Identity Theft

by TaraLaurel

Summary:

He tapped the screen again, his face up close in the zoomed camera.

"Whoa, ultra Tim-vision, no thank you. I think I just saw my pimple's pimple. Gross." He zoomed out and grinned at himself. "I don't know if I have ever felt so freaking happy or strong or cool, or well, anything, in my whole entire life."

And it was true. Standing atop a building as Robin. If someone were to look up, they would definitely think he was the real deal and the thought left him beaming. Jumping in place, Tim gave another whoop, punching the air and then bending over into a fit of high pitched laughter. This was all the joy he would ever need for the rest of his existence.

And then someone screamed.

OR,

Tim Drake puts together a very realistic Robin costume for Halloween and gets mistaken for the real deal.

Chapter 1

He had just wanted to take some pictures...in the Robin costume. So, not the actual, Robin costume, but probably the closest replica anyone had come to ever making. It did help that some of the pieces were technically from the original, but no one needed to know that.

Tim had been putting the outfit together for months. The boy scrapped together fabric from his mother's craft room that she never used for anything except the occasional secret cigarette. The boots were from some hole in the wall vintage grunge clothing store downtown. The dye job was pretty easy, and he taught himself how to attach some straps and buckles and even little hidden holsters. He had taught himself how to do everything for this project and could now rank the most informative and engaging sewing tutorials on YouTube if asked. That part had been tough. Learning it wasn't so bad, but actually sewing together fabric and leather and Kevlar - don't ask him how he got his hands on some of that - was painstaking when doing so by hand. His mom had a machine in that craft room too, but Tim was so sure that it hadn't looked the same when he had tried.

The cape took a few attempts. One turned out looking like a thin, floppy version of a Dracula Halloween costume. Another, he trimmed too short after forgetting to measure twice and cut once. It would never be close to the original in actual material, but the design would be pretty identical. From all his own research, and the Reddit boards, the prevailing theory was that the vigilantes' capes were constructed from something high density, possibly polarized titanium, which was apparently ten times stronger than steel. He was pretty positive that just about every inch of those suits were bulletproof, from the evidence he had witnessed first hand. It didn't stop him from still having a minor coronary every time someone managed to get a shot off at any of his heroes. Tim's chest would be safe, as well as a few other smaller areas that he had reinforced with the extra Kevlar - again, top secret, do not ask.

And then there were the accessories, the piece de resistance of the whole dang thing.

The grappling hook was heavy in his small hands, and he learned the hard way that he had to make a better belt after securing it to his side sent his pants to the floor the first time (thank God that the new Robin had traded in the glorified underwear and tights, no offense whatsoever meant to his hero Robin 1.O aka Dick Grayson aka Nightwing). The bat-gadget (did they call them that because Tim totally did) had originally belonged to Dick. After a particular rough night fighting Killer Croc, Robin had made to swing to a different building to avoid the monster man's tail. Croc had reached out, knocking the Boy Wonder with his arm instead, sending Robin into the side of a building, and the grappling hook tumbling a few stories below. Of course, retrieving it hadn't been Tim's first thought as he had watched the battle from far too close of a vantage point, his camera poised. It had taken all his willpower to bite down on his tongue and not shout out for the older boy. But Batman was there, of course Batman was there, drawing Killer Croc's ire so that Dick could blink away the probable birdies dancing around his skull. Robin was back in the brawl not a few moments later, quipping like he hadn't just gotten his utter shit rocked. It was only later, after the Croc was down for the count and the vigilantes had fled before police arrived, did Tim trek down from his perch into the dark back alley. The red and blue lights reflected off of a few windows and the boy kept to the shadows, using tactics he had quite literally learned from watching Robin - and from sneaking around his house trying to not make a sound and pretending it was a fun challenge and not as depressing as his reality was but that didn't matter just then because oh my gosh it was sitting right there in a puddle.

After a few years, Tim had only succumbed to temptation and fired it twice. Okay, like a few dozen times, but he only took it out of hiding to use those few dozen times and two different occasions, alright? The first was just for fun, pure curiosity and shock, about 12 hours after he had initially secured it. It had earned him a broken ankle, dislocated shoulder, and sprained wrist. The next, was following an all-nighter of revisiting photos and videos of Robin using it until he had figured out precisely how it worked. He was enthusiastic, not suicidal. So when he shot the thing off in his backyard up to the very top of the several story house, he surprisingly didn't go splat on the roof this time, but landed with a little thud and just getting the wind knocked out of him as his stomach collided with the wall, his hands searching for purchase on the roof. It. Was. Awesome. But Tim knew better than to think something Robin had used to fight actual crime and scale actual skyscrapers was a toy, so once satisfied he could actually semi-successfully use the gadget, he had tucked it away. He would never risk breaking something so precious, or, even more important, risk someone seeing it.

The batarang came next. He would come to collect a small assortment of them over the years. The duo really weren't great about cleaning up after themselves. He found his first one lodged into a drain pipe, a warning shot to a pair of fleeing criminals. His next one came from some sort of duel with a ninja - no, seriously - where the guy wrapped in all black cloth like an emo mummy had kicked the flying weapon in a deflection that sent it hurtling right in the direction of Tim's lens. It would have been an incredible shot, if he hadn't been too busy flailing to duck down on the fire escape. The third wasn't technically a batarang. It looked similar, but sported Robin - the new Robin's - colors. Maybe a robinrang? Birdrang? Birdarang? It was his absolute favorite. Robin 2.0 had just joined the Bat - and really, how had no one else noticed it was a new kid? Sure this one was taller than when the other Robin had first started, but by the end of Dick Grayson's Robin run, he looked like he was nearly an adult. This new one was definitely a kid. It was the boy's first week out with the Dark Knight and one of this throws went a little wide, missing the assailant and swooping up onto a low rooftop. Tim kept it under his pillow. 

The mask was tricky to make so form fitting and he lost a bit of his peripheral vision when he put it on, wondering what ridiculous high tech material the vigilantes' were made from. From his research, a compressible micro fabric would work, but that wasn't exactly sold on Amazon or something he could find from the streets or his mother's craft room. He got as close as he could though, and it wasn't like he was going to be going up against bad guys so the slight loss of side-vision was fine.

Standing in front of the mirror left him gaping for a good solid minute. It never had really occurred to him just how similar he looked to the two Robins with that same untamed dark hair and small frame. He was lankier than them with far less muscle filling out the suit, but the resemblance was there enough that it made him puff out his chest just the slightest.   

There was no argument to be made. Tim Drake was going to have the coolest costume at school for Halloween this year. He would leave the weapons and gadgets at home, of course. But that didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun with the completed outfit first.

Tim glanced at his phone, just a few hours before Batman and Robin's usual patrols began. Even he wasn't stupid enough to go galavanting around to snap photos of his heroes on the night before Halloween, especially dressed like one of them. But he could get in a few shots of himself in the full moon light. Selfies in his backyard weren't really going to cut it, though. Tim gave himself one final check and then went to rummage through a drawer, pulling out an oversized pullover hoodie. It had belonged to his father a long time ago, Jack having mentioned vaguely once that it was from his college days. He had let Tim borrow it years ago when his son had been sick and just couldn't get warm. His father didn't want it back after that. Germs, he had said with a scrunched up face, despite it having been laundered. Now, Tim had taken to wearing it around the house when his parents were away. It got a lot of use. He liked to sometimes imagine that it still smelled like Jack. It did still swallow him, practically covering the entire Robin outfit.

Halloween always hit Gotham hard. Whether it was Calendar Man or The Holiday Killer staying true to their names, or someone even more sinister hoping to have some deadly fun to celebrate, there was always something or someone making the holiday even scarier. When bombs went off or fear toxin was released or gang wars escalated, no matter the crimes, it was almost always the city's poorest and most vulnerable who suffered the worst. Tim wasn't actually Robin. But he could still help. 

The Uber driver wasn't exactly thrilled with his trunk and backseat being filled to the brim with boxes of canned goods, first aid supplies, emergency candles, and more. There was even a box of all the best Halloween candy, like full size Snickers, gummies that looked like eyeballs, candy corn, and those pumpkin shaped Reece's. Tim had stashed a handful in a compartment on his belt for his own snacking.  Tim offered a heftier tip if the guy helped lug the stuff from the foyer and his mood brightened, barely. The shelter was smashed between a shuttered warehouse and a weathered water tower in one of the worst districts in downtown. Another tip increase bought Tim just enough time to keep the car idled in front of the place to unload, not a second longer. The kid yanked out the last box, glancing up at the man who had remained in the driver's seat, hands gripping the wheel and eyes on all of the mirrors and windows.

"You should take the rest of the night off," Tim sighed, handing the man a thick stack of bills, "it's not safe."

"What about you?" The guy huffed in surprise, glancing from the cash that was more than triple the total and then back up to the boy. "This ain't no place for a kid like you, especially tonight."

"The big stuff usually happens on actual Halloween night," Tim shrugged, "and I'm not staying long."

"So you're worried about me," the man chuckled, "but not yourself?"

"I won't be long. I've just got a - thing - to do quick."

"Cabs don't run this side of town, and no one is gonna come pick you up after midnight, no matter how big the tip."

"I can take care of myself." Tim frowned at how much that made him sound like a petulant child.

"And apparently half of Gotham," the guy nodded at the box in Tim's hands and then grunted. "Look, I got a sister with a kid your age and if someone let him run around alone down here, I'd beat their ass. How long this mysterious thing you need to do gonna take?"

"Not long." Tim furrowed his brow. 

"It ain't illegal or nothing, is it?" 

"No." Tim actually laughed at that, grinning.

"You got 20 minutes." The stranger sighed, shaking his head. 

Tim squinted.

"20 minutes. I'll be here. Right here. By the nice bright streetlights and on the road that leads straight to the highway if I need to hightail it. Engine running. Foot on the brake. And charging you for every minute. You come back, you yell for me - it's Jerry - and I unlock the door for you. You knock on my window kid and I might accidentally blow your head off, okay?"

Tim shifted the box in his arms, blinking over at the man - Jerry.

"I'll be fine." 

"Sure," the stranger shrugged, "but I won't be unless I know that the scrawny little brat that I brought out here, is back home safe and tucked away in bed like a kid your age should be."

Tim's eyes narrowed again, lips pursed.

"You know, you're oddly very grumpy but very nice."

"19 minutes."

Tim smiled as Jerry settled himself into the seat, leaning his head back. As he swung the door shut, Tim was sure he saw the driver's mouth turn upward. Sometimes Gothamites really did surprise you. 

Tim checked his phone and started a countdown. He wasn't too worried if he missed his unplanned ride back off the island, but it made things a heck of a lot more convenient. He had grown used to bus hopping this late at night but it did take forever to get out of the city and the subway and buses were often targeted in the big attacks. Why oh why did criminals just love terrorizing public transportation? Did Riddler miss the train once? Did the subway break down while Mad Hatter was trying to get to an important subpar supervillain meeting? Had the bus just kept driving past Joker as he sat waiting at the stop? Because that happened to Tim once and he could see how it made a person turn to the dark side. 

A few volunteers helped Tim load the donations inside. Normally, he would ask them how things have been, about their kids, Trish's Doberman, Sam's grandmother, if the funding came through for that new floor for pregnant teens. But, apparently, he was now on a schedule. He apologized for cutting it short, they scolded him for coming by so late and so close to Halloween, he promised to be back soon, they threatened him with casual violence if he showed up tomorrow night, and then he told Becca to text him their highest priority needs for next time. 

Disappearing behind the building, Tim turned down an alleyway before scaling a wall, scrambling up a dumpster, a few barred windows, and then a broken off storm drain. It wasn't as high of a rooftop as he had wanted, but it was still backlit by the downtown skyscrapers and bright moon. Tim made quick work setting up the camera that had been tucked under his sweater. He didn't have room to bring his tripod and instead wedged the device atop and between some bricks. He also propped up his phone, setting it to video before reaching into one the little black belt pouches to pop a Gobstopper in his mouth.

"Gotham High," he spoke to the phone, "get ready for this year's Halloween costume contest winner."

After yanking off the hoodie and checking his costume and gear, Tim set the digital camera's timer, scurrying back into place to pose. He did this again and again, hands on his hips, batarang in his grip, fists poised to fight, kicking the air, attempting a pretty poor backflip that almost had him tripping on the cape, making a few quips to his phone here and there. He landed the second flip with a little whoop. Finally, Tim just stood on the edge of the rooftop, staring out at the Gotham night skyline, wind billowing the cape behind him.

