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Timothy Drake largely existed in shades of blue. Soft cornflower faded with cloudy ash gray in the evening light through stained glass windows, reflecting off the frigid stillness in his parent’s home. Maybe not home though- home implied warmth. Shades of reds and yellows and greens and bright laughter that tugged at the corners of darkness, lifted the black until shades of a pale gray shone through .
No, Tim’s parents owned a building in Gotham that held all their precious items that would never see the light of day. Storage for a museum that held items not worth putting on display, not until the time was right, until there came a need to flaunt their findings and uphold their sky- high society standards.
Tim felt he was up in the clouds most days. Royal blue surrounding the utter blank white of where he was stored. He had grown along with his parent’s collections of archaeological finds. Good enough to keep, for now , but not enough to stay for, never good enough to stay.
Tim blinked as he stepped out of his dark room. One of the only times his parents had listened and he was present, Tim had shown them colorless portraits he’d taken, black and white landscapes in sharp contrasts brought to life in his school's photography room. They’d missed his last three birthday’s, and now he was turning ten, double digits , so he was deemed important enough to invest in. And so, a dark room he was given, black walls with chemicals in clear bins and white strings to hold precious colors.
His hands were rough from chemical burns, dark dark dark in the room where the most vibrancy the house would see came to life. Vermillion shirts and cadmium capes splashed across a midnight backdrop. There was no melding into the backdrop for Robin , no fading into the darkness of navy skies, nearly black with night.
Tim was twelve now. Shades of indigo tipping pale pink fingers. The cold never seemed to leave where he was stored, as ever-present as the cerulean tint to life. Even in the humid days of summer where bright goldens were more known to show through, when Tim felt like he was swimming through wet, hot air, chills never seemed to vanish from his body. He sighed, tightening his fingers around the photos clutched to his chest before releasing, careful not to ruin his work.
Tim moved down the hall on silent feet- having learned at a young age that noise would echo and reverberate loud enough that it shook the empty silence, the sound more unnerving than the emptiness.
He reached his room where he reverently laid down his new batch of photos on his bed before moving over to the nightstand. Pushing it to the side, he presses down on a loose plank until it comes up and takes it off. Gingerly, Tim pulls a good sized lockbox out of the floor and sets it to the side. He makes quick work opening it, a practiced hand betraying how often he frequented the box. Once it’s open Tim pulls out the most recent of photo albums in his collection.
( Tim has five albums that are kept under lock and key and two that sit on his bookshelf)
He takes his time flipping through past photos, admiring the way Robin’s grin makes Batman’s shoulder’s soften, how Robin’s head thrown back in laughter ( haloed in the fading golden-red hues of sunset on the edge of a Gotham rooftop, one hand holding a hotdog and the other holding onto Batman’s cape ) shine on the grin Batman is showing. No matter what Tim’s parents say about him, he’ll always have his pride for being able to capture the duo in such a different perspective. Sure the photos of them in the middle of fighting Killer Croc or Poison Ivy were always exhilarating to see- with their lines blurry with movement, colors bleeding into one another. But Tim’s favorites were always the ones in moments of stillness. Where crisp pastels were outlined by the Gotham skyline; graphite background to ruby and emerald and canary shocks of vibrancy.
Tim doesn’t think of himself as an artist. His subject is simply one of such dynamism and vitality that it was nothing at all to frame them just so and with the click of a button, his heroes were immortalized in passionate swirls of movement and color on glossy film. If Tim were to look back on some of his first photos they’d be blurry and dull with inexperience, a combination of him getting used to being out at night in Gotham and him learning how to use a dark room on his own, no longer having the assistance of a teacher to coo over stung fingertips and gently hold stained hands in theirs.
( Those small touches were some of the few he received that he kept close to his chest. Close enough to lean on when the shivers got so bad he felt he’d vibrate out of his skin. Azure veins shown stark against numb, pale skin; numb but with the pins and needles of remembered warmth, absent in the frigid house devoid of life, of touch.)
