close, Tim could see a dark bruise forming around one of Jason’s eyes, and the sight of it turned his stomach. But Jason was breathing and walking and talking. He wasn’t in jail, at least for the moment. He was here, at Wayne Manor, of all places. Tim was too scared to hope that things could still work out, but the bone-deep terror that had seized him the moment he saw Jason appear on the threshold of Drake Manor hours earlier finally began to dissipate.

“You’re okay?” Tim whispered, hardly daring to believe it. 

“I’m fine, Timbo,” Jason assured him. “After you left, I kicked your dad in the nuts and barricaded myself in the coat closet until Bruce arrived. Your dad got in one hit, but that’s all.”

“I’m so sorry —”

“Nuh-uh. None of that, Timmy — you’re not responsible for your parents’ behavior. Now get in here, Dickie,” Jason instructed gruffly, pulling Dick into their hug. Dick didn’t need to be asked twice — he wrapped his arms around both of them, and the three of them remained there in a jumble of limbs, clutching one another tightly. 

Over Jason’s shoulder, Tim could see Bruce standing at the doorway of the study, holding an ice pack in one hand and watching them with an inscrutable emotion in his gaze.

“What are my odds of convincing any of you to go to bed right now?” He asked.

“Yeah, right, old man.”

“No way, B!”

“Zero,” Tim added.

Bruce sighed. “Alright — then perhaps it’s time for a long-overdue talk.”

Tim tensed, exchanging a glance with Jason, who…didn’t look nearly as nervous or worried as Tim had been expecting. In fact, Jason actually nodded at the suggestion.

“Time to come clean, Timmy,” Jason said. Then, in a low tone for Tim’s ears only, he added, “Y’know, I was planning to grab you and run if something like this happened with your parents, but this outcome is better. Trust me.”

Tim shot him a quizzical glance, very aware of Batman and Robin observing them.

“What do you —”

“It’s going to be okay, I promise,” Jason murmured, patting him on the shoulder. 

“You shouldn’t be walking with your feet like that, Baby Bird.” Dick scooped him up before he could protest, and before Tim knew it, he was settled between Dick and Jason on the familiar green couch in Bruce’s study, a mug of chamomile tea warming his hands.

“You should put this back on your eye,” Bruce told Jason, handing him the discarded ice pack he’d been holding.

Jason let out a huff. “Mighty hypocritical of you, B. Where’s your ice pack for your hand?” 

Now that Jason had mentioned it, Tim could see that the knuckles on Bruce’s right hand were swelling and darkening with fresh bruises. 

“Hn. Fair point, Jaylad,” Bruce acquiesced. “I’ll ice my injury if you ice yours.”

“Fine. You got a deal, old man,” Jason grumbled, pressing the icepack to his eye. 

Bruce crossed the room, rummaging around in the mini-fridge until he emerged with a second ice pack for himself. 

“B punched your dad,” Jason explained. “It was epic.”

Tim choked on his tea, unable to help the instinctual fear he felt at the idea of anybody trying to fight his dad, even though he knew Bruce was more than capable of holding his own.  

“Jason!” Dick hissed in reproach, patting Tim on the back as he coughed.  

“Ugh, sorry, Timbo. I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

“Boys,” Bruce interjected in a calm but authoritative tone. “Let’s start from the beginning, okay?”

He took a seat across from the three of them in an armchair, his expression serious and calculating — a mixture of Bruce and Batman. 

“Tim, I know you’ve been through a lot tonight. Do you feel up for talking? It’s okay if you don’t.”

Tim hesitated — he’d already caused so many problems today. The last thing anyone needed was for him to be sullen and uncooperative right now. But he still felt kind of far away from his body, like his brain was disconnected from his mouth. He settled for giving a half-shrug that his mom would’ve hated. 

Bruce released a breath. Tim hoped he wasn’t annoyed or disappointed.  

“Okay, chum. Are you in any pain?”

Tim thought about this — his feet were throbbing from his walk down the stairs, and one of the cuts on the back of his neck was particularly uncomfortable, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He shook his head. 

“Well, if you want to lay down or if you need more painkillers, let me know, okay? You’re scheduled for another dose in about an hour, but we can give you the dose earlier if it’s needed.”

Tim nodded in acknowledgment. He wondered where his parents were and how mad they would be with him when he went home and saw them next. Seeming to sense that he wasn’t going to get much more out of Tim at the moment, Bruce directed his attention to Jason. 

“Now, Jaylad…has something like this ever happened before with your aunt and uncle?”

Tim wondered what kind of lie Jason would concoct to get them out of this situation. Jason appeared to be thinking for a moment, fidgeting with a loose string on his t-shirt. Something apologetic flashed across his face as he glanced at Tim before looking right at Bruce and saying, “Actually…about that.”

Tim stiffened with disbelief, shaking his head at Jason in warning. He opened his mouth to speak, to contradict what Jason was about to say, but his thoughts were moving like molasses and Jason’s tone was so confident and bold when he spoke that there was no way to refute his next words.

“Janet and Jack Drake aren’t my aunt and uncle. They have no clue who I am, and I’m not related to them at all.”

Tim could tell from the sudden, hushed silence that fell over the room after this proclamation that Jason had genuinely caught Bruce and Dick off guard. He winced, trying to catch Jason’s eye — what the hell was Jason doing? When he’d said it was time for them to come clean, Tim hadn’t thought he actually meant it! Lying had become second nature for both of them, and Tim suddenly felt weightless, untethered and unmoored, as though all the rules he’d been playing by for months had been flipped on their heads. 

“What?” Dick exclaimed, looking between the two of them with alarm.

“Can you explain what you mean by that, chum?” Bruce asked in a careful tone. 

Jason shrugged. “Well…it’s as simple as it sounds. We’re not related. No shared genes. When it comes to the case of Jason Todd, Jack Drake is not the uncle.” 

Bruce’s eyes now narrowed in a very-Batmanlike manner as he looked between the two of them. “Jason,” he said slowly, “I thought your father, Willis Todd, was Jack Drake’s half-brother.”

Another heavy silence fell. Tim shifted in place guiltily, thinking back to the records he’d tampered with and the email he’d sent from his mom’s spoofed email address. Putting the pieces together, he could see how Bruce had drawn that conclusion. After all, Tim had made it look like Jack Drake had come forward to claim Jason from child services. In his email to Bruce, he’d indicated that Jack and Janet had only recently discovered the existence of Jack’s half-brother and their nephew. It would make sense for Jack to claim his half-brother’s orphaned child but keep it quiet due to the scandal it would cause, especially if said half-brother had a lengthy criminal record and had died in prison. 

“Tim?” Bruce questioned, having caught Tim’s body language.

Tim cleared his throat. In spite of how badly he’d screwed everything else up, he was proud that he’d actually managed to fool Batman! 

“I…I may have altered Jason’s files. And…that was me emailing you, not my mom.”

“Wait a second,” Jason interjected before Bruce could react to Tim’s confession of duplicity. “You knew my parents were dead this whole time? But we kept saying stuff about how they were traveling with Tim’s parents!”

“B researched and found out about your parents pretty quickly after we met you, Jay,” Dick explained apologetically. “He thought it was a cover story that Tim’s parents wanted you to use so nobody would find out about who your parents were.”

Jason let out a sardonic laugh. “You mean the fact that my dad was a lowlife and a piece of shit with a track record a mile long? Yeah, I guess the Drakes wouldn’t like anyone thinking they were related to me.”

“There were some…anomalies in your child services file, Jason,” Bruce spoke up. “However, I assumed that Jack and Janet had bribed the agency to edit your file after they took custody of you, and I chalked the oddities up to that.”

“So let me get this straight,” Jason said with a note of incredulity. “This whole time, you knew that I grew up in Crime Alley. You knew that my mom died of an overdose and my dad died in prison. But you thought Tim’s parents adopted me and buried all my records so nobody would learn of my sordid past?”

Dick nodded. “That about sums it up. B said that we shouldn’t bring it up or point out any inconsistencies in your story until you felt comfortable sharing with us. I guess we were right about your parents…but we didn’t know you two weren’t actually related.”

Tim’s mind was going a million miles a minute, trying to digest the implications of these revelations — trying to understand them in the context of the last few months. From the beginning, Bruce, Dick, and Alfred had known, to some extent, that he and Jason weren’t telling the full truth about themselves. It made sense, now, why Bruce had been so eager to support Jason’s quest to eradicate hunger in Gotham — he’d known that Jason wasn’t the son of rich socialites who were jetsetting around the globe — that he’d grown up in poverty in Crime Alley. 

And yet…in spite of their dishonesty, they’d still been welcomed into the manor with open arms. 

Why?

“Which brings me to my next question,” Bruce said, interrupting Tim’s frantic attempts to map out the complicated chess board that he found himself standing on. “If you’re not related, why were you living together?” 

“Oh, that,” Jason waved dismissively. “We met a few months ago. I was living on the streets and Tim was alone in his giant mansion, so we decided to team up and live together.” 

There was another beat of silence. Then Dick’s face crumpled. 

“Oh, Jaybird,” he whispered, his eyes glistening. “The streets?”

Tim had a feeling that if anyone else had reacted like that, Jason would’ve punched them. As it was, he mostly just looked weirded out by Dick’s display of emotion. 

“Jeez, don’t get your panties in a twist. As you can plainly see, I’m fine.”

Dick looped an arm over Tim’s shoulders so he could reach Jason’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Little Wing. And poor Timbit — those ass-I mean, your parents really left you all alone in your house?”

Jason answered for him, his voice hot as he wrenched his shoulder out of Dick’s grip. “Yeah, those assholes left their eight-year-old unattended, and when I found him, he was roaming around Gotham by himself in the middle of the night!” 

Tim shot a glare at Jason, who glared right back. There had been no need to volunteer that information!

Across from them, Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, as though he was afraid to hear the answer to his next question. 

“And what were you doing in Gotham at night, Tim?”

Tim pressed himself deeper into the sofa, as though it might swallow him whole and remove him from this situation, but it did him no good. None of this was going according to his plan. Out of habit, he frantically wracked his brain, trying to calculate the lowest-risk way to proceed. Would they believe him if he said he liked to do night photography? 

“I-I—” he stammered. 

“Tim,” Jason said, his tone serious as he grabbed Tim’s hand. “It’s okay. Tell him the truth.”

Tim frowned. Jason didn’t sound like his usual paranoid, fiercely independent self at all. 

“I…was taking pictures,” he confessed hesitantly at Jason’s encouraging nod. 

“Pictures of what?” Bruce asked. His knuckles were white on the icepack, which was probably defeating its purpose, and you could hear a pin drop in the study. Tim had often wondered what it felt like to grapple around the city like Batman and Robin, and he was pretty sure he had a good sense of it now — a feeling of total free fall in the pit of his stomach. 

Tim bit his lip, bracing for impact. There was no going back after this, but maybe they were past that point already. 

“Of Batman and Robin.”

Bruce cursed under his breath, rising to his feet, while Dick inhaled sharply, looking stricken. 

Bruce stepped behind his chair and began to pace, and Tim watched with bewilderment. Their reactions didn’t make sense — Tim knew for a fact that he’d accidentally called Bruce ‘Batman’ a few hours earlier, so they shouldn’t be too surprised by the news that Tim had been onto them for some time. 

“Timmy, that’s so dangerous,” Dick exhaled.

“I stayed out of the action,” Tim shrugged. “It wasn’t dangerous. Plus, you became Robin when you were only a few years older than me.”

Dick opened his mouth, clearly planning to protest, but Bruce silenced him by raising a hand. 

“Tim,” he said in a voice that was more Batman than Bruce. “I need you to be honest with me. Were you in a warehouse by Gotham Harbor the week before Thanksgiving?”

And Tim…Tim couldn’t help it. He flinched, ever so slightly, at the memory of that horrible night…the crackle of gunfire, way too close for comfort, the icy shock of the filthy water as it tried to drag him under…these were the images and sensations that haunted his dreams now.

Bruce’s expression shuttered at Tim’s unspoken confirmation, and he turned away, beginning to pace another lap. 

Shit. Tim had screwed up so badly. Bruce was probably furious with him. Scratch that — Batman was furious with him. Would he report Tim to GCPD for interfering with an investigation? For trespassing where he shouldn’t have been?  

Jason looked confused, but horror was dawning on Dick’s face as he caught up with his dad’s train of thought.

“Oh, no…Tim. Please tell me you’re not the person who took those photos.”

“Photos? What are you guys talking about?” 

“Someone broke into a warehouse where Scarecrow was stockpiling fear toxin,” Dick explained to Jason, casting a worried glance at his dad, who was still pacing silently. “That person documented the stockpile and sent photos to us so we could investigate. The woman who was asked to deliver the evidence to the police station swore that a kid handed her the envelope, but the cops just thought she was drunk and confused.”

“What?” Jason sounded panicked. “That couldn’t have been Tim! I never let him go out on his own; I swear. I went with him every night to make sure he was safe! Right, Tim?”