He reached down and plucked his recording phone off the ground. 

"Look at this view Future Me!" He tapped the screen to turn the camera around and show the bright buildings and sky, zooming in on the moon for a moment. "Full Moon, yikes, tomorrow is not gonna be fun for Gotham."

He tapped the screen again, his face up close in the zoomed camera.

"Whoa, ultra Tim-vision, no thank you. I think I just saw my pimple's pimple. Gross." He zoomed out and grinned at himself. "I don't know if I have ever felt so freaking happy or strong or cool, or well, anything, in my whole entire life."

And it was true. Standing atop a building as Robin. If someone were to look up, they would definitely think he was the real deal and the thought left him beaming. Jumping in place, Tim gave another whoop, punching the air and then bending over into a fit of high pitched laughter. This was all the joy he would ever need for the rest of his existence. 

And then someone screamed. 

It was close. And so very scared. 

Tim sprinted to the source on the other side of the roof, peering down over the edge just in time to see a kid not much younger than himself getting shoved backwards to the pavement.

"Please, Harry, just - just leave us alone. We said we're done, let us go."

"You think it's that easy? You signed up for this shit, kiddo."

"Because we were starving! You said we'd just make deliveries. That - that's it."

"Yeah, and now boss wants you to deliver her, see, just a delivery."

"She's - she's my sister!"

"No," the man pulled a gun from his waist, "now she's damaged goods, thanks to you two trying to run."

A girl was slumped over against the wall and Tim realized it must have been her terrified shout he had heard. It was too far down to see if she was just unconscious or - His fingers twitched as he considered dialing 911. No way they'd make it in time. Tim straightened, looking back and forth for, he didn't know, something, all the while swearing under his breath like a prayer. He spared another look over the edge and then swallowed. It wasn't like Tim wouldn't have helped if he wasn't dressed up as one of Gotham's heroes, but it did give him an idea. Kicking off of the ground, Tim ran back across the roof, scooping his camera up and heading back to the ledge. There was a fire escape on this side - and boy, wouldn't Tim have loved to have noticed that on his way up. Tim leapt down lightly, keeping his movements quiet. The kid aimed the camera down at the men advancing on the boy, wrapping the strap tight around a railing and setting the timer. He stuffed his phone in his makeshift utility belt, not noticing as it continued to record. Taking a few deep breaths as he shook out his arms, Tim closed his eyes, visualized his entire plan, and then jumped. 

The camera flash illuminated the dark alley as he slid down the side of the fire escape ladder, landing on a dumpster below, only just nearly losing his footing. The men were turning their heads, and guns, in his direction as another flash went off and Tim tossed the batarang, skimming the hand of the man doing all the talking - Harry - but missing his weapon. Tim had missed. After years of secretly practicing his his backyard, when it finally actually really mattered.

He. Had. Missed. 

The knick was just enough to make the man flinch, shifting his aim slightly to spare Tim's life as the boy brought the grappling hook up, sending himself soaring over the three assailant's heads and over to the much lower roof adjacent to the one he had just been posing on. They spun toward him again, the camera flash blinding them as Tim flung out his second prized batarang, nailing the shortest stooge in the back of the leg. He bit back the yelp of pride and excitement as bullets shot off in his direction - and holy shit were they so much louder in person when he wasn't just hearing them a few blocks down or from a safe-ish distance while snapping pics of Batman and Robin. The flashing camera threw off their aim and Tim managed to fire the grappling hook again, heading over their heads once more, pelting candy as he did. He managed a messy kick to someone's nose as he zipped passed and then something snagged his ankle as he was reaching for the birdarang. Tim felt the air leave his chest as his body was yanked out from midair and down to the hard ground, phone flying free of his belt and crashing somewhere across the alleyway. His back screamed and, yup, he should've added hockey pads, no matter how weirdly bulky it made the outfit look. The back of his skull cracked against the concrete and he could see the upside down image of the young boy running away, dragging the limping girl with him. At least they had gotten away. 

"Hurry it up, man," one of them grunted, holding a hand to his gushing nose, "if Robin's here, the Bat isn't far behind."

"Pop him," the one currently bleeding from the leg growled.

"We kill the bird," the first guy argued, sniffing, "and Batman will fucking hunt us down, you idiot."

"I've got a better idea," Harry grinned, waving his gun in front of Tim's face. "We came here to make good on a delivery, right? Why not make a different, better, one?"

"Fuck you," Tim spat, kicking out at the man's groin and throwing a fist full of dirt and rocks in Harry's face. 

Tim rolled sideways, scrambling to stand as three guns leveled with his head. 

"Don't think we won't kill you," Harry wiped at his eyes. "Now, you can come quietly or -"

"'Come quietly'," Tim huffed, trying to think of what Real Robin would say, "really? Original."

Yeah, Drake. Great quipping. Definitely Robin level, you massive idiot. Risk getting shot in the face point-blank because you want to perfect the art of one-liners. 

"Come quietly," Harry repeated, "or come full of holes. Boss will pay for a dead sidekick too."

"I'm not a sidekick," which was probably something either of the Robins would have said, and was actually 100% the truth for Tim, "but, you - you're right, you know. Batman - he'll find you. He'll make you pay." Way to totally disprove the not-a-sidekick thing by pulling the Big Scary Batman card, Timmy. "You should just - go - before he gets here."

"Yeah," Harry nodded, thin grin spreading over chapped lips, "we should."

The gun came up against the side of Tim's skull and he had just enough time to hear the countdown timer beep on his phone as he swooned and kissed the pavement. Bye Jerry. 

Chapter 2

Jerry the Uber driver really was a nice guy. Grumpy and definitely a nicer guy when you tipped, but still nice. When that college girl had called him through the app after he showed up to pick her up and she wasn't there, he had drove around campus for an extra 10 minutes because apparently some guys had started harassing her and she was trying to shake them. They definitely stopped following her when a 6'2" round and muscled man had pulled up and gotten out of the driver's seat with a Glock. He helped that elderly woman carry in her groceries every single week. He even gave someone a free lift who had been mugged. Sure, he had originally been a little unfriendly to the rich kid from Bristol. Usually, customers from the richer neighborhoods needed to be driven farther because they lived so far away from the actual city, were rude or plastered or both, and didn't tip well. This weird little kid with boxes full of donations had been, well, a surprise.  

He had made a silent pact with himself to give the boy 30 minutes instead of 20. But that was it. Not a second more. But then it was 18 minutes and gunshots popped not even a block away. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his left hand reaching down for the pistol beside his seat and eyes zeroing in on the direction of the noise. His foot lifted off of the brake just slightly enough for the car to start rolling forward but then he slammed it back down. Shots were normal for this side of town and they seemed to be staying in one spot, not heading toward him at least. This wasn't some college campus with creepy drunk frat kids. The thugs here were bigger than even him, with bigger guns too. At 20 minutes, he started twitching. At 30, he dialed 911. 

45 minutes in and Jerry was talking to a couple of cops outside of the shelter, the volunteers giving statements too - the area having been sufficiently swept and the shooters, and the boy, having been nowhere in sight.

One hour after Timothy Jackson Drake had left the car, there was a police report being filed. The Drake name, and the boy's young age, certainly sped things up. Missing kids meant a shorter timetable. Only 24 hours before odds of recovery were, well, a whole lot less. This wasn't something Jim Gordon would necessarily throw on the Bat Signal for, but he wasn't exactly unhappy when the vigilante showed up to the crime scene. Especially after one of the CSI's found a certain cell phone. 

Bruce Wayne had been making a pit stop on the way home before patrol to Jason's favorite little hole in the wall deli not 15 minutes from the crime scene when the alert pinged on his phone for Timothy Drake. Bruce and Jason had fought again the night before. Robin had failed to obey a direct order and now the boy was benched for the holiday. His favorite salami sandwich wouldn't appease his son, in fact Jason might just chuck the thing to spite Bruce, but he had to try something. He was running out of ideas lately. Dick had been, difficult, of course. And Bruce had made his share of mistakes with his first son, that was for sure. But with Dick, he could relate to the trauma and loss and wish for revenge. Jason had been through his own struggles, before meeting Bruce and after, and not only were his troubles different, but his personality was too. Bruce had a hard time pinpointing just how Jason might react to something. And whatever Bruce did or said seemed to be wrong. Bruce had made arrangements for Dick to visit after Halloween. Batman and Nightwing weren't necessarily getting along swimmingly, but Dick was always so good with kids, and he had said yes without hesitation. He just hoped that it would help, somehow. 

Now Bruce's hopes were focused on finding Tim alive before then. He had met the boy briefly here and there at galas or charity events or some other party, always accompanied by his parents, and always the most well mannered attendee under 18 years old. There had also been that 911 call made from the Drake's home a couple years back too. Bruce had heard it while working in the Batcave, readying himself to hurry the short distance over the Drake's estate if needed. Apparently, young Timothy had been playing outside and fell out of a tree, earning the kid a sprained wrist and dislocated shoulder. The 10 year old had then hobbled his way into the house - oh yeah, he broke his ankle too - by himself, to call 911.

"No, no, I don't need an ambulance. Just tell me what to do."

"I'm sorry?"

"My phone was in my pocket so now it's sort of smashed and won't work so I can't just Google it. And I'd use my computer but it's upstairs and I already knocked over one of my mom's vases just trying to get to the landline - I caught it - but it's fine. I'm fine. Just, what do I do? Ice, right? Do I put it above my heart or something? How do I put my leg above my heart? Right, duh. Pillows."

"Honey, are your parents home with you?"

"No, but it's okay. I take care of myself. They're working. Don't bother them, please. Just give me, like, the basics. I'm smart."

"Listen, sweetheart, I've already sent an ambulance to your address, okay? You're hurt and you need to go to the hospital."

"No, I -"

Bruce had been over there in 7 minutes flat, claiming to have been on a morning walk and heard commotion. The injuries seemed a bit extensive for falling from a small tree, but they were definitely fresh and Tim's parents were indeed not home. Bruce had just had to be sure. He had watched too many children cover for their abusive parents over the years. Not to mention the fact that he wasn't about to let a little boy sit alone and in extreme pain until the ambulance made its way to them all the way out there. Bruce didn't have to be Batman to recognize the shock and adrenaline in his frantic words to the operator and about a minute after he found Tim hunched on the kitchen floor, it started to fade and the real pain set in and Bruce just let the 10 year old sob into his shirt, rubbing soft circles into the boy's back and discreetly checking for signs of any other injuries. The Drakes had been extra polite to Bruce at the next fundraiser, but Tim hadn't been present. Come to think of it, Bruce couldn't remember seeing the boy again after that day. 

"Have his parents been notified?" Batman questioned, pacing along a nearby roof, unknowingly the same one Tim had been having the time of his life on not too long ago.

"I've had Anderson calling every 10 minutes. So far, no answer."

The Drakes weren't a likely target but they deserved to know before it was plastered all over the news. And they could be useful if needed, providing information on Tim's personality and characteristics, helping build a clearer understanding of how they boy might react or what he might do if kidnapped. Analyzing the victim's motives and behaviors was just as important as knowing the criminals' in predicting an outcome to something like this. 

"Did anyone know he was coming out here?" 

Batman began pulling up information about Tim onto a small screen attached to his wrist. 

"Shelter volunteers said that the kid swings by pretty regularly, especially around the holidays and always for Halloween. Brings stuff in case of the usual Gotham Halloween hijinks like flashlights, emergency blankets, those sort of things. Even drops off a big box of candy. Apparently he brings cookies and a whole damn turkey for Christmas. So, yeah, someone could have known, but I don't think this was some pre planned kidnapping or ransom."

"What makes you think that?"

Gordon sighed, handing over the cracked cell phone. 

"You should see for yourself."

The video was already pulled up and Batman pressed play, frowning as the boy came into frame. 

"Gotham High," the kid was bent over close to the camera and then began to back up, "get ready for this year's Halloween costume contest winner."

The hoodie was pulled up and off and Batman's frown deepened, his lips tight. The Robin costume was good, too good. He recognized an old grappling hook hanging off a DIY'd utility belt. Then the kid started posing, pulling out one of Batman's own batarangs. Everything from getting his hands on those gadgets to making the entire suit would have taken a lot of time, and skill. No one put that much time and effort in for some silly high school Halloween contest. Batman would have honestly been impressed, if we wasn't so surprised and already putting the pieces together of what probably happened to Tim. 