Robin was where Tim felt the warmest. Just seeing him in pictures with his sharp grin sent bursts of cool fire through Tim’s veins. It made the ache to be held go down to the very marrow of his bones - until he was nothing but an aching tooth, painful to touch in every way but never being able to resist just another little push of the tongue. Robin wasn't a monochromatic scale like Tim was. Robin had bright flashes of primary colors, second to none. Tim was fine in his world of blue, gray, and black and white hues if it meant he could bask in the warmth of Robin’s pigment splashing across a dreary Gotham at night.
It was Dick Grayson’s warmth that started it, after all. His first interaction with color that infamous night at Haly’s Circus. Dick had been heat and fire and he’d engulfed Tim in flames that prickled his skin until he was buzzing with tension and don’t let go please don’t let go what do I do what do I do oh god please don’t let go . Dick Grayson had held him, given him his first hug, however brief it may have been, and he’d given Tim a taste of a high he couldn’t let go of. A high that had led him to follow Robin when he’d debuted, his colors chasing that same warmth. It was that addiction that allowed him to see it was Dick in the Robin colors.
One, two, three, four somersaults and down down down the rabbit hole he went and out out out came the identities of the Dynamic Duo. He had been nine when he put the pieces together, Dick seventeen. The next year he was gone. But now there was Nightwing in Blüdhaven with blacks and blues and Tim was so cold-
And then out of the cobalt and charcoal of the streets of Gotham came Jason Todd- fists running red as the blood of the noses he broke. Jason was streaks of scarlet and burgundy, splashes of cadmium yellow and jade. Where Dick was simmering warmth under his bones, Jason was a bonfire against his skin, the lingering smell of wood and ash.
Tim’s biggest collection of photos featured Jason as Robin with Batman. Reels upon reels of film of Jason’s wicked smirk, Jason and Batman laughing together, casual touches that spoke of trust and so much warmth that Tim thawed just that slightest bit in their presence. Coming back to the frigid stillness of the mausoleum he lived in was the worst part of his night.
Gotham was shades of gray, but with hints of pink lipstick and green foliage and tabby kittens and the smell of sewer and beer. There was presence and life and a warmth that could only be found with the people who shared in the grayscale Gotham provided. They had people to see and tv’s to hear and there was so much going on. It was nothing like the unnatural silence in Tim’s house. Nobody there but Tim and the other unwanted items his parents only needed on occasion, when it suited their whims.
He carefully placed his new photos in their spots, smiling down at them fondly when he was finished. They were some of his best yet, Tim could admit to himself. Robin, midswing between two buildings with his knees pulled up and his arms and cape spread wide behind him, haloed by a bright full moon that made his face glow with the blinding grin he had on his face.
It was definitely one of Tim’s new favorites of Robin, he’d had to stick his body half off a fire escape to catch the photo and he’d almost fallen off but man was it worth it. He closed the album and set it back in the lock box before arming his traps again and setting it back inside the floorboard. After everything was back in its place and he’d pushed the nightstand back to where it was supposed to be, he grabbed his city-at-night clothes. He’d spent his Saturday in the dark room with his camera and paper, developing pictures one by one with utmost care.
The day was fading into the night now, colors blending in the sky, overshadowed by the everpresent gray of Gotham’s clouds. Drake Manor was situated on a tall hill, one that overlooked a good portion of the city beneath it with woodland stretching behind. The gray was thick around Tim’s house. Keeping color on the outside, keeping the inside the same as dust collects on its pristine white mantles.
As light fog turned to dark shadows, Tim set out to prepare for his favorite part of the night. Once changed, Tim grabbed his camera bag and his jacket and headed down stairs. Putting on his shoes took a minute, but Tim was out of his house and down the driveway on his bike in what felt like no time at all. It took two bus stops before he chained his and a third stop before he set off on foot into the Gotham night in search for more of Robin and Batman.
The night had been unsuccessful to say the least.
