Chapter Text
Tim hadn’t slept in forty-two hours.
Not that he was counting.
He was simply tracking time via the number of espresso pods left in the Batcave's industrial-strength coffee machine. (Down to three. Two if Alfred walked by and noticed one mysteriously missing.) But it didn’t matter. He was fine. Fine.
He’d hacked into two black market arms deals, rerouted a satellite, and helped Bruce shut down a warehouse full of drugs in Lisbon. That was Tuesday.
And now it was Wednesday morning, and he was back at Wayne Enterprises because apparently even vigilantes needed to fill out quarterly reports for the R&D department.
His plan was simple: grab a fresh energy drink, avoid Lucius Fox's You Need a Vacation look, and disappear back into the server room where no one expected eye contact or emotional availability.
And then.
Then it happened.
The elevator doors opened.
Tim blinked.
A teenage boy stepped out—lean, slouched, wearing a WayneTech intern badge and what looked like genuine nervousness. His brown curls were windswept in a way that suggested a close relationship with city updrafts. He had two pens behind his ear, a backpack slung over one shoulder, and the distinct aura of a person who'd survived at least one building collapse and still apologised when someone bumped into him.
His name tag read:
Peter Parker
Dept: Systems Support – Tech Intern
Clearance: 1 (which made Tim scoff—amateur)
And his face…
Tim stared.
Stared harder.
Then squinted.
“What the hell,” Tim whispered to himself, stepping behind a plant like a Victorian widow spotting her late husband’s ghost.
Because Peter Parker—this random intern—looked like Dick.
Not exactly , no. Dick was taller, broader in the shoulders, had more… Nightwing about him. But the structure? The eyes? The cheekbones? The easy, automatic smile he gave the receptionist?
Carbon copy.
Like someone had dropped a baby Grayson in a microwave for ten seconds, added a little science trauma, and handed him a MetroCard.
“Nope,” Tim muttered. “Nope nope nope.”
Peter passed him without noticing.
He was even humming. Some low, vaguely familiar tune. Something suspiciously close to “Holding Out For A Hero.”
Tim wheezed.
He followed.
Not obviously . Not creepily.
He just—kept a close and invasive eye on the new intern, who had clearly been manufactured in a lab from Dick Grayson’s DNA and questionable decisions.
He watched Peter troubleshoot a malfunctioning server, type 120 words per minute, and speak fluent technobabble to a senior technician.
He took notes.
He counted similarities:
- His eyes crinkle when he smiles. Same as Dick.
- Dumb heroic posture when distracted. Definitely Grayson-coded.
- Terrible taste in lunch choices. (Peter pulled out a bologna and peanut butter sandwich. Tim cried a little.)
And then Peter laughed at something—soft, warm, good-natured.
It hit Tim like a fist to the solar plexus.
That was a Dick Grayson laugh.
Back in his office, Tim stared at the whiteboard.
Then in the photos of Peter Parker and Dick Grayson.
Then at himself in the reflective surface of a WayneTech tablet.
“I’m not crazy,” he said. “I’m not crazy. I am very smart and reasonable.”
He pulled out his tablet.
Opened PowerPoint.
Slide 1: “The Secret Grayson: A Theory”
Subtitle: “How Peter Parker is Obviously Dick’s Son (From the Future?)”
He paused. Fingers hovered over the keys.
“Too soon for time travel?”
He added a second slide.
Slide 2: “Why Cloning is Unlikely (But Still Possible)”
He began gathering evidence.
- Peter's mannerisms.
- Facial similarities.
- Height projection charts.
- A side-by-side of Dick at 18 and Peter now.
- An audio comparison of their laughs. (Tim had recordings. Don’t ask.)
He added dramatic red arrows and an interlude called "Nature vs. Nurture: How Peter Screams Grayson Despite the Sandwich."
He needed confirmation.
“I just want to talk,” Tim whispered, standing next to the vending machine Peter had approached. He tried to look casual. He looked like an anxious cryptid.
Peter blinked at him.
“Uh. Hi?”
“Hi,” Tim said. “You’re new.”
“Yeah.” Peter smiled, friendly, confused. “Peter. Parker. Systems Support.”
“Tim Drake. Systems Security. Also, everything else.”
Peter nodded slowly. “Cool, cool. You good, man? You’re kind of doing a wide-eyed stare thing.”
Tim nodded. “Just tired. Long week.”
“It’s Wednesday.”
Tim narrowed his eyes. “Time is fake.”
Peter laughed.
The same goddamn Grayson laugh.
Tim dropped his protein bar.
He fled. Not dramatically. Just fast-walked with intensity.
Back to his desk.
Back to the PowerPoint.
Slide 14: “Alternate Timeline Offspring Theory: Starfire Edition”
Slide 15: “But What If the Multiverse is Real?”
Slide 16: “He Called Me ‘Man.’ Dick Used to Call Me ‘Man.’ Coincidence? I Think NOT.”
He was adding animated transitions when Barbara pinged his comm.
Babs: “Tim. Why is there a file on the server titled ‘ParkerGraysonPowerTheory_v3.2’ with red arrows and a .wav file labelled ‘laughproof.mp3’?”
Tim: “...Research.”
Babs: “Do I need to call Dick?”
Tim: “No! Wait. Actually… yes. Yes, you do.”
He cracked his neck.
Time to schedule a family meeting.