"Look at this view Future Me! Full Moon, yikes, tomorrow is not gonna be fun for Gotham."

Batman glanced up at the skyline and then back down at the phone and back up again, lifting the phone to match the buildings. 

"Shit," Gordon whispered, "this roof? I need to get a team up here."

"Wait," Batman lifted a finger. 

"I don't know if I have ever felt so freaking happy or strong or cool, or well, anything, in my whole entire life."

Batman hoped that this video didn't end with Tim going looking for trouble because some suit made him feel powerful enough to do so. Putting on the mask sometimes tricked even his sons that they were invincible. Even himself. The few times people had played copycat to Batman and gotten hurt, the vigilante had hated himself a little bit more. He often questioned himself if he was doing the right thing, making a difference, or making things worse, for a whole host of reasons and self-doubt. Jason was constantly trying to run off solo and leaping head first into battle. Between trying to prove himself to be better than Dick and that costume's invincibility high, Jason was heading on a dangerous path that Batman just didn't know how to steer him away from. And now another boy, one who looked oh so hauntingly similar to his sons, was in danger thanks to him. 

The scream drew Batman's attention back to the screen, watching as the video jostled, Tim running toward the danger. Not even a split second of hesitation. It was both admirable and horrifying. The voices were harder to hear, some sort of argument. They could isolate them and listen better later in the Batcave if necessary. He listened as Tim swore and shuffled the phone, the fear shaking the boy's hands and voice. Then, he was on the move again. It looked like maybe he was running away and Batman so wished that were the case, but then Tim turned back around, something else in his other hand. He was working fast, everything a blurry mass. 

And then Tim jumped. 

Something flashed white, blinding the lens, and the men. It happened again and Batman shook his head.

"Smart."

The fight was difficult to follow with the odd angles and obscured view but Batman could tell the kid was holding his own, playing fast and smart and keeping his distance - until he wasn't. Until the phone was sent flying, landing to watch from a distance as Tim was laid out onto the pavement and the two kids he had saved hurried past the phone on their way to escape. 

"We kill the bird and Batman will fucking hunt us down, you idiot."

Batman's grip on the plastic tightened. He would hunt these men alright. Without a word, the vigilante marched toward the edge of the roof, scaling down the fire escape until he reached the digital camera still tied up to the railing. It really was clever. Plucking out the memory chip, Batman stuck it in his belt.

"You know," Gordon called out from the roof, "I shouldn't let you take that."

"No," Batman tossed him up the camera, "you shouldn't."

"Maybe sometime you'll upgrade the GCPD to have your tech and then us regular cops can also take turns with the important evidence."

Batman leapt back up onto the roof, offering the man a ghost of a grin before his face fell grim again. He bent down to pick up the discarded oversized sweatshirt, a Gobstopper wrapping clinging to the fabric. Batman closed his eyes. So young. The pair left the rooftop as Jim called up a couple of CSI's, leaving the final crime scene free for them to roam away from prying eyes. Batman spotted the blood stain on the brick wall, low the ground and the right color for a head wound. The girl's then. Nothing too serious. Probable concussion. He retraced the fight through memory of the video and the evidence in front of him, found the splatter from the batarang to the leg next to a bright yellow plastic marker. Another splotch of red a few feet away, Tim's. Not deep. No real worry for concussion or lasting damage. At least, not from anything that had been done to him yet. 

"Got one of your batarangs in an evidence bag," Jim supplied, "the first one he threw. And it's definitely yours. Saw it myself. How the hell did he get his hands on it?"

The alleyway was tight, narrow and dark, the surrounding walls tall. Tim would have only had the moon light and flashes of his camera to guide him. And still he navigated twice with the grappling hook, seemingly staying out of their range and line of sight as best as possible. He was playing decoy. A distraction so the victims could make their escape. He had taught both Robins similar tactics. The batarang throws, using the grappling hook, making use of all he had with the camera flash and candy. In such a short amount of time, there had been strategy. He hadn't just charged in half-cocked and full of ego. There was, in fact, hope for this kid to survive. He'd adapt. Think on his feet. Play along if needed but be ready to fight back. He thought of that bright beaming boy, laughing and jumping at the roof's very edge, reminding him so much of his boys. How quickly things had changed for Tim. Batman just hoped that if Tim survived this, it didn't change him. 

"Anything on the two kids?" Batman handed the phone back to Gordon, but not before cloning it with a small device in his sleeve. 

"They ran to the shelter," Jim supplied. "They're at Gotham General now. I have a unit on the way to ask them some questions and post at their door until this is taken care of."

"Send me anything they give you," Batman instructed. 

"Of course." Gordon ran a hand through his hair. "Since it's not a ransom for the Drakes, do you think it's a ransom for you?"

"Could be," the vigilante sighed, "or something else. Something worse." 

Notes:

Should Jerry be a reoccurring character in my new batfamily stories?

Chapter 3

"Fuck you."

Jason leaned back in the oversized chair as he watched the footage that had automatically uploaded once Batman had cloned the kid's cell phone. The same kid who, despite a gun being pointed at his head, kicked out at the criminal's crotch and threw a fistful of dirt in the guy's face.

"Fuck yeah," Jason hit his own fist against the arm of the chair. He liked this kid.

"Come quietly, really? Original."

Jason really liked this kid. He probably would've said something a bit snappier, but he had had a couple years now to work on witty Robinisms. And it didn't really matter what the kid was saying but the fact that he was giving fucking lip to a man twice his size who, yeah, still had a gun in his face.

"I'm not a sidekick."

Okay, this kid won the award for the most liked kid by Jason Todd. Ever. No contest. Of course Robin wasn't a sidekick. And neither was this boy with those guts.

"Batman - he'll find you. He'll make you pay. You should just - go - before he gets here."

Jason frowned at that, fingers gripping the arm of the chair. The bravado had faded, fear seeping through the cracks of the kid's facade. And, fuck, yeah, this was just a little kid. A scared, out gunned, kid trying to help a couple of others scared, out gunned kids. Sometimes Jason hated this city.

But despite the fear, the kid sounded so fucking sure that Batman would do it too. Would find them. Save him. Would Jason be so sure if it were him?

Jason winced when the gun connected with the boy's head, his body buckling under the sudden unconsciousness. That hit would leave a mark. There was a sound like some alarm and then Tim was being hauled away out of frame, Robin cape waving uselessly behind him.

The phone kept recording the empty alley and Jason just stared at it, scowling. Willing himself to be there, in that alley, not an hour ago. To show up just as the kid was kicking ass to provide some well deserved backup to such a ballsy badass. He would have taken out the thugs, given the boy a first bump, told him to never wear that outfit outside again - despite how fucking cool it was - and then left. The stranger would have been star struck, the kids saved, and the night over. 

This wouldn't have been the first time Gotham had seen copycat vigilantes, parading around in hockey pads and plastic Halloween garb. But this was the first time anyone, ever, had copied him. Even if wasn't to purposefully go out and fight crime and had just been for some sweet pics. Civilians and wanna be heroes alike had been dressing up like a bat since back when Bruce first started to don the cowl, but not once, Robin. And this was his Robin. Overtime, they had eventually upgraded Jason's suit and made it different than Dick's. Not enough that it seemed as though it was a new Boy Wonder underneath the mask, but enough to help Jason feel a little bit like it was his now. Whoever this kid was, had copied Jason's Robin costume, down to the darker shades of red, pants, taller boots, and even the two-toned cape. He wasn't sure if he should be impressed or terrified because how the heck did some kid come to learn how to mimic even his stitching? It still left a sort of warmth in his chest anyway.

"Find any new information?"

Jason swung around in the chair, taking the offered plate of food from Alfred's hands.

"Kid's a badass," Jason shrugged, "but boring."

Jason tapped a few buttons, pulling up pictures and texts from Tim's phone.

"Looks like his parents are out of the country for work," he jabbed an index finger at a screenshot of a text, "no wonder cops can't get ahold of them."

"Being out of the country, and being unreachable when your only child is missing, are two entirely different things." Alfred tutted. 

"Not everyone can have perfect parents like me, Alfie," Jason rolled his eyes. "Looks like they're almost never around anyway. We pass that giant house every day and he's just holed up inside there, alone. And doing boring nerd shit."

"Master Jason -"

"Hey, never said nerd shit was bad. It's just - like - all he does. He follows like a few dozen true crime blogs and podcasts - not the gimmicky ones but the actual hard facts and journalism - and some Batman news sites. I think he's a fan." Jason chuckled. "His Kindle is full of detective comics and novels, a couple books on criminology, 3 Russian pdfs that turned out to be instruction manuals for some robotics thing, and 2 textbooks on mechanical engineering. He's got a bunch of these escape room and puzzle game apps and he keeps up with Duolingo every day - apparently he's learning German, like, on his own. Because the Arabic and Mandarin homework I found just wasn't enough, I guess." He rolled his eyes. "Oh, and his alarm in the morning makes him solve some trivia or math or science problems before it shuts off. That's just torturing yourself. He doesn't really text anyone, a couple friends here and there about STEM club or homework or new science fiction and murder mystery movies. Nothing, I don't know, real, personal, I guess? I was going to hack into his home computer but it's totally encrypted, like scary good encrypted. Even I can tell that and I suck at the tech part of being Robin."

Jason smiled, satisfied with himself as he shoved half of the sandwich in his mouth. Alfred leaned over his shoulder, scanning the screens. 

"Did you sneak over to the Drake's residence and steal young Timothy's computer?"

"No," Jason bit his lower lip, grunting, "I mean, I was going to, but then Bruce had the bat computer just remote hack it, but it's hit a wall with the encryption. I called Girl Wonder and she's going to see what she can do."

"And how old is Timothy?" Alfred rose a single eyebrow.

"Kid's 12." Jason whistled, shaking his head. 

"And he has his own personal computer." Alfred hummed.

"It's the 21st century, old man." Jason kicked his feet up on the keyboard. 

"His own personal computer, that is highly encrypted," Alfred added.

"Yeah," Jason huffed, "that's fucking weird. Give you that."

"Between the outfit and his rather peculiar hobbies for a child, I sincerely hope he was not trying to follow in yours or Master Bruce's footsteps."

"He was taking selfies, Alfie," Jason rolled his head against the back of the chair. "Besides, what's wrong with being like us, huh? Robin is badass. This kid is badass. Stupid, but badass. He ran to save those kids without a second, Alfred, a fucking second, thought. Kid reacting like that? Pfft. He didn't need to be wearing no dumb costume. He would've helped them in a t-shirt and jeans. I know it."

"Timothy, sir."

Jason blinked up at the butler.

"Huh?"

"His name, Master Jason, is Timothy Drake."

"I'm the one who's been researching him, I -"

"You haven't spoken his name," Alfred placed a gentle hand on the chair, so close to Jason's shoulder, "not once. Referring to him simply as 'the kid'."

"Well," Jason crossed his arms, "he is a kid."

"Too true," Alfred stepped forward, between the computer and Jason, turning to face him. "Is there anything you would like to talk about?"

Jason spun in circles, pulling his knees close to avoid kicking Alfred, and just to avoid kicking Alfred, for absolutely no other reason.

"What? Uh, no. Why would I?"

Alfred opened his mouth at the same time that Batman appeared on the screen, saving his thoughts away for another time.

"I tracked the men a few miles west to a parking garage," he spoke in lieu of greeting, "they ditched their car and split up during third shift change at the mill across the street. No way to know which vehicle Tim would have been in."

"But they're moving him," Jason nodded, "means they're keeping him alive."

"But to what end?" Alfred asked in a low voice.

"GCPD and Oracle are keeping a look out for anything online."

"What, like a ransom to Batman?" Jason huffed.

"Something like that," Batman turned away. "Who knows what these particular people want with Robin? Brainwashing? Sell him to the highest bidder? Public execution?"

"Sir," Alfred hissed, watching Jason's hands shake at his sides.

"We have to be ready for anything," Batman sighed.

"What if he isn't Robin, though?" Jason stood suddenly. "What if we, I don't fucking know, convince them somehow? I come out and -"

"No." Batman's voice was urgent and gruff. "If they realize that Tim isn't Robin, then they lose any reason to keep him alive, despite whatever they are keeping him alive for. You, Robin, need to remain out of sight until Tim is found and safe." There was a long pause, followed by a world weary sigh. "Look, I know this is - difficult. I'm sorry. I need you to know that this is not about last night or anything to do with you, do you understand? This is about keeping Tim alive."