He’d started off near the Bowery, trying to stick to the peripherals of where he’d tracked the Bat’s patrol route to be. After two hours of crouching on a roof, handheld radio listening in for any breaking news on if Ivy was causing problems or if Scarecrow was running about with gas again, he’d switched locations to Crime Alley, knowing Robin liked to patrol at least once every night he was out and it was a sure place to catch him.
At the moment, Tim was cradled in the lap of one of Gotham’s many gargoyles, legs dangling off the side of an arm while his neck was supported by a knee. At twelve years old, he was still small and gangly enough to feel secure in the hold once he’d settled in. Tim idly kicked his feet as he fiddled with his camera pointed straight up at the night sky. Tim had been in this position for almost three hours, and it was nearing 1am. Wisps of smokey gray clouds spread across midnight blue.
The neighborhood Tim was in that night was one of the poorest in Crime Alley, and the lack of electricity and light pollution allowed a few bright spots of white to shine through the smog. The moon was in waxing crescent, a sliver of a circle to shine down at him.
Tim felt almost like he was the little boy fishing in those Dreamworks intros. High on his perch, all on his lonesome, fishing for something, anything to join him in his isolation. Maybe he was making out that little intro to be darker than it really was though. Maybe that little fisher boy had a mother waiting for him with warm hugs and warm food and warm smiles to chase away the chill. Maybe he has a father that praises him on his catches, tells him “ next time will be better son” , when he inevitably comes back with nothing. Maybe it’s just Tim that’s wrong. He’s nothing but a vestigial part of his parent’s social life, a side thought to remember when he was needed.
Tim wished he could be needed all the time. With a sigh, he gave up on his waiting to see any action for the night. Robin had been having a rough time lately, what with the balcony scene, and he was probably taking a break due to stress.
Tim imagined Jason Todd sitting on a comfortable couch in front of an open fire, cuddled into his adoptive father Bruce Wayne’s side as they watched films or read books. Maybe they even fell asleep due to the heat, the comfortable warmth of mutual trust and affection bleeding into drowsiness.
After that, the thought of returning back to the empty Drake Mansion felt arctic in comparison. The thing about Tim’s living situation was that he wasn’t really considered anyones. He was sometimes his parents, but only for short bursts and even then he wasn’t Tim . He was Timothy Jackson Drake, only child of Janet and Jack Drake, polite and demure, considered a genius in his age group, crisp black and white tux with a baby blue tie to match his eyes on and fitted to his size. So Tim didn’t really have anyone.
The housekeeper came by thrice a week to clean up what little space Tim took up and drop off some food. Before, when Tim still needed a nanny, he’d never been able to really make a connection with them. His caregivers would rotate in a revolving stream of attachment and abandonment until there was no one left but Tim. Nobody to talk to about what he did in class, nobody to ask questions about homework or other life facts. Tim learned quickly that if he wanted to know something, then he’d need to find a way to obtain the information himself.
It was like taking a duck to water when he finally got his hands on a computer. Free time that used to be spent sitting alone in his frigid room with nothing but his own toys to play with by himself was replaced with hours upon hours spent at a screen, blue light glaring at him. Too many mornings he woke up to the whites of his eyes stained red from the strain of squinting at his screens.
Computers were nothing for his parents to buy, and when he turned eleven he was given a credit card with a monthly limit paid off automatically. With that money he was able to get his own parts and create his own computer, sleek black lines and silver accents, glowing a soft sapphire blue from the inside. His brain was occupied by his computer. So much information at the tip of his fingertips to keep him busy, keep him from slipping into a spiral of endless sleep and staring at the walls and numbness that accompanied the emptiness in his home.
Tim had no one but himself. No one to help when he was sick, to sit by his bedside and pet his hair, bringing him water and medication when he needed it. There was just empty space and the silence echoing back at him. His own words filled his ears and his mind until he couldn’t stand the sound of his own voice in his own home. It was easier to make no noise at all than for the echo of his existence to bounce back at him, taunting him with the potential of someone calling back in response, only to receive nothing but the usual emptiness in return.