“Baby Bird?” Dick echoed, sounding so heartbroken that Tim couldn’t bear lying to him. 

“It…it was when my parents were in town,” Tim mumbled, staring into his half-empty mug of tea so he didn’t have to look at any of them. “Since my parents didn’t know about Jason, he had to hide in the attic when they were home. I snuck out one night when he was up there.”

Dick turned to Jason, appalled. “You were in the attic? Jeez, Jay, there’s a lot to unpack here.”

Jason ignored him. “You snuck out?!” His voice rose sharply. “Timothy Jason —”

Batman’s low rumble stopped Jason’s rant before it could leave the station. 

“I interrogated one of the security guards at the warehouse after we made the bust.”

Tim gulped, his stomach flip-flopping. His hands were trembling slightly, and he put his mug down on the coffee table before he could spill it and make things even worse for himself. 

“He said that the intruder was a child, but I didn’t want to listen. I wanted to believe it was just a small adult — maybe a petite woman.”

Bruce let out a laugh that contained no mirth.

“You know what else that guard told me?” He continued. “That he shot at the intruder. That he lost the intruder when they jumped into the Gotham Harbor. In November, when the water temperature is just above freezing.”

Dick let out a horrified sound, and the next thing Tim knew, he was being dragged practically into Dick’s lap. 

“Oh, Tim — they shot at you? You were in the Harbor?” Dick sounded like the wind had been knocked out of his chest.

Jason pressed closer, too, his expression stricken. “Oh my god, that’s how you got pneumonia,” he breathed in dismay. “And I didn’t even know you were gone that night.”

Tim didn’t know what to do with the strength of everyone’s reactions.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, staring at his knees. “I just wanted to help. Please don’t…please don’t be angry at me.”

The room grew quiet for several seconds, and Tim held his breath, fighting back the tears that were prickling in his eyes. As soon as he said the words, he wished he could take them back. Don’t be angry with me? As if that tactic had ever worked on anyone. Tim imagined trying to ask his parents not to be mad at him — he was pretty sure they would rather destroy all their artifacts than listen to a request like that.

“B,” Dick scolded suddenly, “stop looming. You’re scaring Tim.”

Bruce froze, and then, to Tim’s surprise, he did exactly as Dick said, crouching down in front of the three of them on the couch. Tim wanted to protest that he wasn’t scared, but the way that he was still pressed up against Dick’s side sort of contradicted that argument. 

Bruce looked like he was taking a moment to compose himself. By the time he finished whatever he was doing, he appeared calm. 

“We’re not angry with you, Tim,” Bruce said. Tim had to fight to meet his earnest gaze. “We’re scared and upset by how much danger you put yourself in.”

Tim frowned — Bruce and Dick regularly put themselves in danger for the sake of Batman’s mission, so he didn’t see what the big deal was. They were acting like he’d taken on a rogue single-handedly instead of doing a little reconnaissance!

“I had to help,” Tim shrugged. “That much fear toxin in Scarecrow’s hands would’ve been catastrophic.”

“That’s admirable, chum, but it wasn’t your responsibility to handle the situation on your own,” Bruce said in a tone that brooked no disagreement.

Tim scanned the faces around him. At his look of continued confusion, Bruce let out a little sigh of resignation, rising to his feet. “We can keep discussing it in the future, okay, chum?”

Tim didn’t know what to make of that. The future? As in, Tim wasn’t about to be permanently excised from their lives after this mess?

“I have a question that I’m dying to know the answer to,” Dick piped up, his tone eager as Bruce settled back in his chair. Tim relaxed a little, grateful for the shift in the conversation. “How did you learn our identities?”

“Oh, I saw you perform at Haly’s Circus once. Then I saw Robin do a quadruple flip on the news years later,” Tim explained.

Dick groaned. “Aww, seriously? It was my fault?”

Tim hid a smile. “Afraid so.”

As he looked at Tim, Dick’s eyes suddenly widened. “Wait a second,” he gasped. “I remember you — that was the night my parents died! You were the little boy I met before the show!”

Tim shifted uncomfortably — he hadn’t wanted to bring up the connection between that day and Graysons’ murder. To his surprise, however, Dick pulled him into a tight hug. 

“Oh, Timbo — I can’t believe I’ve known you all these years without realizing it! I wish you told me sooner.”

“I didn’t want to stir up bad memories,” Tim admitted quietly. “I…I have a picture of us with your parents from that night, if you ever want to see it.”

“I would love to see it. It’s a painful memory, and it will always be painful,” Dick told him honestly. “But you know, it makes it a little better to know that at least one good thing came out of that terrible night.” 

Dick wiped at his eyes, which had gotten a little watery, and then chuckled. “Damn — I guess B will never let me live that one down — the fact that I was the one who spoiled our identities.”

Jason smirked. “Well, I’ve got my own story of how I learned your identities, and you aren’t the one who tipped me off.”

Dick’s mouth fell open with shock and delight. “No way…B compromised us? I’ve got to hear this!”

So Jason explained his story about the trip to Bat Burger with Batman, and how Bruce had performed the same card trick at the restaurant and later at the Martha Wayne Children’s Home. Bruce listened quietly, and he looked a little chagrined but surprisingly not too upset when the story concluded. 

“I remember you, too,” Bruce said, something soft in his eyes as he looked at Jason. “When we first met, I thought you seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place you. Given what I mistakenly assumed about your backstory, I thought we’d crossed paths at a gala.”

Jason huffed out a laugh. “Try an alley in the Narrows.”

“Thank goodness I met you that night,” Bruce smiled. “And you turned out to be my Jaylad.”

Tim’s brain made a record-scratch sound effect, and he found himself wondering if he’d somehow fallen into an alternate dimension. 

Bruce’s Jaylad? 

And why was Jason smiling? Like, actually, genuinely smiling at Bruce, even though Bruce was saying sappy, sentimental things, which Jason was practically allergic to? And why had Jason encouraged him to be so open and honest with Bruce during this conversation when that contradicted his entire M.O.?

What on earth had happened while Tim was unconscious?

Clearly, he had missed something. Something big. 

Tim was wondering how to delicately inquire as to the possibility that both of them had sustained a severe head trauma at some point in the evening when a knock on the study door interrupted the conversation. 

“Excuse me, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, stepping inside. “I hate to interrupt, but the social worker and lawyer for Master Jason’s case have both arrived. They have paperwork that needs to be signed, and they are asking to speak to you both.”

At the mention of a social worker, Tim grabbed Jason’s hand, hoping his alarmed expression conveyed the question on his mind: Do you want to make a run for it?

But Jason gave a shake of his head, a small smile playing on his lips. He gave Tim’s hand a squeeze, then he let go, standing and walking to Bruce’s side of his own volition.

“Their timing leaves something to be desired,” Bruce said, leveling a meaningful look at Alfred that Tim didn’t know how to interpret. 

Alfred nodded. “Understood. However, I’ll caution you that the media has been tipped off about this whole affair since police scanner data shows that officers were called to the Drake residence earlier this evening and you were on the scene. Furthermore, the Drakes are still threatening to press charges against Master Jason for trespassing. We may wish to prioritize expediency and resolve things with Master Jason’s situation before the morning news concocts their own version of events.”

Bruce winced, looking torn — he glanced at Tim, for some reason. 

“Alright. Alright. We’ll be as quick as we can. Tim…I’d like to continue this conversation very soon, okay? I have something important to discuss with you.” 

Oh god — what was the important thing they had to discuss? 

“Okay…I guess I should probably head home, anyway. My parents probably aren’t too happy with me right now.” Tim let out an awkward chuckle and made to stand. 

Everyone in the room stared at him like he’d grown a second head. 

“Master Tim —”

“What!”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me —”

Bruce’s voice drowned out the explosive chorus of protests. 

“Tim — your parents have been arrested. I’m sorry I didn’t mention it earlier; I was getting there.”

“Oh,” Tim said in a small voice. Well, then, his parents were probably really not happy with him right now. What an odd mental image — his parents getting mugshots taken. His mom would undoubtedly be annoyed that she hadn’t gotten a chance to touch up her hair and make-up and choose a suitable outfit before the night spiraled out of control. An orange jumpsuit definitely wouldn’t complement her skin tone. 

“Even if they hadn’t been arrested, I would not send you back there after what happened tonight,” Bruce added firmly. “It’s never okay for a parent to physically attack or harm a child. Or to leave them alone for weeks or months at a time, for that matter.” 

Oh, no.

A pit of fear opened in this stomach. That was probably what Bruce wanted to discuss — transferring Tim over to the foster care system while his parents’ legal status was sorted out. They’d wiggle their way out of the charges; Tim was confident of that. But how long would it take? And what would happen to Jason in the meantime?

Bruce seemed to misinterpret Tim’s expression as worry over his own circumstances. “I’m sorry I can’t say more at the moment, chum — I’ll be back as soon as possible to talk about the game plan with you.”

“W-wait,” Tim stammered. Bruce and Jason paused by the door. “What’s going to happen to Jason?”

To his surprise, Jason and Bruce exchanged another smile, and Bruce placed his hand on Jason’s shoulder. 

“Do you want to share the news, Jaylad?” He prompted gently. 

Jason turned back to Tim.

“Bruce is…” he cast a glance up at Bruce as though to make sure that Bruce agreed with whatever he was about to say. Bruce nodded encouragingly for him to continue.

“Bruce is going to adopt me,” Jason announced.

Chapter Text

For the record, Jason never asked for any of this. 

He’d been perfectly fine on his own. Okay, well, maybe not perfectly fine, but as he’d once told Tim, he’d been alive and nobody had been actively abusing him on the streets, and that counted as a win in his book. 

During his time on the streets, he’d missed his mom — hell, he still missed her so much he could hardly breathe sometimes, especially when he cooked with her recipes or heard the distant clanging of church bells on Sunday mornings — but he hadn’t missed Willis. And he definitely hadn’t missed the three of them living together — his parents’ late-night screaming matches; the barren cupboards; the parade of police officers coming by looking for Willis, who was often out on a bender or laying low to avoid being arrested for his latest crime. 

There had been good moments back then, too, but they were sometimes more painful to think about than the bad moments. Like the time Jason had been nominated for an academic award at his elementary school, and his parents had both managed to show up for the ceremony, cheering as he went up to collect his certificate. Or the quiet Sundays when he and his mom would attend mass together, long before she got sick and the drugs ever became a problem, and Jason would lean into her side in the pew as he admired the colorful light flooding through the stained glass windows of the church. Or the birthday that Willis actually remembered, when he brought home a whole box of books for Jason that he’d purchased for $3 at a thrift store. 

If he’d learned one thing from his parents, it was that it was better to be on your own. That way, nobody — especially adults — could hold power over you or abandon you. And that lesson was only further reinforced on the streets. He grew to wield his independence like a sword and shield, holding everyone else at bay with his acerbic tongue and hostile manners so nobody could get close enough to hurt him. 

Some of these lessons were imparted the hard way — like the time a woman had taken pity on him and invited him in for a hot meal. He’d been new to the streets, and she had kids of her own, so he’d naively figured that it was safe enough. When she escorted him outside after dinner, he was enraged to find that most of his possessions had been stolen from his backpack, save for a few of his most precious items, like his old baby blanket and an envelope with family photos, which had been worthless to the woman since she couldn’t sell them for a profit. 

Or the time — he really, really didn’t like to think about this incident — when a wealthy man saw Jason huddled on a street corner and invited him into his car to warm up. 

“I’ll take you to get some food, okay, kid?” The man said, smiling with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Jason had been hungry — so, so hungry — so even though he knew he was taking a risk, he hadn’t been able to turn down the offer. The man had brought Jason to a small restaurant on the outskirts of Crime Alley, where he felt a little safer since there were employees and other people dining. 

Surely nothing could go wrong under those circumstances, right?

But toward the end of the meal, Jason began to feel funny — kind of sick and dizzy and confused. Alarm bells started ringing in his head. Across the table, the man was watching him with cold, dark eyes — waiting for something. 

Waiting for the drugs to take effect, Jason realized with a start. He lurched from the table, swaying like Willis when he’d been drinking. 

“Help!” He managed to slur. 

The man’s face transformed with anger and he grabbed Jason’s wrist, hissing at him to stop making a scene. 

“My son isn’t feeling well. I’m afraid he’s confused; you can ignore him,” the man assured the waitress. 

Fortunately, he didn’t know it at the time, but the waitress was named Charlene, and she was a badass with no tolerance for child abuse. 

“Honey, do you know this man?” She asked Jason, completely ignoring her wealthy client, who probably would’ve given her an amazing tip for her silence. 

Jason was practically falling over by that point, but he managed a weak shake of his head. 

“That’s it,” Charlene said grimly, grabbing Jason’s other wrist. “I’m calling the cops.”

The man appeared ready to put up a fight for a moment, but when Charlene pulled aside her apron to show the gun she was carrying, he gave up and hurried out of the restaurant. 