"They think he's me, B!" Jason whirled around, gripping the edge of the massive keyboard. "I have to do something!"

"You are, Robin," Batman spoke softly. "You are. The rest of us will worry about tracking Tim down, you just worry about Tim himself."

"What?" Jason blinked up at the man. 

"You're already doing it," Batman nodded. "He likes Robin. He's close to you in age. You can get to really know him. Dig into his life. Then you can tell us what he'd do. How he'd respond. Profiling a victim -"

"Is as important as profiling the criminal," Jason finished. "Kid would know that, too. He's got a thing for true crime and really long, boring looking criminology textbooks."

Batman hummed and then asked to know everything else. And so Jason relayed the info again, this time without so much personal commentary.

"How fluent do you think he is in those languages?" Batman interrupted midway. 

"He's a level, uh, 17, in German on Duolingo, whatever that means. The Russian is pretty advanced, it seems. He's got digitally handwritten translation notes in the margins. His most listened to playlist, apart from fucking brown noise, is some weird mix of German EDM and Metal. It looks like the kid's been enrolled in Arabic and Mandarin classes since elementary school."

Batman just hummed again and waited for Jason to pick his debriefing back up where he had left off until a crackling voice on the other end told Gordon something about the two kids that had been rescued. Batman at least said goodbye this time before hanging up abruptly.

Alfred opened his mouth again but this time Barbara was blipping to life in front of them and the butler could only huff. 

"B dropped off Tim's SD card with my dad a little while ago," she started and apparently Babs wasn't doing hello's today either. "Surprise, surprise, it's encrypted too. Kid's going to an awful amount of trouble to hide something."

"Can you crack it?" Jason rubbed his forehead. 

"I'm insulted that you have to ask. Personal computer coming at you in 3, 2, 1."

The screen lit up with a flurry of new images and pages. 

"And for dessert, the SD card."

A digital folder appeared and then popped open, pictures flooding the secondary monitor. 

"Have fun sorting through it all," she smiled. "I'm honestly curious to stay and take a peak and what he was hiding but I have underground websites to pay a visit to."

And then she was gone, leaving Jason with the digital mess of Timothy Drake's life. He chose the photographs first, thinking they might be an easier place to start than the computer. He was wrong. The first photo filled the monitor and Jason slumped back into his seat, swearing. Robin - Jason - was swinging right across the screen. The photographer would have had to have been up pretty high to get the shot at such an angle. It took Jason a few seconds but the shit eating grin plastered on his own face reminded him. It was just a few nights ago, when he had busted Batman on a phone call with Catwoman, when they were meant to be split up to do recon. Jason stared, wide eyed, at his own face for a long moment, before scrambling to scroll to the next image. There were more of Robin. Some of Batman. Some of both of them. Mid-fight. Mid-flight. Mid-post battle burrito. The next few were zoomed in close on Robin's boots, torso, gloves, and more as Jason was starting to get uneasy, until he remembered that costume. So this was how the kid had copied him so closely. He still wasn't sure if it was impressive or massively creepy. The next photo was the kid, in one of the ridiculous poses that Jason had already seen from the video. He flipped through the self photo shoot, looking away from that bright smile, until he got to a batch of blurry, dark stills. The results of the boy's improvised camera flash distraction.

"Well then, I'd dare say he is a fan," Alfred spoke from behind him as Jason flinched, forgetting about the man's presence. 

"Some of those shots," Jason mumbled, "he had to be right next to the action."

"Indeed," Alfred tisked. 

Jason swapped screens, unable to stare back at himself in those photos any longer. To see himself through the admiring and awe-filled eyes of the kid. 

The computer wasn't much better as the wallpaper was what looked like one of the kid's own photographs of Batman and Robin, and even Nightwing, all just standing there, laughing. Jason didn't remember that night. The first series of tabs were bookmarked blogs and sites about Batman and Robin sightings and lore. His recent YouTube search history included a smattering of sewing tutorials, self defense demonstrations, how to fold a fitted sheet, a compilation of vigilante videos, chess strategy, how to remove an oil stain from white fabric, and more. There was an in-progress PowerPoint about Feudalism. A bunch of Reddit posts from some user named RedRook who seemed to crop up anytime negative press or blogs came out about Gotham's caped crusaders. A folder of unfinished essays for Grade 7 English with a pdf of the course syllabus and assignment schedule that didn't look like it had been handed out. Apparently the kid was getting a head start. 

Jason let his eyes wander some of the coursework. The kid kicked butt at any of the STEM subjects and was decent in English. Not as good as Jason but Jason couldn't say anything because the sciences and maths gave him a migraine. He finished his sandwich as he read, admiring some of the boy's analytical thinking when suddenly the screen blinked and an image floated into frame. The kid's screensaver had kicked in and this photo somehow hurt worse than all the others. It seemed to be staged for a family Christmas card, with matching cashmere sweaters. Even the boy and his father's watches matched. The boy being about six years old though. Half the kid's lifetime ago. Had they not taken a new family photo since then? Jason closed his eyes, imagining this stranger staring at his screensaver in that empty house, looking over at the parents that were never actually there. Something chewed at Jason as the little boy's small eyes gazed back at his. He had been tasked with getting to know this kid but it felt like something was missing. 

It was time for a little neighborly visit. 

Notes:

There are some inconsistencies as to which languages different characters can canonically speak. Russian and German are pretty consistent, with Spanish and French coming up too. I think it's mentioned that the Earth-27 Tim can speak over 20 languages. Obviously, that's later when he is older and a crime fighter. However, with the pressure to enter the world of business and take over Drake Industries, it would make sense for Tim to be pushed to learn Arabic and Mandarin in the modern world.

Chapter 4

Notes:

I have taught middle school English courses and did my best to capture the usual voice and writing style of most 7th graders that I have seen. Obviously, this is not my best written or longest chapter on purpose, but I just thought it would add a little extra fun. And yes, Tim is practically a genius, but I haven't seen anything to prove he had college-level writing skills in 7th grade. Tell me if I'm wrong.

 

Dear Future Tim: Come back and edit this when it isn't 4am stupid! 

 

Timothy Jackson Drake

Grade 7

 

Topic: Opinion Essay on Current Events

Title? - The Importance of Robin 

Title? - When Darkness Meets Light

Title? - Robin is the Best and Reddit Can Suck It 

 

ROUGH DRAFT #1!!!

 

Batman. The Dark Night. The Caped Crusader. Whether you approve of The Batman and his vigilante ways, you cannot argue that he is one of the most famous names in the entire world, whether through fear or praise. Robin, Batman's faithful partner, however, is often categorized as a simple sidekick, swept to the side as a footnote, or even made to be a joke. In this essay, I will explain why Robin is one of the best heroes of our time because he represents approval of Batman's crime fighting, acts as a juxtaposition (look this up - is that the right word?) and balance between the two, and serves as a role model for kids in Gotham and around the world. 

First, Robin represents approval for Batman's work. While there are many citizens who love the vigilante, there are many more cops and others who do not approve. Even someone who seems possibly close to Batman, like Commissioner Gordon, has said in interviews that he wishes that Batman didn't need to exist but that he accepts the vigilante. He has to accept Batman's help because Gotham needs it. Robin, though, while most likely not always approving of everything the Dark Knight does, approves of his choices to be Batman and to fight crime, not just tolerating it. Robin embraces it so much that he becomes a part of it. 

Second (Secondly?), Robin is a balance for Batman. This goes for both in style and personality. Batman is all about darkness. The Dark Knight. His costume is almost always black or grey or both. Robin, though, wears bright yellows and green and reds. There are lots of superhero sidekicks and partners like Superboy, Aqualad, Wonder Girl, and Kid Flash, but they are all basically little mini-me versions of the grown up heroes they work with. Robin isn't. If Batman begins to drown in the darkness, Robin is there with a quip and a smile to pull him back into the light. I have even seen him make the Dark Knight laugh. And, no, the bright colors are not just for attracting bullets away from Batman. 

Lastly, Robin is a great role model for kids. While other young heroes have powers like super speed or are children of powerful beings (is "beings" insulting to Superman and Wonder Woman? They're still people. But Superman is an alien and Wonder Woman is - Amazonian? Is she a God then? What is an Atlantean? Need better classification for non-metas) just like Batman, Robin is an ordinary human. He uses his skills and intelligence to help people, solving crimes and saving lives all without a glowing ring or special DNA. Of course, not all of us can be heroes like him. But we can learn from him. Be brave and stand up to bullies. Fight for what is important. And never be scared to do the right thing. And totally wear whatever we want without carrying about what other people think! 

(Insert snappy conclusion here Future Tim. I'm going to bed.)

 

Notes:

This "essay" is heavily influenced by several paragraphs in an article on henchman4hire.com titled "Why Robin Matters".

Chapter 5

(For Bruce's POV of this chapter, read: These Broken Bones, a companion fic) 

Tim couldn't believe his luck. He had practically skipped the whole way home, new prize nestled safely in his backpack. His hands itched to hold it, even use it to fly himself back through the city, but it was too dangerous. Despite his dark clothes and hood, he still wasn't wearing a mask. Someone would probably notice a kid flinging himself around downtown with a grappling hook. Someone might even call the police. It almost made the idea more tempting at the thought of Batman hearing about some child using one of his gadgets and coming to investigate. Tim didn't really want his first meeting with his hero to be when the man was mad at him, though. He really did hope Batman wouldn't be angry. Most grown ups would. Batman just felt, different. 

And later that day, so did Bruce Wayne.

It had been so stupid. Reckless. Dangerous. 

But for those few seconds that Tim had been flying through the air, it had been one of the best moments of his entire life. 

Dawn was creeping up somewhere in the distance by the time Tim came up with his genius idea. The Arkham breakout had taken up most of the night, and early hours of the day. Tim was tired from following Batman and Robin around. That grand staircase felt like it might as well have been a mountain. Even the trellis outside his bedroom window looked daunting. And he was just so excited to give it a try. He had watched the vigilantes use them for awhile now and felt that he had the gist of it down. Also, his window was the one section of his house where there were no security sensors or cameras. His parents were out of town on business for a few more hours and he really didn't need to sneak in. But his legs were so much like jello and his hand was already snaking behind him and into the backpack because he had a real grappling gun now and it had been Robin's and - 

Tim fired. 

A thick cable shot out from the gun, flying up, far past Tim's window and onto the roof.

...And nothing else happened.

Tim looked down at the device, brow furrowing, before noticing a small button near the trigger and flicking it with his finger. 

Tim flew.

The line went taut and Tim's arm jerked, an odd sort of popping sensation searing somewhere in his shoulder. He only distantly felt it, though, as the rest of him was jolted up into the air and sent soaring toward the roof in a rush of freedom and ecstasy. The boy had about half of a second to realize that there weren't really any brakes on the thing before his body slammed against the edge of the roof, knocking the air out of his lungs with a coughing whoosh. Tim didn't process the pain because he was too busy trying not to fall back down to his death. As he scrambled to get ahold of the ledge, his arm dislodged the hook and he watched it tumble down below. His hands flailed to find purchase and failed, the boy bouncing hard on the overhang below, the same one he used to climb out of his window every night. His shoulder hit first and it screamed out, or was that him, as he rolled over the edge, the arm tangling underneath his stomach and wrist catching the gutters in the very wrong direction. His wrist spasmed and he lost the little grip he had, plunging down the remaining two stories and onto the grass. His foot met the ground first, ankle going sideways, and then Tim was too, head crashing against the grass just inches from the concrete. 

The sun was brighter on the horizon when Tim opened his eyes next and he was shivering with sweat and morning dew. Before his body caught up with his brain, Tim tried to stand, and promptly passed out. It was only a few seconds and when Tim stirred again, he remembered the flying - the falling. 

Tim glanced over behind him toward the house. He had missed his mother's rose bushes. A small mercy. 

This time, Tim moved the different parts of his body experimentally and so slowly. His right arm and hand felt relatively alright and he tried to prop himself up on his elbow, and then crawled. Sort of. It was more of a half-crawl, almost worm like. But it didn't matter. His parents would be home in a couple hours and he had to fix this. Had to. His heart bucked inside his bruised chest as he forced himself to move faster. Scooping the fallen grappling gun up, Tim shoved it back into his backpack, checking his camera. There was a crack in the lens but otherwise the device seemed undamaged under the protective layers of his school uniform that Tim always wrapped it in when not wearing it around his neck. 