Tim sighed again and let his camera fall onto his chest, his arms flopping out to hang into empty air. He glared at the haze above him and turned his head to the side, his gaze falling to the street below. Tim stared unseeing as the minutes ticked by, unwilling to move and go back to the cold stillness in Drake Manor. More willing to stay within the warmth of the city filled with people, even as the temperature dipped down to thirties and he could feel the familiar feeling of pins and needles on his toes that premeditated numbness. He shifted again, the discomfort of laying in concrete arms getting to his back, and he prepared to pull himself back on to the roof. As he was pushing himself up to kneel on the gargoyle’s knee he heard a shout from below.
“Wait!” The voice yelled. Tim stopped immediately and whipped his head around, recognizing that tone of voice and responding in turn. Jason Todd stood below him, frantically waving his arms. “Wait right there, okay? I’m coming up to help you,” the dark haired boy yelled up.
Tim opened his mouth to respond, to let Jason know that he was fine and that getting down on his own wouldn’t be a problem, but Jason had already started sprinting up the stairs by the time Tim had unfrozen enough from shock to say anything. Tim felt static creep in at the edges of his thoughts, his breathing starting to become shorter.
Jason made it up quickly and then his hand was on Tim’s arm, pulling and tugging and the other hand was reaching underneath his armpit to pick him up and he was being held by Robin . Jason had pulled him off the gargoyle and onto his chest, taking multiple big steps back with Tim still pressed against his front like a toddler.
Ants were crawling and writhing underneath Tim’s skin, buzzing with movement and warmth everywhere that he and Jason were touching. The friction of his clothes on his body itched and pulled at his skin and he couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like if Jason touched his skin. He wondered if he’d combust with the flood of fire that would fill his veins. It certainly felt like he was a bomb in the making with Jason wrapped around him, somehow much larger than Tim even though he was only four years older.
Jason sighed as he set him down. His eyes scanned over Tim’s trembling form, his hands on the sides of his arms holding Tim at a distance. He looked concerned with deep purple bruises sagging under tired eyes, squinting through the darkness to observe him. It occurs to Tim that Jason probably thought he was suicidal in his precarious position on the roof, balanced in cold, concrete hands. Tim absently noted that he was trembling, his entire body shaking with adrenaline. Jason’s hands, hands rough with callouses, scorching through the layers of Tim’s clothes, released him as he took a step back. He crouched, getting eye-level with Tim. Tim stood there, frozen except for the faint vibrating of his body.
“Are you alright?” Jason asked softly, his eyebrows furrowed. It took a moment for the question to reach Tim, sounds muffled by faint roaring in his ears, and once he finally did hear him, it took him a moment to comprehend the question, and then another to actually articulate a response. It’s a simple question Tim, nothing to stress over, just answer him.
“I’m fine,” Tim said stiffly, his voice cracking in the middle, ending with a high pitched squeak. He cleared his throat awkwardly.
“What were you doing up there?” Jason kept his voice in the tone he usually used as Robin talking to street kids.
Another minute of silence passed as Tim tried to wrangle his brain into creating an answer.
“I was just-um just- just taking pictures,” He stuttered, finally responding. His fingers fiddled with his camera at his chest, eyes nervously shifting to the side.
Jason sighed again. “Do you need help getting home?” he prompted Tim. Tim shook his head, no. “Can I help you find someone you know then? Anyone I can leave you with?” Tim shook his head again.
“That’s ok. I was just about to go home when you yelled at me.” Tim trailed off blushing, trying his hardest to keep his cool. This was Robin he was talking to. He might never get a chance like this ever again and he didn’t want to ruin it by being too weird.
Tim thought back to all the time’s his parents had gotten mad at his presence and tried to emulate his best behavior; behaviors that got his mom to pay just that slightest bit more attention, for his dad to stay that extra five minutes talking about Tim’s homework. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders, clenching his hands into fists and digging his nails into the soft skin on his palms, hard enough to form crescents that would stay for a while, but not hard enough to draw blood.