“Fucking piece of scum,” Charlene spat. Jason’s vision was beginning to tunnel. “Don’t worry, kid; you can sleep it off in the kitchen. I won’t let anyone bother you, you hear me? C’mon…”

Afterward, Jason was haunted by the knowledge of what had almost happened to him, and from that point on, he swore that he would never trust another adult with his wellbeing (except Charlene, maybe, but she was living rough herself and couldn’t take on the responsibility of looking after a kid). 

Even when Batman stepped in and saved him from being jumped months later — even when Batman bought him food and slipped him precious money, even when Batman showed him a magic trick and made light conversation about books when he found out that Jason liked to read…Jason didn’t trust him. 

Batman was huge. If he wanted to, he could easily break all of Jason’s bones or strangle him or worse, and nobody would even notice that he was missing or dead. In principle, he wanted to trust Gotham’s protector. But when Batman offered to give Jason a ride to some children’s home, every muscle and fiber in Jason’s body told him to flee. Even though Batman looked at him with apparent kindness; even though he seemed unusually gentle for a guy who went around punching criminals all night, even though he’d saved Jason. Even though everyone knew he protected kids, which was something Jason wanted to emulate when he grew up. 

If he couldn’t even trust Batman, he figured he’d probably never be able to trust anyone again. 

Time passed, and then some random kid — wealthy and living in a huge house and everything that Jason should’ve hated — stumbled into his life and refused to leave. 

Tim was so earnest and too smart for his own good but also kind of endearingly oblivious and way more transparent than he thought he was. Against his own will, Jason found himself looking after the kid when he realized there was nobody else around to do it. 

But after a while, Jason foolishly began to grow comfortable with the arrangement. He liked falling asleep near Tim and knowing that he wasn’t alone, even though Tim was smaller and younger and couldn’t really do anything to protect Jason. He liked feeding the kid and making sure he did his homework and preventing him from falling off rooftops while he chased after Batman. It filled him with a sense of purpose and accomplishment, something that he’d been lacking for years. It was something to focus on beyond merely surviving the next day. He’d long accepted that he wasn’t meant to have someone look after him, but he could make sure the same wasn’t true for Tim. 

Timmy’s parents turned out to be royal assholes, and after their first disastrous visit ended with Jack Drake screaming himself hoarse at Tim over a small mishap, Jason immediately began plotting to keep Tim safe from them. He squirreled away some of the allowance money that Tim shared with him each week to build up an emergency fund. He packed go bags for both of them and researched affordable cities they could move to if the Drakes escalated their behavior any further. He’d survived on the streets once, and he could do it again. 

The only wrench in his plan was the Waynes. 

Tim seemed over the moon to have caught their attention, and he immediately trusted them. But whenever Jason looked at Bruce, he remembered that wealthy man’s cologne and fancy suit and the sensation of fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist and he had to fight the urge to shudder and slip out the nearest door or window. 

He tried his usual tactics of being abrasive and rude, but to his bewilderment, it didn’t work on the Waynes. When he spoke with a bitter edge in his voice, nobody reacted with anger or disgust or pushed him away. They kept inviting him over, and Alfred was amazingly patient and such a good cook; and Bruce had an incredible book collection and actively encouraged Jason to borrow from it; and Dick was fun to be around, even though Jason would never admit it out loud. Bruce seemed genuinely interested in funding a food pantry for homeless kids in Gotham, and Jason couldn’t let his own personal reservations stand in the way of helping other kids, could he?

And then it turned out that Bruce was Batman, and Tim, way too intelligent for an eight-year-old, had known that from the beginning, and a lot of things suddenly made sense.

In spite of his strict rule of never being vulnerable around anyone bigger and stronger than him, Jason found himself relaxing a little around the Waynes. He began cooking with Alfred some nights, and the familiar dance of working alongside someone in the kitchen was something he never thought he’d enjoy again. He even accepted martial arts lessons from Bruce and Dick. Tim was being oddly evasive and refused to accompany him on these ventures over to Wayne Manor, which made Jason uneasy, but he knew that his secretive, cunning little brother wouldn’t respond well to direct questioning. In the meantime, he vowed to keep a close eye on the kid so he could figure out whatever wild scheme he had concocted and intervene before Timmy got in over his head. 

“B said we can do some jiu jitsu today,” Dick told him one evening as they stretched in the Waynes’ home gym, preparing for their usual martial arts training. 

“What’s that?” Jason asked. 

“It’s a different martial art. We’ve mostly been doing karate up to this point, but jiu jitsu is better for close-contact fighting. There are a lot of moves that could help you escape if you ever find someone grabbing you,” Dick explained. 

Jason immediately thought of cold eyes and a possessive hand clamping around his wrist, and he rubbed the skin there, feeling sick to his stomach. 

The feeling lasted as Bruce walked them through some basic self-defense moves before suggesting that he and Dick try grappling.

“You’re not going to go at full strength or speed — just getting a feel for what grappling is like. Tap or say stop if you need a break, okay, Jason?” Bruce told him. 

Jason suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe, but he nodded mutely. He refused to show weakness, and he needed to learn this stuff if he wanted to protect kids someday. 

“You ready, Jay?” Dick asked. 

“Yep,” Jason replied with a casualness he didn’t feel, rolling his shoulders and dropping into a defensive crouch. He reminded himself that this was Robin — he was reasonably confident by now that Dick wouldn’t hurt him. He’d had plenty of opportunities to do so if he really wanted to, and he’d never shown the slightest hint of misplaced anger or aggression in Jason’s presence. 

Jason’s body didn’t seem to have gotten the memo that his brain was trying to broadcast, though. The second that Dick carefully but deliberately grasped Jason and slowly twisted him toward the ground — not even using a fraction of his strength — Jason felt like a vise had gripped his lungs. 

Without thinking, he frantically tapped the mat. Dick released him like he was a hot pan, springing a few feet away.

“Sorry, Jaybird — you okay?” He asked, his brow wrinkled with concern. 

Jason sat up, struggling to inhale, even though he hadn’t exerted himself at all. 

Bruce was watching him closely. “Dick, would you mind getting Jason some water?”

“Sure, B,” Dick agreed, standing and hurrying to the other side of the gym where there was a water fountain. 

Jason tried not to tense further as he was left alone with Bruce. 

“Sorry,” Jason muttered, picking at the logo on his gym shorts — hand-me-downs from Dick that Alfred had passed along to him. Great, Batman probably thought he was a total wimp now. 

“Jason,” Bruce said, his tone utterly serious. “You should never apologize for advocating for your safety. I’m very proud of you for tapping when the grappling was too much. You did exactly what you were supposed to do.”

Jason’s head jerked up and he appraised Bruce with surprise. “But…I barely lasted even five seconds,” he complained. 

Bruce’s mouth quirked. “We all start somewhere, and your safety comes first, Jaylad. Would you prefer it if we go back to practicing karate?”

“No!” Jason surprised himself with the speed and intensity of his reply. “I want to learn. I need to learn.”

If Bruce wondered why a supposed 12-year-old trust fund kid was so desperate to learn how to protect himself and other people, he kept it to himself. 

“Okay, but I want to go at a pace that feels right to you. So maybe we keep working on the basics and skip grappling for now?”

Jason stubbornly shook his head. “I can do it. Now I know that Dick will stop right away when I tap, so…I want to try again.”

He wasn’t sure if that was actually true, but he didn’t allow himself to think about it. 

“Alright,” Bruce agreed. “But we’ll take it easy. And…for the record, I always want you to speak up if you’re in a situation that makes you feel unsafe. You can come to Dick, Alfred, or I, no matter what. Or if you don’t feel comfortable talking to us, you can go right to Commissioner Gordon and tell him Bruce Wayne sent you.”

Jason was absolutely shocked and horrified to find his eyes growing hot and his vision blurring slightly. Fortunately, Dick arrived then with a cup of water, and he busied himself with taking a sip. It made no sense — he’d wept for his mom, but he hadn’t cried when Willis died, when he ran away from his shitty foster home, when that lady stole all the stuff from his backpack — hell, he hadn’t even cried after Charlene saved him from that awful man. 

Why was it that he felt a sudden urge to burst into tears now, after all this time? 

Maybe it was because he had been looking after himself for all this time — honestly, even for a few years before his parents’ deaths, when things had gone downhill at home — and now Batman himself was suddenly offering himself up as Jason’s protector. For the first time in the months that he’d been acquainted with Bruce, the man’s stature and strength suddenly seemed reassuring instead of intimidating. Instead of envisioning Bruce overpowering him, he now imagined Bruce standing between him and an angry Willis, between Tim and his asshole parents, and most importantly, between Jason and the dead-eyed man who’d almost succeeded in preying on him. 

He knew Bruce’s offer was probably too good to be true — Jason wasn’t meant to have anyone looking after him. The universe had made that very clear when it assigned his birth parents. 

And yet…as time wore on, he watched Bruce take decisive action toward eradicating child hunger in Gotham simply because Jason was passionate about the cause. And he watched Bruce cradle Tim in his arms like he was his own flesh and blood when Timmy got sick at the gala, showing far more care and attention to Jason’s beloved little brother than Jack and Janet Drake ever did. And when Bruce lifted Jason up so he could place a star on the Christmas tree, Jason didn’t think once about the scent of the bad man’s cologne or strong fingers wrapping around his wrist. He felt small and safe perched on Bruce’s shoulders, like the way he’d once felt on those rare peaceful Sundays, curled into his mom’s side in the chapel.

So while he remained poised to grab Tim and run at the first sign of trouble, maybe some foolish little part of him wished — hoped, prayed — for a different outcome. 

For Bruce to be the one adult who proved him wrong.  

***

To be honest, Dick never saw this coming, either.

As a kid, he’d begged his parents for little siblings, but his mother had had a very difficult pregnancy and delivery with him, and it was hard for his parents to take time off with their circus lifestyle to care for a baby. Fortunately, he never lacked companions and playmates in the circus, so he didn’t feel the sting of being an only child too badly. 

The night his parents died, he posed for a picture with an absolutely adorable toddler, and he found himself wishing, as usual, that he had a little brother. But that wish was shattered along with all of his other hopes and dreams just an hour later when his parents plummeted to their deaths. 

After that, Dick was a walking, flipping, cartwheeling disaster for his first few years at Wayne Manor. Bruce took all of Dick’s chaos in stride, and he never once told Dick to stop being so much — so restless, so emotional, so wild. He was hardly perfect as a parent, but he was always trying. 

Dick knew that he was so, so lucky that Bruce had been the one to adopt him, and he loved his dad; he really did. He wanted to cling to Bruce and never let him out of his sight so nothing bad could ever happen to him. At the same time, however, he wanted to scream and rail at Bruce for daring to be alive when his parents were dead. These complicated feelings came out in fits of destructive rage, impulsive and reckless behavior that endangered himself and sometimes Bruce, and long periods of withdrawal and apathy.

Becoming Robin helped him work through his emotions, and although the grief never ended, Dick became better at living with it. It was no walk in the park, though, and he struggled to make friends with his wealthy classmates at Gotham Academy, most of whom were totally sheltered from grief and the harsh reality of life outside Bristol. It didn’t help that Gotham’s elite were scandalized about the fact that some random circus kid would inherit the status, fame, and vast fortunes of the Wayne family. 

He endured a lot of gossipy articles speculating about whether Brucie Wayne would adopt more kids now that he’d shown a penchant for taking poor little orphans under his wing. And Dick was too ashamed to admit it, but he privately hoped that Bruce would never welcome another kid into Wayne Manor. 

It was selfish, but he didn’t want to share Bruce’s time and attention with anyone — he’d already lost one set of parents, and he didn’t want to sacrifice even a tiny portion of his remaining parent’s presence in his life. He was terrified of Bruce finding some other kid who was better behaved, a better student, a better son, and maybe even a better Robin. Then Bruce might realize that he’d wasted all of his effort on raising Dick, who’d deliberately made things as difficult as possible sometimes, when he could’ve been spending his time and energy on a more worthwhile heir. 

He’d formed this opinion around middle school, and he carried it forward as a fact in his mind. So that was why he was shocked to realize, when he visited Drake Manor for the first time and found Jason and Tim fending for themselves while their housekeeper was off for the weekend, his first thought was, They should be at Wayne Manor with us. 

The flames of jealousy and fear that he’d stoked for years were suddenly nowhere to be found when faced with the clear evidence that his neighbors were being neglected. 

It made no sense — as Robin, he’d helped shepherd many neglected, abused, trafficked, or homeless kids in Gotham through the system and into good, safe homes. This was the first time he’d ever felt the rock-solid conviction that said kids actually belonged with his family in Wayne Manor, however. 

Maybe it was the fact that Tim looked up to Dick like he’d hung the stars in the sky, seemingly for no reason. Maybe it was the fact that Jason’s friendship was obviously hard-won, and the small bit of faith he’d already placed in Dick was a precious gift that shouldn’t be squandered or handled lightly. Maybe it was the fact that he saw some of his younger self in Tim and Jason — adrift and lacking parents at such a young age. 