The side door stood but a few feet away but, to Tim, it seemed like miles. Pulling himself up by the handle, Tim tapped in the lock code and stumbled inside, catching himself on the wall. A small amount of blood smeared the wallpaper and Tim nearly shoved himself backward, almost losing balance. He would need to figure out how to remove that later. Now at least somewhat standing, Tim shuffled and limped through the hallway. Coming to a doorway, Tim paused to catch his breath in the threshold, rolling to lean his back on the wood. Tim dug into his pant's pocket, pulling out his phone. The screen was smashed in, tiny fissures spreading out into larger ones from the center. He punched the power button a few times. Nothing. He considered his laptop upstairs but that was, well, upstairs. If a hallway had been harrowing, just how hard were those steps to the second floor? 

His brain felt a little detached from his body and it made thinking through the best course of action difficult. Taking in a breath, Tim chose to catalogue his injuries first to help frame a plan. Head? Spinning. And drumming. Shoulder? Not where it was supposed to be. Wrist? Wait, shouldn't that have been hurting? Tim looked down at his ankle then too. The pain there was off somewhere else distant too. His body still wouldn't let him put weight on it, but Tim was pretty positive it should be a lot worse. Especially since it was now about three different shades of purple. 

He had watched a movie the other day where a guy's leg got trapped under something heavy. His friends had gotten him out but they ended up having to chop off the limb anyway for some reason. 

His parents would definitely not like that. 

And, well, duh, neither would Tim. 

Google it was then. 

Taking a shaky breath, Tim turned toward the stairs. Somehow, they seemed to grow in size, getting longer and steeper as Tim's vision tunneled. Blinking, Tim ambled forward on one foot, catching himself on the bottom of the banister when he started to slip. He made it up the first few steps, slow and unsteady, but then his injured ankle brushed the wood and something shot through his body like a lightning bolt and the next thing Tim knew, he was on his backside on the ground floor. Tim didn't like giving up. But he also didn't like the idea of it taking the entire next few hours before his parents returned just climbing the stairs. 

He tried to stand again, but his body resisted. Fumbling forward, Tim pushed and pulled himself through the hallway. His elbow caught on a small table and the vase that stood atop it gave a warning wobble before tipping right over toward Tim. The boy bucked forward, closing the distance and catching the several hundred year old artifact before it could smash to pieces like Tim had. It should have hurt. And he thought somewhere distantly that it really had. Badly. But his heart was hammering too hard in his chest to know for sure. 

Crawling to the kitchen felt like army crawling across an endless battlefield, like the guy in that movie the other night. No, he had to stop thinking about that movie. Thinking about his foot being chopped off. About -

The landline was in his hands and Tim didn't remember finding the strength to stand, or collapsing back down. More missing time, he catalogued for later. It was probably important. 

The call was risky, so so risky. But he weighed which would make his parents more upset.

"911, what is the address of your emergency?"

The female voice on the other end was kind, but urgent, and it shocked Tim out of his thoughts because he didn't remember actually deciding to dial. 

"Uh, it - I don't need - I just have a question."

There was a small pause. Tim hated how small he sounded. 

"Can you tell me your name?"

Her tone was different now, a little sweeter and slower. Tim recognized how grown ups talked to kids. 

"It's - My name is Timothy." He finished, because that was how he was supposed to introduce himself. 

"Timothy, are your parents with you?"

Tim didn't respond because the truth would be bad, right? The nice lady would want to send someone because a kid shouldn't be hurt and alone but Tim wasn't like other children. He took care of himself. 

"Okay, Timothy," she stared after he didn't speak, "can you tell me what happened?"

"I, um," he hadn't actually thought this far ahead, "I was outside - I got hurt. I just have a question is all. I'm fine."

"How did you get hurt, Timothy?"

"I was, uh, climbing a tree. I fell. I just need to know what to do, that's all. I was just playing. The branch broke and I fell. I sprained my wrist when I was seven and it feels sort of like that."  Why couldn't he stop talking?  "My shoulder is not where it's supposed to be either. It's - loose? What's that called? Dislocated, right? I've seen it - uh - on tv. I can pop it back in, right? My arm isn't going to just fall off, right?"

"Are you still outside in your yard?" 

"No, I walked - sort of - crawled - maybe - inside." 

"Why did you have to crawl? Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"Uhm, my ankle? I think? It's worse than my wrist or shoulder. It looks all bulgy and it started turning purple so I called."

"How long ago did you fall, Timothy?"

"Uh, like, half an hour, I guess? More? I didn't want to bother anyone. I can take care of myself, I just don't want it to be infected and then I have to have my foot cut off or something."

"That's not going to happen, sweetie," she replied, "the ambulance just left, okay?"

"No, no, I don't need an ambulance. Just tell me what to do."

"I'm sorry?" 

"My phone was in my pocket so now it's sort of smashed and won't work so I can't just Google it. And I'd use my computer but it's upstairs and I already knocked over one of my mom's vases just trying to get to the landline - I caught it - but it's fine. I'm fine. Just, what do I do? Ice, right? Do I put it above my heart or something? How do I put my leg above my heart? Right, duh. Pillows."

"Honey, are your parents home with you?" She tried again. 

"No, but it's okay. I take care of myself. They're working. Don't bother them, please. Just give me, like, the basics. I'm smart."

"Listen, sweetheart, I've already sent an ambulance to your address, okay? You're hurt and you need to go to the hospital."

"No, I - really - thank you - never mind. I'm fine."

Tim smashed the button, hanging up on the kind stranger because she was asking too many questions and not answering Tim's. Shaking hands gripped the counter and Tim pulled himself up, slamming the phone back on the wall as he slid forward, catching himself. 

An ambulance was going to come. They would drag him to the hospital. His parents would be called, disrupted at work. This was all going so horribly wrong. Would they search his things? Tim opened a random cupboard and shoved his backpack inside behind some pots and pans. His parents never used the kitchen to actually cook anyway so he would time to fish it back out before they discovered it, and the grappling gun inside.

Maybe if he showed the people who came in the ambulance that he knew what he was doing, they would see he could take care of himself. Maybe. Tim shimmed his way across the kitchen, clutching the counter and grabbing a towel as he went. The fridge felt like it was across an ocean and Tim had to let go of his support. He fell toward the fridge, catching the freezer handle and swinging it open. Tim collected the ice in the cloth carefully.

"Hello?"

The voice started him and he nearly lost his grip on the door handle of the freezer. No, no, no. They were already here. 

"Go away, please," Tim worked hard on keeping his voice calm," I'm fine."

As if one cue to prove him wrong, a rebellious ice cube  slipped out of his grasp. Out of instinct, Tim moved quick to try to catch it and his whole body gave an awkward lurch, his arms pinwheeling until he found himself once again back on the floor, limbs starfished out in each direction, ice surrounding him. 

A man appeared around the corner and it took Tim's brain a few seconds to process that it wasn't actually a medic, but someone else. No, not just someone else. Bruce Wayne. The. Batman. Was standing in his kitchen. And looking at Tim with all the confusion and worry and kindness of fath - 

"Ba - Bruce - Wayne?"

Tim squirmed, trying to right himself, trying to not look like the pathetic mess of a child. Bruce knelt down next to him, those warm eyes scanning him with all the scrutiny and focus of Batman.

"Tim? What happened?"

Batman knew his name. And not just his name. He called him Tim. Not Timothy. Tim. Tim. Like he knew him. Like he cared. 

"Was up in a tree." The lie was easier the second time. "Just - playing. Branch broke and I - fell."

Tim felt an odd sort of warm sensation in his chest when Bruce moved to help Tim sit up, and it only grew after the man draped his heavy coat over the boy.  

"Can you tell me what day its?" 

Bruce's hands came up to Tim's head, fingers prodding gently. Tim was proud for not flinching. But not proud for looking in bad enough shape that Batman had to check him for a concussion. Tim knew the questions. He had watched Batman ask Robin the same things after a hard hit or fall. Still, Tim answered. 

"And your full name?"

"Timothy - Jackson Drake," Tim swallowed back a whimper, not wanting Bruce to stop calling him Tim, "But I don't like Timothy."

Why could he tell Bruce that, but not the operator? Not anyone? 

It seemed to make the man smile a little and Tim's chest went up a few degrees.

"This might seem silly, but I'm going to give you three words. I'm going to say them and then I want you to say them back to me. I want to remember them because I'm going to ask you for then later. Understand?" Bruce questioned, taking out his handkerchief and pressing it to the head wound, and that was funny - Tim hadn't realized he had a head wound. "Yellow. Penny. Music."

Tim squinted up at the semi-stranger, confused, but still repeated the words back to him as he was told. Because this was Batman. Batman knew what he was doing. 

"Good, again." 

Bruce gathered dish clothes and bundled them up under Tim's ankle, elevating the weird bumpy purple limb, while Tim said the words again. 

"Yellow, penny, music?"

"And one more time." 

Tim's back was pinching a little at his awkward position and he tried to shift his body, shoulder nudging the wall. Stars sparked in front of Tim's vision and he bit down, hard, as he ground out the words. 

"I need you to keep your head still, Tim, but follow my finger with your eyes."

Bruce just continued his assessment, not criticizing Tim for trying to move and failing at. Not treating him like a baby either. It was too nice. He didn't want the attention. Especially from Batman, who had far more important things to do with his time than check the dumb neighbor kid who stole one of his grappling guns for a concussion. Bruce had to have been exhausted. The Arkham breakout had gone on until only a few hours ago, Tim would know. Batman should have been sleeping. Not shining a penlight into Tim's eyes and looking at the boy like he mattered.  

"I need you to tell me everything that hurts, Tim." Bruce's voice was gentle, but firm, like when Batman talked to victims. "Everything."

Tim had to focus because the pain was there but still also somewhere else at the same time. He talked while Bruce worked, fixing him a small sling. Tim wanted object because it was a nice piece of linen and his parents wouldn't want him dirtying it but it took too much focus to tick off his injuries and protest at the same time. 

"Tell me how they feel too, Tim. Sharp or burning or -"

Tim did his best to describe the pain, he really did. But his mind was getting muddled. The far away pain was coming in closer, joining in with the already-there pain. His chest still felt hot from how Bruce spoke to him, treated him, but the rest of his body was too cold from laying in the morning dew for a period of time he couldn't remember. Tim was still rambling when Bruce stood and walked away and something in Tim screamed out because he didn't want Batman to leave him alone but then Bruce was back with a towel and ice and Tim remembered how to breathe. 

"This isn't going to feel too good," Bruce warned before gingerly prodding Tim's swollen ankle with his fingers. 

There was that far away pain again, pulling back toward his body like some slow slingshot. Like it had always been tethered to him but the panic and adrenaline had flung it away for awhile. Tim flinched at the touch this time and oh how he hoped Bruce would think it was from the pain. And then it actually was from the pain and Tim started to moan, feeling a small scream scratching away somewhere in his throat. He closed his mouth around it. 

Yellow, penny, music. 

"Can you wiggle your toes for me, bud?" Bruce placed the ice on Tim's ankle as the boy hissed but obeyed, all five toes twitching and somewhere very far away, Bruce let out a little sigh. 

Because now Bruce was distant and the pain wasn't. They had swapped places. Tim didn't like that very much, thank you. 

Yellow, penny, music. 

"I -" Tim tried, trembling, "- I'm fine -" when did words become so hard "- I - ah -" when did the world turn to fire "-I -"

His throat felt thick with the bottled back scream and something else wet. He wouldn't cry. He couldn't. He was the man of the house. He was a Drake. His parents wouldn't like him blubbering like a baby in front of billionaire Bruce Wayne. And Tim certainly didn't want to do it in front of Batman. 

"The shock is wearing off, Tim," Bruce's voice, though distance in the fire, was still so kind, "you're going to start feeling the pain more now."

He knew that already. He was feeling it. Maybe he could ask if Batman had like a shot of adrenaline or something? He'd seen the vigilante use it on himself. He wanted that adrenaline back and the hurt hurled far away. But he wasn't supposed to know about Batman. He wasn't - 

Yellow, penny, music.

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. He had to stop thinking about Batman. Focus on not crying. Not crying. Don't do it. Stop.

"It's okay, bud." Bruce felt closer to him then until strong arms were around Tim, pulling him close. "Just breathe. Slow and steady. With me."

When was the last time someone held him like this? Or at all? He couldn't remember. That might have hurt worse than his ankle. Okay, maybe not because that was starting to sizzle and spark more and more. Now he wanted to cry because Batman was holding him. It was all too much. Don't cry, Timothy. Don't. Don't. 