Boxing up his awe at witnessing the myriad of colors that was Jason Todd was difficult, having never really been so close to such artistry in a person. Tim was usually surrounded by people just as drab and uninteresting as himself, so being around Robin himself was a tad overwhelming for his poor, neglected hindbrain.
“Can I walk home with you then? I needed a break from my own house so it would really help me a lot if I could go with you.” Tim could see what Jason was doing. Making it seem like he was the one that really needed the help and would benefit from going with Tim instead of the other way around. Like Tim was doing Jason a favor by letting the older boy walk him home.
He hated to admit that it was working as well. When would he ever get the chance to help Robin again? The only thing was, Tim was Jason’s neighbor. He couldn’t let the Crime Alley native know he came from money, Jason would likely immediately become disinterested in him, seeing his wealth as a sign that he could care for himself.
And Tim could. He could take care of himself. He’d been doing it ever since he could remember and he was good at it. Balancing his meals and making sure he took his vitamins, his nightly activities keeping him active enough to stay healthy. So Tim was fine on his own, in his world of blues and grays, blacks and whites. There was nothing to it really, Tim couldn’t let Jason, who lived in shades of every color in the rainbow, see where he lived. But he also couldn’t say no to being of assistance to Robin .
Tim shifted on his feet and opened his mouth to answer when a large shadow descended behind Jason. A startled yelp escaped his lips before he snapped his jaw shut, cutting off any other noises.
“Jaylad…” A soft intonation from the shadow. Tim’s trembling increased and he could see fades of black creeping in at the ages. Maybe the cold was getting to him more than he thought, if he was on the edge of passing out like this.
Jason had spun around, stiff, the second the figure had landed on the roof. His eyes narrowed at them.
“Batman.” Jason replied levelly, the strain in his voice betraying his nerves. “What do you want?” He asked, carefully controlling his words.
“Please,” Batman said softly, his tone conveying the soft warmth of gray fuzzy blankets wrapped tight around narrow shoulders, “please come back home.”
All at once, the older boy in front of Tim seemed to deflate. His once erect spine, ramrod straight with tension sagged forward. Tim decided at that point that he shouldn’t be there to witness any more. Hopefully they wouldn’t mind him slipping away.
Timidly, Tim spoke up before Jason could say anything.
“I’m going to go now…” His voice came out strangled with nerves. Batman’s focus whipped to Tim, as if just noticing his presence there. The smaller boy stepped out from behind Jason, digging his fingers further into his hand. “My mom’s waiting for me.” Tim’s voice cracked on the word ‘mom’, and he spoke more to Batman’s feet rather than to his face. He shuffled over to the stairs.
“Wait-” Jason started, his arm half outstretched as if in an aborted attempt to reach for Tim. “Are you alright getting home on your own?”
“I’ll be fine,” Tim said with a smile. He’d never been worried about before. It was a nice feeling, he decided, his chest thawing with the sentiment being shown to him. “I make this trip often.” And it was true, Tim was a regular on these streets, enough so that people had stopped trying to mug him early on when they realized he carried nothing of value save for his camera. “Thank you very much, though, Jason.” The small boy called out before quickly making his way down the stairs. He didn’t want to wait and see if Jason would push on taking him home, Batman’s presence was the perfect opportunity to get away.
He made a note to himself in his head that next time he came out here, he’d stay close to the shadows and darkness. No more exposed gargoyles that could draw the attention of colorful heroes that would make his heart beat fast enough to power the whole city and make him feel as if he were hopped up on caffeine for hours afterwards. Tim couldn’t risk exposing himself more to his idols. Couldn’t risk potentially ruining all of their beautiful swirls of color with his ombre of blues bleeding into black. Nothing about Tim was suitable for other people unless in a classroom setting or when his parents were there to monitor him. Tim would do nothing but dirty his heroes image, and he could never insult them in such a way.
So Tim made his way back to Drake Manor. Back to the collection of pieces his parents had left behind. He’d be back again to try and catch the duo next weekend.