But whatever the reason, Dick couldn’t bear the thought of the two of them disappearing into the foster care system. Even though Jason and Tim were both sure to be better students than he was. Even though Jason had a passion for protecting and defending the vulnerable that would make him an amazing Robin, and Tim, with his brilliant, analytical mind, was cut from the same cloth as Bruce.

Even though in many ways they were perfectly poised to steal Dick’s role as Bruce’s favorite (and only) child. 

And yet…Dick suddenly found that he didn’t care about that anymore. 

“Can I have a word in the study, chum?” Bruce asked him Thanksgiving morning. His dad looked exhausted after taking care of Timmy all night, but at least Tim had turned a corner and was feeling a little better today. 

In the study was code for in the cave. 

“Sure thing, B,” he said casually, standing and handing his Nintendo controller over to Jason, who’d been watching him play Paper Mario. “See if you can defeat this boss for me, okay, Jay?”

Jason nodded, fortunately not seeming to think twice of Bruce wanting to speak to Dick alone. 

As they walked to the study together, Bruce was quiet, but it was an anticipatory sort of silence, like B was working up to making some big speech, and Dick felt his nerves grow.

He hadn’t given himself time to dwell on it, but it had been really scary when Tim collapsed at the gala. It had immediately become clear that the poor kiddo was sick — really sick — and probably had been for some time. He knew that Tim was a good actor, but he felt terrible for missing the signs all the same — he’d commented that Tim seemed unusually warm but hadn’t connected the dots, which was an epic failure on his part. He was Robin, for crying out loud! He was supposed to have amazing situational awareness, but he’d let Tim down.  

If Timmy had been at Wayne Manor where he belonged, Dick liked to think that none of this would’ve ever happened. Surely one of them would’ve noticed something — that Tim was coughing or eating less or seemed unusually tired and listless. But he’d been at home with his worthless parents for the days leading up to the gala, and nobody from Wayne Manor had seen him. His fists clenched at his sides with anger as he imagined Tim feeling sicker and sicker while his parents turned a blind eye. 

They descended to the cave in silence. Bruce took a seat in front of the batcomputer, but he turned his chair so that he was facing away from the screens. He solemnly motioned for Dick to take his usual seat opposite him. Then he simply sat for a moment, expression pensive, seeming to gather his words. 

Dick drummed his fingers impatiently on the armrests of his chair. He wished this was a vigilante issue, and he could put on his suit and go kick some ass. But unfortunately, there wasn’t much Robin could do with the targets of his ire currently gallivanting around South America. 

“Dick,” Bruce finally said, his tone careful. “You know how proud of you I am, right?”

At the non sequitur, Dick blew out a frustrated breath and jumped out of his chair, unable to bear sitting still a second longer with so much pent-up anger and worry coursing through his body. Seriously, his extremely stoic father chose now to want to talk about emotions? There were much bigger things at hand!

“Oh, come on! Bruce, why the hell are you talking about feelings when we should be making sure the Drakes are in jail?!” He exclaimed, pacing. Across from him, Bruce looked vaguely startled, like this conversation wasn’t going how he’d planned in his head. 

“Timmy could’ve died — pneumonia isn’t something to joke about, especially for a little kid!” Dick spat. “And don’t even get me started on how skittish and untrusting Jason is — how skittish and untrusting they both are!” 

His words reverberated off the cavernous walls. Bruce was watching him with an unreadable expression that made Dick want to shake him. He desperately needed Bruce to understand how high the stakes were. 

He swallowed around a lump in his throat, the fire in his veins suddenly fading into grief. “They can’t go back there, Dad — please, you gotta make sure they don’t go back there.” His voice, which had mostly settled into a lower register over the past few years, cracked noticeably, making him sound embarrassingly young to his own ears. 

To cover up his self-consciousness, he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Bruce. 

“Well?” He demanded. “Are you gonna say something, or are you just going to sit there?”

In response, Bruce wordlessly pulled two folders out of a drawer next to the batcomputer and placed them on the desk in front of him. 

Dick huffed with annoyance — did Bruce seriously want to talk about their cases at a time like this? — but then Bruce flipped the folders open, and the irritated jibe died on his tongue. 

His eyes widened as he glanced from the files to Bruce’s face, and then back again to make sure he wasn’t mistaken.

“You…you already — you were planning for this?”

Bruce nodded. “I’m meeting with my lawyers this afternoon. I wanted to ease you into the conversation in case it wasn’t something you were thinking about.” He gave a small, wry smile. “I see now that that wasn’t necessary on my part.”

Dick sagged like a puppet with his strings cut, dropping into his chair again. 

Petition to the State of New Jersey for the Adoption of a Minor, the papers read. 

The forms were neatly filled out in Bruce’s handwriting, Bruce’s signature strong and confident at the bottom of the page. The signature was dated to yesterday, but Dick now suspected that Bruce had printed these forms awhile ago. His dad was many things, but impulsive definitely wasn’t one of them. 

“Dick,” Bruce said, his expression serious. “I want your consent before I do this. This is your home and your family, and you deserve a say. You can take some time to think about it — we can’t proceed until we know more about the Drakes’ travel plans, anyway.”

Dick didn’t miss how Bruce pronounced the surname like it was a curse word. 

“I don’t want you to feel pressured or rushed into making this decision,” Bruce continued. “If you have any concerns —”

“I don’t,” Dick interrupted. “My answer is yes.”

Instead of looking relieved, Bruce’s shoulders remained tense.

“Well, it’s fine if you do have any concerns come up later, okay? You will always be my number one priority, sweetheart, and this doesn’t change anything between us.”

Bruce was bracing himself for one of their usual shouting matches, Dick realized, wherein Dick would start yelling that Bruce never listened to his opinions. But this was different from their ongoing disagreement over how independent Robin should be. Instead of driving them apart, Jason and Tim had only brought him and B closer together. They’d been fighting a lot this past year on their patrols, and that tension had begun to bleed into their home life. But with Jason and Tim around, the two of them had begun working together to investigate Jason’s backstory and the Drakes’ travels. They’d been in perfect alignment, for once, about the need to make Jason and Tim feel safe and welcome at Wayne Manor. 

“I know that, B,” he admitted quietly. 

“Good,” Bruce nodded solemnly.

Dick chewed on his lower lip, considering his next words. 

“I know I don’t say it enough, but…you’re a really good dad, you know that?”

After all, the whole reason why Bruce didn’t want him to fly solo as a vigilante was because he worried for Dick’s safety. Although it annoyed the crap out of him, he recognized that the root of the conflict was love and protectiveness, not control or disdain. He forgot that fact sometimes in the heat of the moment, but he was trying his best to remember it. 

Someone who didn’t know the real Bruce Wayne would think that Bruce’s demeanor was just as inscrutable as ever, but Dick had spent half his life learning to decode the man’s microexpressions, and he could see the slight softening in the lines of his face which meant his words had been heard and appreciated. 

“Thanks, chum,” Bruce said, his voice a touch rougher than usual with emotion. “Like I said earlier, I’m extremely proud of the person you’re growing into, and I’ve already seen firsthand what an amazing big brother you are.”

Big brother. 

The words spread through his body like a warm embrace — the label that he’d wished and prayed for now spoken into the universe like fact. 

He couldn’t help the broad grin that broke out on his face. 

“This is gonna be so much fun, B!”

Bruce snorted. “Let’s try for a little less chandelier swinging this time around, okay, chum? For Alfred’s sake?”

“Deal,” Dick agreed. But privately, he was already thinking about all the other mildly illicit things he could teach his little brothers. Like the fact that someone small enough could fit in the laundry chute that ran from the second floor to the first floor of Wayne Manor. Or the fact that the grand staircase in the ballroom could be used for mattress surfing on rare occasions when both Bruce and Alfred were away for the night. Or — once they filled Jason and Tim in about their alter egos — the fact that Batman hated when Robin called him “Big Bats” in the field. 

Yes, this would be a lot of fun, indeed. Dick had waited his whole life for this opportunity and he was determined to make the most of it. He was going to be the best big brother ever, mark his words.  

***

Initially, Bruce was in the same boat as Dick.

He never intended to adopt any more children. Hell, half the time he still wondered what business he’d had adopting Dick in the first place. 

There had been so many sleepless nights in the early years with Dick where he’d tossed and turned in bed, paralyzed and asking himself what the hell he was doing. Nowadays, as he struggled to navigate Dick’s teenage years and growing desire for independence, he found himself confronting the same doubts and worries. 

“Have I made a terrible mistake? What am I doing?” He’d once asked Alfred after a particularly brutal night where ten-year-old Dick had had an epic meltdown over bedtime and screamed that he hated Bruce. 

“My dear boy,” Alfred remarked with unusual gentleness, brewing Bruce a cup of tea without being asked. “I must confess that I had several nights where I felt the same way after your parents died.”

 Bruce prided himself on his stoic mask, but he allowed himself an expression of surprise in front of his surrogate father. Alfred had seemed like the most solid, staid force in the entire world after his parents’ murders — like a boulder sitting calmly in a raging river that was trying to drag Bruce downstream. The idea that he, too, had doubted his abilities to care for a child was astonishing. 

Alfred let out a knowing chuckle. “I have found, Master Bruce, that the best way to put one foot in front of the other is simply by trying. Your steps may not always be correct, and you may not be able to control the end results of your labor, but you can control the effort you put in.”

It was a lesson that rang true in many areas of Bruce’s life. After all, wasn’t that what Batman was all about — the trying? He couldn’t go back in time and save his parents, but he could attempt to make Gotham safer and prevent future crimes and murders from occurring. It sometimes felt like a Sisyphean task, as though every time he struck down a villain or a rogue, five more automatically spawned in their place. It was backbreaking, thankless work, and he was never quite sure if he was making a difference or not…but he still got up each day and tried again. And again. And again. Maybe it was insanity. Or maybe it was simply the only way he knew to help. 

Whatever the case, who was he to think that he deserved the precious, terrifying responsibility of raising two more children?

And yet…under the current circumstances, what choice did he really have?

Dick had come crashing into his life like a speeding bullet, but Jason and Tim sidled in, slow and cautious, until they each took possession of a corner of his heart without him noticing. Gradually, he caught himself wondering if his boys — plural — were having a good day — if they’d slept well, if they’d eaten, if anything was bothering them. He found himself keeping an eye out for theater performances that Jason would enjoy and contemplating how to arrange an opportunity for Tim to meet his favorite photographer. He celebrated small victories, like when Jason grinned shyly after Bruce complimented the food he’d cooked with Alfred, or when Tim, a budding insomniac, drifted peacefully off to sleep while Bruce read a chapter of The Fellowship of the Ring to him during his convalescence at Wayne Manor. 

When Bruce wearily slid into bed at the end of patrol, he wrestled with an increasing restlessness and discomfort over the knowledge that, while Dick was safely sleeping across the hall from him, Jason and Tim were under a different roof a mile away — a fact that felt more and more wrong with every day that passed. 

He began gathering evidence long before he acknowledged to himself what he was planning to do. This is just normal detective work, he lied to himself as he surveyed the information he’d collected. These children might be in danger, so I have a duty to intervene. 

He was in the cave and Alfred was upstairs, but if Alfred had been there, Bruce knew the man would’ve raised a pointed eyebrow at the adoption paperwork he’d printed out weeks earlier — a gesture that Bruce would’ve ignored, thank you very much. 

But he wasn’t able to keep his usual emotional distance from the subjects of his investigation, and everything he learned just made him more and more concerned and angry. The Drakes were smart; he’d give them that. It was surprisingly difficult to track their travel schedule and finances, as though someone was actively trying to cover their tracks. On the books, they paid their housekeeper for forty hours of work a week, but Bruce suspected she worked far fewer hours in reality. And then there were Jason’s child services records, which had been tampered with and were difficult to decipher. 

Why take in your half-brother’s traumatized child and then abandon him, along with your son? Bruce wondered, turning the question over and over in his mind. 

His logical side craved answers, but he supposed there wasn’t a satisfactory reason for why someone would be so awful, a truth he’d confronted many times as Batman. He remembered being surprised when Janet Drake announced her pregnancy years ago — she’d never been the caring, maternal type in school. He now suspected that Jack and Janet had always intended for Tim to be a trophy of sorts — something shiny that could be brought out and shown off when convenient, and then shoved back onto a shelf to gather dust. 

And then there was the blatant fact that Jason was deeply traumatized by whatever had happened to him before he came to live with the Drakes, and they clearly couldn’t be bothered to spend time with him, build a relationship with him, or even throw money at a therapist to help their nephew. 