"It's okay to cry, Tim," Bruce whispered and he was right there against Tim's ear. "Let it out."

Tim's body gave another shudder and he just couldn't do it anymore. His body wouldn't let him. And Batman had said it was okay to cry. Batman had said so. Tim opened his mouth, a high-pitched wounded animal sort of scream ripping free. Tim shouted again, again, again, until his voice was hoarse and the yells grew muddled into mewls. Tim sobbed into Bruce's shirt, clutching the sleeve with his good hand in case he tried to leave. Or to remind Tim that he was there in the haze of agony. Or both. He felt as Bruce rubbed soft circles into his back and he didn't know if a single soul had ever been so tender with him. 

Yellow, penny, music. 

Bruce was probably going to ask him to repeat the words again. It was how the concussion tests went. See if you can hold onto new information for a longer period of time .

Yellow, penny, music.

They were supposed to be two syllable words. Some of the textbooks and articles suggested using five words instead of three. But Batman had to know what he was doing. 

Yellow, penny, music. 

For the first time in a very long time, Tim felt safe. Comfort. There was so much pain in his body and inside but there was also that new warm - something - that felt good. That almost made it worth the wounds. 

Yellow, penny, music. 

Yellow, penny, music.

Yellow, pe -

"-nny, music."

Tim woke up slowly, the words still on his lips. There was pain in his skull, but no dislocated shoulder. No sprained wrist. No broken ankle.

And no Batman. 

Tim hadn't had a concussion that day, the day he had just been dreaming about. The day he thought about regularly even after all of this time. He was pretty positive, however, that he had one now. 

The clarity came and went, ebbing him in and out of the waking world for just those few moments of understanding. Of a dark room and bound hands. Of fear. 

And then he was he was fading again. Falling back into the world of dreams and nightmares and that was okay. He could sleep. He could rest. 

Because Batman had saved him before. 

And Tim knew he would do it again. 

Notes:

I mentioned before that I am new to writing fics for this fandom. Comment your favorite Tim-centric fics and/or Tim comics!! I am dying for more.

Chapter 6

Timothy Jackson Drake

Grade 7

 

Topic: The Odyssey & The Modern Epic Hero 

Title? - 

 

ROUGH DRAFT...not even #1....you really need to work on this, self 

 

What is an epic hero? The idea and definition have changed throughout time as society has also changed. What was considered a hero in ancient times looks a lot different than what we think of as a hero now, but there are similarities. So, who is a hero? Someone who is powerful and saves the day? Or is it somehow who is strong because they face many obstacles, but push through them to keep going? Batman is a modern day epic hero because he displays a lot of the qualities of an epic hero just listed. Batman is powerful, strong, and overcomes obstacles all of the time. (Blah blah blah...thesis statement) 

(Summarize The Odyssey a little) Odysseus finds a way to escape the Cyclopes, proving his strength of mind and body. When him and his men finally get away, some of his people have died. Then there is a storm and Odysseus and his crew wash up on an island that is just as dangerous. Odysseus is heroic through all of this. (Find quote to put here. Make it long. Need the word count babyyy) 

 

 

Odyssues is the closest related ancient epic hero to a modern day one like Batman. Odysseys does not have supernatural powers, unlike Achilles and others. Odysseus needs to use his brains in battle and to get home, just like Batman uses his intelligence to build his own suits and solve crimes. (Filler filler filler) 

One problem with Odysseus is that is he very selfish, though. He spends the entire story just trying to get home and how far he will go to get there, even sacrificing some of his own men to save himself. When he is finally back home, he immediately goes to get revenge, murdering innocent and guilty people. Our teacher claims that he is still a compelling character and that readers root for him to get home and live. While Batman has some darker flaws, he does not believe in vengeance or murder. This is why that I think Batman is actually a better epic than Odysseus. (THAT'S THE THESIS STATEMENT! SCRAP ALL OF THIS! THIS ESSAY IS NOW AN ARGUMENT WHY BATMAN IS THE BEST EPIC HERO!!!) 

Notes:

Do you guys like these little extra chapters with stuff from Tim's computer? Should I do more essays or something else? Let me know your thoughts/requests/etc in the comments please. Thank you!

Chapter 7

Jason leaned back from the boy's computer, closing out the document window. His skin felt itchy. Reading the essays and articles and posts all about Batman and Robin felt like looking at himself through a microscope. This stranger thought Batman was a hero. Thought Robin was one too, both of them. Yeah, because, somehow this freaking child had figured out there had been two. 

While the house wasn't as large or lavish as Wayne Manor, the Drake's did have decent security. It would've been barely an inconvenience to try to work around it, but Jason had quickly found that he didn't have to. The alarms on the son's windows had been disabled, what looked like a long time ago. It had made Jason chuckle, and then frown. The Drakes hadn't even noticed apparently. There were barely visible shoe prints along the roof between the bedroom window and the trellises but any trace of the mud ended at the sill, probably wiped down to destroy the evidence. Would his parents really notice a dirty window frame but not an unsecured one? There was also a dent and crack in one of the roof tiles near the edge like the boy had lost his footing or something. 

Hopping down, Jason scanned the large room, chancing a glance back toward Wayne Manor. He was technically following Batman's orders here, really. B had said to get to know the kid. Well, what better way? The bedroom was eerily empty of mess or clutter or anything typical  for a preteen boy. The queen bed was made with crisp folded lines that would have impressed Alfred. But Jason had checked the security feeds. There had been no record of a maid on the premise recently. There had been no record of anyone at the house for a long while, except for the kid. Either the Drake's son was incredibly particular and pristine, or he was so damned trained or scared or both that he was compelled to keep everything clean, even when they were away. Jason had ran a hand over the comforter, pulling it back almost gently. The fitted sheet was flat, save for a small indentation of wrinkles right there on the far edge of the bed. Jason had pictured the kid, curled tight in a ball under the covers, as far away from the door as possible. The pillow was fluffed too and seemed hardly used. Jason had bent over then, confirming his suspicion. There, tucked under the bed frame, lay a flattened pillow and single, ruffled blanket. A pair of headphones rested atop the bundle and there the kid was again in Jason's mind, huddled up and pressing too large headphones over his small head, trying to drown something out. Jason didn't really need to guess what.

His bedside table boasted a single small lamp and a thinly framed photograph of the Drake family. They were all smiling but only the son's felt sincere. There was a small curl at the edges and Jason had turned it over, popping out the back as a second picture fell loose from behind the first. Reaching down to retrieve it, Jason stilled, fingers gripping the sides. There, staring back up at him, was Jason's family. Not Robin. Not Batman. Jason and Bruce. Dick, too. Alfred stood squarely off to the side. It felt surreal in so many ways. The four of them were all, smiling. Really smiling. Dick was even laughing. It felt like when he had seen the wallpaper of them all on the kid's computer. Those kind of moments were so damn rare for the vigilantes, even the Waynes, and yet this stranger had caught two of them. Just how often and how long were they being watched? The photo was far away and Jason could pinpoint which window of the Wayne Manor the camera had been pointed toward. Jason had pocketed the picture and shuffled over to the window again, and the telescope sitting next to it. There was a book about astronomy on the window seat, but the spine had never been cracked. Okay, so maybe Jason could sometimes do the detective stuff. And when Jason had peered through the telescope, he had been hit with that same surreal, sinking feeling all over again. There were some trees in the line of sight, but there had been no mistaking it as Jason had stared into his own kitchen window. 

This couldn't have been a coincidence, right? Photos of Batman & Co. and now a photo of Bruce and his boys. A telescope directed right at Wayne fucking Manor. Sure, maybe the kid was lonely and sad and wanted to watch what he thought was a normal, happy family that lived somewhat next door. And his Batman obsession was just a crazy coincidence. But Jason knew better, despite how very much he didn't want it to be true. 

This was bad. Bruce and Dick in jail and Jason back in the system, if not juvie, bad. Fuck. Would Alfred be locked up for aiding and abetting, Lucious too? Would Wayne Enterprises and all of Bruce's assets be seized or something? Would the Justice League lose its watchtower and funding? Could they trace anything to Babs? 

He could run, Jason had thought. He could run, Bruce and Alfred too. Go underground. He had lived on the streets before. Leave now before the jig was up and everything went to shit. With Bruce's connections, they could be on the other side of the globe in a matter of hours. Maybe another planet. Maybe - 

The computer pinged and Jason suddenly remembered how to breathe, remembered the boy. They couldn't leave him. They wouldn't. 

---

A high pitched ringing noise slowly and sharply stirred Tim from what was some of the most sound slumber he had had in months. Idly, the boy wondered if he had left a tea kettle on the stove but then remembered he didn't drink tea. Maybe it was his alarm? Was it time for school already? 

Sucking in a breath, Tim was almost thankful when the heavy door slid open. A slim, blonde woman slipped through the small opening, the steel door whooshing and clanking shut again behind her. She affixed Tim with an odd sort of polite look that kind of reminded him of all of the fake, dead, smiles at his parents' galas and parties. 

"Mr. Drake."

Tim felt his stomach lurch, dropping down out beneath him. He didn't dare glance down, fearing he would find the organ deposited on the cold ground. 

"Miss Evil Henchwoman." Tim swallowed the fear, forcing his voice to not shake with each syllable. 

The stranger's smile stuttered, just a little. She gazed at him like she was looking down on a child. Which, well, Tim guessed that was accurate.

"Ah, yes, Robin," she tutted, "I appreciate your humor. From what I hear, you are quite familiar with these sorts of situations. My, my, how many times has that Batman of yours gotten you kidnapped?"

"And how do you think he's going to treat you when he finds me?"

Her grin stretched over her pale face. 

"Good. Hold onto that fire, dear boy. The bidders do oh so enjoy the challenge of breaking their new toys in." 

"Bidders?" Tim breathed through his nose to keep from squeaking. 

"My, yes. And there are lots of them. I hear Mad Hatter wants a chance to poke around that tiny little brain of yours. I've got two Dons that are quite positive that they can get you to sing sweet little songs all about your Batman friend to them. Several have their hearts just so sweetly set on some good old fashioned televised murder. There are a few, I'm told, who are looking for a nice new pet. And some others still that are a little more insatiable."

"You're sick." Tim spat.

"Perhaps." She shrugged, bobbing her head from side to side. "But, after today, I will also be very rich. Well, richer."

"If it's money you want," Tim grunted, "you know who I am, I mean, a Drake. My parents have tons of money. They'd pay you. A lot. Really." 

"Oh, baby," she lifted a single finger, trailing it down Tim's cheek as he flinched, "you don't even know how much you're worth, do you?" She purred, patting his face with the back of her hand. "I've procured girls - and boys - from all over the world. Sex. Slaves. Spies. You want it, I got it. I once sold a princess to a rival royal. I have a reputation to uphold. And besides, you haven't heard. Oh, well, I suppose you couldn't, what with being unconscious. I like to keep tabs on the local authorities during a job. They're all scampering around, looking for their little lost bird. But do you know who isn't looking for you, dear boy?" She leaned in close, too close, to Tim's face. "Your parents." She spoke, a sneer twisting around that sickly fake smile. "It seems that the police can't get in touch with Mr. and Mrs. Drake to even inform them of your disappearance. Do they even know what their son gets up to in the middle of the night? Do they even care?"

The woman squeezed Tim's chin and then released him, patting the boy's cheek. 

"Try to get some rest," her voice was sugary sweet, "you're going to need it for, well, whatever comes next for you."

With that, the stranger strolled away, back through the steel doors and leaving Tim alone again. The boy shivered. So much of what she had said was tumbling around in his head. 

He didn't know how much time has passed since the alleyway, but it couldn't have been too long the way his stomach wasn't cramping from hunger yet. His mouth felt cottony from unconsciousness, but not overwhelming thirst. Maybe a few hours? So what if the cops couldn't get ahold of his parents? That didn't mean anything. They were in a whole different country. And Tim had gone days without hearing from them before. It was fine. Better, in fact. They didn't need to know, to worry, to be angry. And they definitely didn't need to think that their son was dressing up and beating up criminals after dark. 

Because that's what these guys thought. They found out his name but they still believed that he was Robin. A part of him, a bigger part than he cared to admit, felt like a fraud. It was different when Tim had just been goofing around, taking pictures, having fun. He wasn't Robin, not even close. He wasn't brave or heroic or a fighter. He didn't deserve to have anyone think that he was the hero. But they needed to, for now. Tim needed them too. He wasn't Robin, but he also wasn't stupid. The second that these criminals realized that all they had to show for their efforts was some useless kid, his ticket would be punched. Time up. Auction cancelled. Grave dug. 