But perhaps the thing that bothered Bruce the most was the fact that he’d met Tim before and he hadn’t seen what was going on. He knew he couldn’t blame himself for not being omniscient — it had definitely rung some alarm bells in his mind when he found the six-year-old sleeping on a couch at a party, totally unaware of his parents’ location, but Dick was always running off when he was younger, so he’d chalked it up to a normal childhood incident. 

He wished he’d known what he was sending Tim back to. After meeting Tim for the second time and getting acquainted with him over the past few months, he found himself recalling the memory of that night sometimes — Tim’s slight weight in his arms, the trusting way Tim had held on to him, the tickle of Tim’s hair brushing against his chin. If he’d known then what he knew now, he would’ve held on tight to the little boy and refused to let him go. 

Hindsight was 20/20, however, and the best thing he could do was to keep Tim and Jason safe moving forward. 

The Thanksgiving gala was the final straw for him, and he finally admitted to himself that this was only ever going to end one way as he watched Jack and Janet walk away to catch their plane, seemingly totally unconcerned about the unconscious child burning up with fever in Bruce’s arms. 

In that moment, he saw the fork in the road that he was standing at. If he did nothing — if he let things run their course without interfering — Tim’s secretiveness and self-reliance would no doubt morph him into a sleep-deprived, self-sacrificial, workaholic adult. And Jason, already so jaded, would only be further hardened by the world’s cruelty.

So maybe he wasn’t the right person to raise Dick. Maybe he wasn’t the right person to raise Jason and Tim. 

But he was here when nobody else was, and he was willing to try. 

“B?” Jason’s fingers were gripping Bruce’s jacket sleeve, dragging him back to the reality of the ballroom. “Is Tim going to be okay?”

There was something desperate in his eyes — a childlike plea for an adult to fix things — a tiny grain of glass-spun trust that he was placing in Bruce’s hands. 

It abruptly transported him back to the memory of a night years ago — about six months after he’d adopted Dick. He’d carried Dick into the house after he fell asleep in the car coming home from gymnastics class, and when he’d tucked Dick into bed, Dick had sleepily mumbled, “Love you, B.” 

He had promptly rolled over and begun snoring, but Bruce had remained frozen at his bedside, his entire world tilting on its axis in an instant, as though two tectonic plates had just crashed together and deposited him in a completely foreign landscape. 

He wasn’t just some guy looking after a kid, he’d suddenly understood with frightening clarity — he was a dad. 

Looking into Jason’s imploring gaze at the gala was like that lightning rod moment all over again.

This child who trusts nobody wants to trust me, he realized. I can’t mess this up. 

“I’m not sure what’s going on, Jaylad,” he said, using the iron control he’d developed as Batman to still his racing thoughts and focus on the present. “But Tim is young and healthy. I’m going to bring him to my doctor friend, and I promise you that he will get the best treatment possible.”

Jason studied his face, and Bruce wasn’t sure what he saw there, but he nodded after a moment. 

Thankfully, Alfred was shooing the gawking crowd away. As they parted to let Bruce through, he saw Jack and Janet disappearing through the threshold of the ballroom. They didn’t look back. 

He signed the papers that night.

And then…perhaps he was too accustomed to his social status opening doors for him, but he mistakenly assumed it would be a simple matter from there. He could provide the police with ample evidence to arrest Jack and Janet for child neglect and abandonment, and he was a certified foster parent and close neighbor of the Drake family. He called an urgent meeting with his lawyers and Commissioner Gordon on Thanksgiving, expecting it to be a brief and straightforward affair. What he found was…not that. 

“There’s no extradition treaty in Bolivia,” Gordon reminded him. “If we try to charge them with something, they’ll never come back to the U.S. This will get dragged out for months or years, and it’ll be ugly.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Wayne,” one of his lawyers told him — a young woman who seemed mildly terrified to speak in his presence, “you are not related to Tim or Jason by blood, and Jack and Janet haven’t designated you as any kind of emergency guardian. Therefore, you have no legal claim over the boys whatsoever.”

“She raises a good point, Bruce,” Gordon chimed in. “If Jack and Janet suspect that you want the boys, they will probably do everything in their power to keep them from you. This needs to be executed carefully. First their arrest, then the matter of custody and adoption.”

“That’s unacceptable,” Bruce thundered, aware that he wasn’t doing a credible job of keeping up the Brucie veneer but unable to care. 

“My hands are tied,” Gordon said, and to his credit, he sounded genuinely chagrined. “There are other law enforcement agencies after the Drakes for antiquities smuggling. My authority doesn’t supersede the FBI and INTERPOL.”

Bruce was tempted to take matters into his own hands and pay a visit to Bolivia, law enforcement be damned, but unfortunately, this was a civil matter, not a vigilante matter. 

His last hope was that he could convince Tim and Jason to stay at the manor on an informal basis until the Drakes returned, but Tim politely shot down that idea. Too politely. There was something going on there, but Bruce wasn’t sure what. While Jason seemed increasingly comfortable spending time with them at Wayne Manor, Tim had turned into a ghost, keeping his distance as much as possible. 

He wished that he could speak freely and tell Tim what was happening behind the scenes, but Tim didn’t seem to notice a problem with the way his parents treated him, and there was no telling how he might react if Bruce announced that he planned to seek custody. He could blow the entire operation out of the water by accident if he said anything to his parents. 

So although it killed him to send Tim and Jason back to Drake Manor by themselves, it was all Bruce could do for the time being, and he told himself he would make it up to the boys when this was all resolved. In the meantime, Dick was happy to make sure that Tim wasn’t left on his own for too long, coming up with ideas for activities and a schedule of when and how they should all approach him. 

Bruce’s own attempt to connect with Tim failed. He didn’t take it personally when Tim rejected the invitation to the photography exhibit, knowing that Tim had a lot on his plate and was no doubt doing his best to cope in the ways that made sense to him. Plus, Bruce had other things occupying his attention, like the fact that a child had evidently played a significant role in thwarting Crane’s latest attempt at sowing destruction and chaos. As he watched and re-watched the grainy pier footage, something about the child’s stature and body language bothered him. It almost seemed…familiar.

But, no, that was impossible, he reminded himself firmly. 

There was no way that Tim would be involved in gathering intel on Scarecrow — there was no connection between the Drakes and Crane; Bruce had made certain of it when researching the Drakes. The other possibility was that Tim was somehow acting as a vigilante or trying to assist vigilantes, which also made no sense for a child his age who knew nothing about Batman’s identity. 

No, he told himself, he was simply seeing Tim in this mysterious child because he was concerned for Tim’s safety right now. His brain was filling in the gaps with an impossible answer. The mystery child was likely the son or daughter of one of Crane’s henchmen who were trying to defect. This meant that Tim was safe, but there was another child out there in danger, and Bruce wasn’t sure how to track them down and help them. 

He was still mulling all of this over the day he took the boys to the tree farm, intending for it to be a fun, relaxing day — a way to include Jason and Tim in their holiday traditions and show the boys that they were part of the family already, legalities be damned. 

And then…mere hours later, he found himself standing in the foyer of Drake Manor, his knuckles throbbing from the punch he’d thrown at Jack Drake. He probably should’ve held back a bit to avoid arousing suspicion as to why he could hit so hard, but it had felt good in the moment. It had been a long time since he’d thrown a punch without wrapping his knuckles or wearing his gauntlets, and there was something raw and primally satisfying about the pain. 

With Jack knocked out cold and Janet in harmless histrionics by his side, Bruce turned his attention to what really mattered. 

“Jason!” He barked, fear making his voice harsher than he intended. 

There was a brief, horrifying silence, filled only by the distant sirens of the approaching police cars, and then a faint, muffled, “In here!” coming from the closet. 

Bruce felt his knees weaken slightly with relief. He hurried over to the door. 

“It’s me, Bruce — you can come out now, son.”

He expected it to take some time for Jason to feel safe enough to open the door, but Jason surprised him by immediately flinging it open.

“B — we’ve gotta help Tim! His dad — he was hurt! And then he ran out into the cold!” 

“Tim is fine, Jay,” Bruce said, keeping his tone calm and soothing. “Alfred is patching him up. He came to the manor to get help for you.”

Jason’s shoulders relaxed as though a great weight had been removed from them. His focus seemed to rapidly shift directions, then. 

“You…you came to save me?”

Bruce allowed himself a split second to close his eyes and compose himself before responding. The disbelief and vulnerability in Jason’s voice made him want to hunt down every single adult who had hurt and abandoned him and give them the same treatment as Jack Drake, the pain in his knuckles be damned. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” he replied when he was sure his voice would come out evenly. “I’ll always come when you need me.”

“Oh.” Jason let out a slight sniffle and blinked, looking away. 

Bruce suddenly found that he couldn’t wait any longer, and he decided to get right to the point, figuring Jason, ever the straight shooter, would also appreciate forthrightness. 

“Jaylad, things can’t go on like this. I would like to make sure that you’re safe and happy, and Dick, Alfred, and I consider you part of our family. Will you let me adopt you?”

Jason’s head whipped back towards Bruce and his eyes widened, making him look much more like the twelve-year-old kid that he was than usual. 

“Do…do you mean that?” He asked, heartbreakingly hesitant to believe Bruce’s words. 

“Absolutely,” Bruce declared, hoping Jason could hear the sincerity in his voice — if not now, maybe one day in the future when he looked back on the memory. “And for the record, I would have asked sooner if I could’ve.”

Jason evaluated him carefully. It was impossible to know what he was thinking, this boy who had been so hurt by the world. 

“Only if Tim gets adopted, too. If not, I’m taking him and running away, and there’s nothing you can do about it,” Jason finally decided, crossing his arms over his chest as if daring Bruce to disagree.

Bruce felt a rare full, genuine smile tugging at his face. Naturally, Jason would view this as a negotiation. He had clearly gotten used to looking after Tim the way a parent or guardian would, and it would take time for him to cede the reins to Bruce. 

“That,” he assured Jason, “was never in question.”

He watched Jason absorb this news — the final barrier to his acceptance of the offer falling away.

“Okay, then,” Jason shrugged with a casual, unaffected tone, as though receiving a weather report, but he was also fighting a smile of his own. 

“Okay, then,” he echoed gently. “Let’s sort things out with the police so we can go home. But first —” He held out his arms, and Jason stepped into them willingly. He was tense, as though he wasn’t quite sure how to hug or be hugged, and Bruce made a mental vow that he would provide Jason — and Tim — with the safety, stability, and love they deserved.

He’d thought his journey through the most active years of fatherhood was drawing to a close as Dick neared adulthood. But now he was starting from the beginning again, twice over. There would be more years of patching up scraped knees, giving advice about school bullies and crushes, hearing pounding footsteps running overhead while he was trying to work, and ceaselessly tripping over stray shoes in the foyer. There would be a constant flurry of holidays and birthdays and completely mundane days flying by. Long days and short years, as the saying went. His table a little more crowded. His house a little louder. His heart a little fuller.

It wouldn’t be easy or perfect, but as Alfred had said, all Bruce could do was try. 

***

For the record, Alfred absolutely did see all of this coming. 

From the second that Bruce called him to let him know that he was bringing two boys home with him for lunch, Alfred’s intuition told him that it wouldn’t be a one-time interaction. His boy — now a man, but the mental association was hard for Alfred to revise after all these years — helped people far and wide across Gotham, both as his socialite persona and as Batman. However, he rarely brought people into the manor. It was his sanctuary, the only place where he could be Bruce. 

Still, if Alfred had learned anything from Bruce’s tumultuous teenage years — a lesson further reinforced by Master Dick’s current phase as a teenager — it was that Bruce needed to figure these things out on his own. Alfred could tell him the truth until he was blue in the face, but until Bruce had made meaning of it himself, his words would fall on deaf ears. 

Meanwhile, Master Tim and Master Jason tiptoed hesitantly into their house and into their lives. Master Dick contemplated whether his feelings about being an only child had changed, and Master Bruce wrestled with the idea of becoming a father again. 

And Alfred watched and waited. He considered future bedroom arrangements, mentally earmarking the most peaceful and secluded room for Master Jason, who would need a haven where he felt safe and in control. He chose the room next door for Master Tim — it was more centrally located, so he could hear the distant noises of the manor and its occupants and remember that he wasn’t alone anymore. 

He quietly began stocking the rooms with basic clothing and toiletries so that they’d be ready when the inevitable happened and they welcomed their new residents to the manor. (And if he purchased a few Christmas gifts as well, nobody needed to know.)

And he waited some more. 

All he could do was what he had always done: serve the Wayne family to the best of his ability. It was a task that he’d taken on decades ago, and he’d stayed the course, although the path had changed so greatly over the years that his younger self would no doubt be astonished by his current self’s life. 

When he’d taken the job, he never could’ve anticipated that Thomas and Martha would be killed — that he would suddenly find himself as the sole caretaker and guardian of a young, traumatized Master Bruce. Batman had been an equally confounding development, topped only by young Master Dick’s arrival in their lives eight years ago. 

And now there were two more children on the brink of joining the family. 

Alfred could see how Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Tim were all struggling in their own ways and with their own issues, but he felt only a sense of peace and contentment within himself as he observed matters unfolding. He was able to look upon the situation with the perspective of almost 70 years of life under his belt, after all, but Bruce was still in the thick of things, back where Alfred himself had been in the years after Thomas and Martha’s deaths. 

He knew a thing or two about raising lost boys and the accompanying gut-wrenching fear of failing.

In fact, during Bruce’s late teens and early twenties, he’d gone to bed every night half-terrified that he would wake up to a phone call or a breaking news alert or, heaven forbid, a tabloid headline announcing that the Wayne heir was dead. He was certain that there would be some tragic and preventable mishap or misadventure — a skydiving accident, a mountain avalanche, a fatal injury from stepping in to stop a fight, or some kind of hostage situation. Bruce was living on a knife’s edge back then, dancing merrily along the tightrope line of fate to distract himself from his pain and anger with the world, and Alfred was convinced that the only way he would ever come home would be in a body bag. 

And yet…somehow, somewhere along the way, that reckless, hurting boy had become a strong, competent man. A man who was flawed and imperfect, yes, but who tried every day to be a good father, businessman, and vigilante. 

So while everyone else was wracked with doubt, Alfred wasn’t too worried. These things had a way of working themselves out, in his experience. 

Of course, sometimes it was appropriate to step in and take a more direct approach. And while Bruce was highly skilled at compartmentalizing — a necessity of his night job — he was still a parent, and his children being in danger had the ability to frazzle him like nothing else did. 

He knew something was wrong the instant Bruce came striding into the kitchen, his mouth pressed into a thin line that signaled worry, Jason and Dick hot on his heels. Alfred had been tidying up — it was just past five in the morning, but he was in the habit of never going to bed with a messy kitchen, even after the dramatic and trying night they’d all had. 

“Have you seen Tim?” Bruce queried. The question was quickly and anxiously echoed by Dick and Jason. 

Ah. Alfred supposed they should’ve seen this coming. After Master Jason and Bruce went to talk to the social worker about the first steps for Jason’s adoption, Master Dick and Master Tim had retired upstairs to Tim’s room to rest. He had checked on the boys about an hour ago, and they’d both appeared to be sleeping. But Master Tim bore many similarities to Master Bruce, and he supposed they were all still learning not to underestimate the boy. 

“I have not,” he informed them. 

Bruce cursed under his breath.

“I’m sorry, B — I should’ve been watching him,” Dick apologized, looking crestfallen. 

Bruce shook his head. “It’s not your fault, Dick. It’s mine — I should’ve told him the news sooner.” 

“Blaming ourselves will not help us find Master Tim,” Alfred interjected sternly. “I presume that there are tracks in the snow we can follow?”

Bruce nodded. “He went out the window — the snow was disturbed on the windowsill and oak tree. The footprints lead back toward Drake Manor — I’m assuming he grabbed his belongings — he could be anywhere by now.”

The hint of distress that crept past his defenses and into his voice made it clear that he was operating more as Bruce than Batman right now, so Alfred fell back into his old role as head of the house.

“Very well. I’ll pull the car around. Master Jason and Master Dick, grab shovels and make sure the snow is cleared so we can open the gate,” he instructed. “Master Bruce, down to the cave to retrieve your file on the Drakes — we’re going to need their list of properties to plot out Master Tim’s most likely destination.”

Dick, with his years of experience as Robin, seemed comforted by the idea of having a task in a time of crisis. 

“C’mon,” he told Jason. “Let’s get our coats, and then I’ll show you where the shovels are.”

As the boys hurried off, he heard Dick say: “When this is all over, I’m gonna propose a new family rule — never keep secrets from Tim unless you want him to go absolutely nuclear.”

Shaking his head with amused fondness, Alfred grabbed his own jacket. Bruce had paused at the threshold of the kitchen. 

“Thanks, Alfred,” he said in his serious way, and if Alfred shut his eyes, he knew he’d be able to envision a somber little boy standing in his place.

He and Bruce didn’t talk about their feelings with one another — although they’d come a long way on the matter since Master Dick’s arrival, it made both of them uncomfortable, and probably always would. But he knew that Bruce wasn’t merely thanking him for organizing their search party.  

And when he replied with a simple, “It’s my pleasure, Master Bruce,” he knew that Bruce knew that he was talking about the last thirty-odd years of his life, not just the past few moments. 

“Now,” he added. “Let’s go find our boy.”

Bruce gave him a determined nod and headed off to retrieve his file. Alfred needed to go start the car, but he allowed himself a brief moment to glance at his old friends’ photo, tacked on the top of the kitchen bulletin board. 

“You would be so proud of him,” he murmured to Thomas and Martha, “and you would absolutely love your grandsons. All three of them.”

Chapter Text

“Bruce is going to adopt me,” Jason announced.

It had worked! Jason was getting adopted — Tim had done it! 

It was everything he’d hoped and planned for.

So why did it feel like the earth had just fallen out from underneath his feet?

***

Jason’s proclamation was met by a resounding silence. Or perhaps that was just the ringing noise in Tim’s ears. 

“Bruce is going to a-adopt you?” He managed to stutter after several seconds. 

Jason bobbed his head happily. “He asked me after everything wrapped up with the cops at your house — back before he even knew that I wasn’t related to your parents. He said it was clear that I couldn’t stay at Drake Manor any longer, so would I want to come live at Wayne Manor? And I said yes.”

Jason seemed totally at peace with his decision, and Dick, Alfred, and Bruce were all smiling. Tim realized that he needed to get on the same page as everyone else. 

“That’s amazing, Jay. I’m so happy for you,” he said, and it was true. He really was happy for Jason; honestly.

So why did he feel like the icy cold currents of the Gotham Harbor were dragging him out to sea again?

Tim shook himself a little bit, aware that Bruce was watching him. He still appeared conflicted about leaving the room.

“Tim, I —”

“Go on, B,” Dick spoke up from his spot next to Tim on the couch, giving his dad a reassuring nod. “You’ll talk to Tim really soon, like you said. I’ll stay with him until you’re done.”

Bruce gave a reluctant nod, following Jason and Alfred out of the room. 

“So!” Dick said in an upbeat tone once they were gone. “It’s getting pretty late — you want to go chill in your room while B and Jason are handling their business? Maybe get some shut-eye? It’d be more comfortable than sitting on this couch.”

Tim’s room? Dick must’ve been referring to the guest room. “Sure,” he agreed, but if Dick thought that Tim was going to fall asleep, then he had another thing coming. He could feel the desire to flee spreading through his body like a wildfire — the urge to slink away and be by himself, like an animal in the wild hiding out to lick its wounds in peace. 

He reluctantly allowed Dick to give him a piggyback ride upstairs — he was going to need to use his feet extensively in a little bit, so it made sense to give them a rest for now. Dick gave him another dose of painkillers (the non-drowsy kind, fortunately). The bed was just as big as his bed at home, so there was plenty of room for both of them as they settled in. Now Tim had to implement the next step of the haphazard plan he was forming. 

“Do you mind if we watch something? It helps me fall asleep,” Tim lied. Actually, he was one of those people who usually couldn’t fall asleep with background noise or music, and he was relying on that fact to keep him awake. Dick, who dozed off by the end of almost every movie night, was a different story. 

“Sure, Timbo — whatever you need in order to relax,” Dick promised him.

It took an hour of The Princess Bride before Dick’s eyes closed and his breathing evened out. As Westley and Buttercup forged their way through the Fire Swamp, Tim laid there, plotting his next moves. 

He knew that Drake Industries had a satellite office in California for West Coast business purposes. His parents owned a condo nearby and often visited in between their longer archeological trips to get away from the Gotham villain of the week and overall dreary East Coast weather. They always came back tanned and relaxed, and Tim had often wished they would bring him with them for a visit, but they never had. 

But maybe the time had come for him to get away while they stayed in Gotham. He could lay low for a while in California while his parents sorted out their legal troubles. Hopefully his parents’ accounts hadn’t been frozen as a part of their arrest, because he would need to withdraw some cash for train and bus tickets — flying would be too traceable, especially if he left from Gotham…

Perhaps the events of the evening were catching up to him, because Tim actually started drifting off, lulled by the voices on screen and Dick’s slow, steady breathing next to him. 

Fortunately, Alfred came to check on them, and the slight creak of the floorboards and the noise of the doorknob turning stirred Tim back to wakefulness. He laid there for several long seconds, pretending to be asleep, before Alfred turned off the TV and slipped back out of the room. 

Shaking himself fully awake, Tim sat up. The clock showed that it was past 4 a.m. Surely Bruce and Jason’s meeting couldn’t take too much longer. If he was going to flee, he needed to do it now. 

Grudgingly, he wriggled out from under Dick’s arm and climbed out from the warm cocoon of blankets, his injured feet immediately protesting the movement. Right. He definitely couldn’t walk back to Drake Manor in socks this time. He tiptoed over to the closet to investigate, hoping there might be some of Dick’s old clothes inside that he could borrow — he didn’t want to break into Dick’s actual bedroom since that seemed like a violation of his privacy.

To Tim’s surprise, there were actually a few basic clothing items in his exact size already hanging in the closet, all of them still with the tags on. He even found a pair of sneakers and a pair of warm winter boots — maybe these were items that Dick had never gotten around to wearing, and Alfred had needed a place to store them? Still, he didn’t remember seeing these things the last time he was here…had he bothered to look in the closet then? He couldn’t remember.

Deciding that he shouldn’t question such an unexpected boon, he quickly changed into a warm, thick pair of socks that would protect his bandages, pulled on a jacket that fit him perfectly, and laced up a brand-new pair of boots. He felt bad for taking these things without asking, but he promised himself that he’d pay Bruce back for the items when the dust had settled a little bit. 

All dressed and ready to go, he found himself hovering near the window for a moment. The snow had stopped falling, but it was pretty deep, and he could see how it stretched, mostly untouched, for the mile-long expanse between Wayne Manor and Drake Manor. He wasn’t looking forward to making yet another trip between the two houses tonight, but at least he didn’t have to run this time. 

Biting his lip, he cautiously lifted the window, holding his breath and waiting for a few seconds to make sure that Dick didn’t stir. The screen was next. He studied the oak tree’s branches, plotting the safest route down to the ground. His escape would undoubtedly be caught and recorded by some kind of security system, and he’d leave obvious tracks in the snow, but there was nothing he could do to avoid that right now. The Waynes would probably be too busy celebrating Jason’s adoption to notice or care about his absence right away, anyway. 

With his path mapped out, the only thing left to do was to actually leave. 

Still, Tim hesitated — some part of him wanted to take off his boots and climb back into bed next to Dick where he’d be safe and warm. He didn’t want to flee the state without thanking the Waynes for everything they had done for him. And Jason was going to be pissed if Tim ran away to the other side of the country without saying goodbye. 

He almost did it — almost shut the window and forgot the whole idea. 

But then he thought about being shipped off to foster care, and he steeled himself to proceed. Foster care meant no more batwatching. No more visits to Wayne Manor. No contact with Jason.  

His parents had been arrested, and he had no other family. Nobody was going to look out for him but himself, that was clear. He’d already taken care of himself for all these years — this was no different. 

He climbed out the window and left without looking back. 

***

Tim wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed and sleep for days.

It was about 5 a.m. now, and his house was eerily silent without his parents or Jason around. He’d seen the crime scene tape blocking off the front door and opted to do yet more tree-climbing and enter his bedroom window that way. It seemed like overkill to use the tape — nobody had been murdered — but Tim supposed GCPD had been incentivized to follow their protocols to the letter with Bruce Wayne looming in the background and a furious Jack and Janet Drake threatening legal action against GCPD for daring to arrest them.

Tim was used to going without sleep, but not after such a tumultuous night. He could feel his body crashing after the adrenaline rush from the whole ordeal, his energy reserves totally drained, but he forced himself to stumble into the closet, where he grabbed a duffle bag and began haphazardly stuffing it with clothes and toiletries. Time was of the essence — he wasn’t sure if Bruce or child services were going to show up first, but he didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out. 

Still, he couldn’t seem to get himself moving at his usual pace. He grabbed his laptop, deciding he’d better do some quick research into bus and train routes. When he woke his computer up, the browser was still displaying the New Jersey adoption website. With a lump in his throat, he closed the tab. 

Don’t need that anymore. 

He pushed away the thought. Maybe he would like California so much that he’d move there permanently. His parents probably wouldn’t care so long as he didn’t cause any further legal trouble. Although after tonight, maybe they’d just ship him off to military school as a punishment and be done with him. Possibly one in the middle of Siberia where nobody would think twice if he froze to death or got mauled by a polar bear. 