And yeah, that thing. The auction. That was there too, muddled up there in his mind with the thousand other thoughts. He was about to be sold. No, Robin was. The woman had mentioned Hatter, some mob bosses, and - worse. 

He had to think. Had to plan. In a kidnapping, the best opportunity to escape was always during transportation. You're on the move, between locations, not as tied up or bound maybe, the criminals are distracted with driving or handoffs. Tim had been a little bit unconscious, though. Even if escape isn't possible en route, it helped to count the number of turns, listen for street noises, check for smells, keep track of time. Again, Tim hadn't been able to do any of that. 

But he could now.

Steadying his breath, Tim funneled his focus.

Step one. Be observant. The details of the room, the sounds of the building, the layout. Could he hear anything beyond the walls, like water or traffic? Are there any smells to give away a clue? 

The room was bland, metal on metal. A sharp edged square. Tim tracked the cracks, counted the rivets. He couldn't see any seems save for the ones around the singular small door. He couldn't really make out much else. There was little light filtering in from the cracks of the door and it looked artificial. The sizing of the whole place felt, off, somehow, and Tim squinted at the wall with the door again. And those rivets. The other three walls were all identical material, but the fourth? It had been added on. Built later. A false wall.

Tim threw his head back. Of course. They were traffickers after all. Would need stealthy transportation for, larger, loads. 

Tim was in a shipping container.

Stuff the rest of the box with crates and legal goods and shove the smuggled strangers into the little addition at the back.

This was bad. Tim could've been on a ship or the back of a semi truck. He didn't feel any sensation of movement, but that didn't mean they hadn't already taken him somewhere far far away. From Gotham. From Batman. Wait, that didn't make any sense. Gotham villains were the ones who were going to be fighting to the chance to buy the boy, so the auction would be in or around the city. But that didn't mean that this wasn't his packaging for whoever - paid for him.

Tim had to stop thinking about that.  

Step two. Get to know your captors. Memorize their schedules, look for patterns of behavior to be used to your advantage. Seek to identify weaknesses or vulnerabilities.

Miss Evil Henchwoman. More like, Bosswoman, he guessed now. Tim hadn't asked her name. Not that she would've given it. Expert in human trafficking. Has done this across the globe. She would be interested in payment, not local vigilantes or their feuds with the Gotham's criminals. Strictly business. It meant that she probably wouldn't mess with the merchandise prior to the bidding. That was, you know, something. 

Step three. Try to establish rapport with your kidnappers. Try universal subjects. Your goal is to get the kidnappers to see you as a real person rather than simply an object with a price tag attached.

See previous note of "expert in human trafficking". If these people could do this, regularly, to kids and adults from all over the planet, that step wasn't going to be an option. Besides, it took time to build rapport. He only had until the numbered paddles started waving. 

Step four. Play along. When speaking, don't antagonize or complain. Comply with orders and instructions as best as possible.

Well. Tim had definitely not followed that step.

He would have to remember these, when, if, - for whoever he was handed off to. If they didn't want to just do a rush job of killing Robin the moment they got their hands on him. 

Tim knew how to get out of the trunk of a car. How to break zip ties. How to make a small explosive from basic household chemicals. How to pick a lock and hack a security feed and a bunch of other stuff that felt so utterly useless now. 

It didn't matter though. He would do what he needed to survive until help came. Because it would. Batman and Robin wouldn't leave him. 

Chapter 8

Notes:

Content Warning: Human Trafficking

"Sometimes it is a car with tinted windows pulling up on the street. Other times, an encoded text message. But most often, it's a buried post somewhere on the dark web." 

Jason stared at the kid's computer screen. The Batman and Robin articles and essays had been one thing. But the fact that the boy had chosen human trafficking as for one of his History classes "current issues" topics is too sickeningly coincidental for Jason to stomach. They didn't know exactly what was happening to "Robin", but it wasn't hard to guess. Especially after hearing what those goons had said on the recording about wanting the girl. And after there had been no live execution of the Boy Wonder. Or ransom or threat made to Batman. No "meet me here alone or else". No "unmask yourself or else". Unless whoever had him was just waiting for the Dark Knight to find the body. 

No. 

Jason's phone beeped and he answered it too quickly.

"Don't worry, it's not B. He doesn't know you've left the cave. Even if I do."

Barbara's voice was teasing, but it lacked its usual lightness. Something heavy hung against her words. 

"What is it?"

"Worked my magic. Took awhile, but facial recognition got a match on one of the guys in that alley. Remember that kid called one of them Harry? Not really an uncommon name, but I couldn't find anything. Until I remembered something. Dragos Ibanescu, you know him?"

"Some smalltime Romanian crime lord," Jason shrugged, "worked out of the East End. Had a weird hard on for dog fighting."

"True, but he also had his hands in human and sex trafficking."

"And?" Jason spun on the desk chair. "Didn't Killer Croc eat him or something?"

"Well, yes. Ibanescu wasn't as - particular - as some of Gotham's other gangs. You know how like Maroni only trusts you if your Italian. This guy took anyone who wanted to work for him. Probably because he couldn't say no. But if you worked for Ibanescu, and you didn't have a Romanian name, he'd just give you a different nickname. His first lieutenant? Nicknamed 'Hairy' because the guy was so, well, hairy."

"Real genius, that guy," Jason muttered. 

"After Ibanescu died, the McKillen crime family tried to get their hands on his ledger. His list of clients, and, you know, products."

Jason's fist clenched around the phone. 

"But no one had it. No one knew the details. Said Ibanescu kept it all too close to the chest. But what if he didn't?"

"Hold on, you said you got something on facial recognition?"

"Exactly." Barbara sounded proud. "Someone who should be dead. Ibanescu's first lieutenant. Owen O'Connor."

"Really?" Jason grunted. "I mean 'Double O' was right there and he went with Hairy. Also, could that name get any more Irish?"

"A little stereotypical, but true." Barbara sounded proud again and Jason didn't know how that made him feel. "What does that tell you?"

It felt like a quiz she very much knew the answer to. 

"That he probably defected to the Irish mob?"

"Right, you'd think so. He's even distantly related to the McKillens, so why go with Ibanescu in the first place? The McKillens are way more powerful."

"Bad blood?"

"My thoughts exactly." He could hear her little satisfied smile over the phone. "So then after Ibanescu died, he still didn't go the McKillens. According to police reports, he died in a warehouse fire. But what if the Irish mob was after Ibanescu's list? The contacts? O'Connor could've faked his death to get them off his scent. And then, what better way to screw over family you hate than by giving that same list to someone else."

"But to who?" Jason tapped his feet against the wall as he leaned back in the chair. "The Irish, Maroni and the Italians, Russian mafia, they all hate each other."

"I don't know," Barbara sighed, "but whoever O'Connor is with now, they're big. Bigger than Gotham big. Once I made the connection, I expanded my search and I found him on cameras in seven different countries in the past year alone. It could've all been one big coincidence, but then he showed up in the background of a human trafficking bust in Sydney four months ago. I'm creating an algorithm now to track the dates and locations he was spotted and seeing if they correlate with any missing persons cases or other trafficking operations."

"So," Jason took a moment to work his jaw, "so, this kid, he could be anywhere by now."

"If he was any other kid, yeah, probably. But it makes the most sense for these people to try to - sell - him where they'd get the most money, right? Who else is going to bid higher on Robin than a criminal from Gotham?"

The weight of that sentiment sat with them in silence for a long moment. 

"I've already sent B all the info," Babs finally continued, "and he's going to sweep every single known trafficking spot in and around Gotham. I'm trying to get satellite imaging on some of them too." 

"If it's a known spot, then they won't use it," Jason huffed. "especially not for - this. I should be out there, helping look."

"He's trusting you to -"

"He's benching me," Jason ground his teeth together, "for something so stupid! But this is more important and -"

"Don't you get it?" Barbara cut in. "He asked you to look into this kid. He is trusting you, Jason. He's out there banging down doors because there's not a lot of time left. But he's trusting you to do the detective work this time. I'm on top of this as much as I can be, but I'm also helping the Titans with a guy that can turn technology into living weapons and can literally go inside the internet."

Yeah, Jason knew all about that new meta or alien or whatever he was. The kitchen at Titans tower had put Dick in the hospital just yesterday. It wasn't anything serious and Dick had been back out fighting within a few hours, but Jason had vowed to never let Big Bird live it down that he got taken out by a toaster. That same day he had overheard Bruce asking Dick to come by after the holiday. One guess as to why. Big Brother being sent home to "fix" little brother. Damn, was that only just yesterday? This night had already felt so long. 

"He needs you, Robin," Barbara continued, "and so does Tim."

Jason flinched at hearing the name. No, Alfred hadn't been right about Jason's...aversion...to the kid's name. Nope. Not at all. 

Names. Their names. The photograph. 

"He," Jason breathed, gripping the edge of the desk in front of him, "he knows. I found a picture - of us. He knows who we are."

There was a sharp, small gasp. 

"I haven't called B yet, haven't told him. Not because I'm not supposed to leave the cave. I don't care about that. I just - I don't -"

"Are you worried Tim is going to tell the people who took him our secret identities? Or," she paused, her voice softening, "do you think Batman will - act - differently if he knows?"

"Why wouldn't he?" Jason stood, pacing. "I thought about it. He's a kid. Why wouldn't he tell them? Maybe to save his own skin? It was one thing when we thought he might slip up and say he isn't the real Robin and that would get him killed. Now, he can give them our names. It still might get him killed, but it'll definitely get the rest of us hunted down, and maybe get us dead. But he's just a kid." Jason repeated, bowing his head. "We can't leave him, even if -"

"And you think Batman would?"

"Protecting the secret, the mission," Jason recited, "comes above all else."

There was that silence again. 

"Not before someone else's life," Barbara whispered, "never." She sighed, and Jason could just picture her pushing her glasses above her head. "You've been with us awhile now, but I know you still sometimes think he's going to just turn out like everyone else. Selfish. Another disappointment. But he would never abandon someone just to save himself."

The line went dead right as his civilian phone pinged. Jason pulled it from his pocket. 

"Jason," Barbara spoke with so much assurance and authority that it made him stand a bit straighter, "he would never abandon you."

Jason didn't move for a few moments. He still held the phone to his face, but neither of them spoke. She wasn't typing or clicking away. She was just, there. For him. Like she was promising Batman - Bruce - would always be. And damn it, how the hell did she know that was bothering him when Jason hadn't even fully realized it? He didn't really understand why he couldn't bring himself to tell Batman what he had found. And now, thanks to Barbara's never failing spooky insight, he did. If anyone else, except maybe Alfred, had tried talking to him like this, he would've blown them off or pretended they were wrong and everything was fine. That he was fine. But something about what she said, or maybe how she said it, he wasn't sure, struck straight through him. Apparently it also stuck him to the floor. Because Jason really couldn't move. After a few seconds that passed like hours, Jason ended the call without saying a word, sliding down into the kid's chair. 

Jason glared at the history project on the computer screen. All of his own issues and insecurities and sudden revelations swept swiftly to the side. 

The traffickers, the buyers, they were all dead. And not just because Jason wanted to put bullets in each of their brains, but because they were dead inside. No one with a shred of humanity could participate in something so sick. The auctions went up. The bidding started. And the soulless came out to purchase a soul, the very thing they could never regain. There were a lot of monsters in the world. These were the zombies. Hardwired to damage others to feed their addictions. 

Jason knew how to kill zombies. 

He skimmed the screen again. 

The Silk Road was an ancient network of trade routes that connected the East and West from the second century to the 18th century. The Silk Road trade played a significant role in the development of the civilizations in those areas, opening long-distance political and economic relations among them. The Silk Road collapsed in the 18th Century. However, it began to operate again in 2011. This time, though, the Silk Road operated as a dark-net market, and offered a lot more than spices and silk. There, a person could find assassins, drugs, weapons, sex - and people. Ross Ulbricht, the founder of this new Silk Road, was caught and arrested in 2013. Just like the undead, it didn't stay buried for long. Silk Road 2.0 came next. And when the FBI shut that one down, a third rose right out from its grave.