He navigated to the Gotham Cab Company’s website and requested a ride to Gotham’s main train station. Traveling this way would be conspicuous, but there was no chance he’d get far on foot, so it was a necessary risk. While he waited for his cab, he opened several tabs to survey the network of buses, planes, and trains that would carry him across the country to California. He could take the train to Chicago, and then transfer to a Greyhound bus until Denver, and then go back to a train to get to L.A. Or to save time, he could take a train to Philadelphia, catch a flight from there to L.A., and catch another train to his parents’ condo. Or maybe switching methods of transportation would be too noticeable, and he should just stick with the train the whole way? He scrubbed at his eyes as the maps and timetables blurred before his eyes.

Since time was of the essence, he quickly booked a first-class train ticket from Gotham to Chicago. With a sigh, he powered down his laptop and tucked it in his backpack. He clearly wasn’t firing on all cylinders, so he’d just have to improvise the rest as he went. His phone had been broken in the confrontation with his dad, but maybe that was for the best. It would make it hard to research his route, but it would prevent anyone from contacting him. 

It would be a clean break. A true fresh start. 

A shrill, brief honk from a car horn split the night’s silence. He peeked out his bedroom and saw a familiar yellow cab idling in the driveway. 

He grabbed his backpack and duffle bag, making sure that he had his most prized possessions — his camera, the USB stick with all the photos he’d taken of Batman and Robin, and the picture of himself with the Flying Graysons at the circus. When he had time, he’d make a copy for himself and mail the original to Dick. It was the least he could do. 

He hurried downstairs, thankful when the cabbie honked again. It meant that he didn’t have a chance to dwell on the fact that he was saying goodbye to his house — to his life — for the foreseeable future. 

The cabbie — a woman in her forties — glanced between the police tape blocking the front door and Tim with a curious glint in her eyes, but she mercifully didn’t ask any questions as they pulled out onto the road.

Tim kept a white-knuckled grip on his backpack, half-expecting Batman to swoop in out of nowhere and abduct him, dragging him off to child services. He studiously didn’t look out the window as they drove past Wayne Manor, not wanting to watch the familiar, beloved house grow smaller in the distance.

He tentatively began to relax when Batman’s shadow never emerged from the pre-dawn gloom. As the sky lightened, the dark, towering silhouettes at the edge of the road slowly solidified into the recognizable shapes of skyscrapers, warehouses, apartments, and office buildings. His eyes were growing gritty with the desire to sleep, and he had to work hard to keep them open. 

“Kid,” the driver grunted, and Tim realized with a start that he’d been drifting off, his head beginning to bob.  

He blinked, giving himself a little shake, the Gotham train station coming into view. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, grabbing some cash from his jacket pocket and thrusting it in her direction. 

To his surprise, she carefully counted out the exact amount on the meter — $31 — and returned the rest to him. 

“Keep the change. Kid like you out on his own — you need it more than I do.”

Then she climbed out, removed his suitcase and backpack, and tapped her foot impatiently until he got out of the car. He tried to pass her the money again, feeling rather lost — nobody had ever rejected his money before — but she ignored him, got back in her cab, and drove away. 

Huh. That was Gotham for you, Tim mused, as he walked into the station. Rough, dangerous, and sometimes surprising in its rare kindness. 

And he was about to leave it all behind. 

He scanned the station to make sure he didn’t see anyone — bat, police, or child services — paying him too much attention. A woman with a young child was about to board the same train, and Tim got in line behind her, hoping that he would blend in as part of a family rather than an unaccompanied minor.

From there, he found his private compartment and allowed himself a huge sigh of relief as he shut and locked the door, drawing all the shades so that he was alone. 

He was so exhausted that he didn’t even bother climbing up the ladder and crawling into the bunk; he just laid down across one of the carpeted benches, pillowed his head on his backpack, and decided that he’d earned a well-deserved nap. 

He distantly heard a voice on the PA system welcoming everyone to the train and warning them that there was a slight delay due to a mechanical issue. He knew that he wasn’t safe until he was far away from Gotham, but there was nothing he could do about a mechanical issue, was there?

He’d just shut his eyes for a few minutes, and then he’d wake up to make sure he’d covered his tracks and plot his next move…

***

Tim woke up more than a few minutes later. He drew the shades and could see instantly that it was brighter outside, indicating that at least an hour or two had passed. He didn’t think it was much longer than that, though.

”Ticket check!” A voice boomed in the hallway. That was probably what had woken him. “Next stop Philadelphia!”

Tim pushed himself into a sitting position, fumbling around for his ticket, which he’d printed from a kiosk in the train station. 

Philadelphia. That meant that Tim was in Pennsylvania. Was this the farthest he had ever been from Gotham? He’d have to check a map. He’d been brought along to a few of his parents’ business meetings and social gatherings over the years, but never further than a day trip. 

“20 minute layover coming up in Philly!” The conductor called, rapping on a compartment nearby. 

Tim realized with a start that this wasn’t going to look good — an eight-year-old kid traveling with no adults. Especially since he had some visible bandages on his head and neck, a detail that would make him stand out. 

He didn’t feel up for putting on a performance, but he steeled himself as the conductor moved closer to his compartment. 

“Ticket check!”

Tim’s heart pounded in his chest as he unlocked the door to his compartment and stuck his head out. 

The conductor seemed taken aback when he had to look down to see Tim standing there. 

“Where’s your mom and dad, kid?” He asked, giving Tim a skeptical once-over and peering behind him into the empty compartment. 

Shoot! If Tim had had more time, if he’d been thinking a little more coherently, he could’ve made it look like an adult had been in here with him — could’ve spread out his backpack and duffle bag so that it looked like there were multiple people in his party. 

“Uh, my dad went to get coffee from the dining cart,” Tim said in what he hoped was an innocent tone, rubbing his eyes like he was just a tired little kid and handing out his ticket for inspection. 

Instead, the conductor’s eyebrows drew together skeptically. “Dining car is closed for repairs right now, kid. Didn’t you hear the announcement earlier?”

No, he’d been sound asleep like an idiot. 

“Oh, maybe it was the bathroom? I was kind of sleepy so I don’t remember what he said,” Tim shrugged. A bead of sweat was beginning to form on the back of his neck, and he prayed that the conductor would turn away and leave. 

“Children under the age of twelve can’t be unattended. Those are the rules,” the conductor said, showing no signs of turning away and leaving. He reached for a walkie-talkie on his belt, and Tim’s heart sank. 

“So sorry for the confusion; he’s with me,” a new voice cut in smoothly. 

No. 

Tim’s eyes slid shut with denial. 

“Oh,” the conductor remarked, looking confused but appeased when Bruce flashed him a ticket and a winning smile. His gaze strayed back to Bruce’s face, and his eyes widened with recognition. 

“Mr. Wayne!” He exclaimed, practically falling over himself to open the door to Tim’s compartment and usher Bruce inside. “Sorry to bother you, sir! Have a nice day and a safe trip.”

Then he shut the door behind them. For a split second, Tim thought about screaming for help and claiming that he didn’t know Bruce, but Bruce didn’t deserve the headlines that would cause. Plus, someone would call the police, and then he’d just end up in the same place he was undoubtedly heading now — in the custody of child services. 

“Tim,” Bruce exhaled, giving him an expression of such relief that Tim had to look away. “Are you okay? I was very worried when I went to check on you and Dick and found you missing.”

Bruce reached out as though to touch Tim’s shoulder but seemed to think better of it when Tim flinched and backpedaled out of his reach. 

Maybe he could distract Bruce and climb out the window while they were stopped? Tim could feel the engine slow to a full stop as they pulled into the station, and he knew that he had twenty minutes to figure out his next plans. 

“Tim?” Bruce asked, studying him carefully. “Do you want to come home with me, chum?”

To his shame and despair, tears stung Tim’s eyes. 

“No, thanks,” he managed to say in a detached, calm tone, staring down at his shoelaces. Home? What did that even mean for Tim now? He was being removed from his parents’ custody, and Drake Manor certainly didn’t feel like his home without Jason there.

“No?” Bruce hummed, his tone light and conversational. He sat down on the bench opposite Tim, leaning back as though he was relaxing on a private jet instead of a small train compartment. “Can I ask where you’re heading, then?”

Tim sighed and reluctantly sank into his own seat. He supposed there was no point in trying to hide the truth from Batman. No doubt the man had looked up a list of his parents’ properties. 

“I’m going to California for awhile,” Tim mumbled, looking out the window so he didn’t have to meet Bruce’s gaze. On the train platform, two parents were walking with their young daughter. They lifted her up and swung her between them, and the sound of her happy giggles drifted through the window. 

“California, huh? Wow, that’s pretty far away. What are you going to do there?”

Tim shrugged, swinging his legs idly. 

“We’d all miss you terribly if you went to California, you know. Is there any chance I can convince you to stay?”

Bruce smiled at him, as though it were that simple. 

”Fifteen more minutes until this train leaves Philadelphia,” a female voice interjected over the PA system. “Next stop, Pittsburgh.”

“You should probably get going,” Tim muttered pointedly. 

But Bruce appeared to be settling in. He unbuttoned his jacket and peered out the window at the passersby. 

A few seconds ticked by. Then a minute. 

“Is this about you-know-what?” Tim asked impatiently. “Because I won’t tell. I’m good at keeping secrets. You don’t have to follow me or escort me back to Gotham.” 

Bruce appeared troubled by this question. 

“No, Tim. This is not about that at all. I trust you with that secret.”

“Then why —“ Tim cut himself off before he could say something that would reveal too much, like Why won’t you just leave me alone and go back to your real family?

“Why what, Tim?” Bruce asked, his expression just a little too perceptive to be convincingly casual. 

Just pretend everything is normal until you get an opportunity to run, Tim told himself. 

“I’m not going to foster care!” He blurted out instead, clapping a hand over his mouth. 

Ugh, why had he said that? It certainly wasn’t going to help him get away if he went around admitting what he was fleeing! 

Bruce’s gaze flickered between Tim’s bags and Tim’s defiant expression, and something sorrowful filled his eyes. 

“Yes,” he said in a calming tone. “I agree.”

“I told you,” Tim repeated, his voice rising with blind panic, his hands balling into fists at his side. He respected and trusted Bruce above almost anyone else in the entire world, but there was no way he was going into the system! “I’m not going to — wait, what?”

Bruce rose to his feet and took a slow step forward across the compartment, his frame loose and non-threatening. 

“I’m sorry about the timing of the lawyer and Jason’s social worker — you shouldn’t have had to wait this long for this conversation. I’m afraid you may have gotten the wrong idea about what’s happening, sweetheart.”

Bruce did something that Tim hated then. He — carefully, slowly, projecting his every move before he made it — knelt down in front of Tim so that they were at eye level. Tim didn’t like this position at all, because it made him feel small and young, like he was just some little kid. He didn’t want to be reminded of his age and stature — god, he just wanted to be an adult already. When he was an adult, nobody would care if his parents left him for months on end or never called him or refused to bring him with them on their trips. They would all think that behavior was normal, then, and would stop making him feel so bad about it.  

“Can you tell me what’s going on in that smart head of yours, chum?” 

Bruce’s brow was creased with concern, almost as if he really cared about Tim, and…it was too much for Tim’s fragile heart to handle, to see Bruce looking at him like that. 

“Just — just leave me alone!” He spat, lurching backward like a cornered wild creature. He pressed himself up against the corner of the compartment, curling into a ball so he didn’t have to look at Bruce anymore. 

I wish I never met you! He wanted to shout, the unspoken words tearing at his aching throat. Because then I never would’ve known what I was missing.

He pressed his knuckles against his mouth to hold in his grief. As far as escape strategies went, he’d pretty much screwed himself over, but maybe he could still find an opening to kick Bruce’s shins and make a run for it. He could try to blend in with the crowd at the train station or even double back and hop on the train again. He probably wouldn’t get very far with Batman pursuing him, of course, but he had to go down fighting. It was the principle of the matter.

“Tim?”

A large hand brushed over the top of his head, smoothing his tangled hair and making his eyes prickle. His defenses had been strained for months now, ever since he foolishly set foot in Wayne Manor three months ago, and the simple touch proved to be the final straw that made them crumble and give way, like a sandcastle flattened by the waves of a rising tide.

“It hurts.”

The horrible truth escaped before he could bottle up the words and bury them like he was supposed to. His breath shuddered in his chest, and he curled up even tighter on the bench, bracing for Bruce’s reaction. He knew that he was humiliating himself and acting pathetic. He usually had the resolve to pull himself together and put on a brave face in any situation — his mother hadn’t given him much, but she had given him that. Now, though, it was as if his composure and polite society mask had shattered alongside the vase his father had thrown at his head earlier that night. He felt raw, like an exposed nerve, baring every painful feeling for the world to see. 

For Bruce to see.  

Bruce wisely seemed to intuit that Tim wasn’t talking about physical pain from his injuries. 

“What hurts, chum?”  

Tim drew in a shaky breath. “I’m happy for Jason; I really am,” he said into his knees. His mom would hate it if she heard him talk like this. Look me in the eye and enunciate when you speak to me, Timothy! You’re not an animal! He heard her voice in his head. “But I wish…”

He trailed off, fighting back a sob. A hand lifted his chin, and he was powerless to stop it. He found himself miserably looking into Bruce’s kind eyes. He knew he needed to get up and go — to keep fighting, to protect himself like always — but he was so tired. 

“What do you wish, Tim?” Bruce asked like he truly wanted to listen to whatever Tim had to say. 

Tim thought about resting his head on Bruce’s shoulder at that party two years ago and hearing Bruce’s heartbeat in his ear — how the sound had filled up some gaping void within his chest that he hadn’t even known existed. He thought about desperately wishing his parents would come home for his birthday but knowing deep down not to trust their empty promises. He thought about watching movies on the comfy couch in the library at Wayne Manor, sandwiched between Dick and Jason. He thought about Alfred slipping extra marshmallows into his hot cocoa, just how Tim liked it. 

The first tear slid down his cheek, followed by another. 

“I wish it was me.” He whispered his greatest secret. “I wish someone wanted me.”

Bruce flinched as though Tim had struck him. 

“Oh, sweetheart, no — you are wanted. Come here.” 

Tim knew he shouldn’t, but he was so weak at the moment, feeling one false move away from shattering into a million tiny pieces. Slowly, tentatively, he inched forward into Bruce’s waiting embrace. All at once, strong arms enveloped him and a palm cupped the back of his head, holding his brittle fault lines together. The tears came in earnest then, his breath hitching, ugly sobs emanating from somewhere deep in his chest.

Bruce just held him, not drawing away in disgust or lecturing him to grow up and stop sniveling. Eventually, the rest of the confession spilled forth from his mouth, unbidden. 

“I had a plan,” Tim hiccuped into Bruce’s shoulder. “For you to adopt Jason. We were on step six out of seven.”

“You had a plan…for me to adopt Jason,” Bruce repeated thoughtfully, drawing back slightly to examine Tim. He appeared very much like the detective that he was trained to be, appraising the situation anew from all angles after uncovering an important clue. “And what about you, Tim? Were you included in this plan?”

Tim shook his head and shrugged helplessly. “I already have parents.” 

Bruce’s expression was grave. “But not parents who make you feel wanted.” 

“There’s something wrong with me,” he admitted. “I try so hard to be good, but I always do something wrong and they never stay at home for more than a few days. And then Dad got so angry with me the last few times he was here.”

Bruce wiped a stray tear off Tim’s cheek, shaking his head in disagreement. “No, Tim. There’s nothing wrong with you — there’s something wrong with them.”

Something wrong with his parents? Tim shook his head automatically, the idea not computing. After all, Jack and Janet Drake were…perfect. They ran a successful business, they were renowned in the archeology community, they owned a beautiful home, and they paid for Tim to go to a good school. 

There was something wrong with Tim, not them. 

“But they’re…” he said incoherently, “and I’m…”

“You are not a problem or a burden, Tim,” Bruce said, as though reading his mind. “And you’re wanted by me, Alfred, Dick, and Jason — not because of who your parents are, but because you’re a smart, funny, and caring person with a lot of talents. You did all that work to find Jason a home, even though you thought it would mean separating from him. You figured out that I was Batman before anyone else and kept the secret safe for over a year. If your parents can’t see all the great things about you, that’s their problem.”

He stated all of this like it was an undeniable fact. Tim wanted to believe him, but the whole idea felt foreign and alien. He gave a little shrug, not meeting Bruce’s gaze. 

“I need to tell you something,” Bruce confessed, taking Tim’s hands in one of his own. “I wanted to tell you back at Wayne Manor, but we were interrupted before I had the chance. I’m sorry about that — I know this hasn’t been easy on you.”

Tim chanced a glance up, scanning Bruce’s face warily. There had already been so many twists and turns in the past twenty-four hours; Tim wasn’t sure he could handle any more. 

“Tim, sweetheart,” Bruce began. He looked exhausted, which made sense since he hadn’t gotten any sleep last night, all because of Tim and his drama. Tim tried to focus on that — to take in the details of Bruce’s haggard appearance, like the purple half-moon circles under his eyes and the darkness of his five o’clock shadow — to distract himself from the way that he subconsciously wanted to lean closer because of that unfamiliar term of endearment, like a sunflower stretching itself toward the warmth of the summer sun. 

“I had a plan, too.”

Tim frowned, tilting his head curiously. “You did?” He was usually good at putting the puzzle pieces together to see the big picture, but there was something he was overlooking here. 

Bruce nodded. “I already have all the paperwork ready to file for custody of you. I’ve had it prepared since September and signed since Thanksgiving. My plan is to adopt you, too, if you’ll let me.”

Tim’s mouth fell open and he could only blink in response to this extraordinary declaration, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest. 

“Wh-what?” He stammered, pulling his hand out of Bruce’s grip and taking an automatic step backward.

Bruce remained crouched in place, giving him space. “I’ve been concerned about your living situation for months,” he explained. “Honestly, ever since the first day that Jason crashed his bike into the pond and you mentioned that your parents were on a multi-week business trip. But it only became clearer and clearer over time that you and Jason were being neglected. The Thanksgiving gala was the nail in the coffin — I wanted to file for emergency custody of you that day, but…there were some roadblocks.”

Still reeling, Tim recalled Bruce’s mysterious meetings over the holiday weekend at Wayne Manor — he’d assumed those meetings had been due to urgent WE or Batman business — not due to Tim!

Bruce continued, a furrow forming between his eyebrows as he recounted his difficulties. “The police forbade me from taking action until your parents returned from South America — apparently the FBI and INTERPOL have an ongoing case against your parents for antiquities smuggling. I fought to convince them to let me take you, but they wouldn’t allow me to interfere in an active investigation. They were worried that if I tipped my hand in any way, your parents would remain abroad in a country with no extradition. Then it would be much more difficult to get a conviction, and I would have no guarantee of getting custody of you both. I didn’t want to risk that.”

Holy crap, was his first thought, the FBI and INTERPOL were after his parents?! Were they going to be able to fight against such serious charges?

And as for his next thought…Tim suddenly saw the last few weeks in a new light — the way that Dick, Alfred, and Bruce had all shown up to spend one-on-one time with him, the way they’d refused to let him slip away and remain isolated at Drake Manor. Could…could it really be true? Was it possible that they wanted him and Jason to be part of their family?

Hope began fluttering in his chest like a tiny pair of wings as Bruce spoke again. 

“I wanted to do things the right way — to make sure our case was airtight. So as much as it pained me to let you boys go back to that big empty house, I told myself that it was just for a few more weeks. And then tonight…”

Bruce trailed off, his expression drawn. 

“I should’ve listened to my instincts — I knew something wasn’t right when you bolted out of the house like that. I could tell you leaving so suddenly made Jason nervous, too — he decided to follow after you a few minutes later. I tried to accompany him, but he insisted that everything was fine. It’s been slow progress getting him to trust me, so I didn’t want to push too hard.

“I told myself I was being paranoid, but it didn’t sit right with me. I was actually leaving the house to come over when you returned — I promised myself I was simply going to stop by and say hello to your parents — to confirm that you boys were okay and that they were really here. Then I could call my contacts with law enforcement and finally set our plans in motion. But before I could do that, you showed up, injured and begging for help. And that’s on me, Tim.”

Tim suddenly found his voice. “No, it’s not! You saved Jason!” 

Bruce’s smile was tight. “Neither of you ever should have been in that situation, though. And I’m sorry that you were.”

Tim fidgeted, uncomfortable with Bruce’s self-recrimination. “What about my mom and dad?” He asked, changing the subject. “They wouldn’t let you take custody of me without a fight, you know.”

“Well, good thing I’m ready for a fight, then,” Bruce replied lightly, as though it was no big deal to take on the legendary wrath of Janet Drake, the scrutiny of the tabloids, and the judgment of everyone in Gotham’s high society. As though Tim was worth all the trouble it would surely cause him. 

And what would this mean in the long run? Would he ever get to talk to his parents again? Would they hate him for the rest of his life if he went to live with Bruce? It wasn’t like he missed them, per se — he was so used to being without them — but still. They were his parents, and he’d been accustomed to the distant role they’d played in his life for the past eight years. 

“What about their business? And the house? And Mrs. Mac? And — “

“Tim,” Bruce interrupted his rambling. “How about you let me worry about those things for a while? You’ve been carrying around a lot of burdens that never should’ve fallen on your shoulders. Will you let me help you with them?”

As Bruce waited patiently for an answer, Tim thought about how he sometimes felt when he was at Wayne Manor, playing a board game or watching a movie — like all the external pressures in his life ceased to exist, and he was just a normal kid. He contemplated a whole future like that — no more lies, no more secrets. No more hiding Jason’s existence or fretting over his dad’s moods. No more lonely holidays and last-minute international departures. No more secret solo attempts to assist Batman that landed him in hot water (or very, very cold Gotham Harbor water) because he was just a kid with a camera and he didn’t know how else to help. 

What a relief it would be to occupy his time with worries about things like Christmas presents and homework — to fall asleep in the western-facing bedroom with its oak tree each night knowing Jason was safe on the other side of the wall — to wake up each morning with the certainty that Alfred would cook a delicious breakfast and Bruce would read his newspaper at the kitchen table and Dick would walk into Gotham Academy by his side.

He wanted that so badly that it frightened him. All this time, he’d thought that Jason was the one who had trust issues, but here he was, equally terrified to believe in the dream Bruce was offering him — scared to hope in case it all fell through like it always seemed to. 

And yet — and yet — when Tim had stumbled into the kitchen of Wayne Manor earlier that night, he’d placed Jason’s life in Bruce’s hands. 

And what had Bruce done with that trust?

By the time that Tim had woken up a few hours later, Bruce had already rescued Jason, subdued Tim’s dad, prevented his parents from lying about Jason attacking Tim, sorted things out with the police, and gotten all the paperwork, lawyers, and social workers in place to take custody of Jason. And Tim, too, apparently.

Like Bruce, Tim was a detective and a man of science — he believed in following clues and facts to their natural conclusion. And the evidence Bruce was presenting clearly pointed in a single direction. 

“Three minutes until we leave Philadelphia!” The voice on the PA system said. Tim suddenly understood with crystalline certainty that he wouldn’t be on this train when it departed.

“I think,” he told Bruce, “I like your plan better than mine.”

Some of the tension seemed to bleed out of Bruce’s shoulders. 

“We can figure it all out together,” he assured Tim. “I know this is a lot to take in, and it’s okay if you have complicated feelings about it. For now, though, your parents have lost custody of you, so I’ll ask: Do you want to stay at Wayne Manor? We’d love to have you for as long as you’ll have us — forever, if you’d like.”

There was really only one answer to that: Tim dove forward into Bruce’s arms again. Bruce caught him with a surprised grunt that turned into a laugh. 

“Well, I have to say, that’s a relief, sweetheart,” he chuckled when they broke apart a minute later, “because Jason is refusing to stay with me permanently unless you’re included. He insisted that you two are a package deal. Then Dick threatened to run away and live with you and Jason if you both refused to come to the Manor. So then Alfred and I would also have to run away and come find you three.”

Tim wiped at his damp eyes with his sleeve and giggled a little bit at the mental image of all of them running away, one after the other, to find each other. 

“But you should know,” Bruce continued, his expression growing serious again. “That even if we lived in an alternate universe where Jason didn’t beg me to take you in, we’d still want you to live with us. Dick, Alfred, and I love you for the person you are. Not just because we love Jason and Jason loves you.”

It was the first time anyone had ever explicitly stated that they loved Tim, and being told that four different people loved him all at once was almost too much to handle. He suddenly felt like he might cry again, even though he’d already cried more in one day than he had in an entire year. Instead of pushing him away or calling him a baby, though, Bruce just hooked Tim’s bags over one shoulder, gathered Tim up in his arms, and made his way out of the compartment and down the hallway of the train. 

“We’d better get out there before your brothers break down the car door,” Bruce commented in a dry tone when they reached the train car’s small iron-wrought staircase, nudging Tim so he’d look up. 

He could see that Alfred had parked nearby, and Dick and Jason were peering anxiously through the back windows. Bruce had obviously instructed them to wait in the car while he spoke to Tim, but they looked ready to burst out the second that Bruce gave the signal. The sight of them pressing their faces up against the glass made Tim smile. His mom would’ve hated it if Tim smudged up the pristine windows of her car, but it was evidence that there were people who cared about him — who were eager to see him — who maybe even loved him, as incredible as that sounded. 

His brothers, Bruce had said. 

Bruce stepped off the train and onto the platform as the whistle blew a long note, signaling a path toward a different life that Tim was glad he wasn’t taking. 

“Let’s go home, okay, chum?” Bruce murmured.

Meanwhile, Bruce’s steady heartbeat whispered a promise in Tim’s ear. 

Safe. 

Wanted. 

Home. 

Tim nodded, looping his arms around Bruce’s neck and allowing himself to believe it.