Jason already knew all of this, and more. Living on the streets had brought him up close and personal with a lot of Gotham's criminals and crime. Kids went missing. Others just disappeared regularly and then came back, each time a little more broken. Whether they were being sold away to someone overseas, or peddled around the block and kept close in town, it was all the same, disgusting, dirty thing. Jason had tried to help when he could. Had snuck a few teenagers out of the city. Beat a pimp to a bloody pulp when he put his hands on a girl in front of him. Stopped some kids from taking a ride from a guy Jason knew was connected to a certain business. But he had just been some kid. Keeping himself alive took up enough of his time. And the zombies just kept rising up, over and over and over. 

But he wasn't just some kid anymore. He was Robin. And he was going to save this boy.

 

---

 

The chains around his arms and ankles were tight. Tight enough that whenever Tim struggled too much to break free, someone would suddenly be in the room to stop him. 

"You'll leave marks," they said in a way that made Tim want to vomit. 

After the third time, they threatened to drug him until the auction began and Tim had reluctantly relented.

He was at a loss. He had been stripped down to the undershirt and thin pants before waking the first time. His gloves, boots, cape, belt, top shirt, and accessories had all been tossed in the corner - after presumably having been searched for weapons while he had been unconscious. He wondered why that hadn't given him away. Sure, he had a few batarangs and a grappling hook, but his handmade utility belt had been filled with candy, not smoke bombs or gadgets. That should have tipped even the dumbest lackey off. 

He had continued his search of the small space, followed the steps again and again. He had every square inch of this metal box memorized by now. The only new information he had been able to gain was that he was outside. Which, given he had already figured out he was in a shipping container of some sort was pretty obvious, but still. It hadn't been anything he'd noticed, though. It was what he felt. Which was cold. The thin fabric of his base layer did nothing against the dipping temperature. It also told him that it was getting later, or earlier, depending on if they'd cross the midnight threshold yet. 

Happy Halloween, Tim. 

A last minute vigilante auction probably took some time to put together. Hopefully, a lot of time. 

The metal door clanged and swung open and Tim silently prayed that he stupidly hadn't thought too soon. One of the men from before waltzed in. He had been in the alley, and had threatened to "shove a needle in his neck and send him to beddy-bye" if he didn't stop struggling. He was bulky, muscled, with pale freckled skin that was covered in thick curly brown hair. He had been sporting a jacket in the alleyway, but now all he wore was a ribbed white tank top that revealed the hair bursting up from his chest and arms. Either they had heaters (or indoor access) or this guy survived from the natural insulation. 

"You getting excited, kid?" He rubbed his hands together. "It's almost here. Invitations have been sent. RSVPs are in the mail. The decorations have been put up. Stage is set. The -"

"Yeah, yeah," Tim rolled his eyes, "I get it."

A meaty hand was suddenly around Tim's throat.

"I know ways to hurt you that won't leave a mark for the bidders to see," he snarled. "Now, my boss couldn't give two shits about Gotham or you, but, surprise surprise little bird, this was my home once. Except, I was forced to leave when my old boss was murdered and then afterward, the rest of us were rounded up for the cops by your boss. I was hunted by rival gangs like an animal. And I was alone, because of Batman."

"Batman didn't kill your boss," Tim squeaked out with such confidence, even though he had no clue who this guy was. 

"No," the grip tightened, "but his interference is what caused the whole mess and got the one man who had ever cared a scrap about me to die." The man's hand fell away and he took a step back. "He took me in. Treated me like a son. My own family turned their backs on me when I was not much older than you, all cause of one mistake on my first job. Looks like we got that in common."

Tim only squinted at him in response.

"Drake Industries. Big time, richie rich parents, and they don't even try to find their boy. And Batman? We're keeping tabs on the guy, you know. He's on the other side of Gotham right now. Looking in all the wrong places. I thought Batman was some great detective? Why can't he find you?" The stranger leaned in, hands on either arm of Tim's chair. "Maybe because he ain't really trying." 

Tim held his breath. The man smelled like cheap cologne and cigars. He also didn't trust himself to speak. He believed in Batman. He always would. He had to. But his parents? By then, Drake Industries would have been notified and had to have reached out through their emergency contacts and global partners. They had to know. Maybe. 

"I'm sorry, kid," the guy feigned a sympathetic smile, "and I'm sorry about grabbing you like that. I just get upset sometimes. But, I didn't come in here to hurt you, okay?"

This guy was like riding a roller coaster. Tim thought he might get whiplash.

"I just came in here to talk. I help run this whole business," he waved a hand around in the air, "and I can get you out of here. Make it look like you just escaped on your own."

Tim swallowed.

"What do you want?"

"Nothing really," the guy shrugged, and then smiled, "just tell me who Batman really is, under the mask."

Tim felt frozen. He had known this might come up, but figured it would be if one of Batman's enemies got the winning bid. Later. After more time had passed. More time for Batman and Robin to save him. 

"Finding out that the Boy Wonder is the son of Drake Industries' CEOs was funny, sure. But, no offense kid, but nobody cares about who you are. The only reason you're important, is because you work for him. The people who get you tonight, they'll hurt you to hurt him. They'll torture you to get his name. I'm not hurting you, right? I'm offering to help you instead. I don't have anything against you. Batman didn't even have Robin when my old boss was killed and our gang taken off the board. You can walk away from all of this."

Tim glanced over to the door, hating how his breath starting hitching in his shivering chest. 

"I've been doing this for a long time, kid." He continued, again with the fake empathy that only made Tim angry. "The people that come to these things, they're the lowest of lows."

"What does that make you?" Tim's eyes snapped back to meet the man's. 

The stranger stiffened, knuckles white in the fists at his sides. 

"What I'm saying," he said, his voice wavering, "is that they'll do things to you, kid. Things you're not ready for. That no one ever is. And that's just the regular ones. I know you were told about Hatter. He will take your mind apart, piece by piece, turn you into a weapon. That's what a lot of them coming tonight want to do. Make you theirs. Send you out after the Bat like a toy soldier. I overheard one of them on the phone with my boss. They want to take you to the tallest building in Gotham, and then see if you can fly like a real bird. There are more, that want, more, from you. To play with you." 

Tim shuddered, closing his eyes for only a second. 

"I can make sure none of that happens to you, Tim. I can get you out of here. Someone else might actually make you kill Batman with your own hands. I just want his name. That's it. Easy. You can do that, right?"

Tim turned his head away from the man.

"If you don't do this, no matter who gets you, you will die, Tim. Do you understand? Maybe right away tonight. Maybe after they get bored with you. Maybe while brainwashed, fighting your boss to the death. I don't know. But you will die. Unless, you tell me the name."

Tim tried desperately to control his breathing, but the little black box he was in was spinning and shrinking. The cologne and cigars were suffocating him. He could still feel the man's hands on his throat. What else would he feel after he was sold tonight? No. It wouldn't happen. Batman would get there first. But he hadn't gotten there yet. But he would. He would. He - 

Tim didn't want to die. 

Sucking in a cold breath, Tim slowly turned back to face the stranger. Squeezing his eyes shut, the boy bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood - and then opened his mouth to speak. 

 

---

Special Note: 

Human Trafficking is a serious and real issue around the world. It felt disrespectful to use it as a plot point without taking it seriously and using it as an opportunity to educate and offer ways to help. While the traffickers are only being used as a story vehicle to "sell" Robin to the villains and Tim's situation specifically isn't reflective of modern human trafficking, there are still elements present in the plot. In 2020, 10,583 situations of human trafficking were reported to the U.S. National Human Trafficking Hotline involving 16,658 individual victims. Shocking as these numbers are, they are likely only a fraction of the actual problem. Those are also only the numbers for the United States. For more information and ways to help, click HERE

 

Notes:

I realize that the conversation with Babs and Jason is very "telling" and not "showing" but I really needed to hurry this along. And these sort of conversations happen a lot in comics, action shows, etc. Forgive me.

Also, Ibanescu was indeed eaten by Killer Croc in the comics - and involved in dog fighting, trafficking, etc. But that's where the accuracy of his storyline ends.

Chapter 9

Timothy Jackson Drake

Grade 6

 

Assignment: Career Planning Worksheet

Chosen Career: Detective  

 

Why You Chose This Career (Short Paragraph: Give 3-5 Reasons):

My dream job is to be a detective for several reasons. I want to be able to help people. By being a detective, I can help people find what they are looking for and solve crimes. Another reason is that I think this is something I would be good at it. I have a very good memory and have been reading about true and fictional crime for many years. My next reason is because it is something I would be happy doing for the rest of my life. There will be hard days and sad days, but I will always want to get out of bed in the morning to keep helping others. 

 

Someone Who Inspires Me In This Field Is...

Although Batman is not an official detective, many people call him "The World's Greatest Detective". People think he spends all of his time fighting criminals on the streets, which he does do. But, Batman also does a lot of detective work. He finds missing people, figures out who is behind crimes, solves puzzles left by criminals, and more. 

 

Opportunities In This Field Are...(Short Paragraph)

There are many different types of detective work including homicide, gang, drug, robbery, and more. A detective can work for a police department or can work privately. Detective jobs are very competitive.  Detective who are most qualified will have the best job opportunities at police departments. The best opportunities for detective will be for those who are bilingual as well as college trained in police science or with military police experience. In some police departments, a detective position is not appointed, it is a position achieved by passing a written test after a person completes the requirements for being a police officer.

 

Required Schooling: 

The minimum education level allowed for most detective roles is either a high school diploma or GED. Larger departments and private firms often prefer applicants have an Associate Degree in Criminology, Psychology, Criminal Investigation, etc. People with a bachelor's degree in any of these areas earn special consideration.

 

Average Pay: 

$55,841/year

 

Person I've Chosen to Contact for Potential Job Shadowing: 

GCPD Commissioner James Gordon

 

---

 

INBOX

To: [email protected]

From: M.[email protected]

Subject: Career Planning Choice

 

Hello Timothy,

I would like to discuss your choice of career for our upcoming career planning and job shadowing project. While I think detective work is most admirable, it is also quite dangerous. Have you been able to contact Commissioner Gordon regarding job shadowing? The school would need to come up with a safe solution and agreement so that you would not be put in harm's way while shadowing. 

Timothy, you are a brilliant young man. While your English and Grammar grades could use some work, your skills and knowledge in the fields of science, mechanical engineering, and technology are far superior for someone your age. With such talent, you could find work in incredible careers. These jobs can provide you with a very good salary, and will not risk your life on a daily basis. Being a detective is a noble, but very dangerous job, especially in Gotham. I understand being a detective is something you are interested in now, but this is just something to think about. 

I will also need you to find someone else who inspires you in this field to include in your project. The Batman is not an official detective, and is a topic of much controversy that I don't wish to bring into the classroom. From what I've heard from your other teachers, he is also a common subject on assignments and I would prefer for you to branch out and include someone that works in the field legitimately. 

Let's meet after class on Monday to discuss this further. 

Have a great weekend,

Mr. Anderson

---

 

SENT

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Re: Career Planning Choice

 

Hello Mr. Anderson,

Thank you for your concern for my safety. I have not been able to contact Commissioner Gordon yet, but I will make sure that I am safe during my job shadowing. It will probably be just a tour and helping with filing and paperwork. That is what I did for my Drake Industries job shadowing last year. 

Batman is not an official detective, but you asked me for someone who is "legitimate". Just last year, Batman shut down three drug rings, found six missing persons, saved two kidnapped kids, and solved over a dozen murders. Those are just the things that have been reported, too. Most of the time, Batman isn't in the news, even if he is the hero, for a lot of reasons. I think all of that makes him legitimate.

I know that being a detective will not be a safe job, but I am willing to take the risks. I can't fight crime in a mask, but I can fight it as a detective. I can help people. Save people. And that's worth it. 

 

Thank you,

Timothy Jackson Drake 

---

 

SENT 

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Re: Career Planning Choice

 

Mr. Anderson,

My parents received your email about my career planning project choice. I am not allowed to choose detective. My father is helping me with making a new worksheet for "CEO". I will be job shadowing at Drake Industries and don't need to contact anyone. He already has it set up for me.  

 

Timothy Jackson Drake 

Chapter 10

There were three times in Tim Drake's short life when he had thought he was going to die. 

The first, was when he was six and and he had gotten lost in a park. The swings were fun - for the first fifteen minutes. But swings were all Tim was allowed to do. The nanny had given her instructions. No running, no getting dirty, no monkey bars because they led to skinned knees and ripped pants, no slides because they also led to ripped pants, no talking to strangers, and a whole list of other things handed down to his caregiver from Tim's mother. Swings were safe, so long as he wiped down the seat first - and didn't kick too high or jump off. They also assured his nanny that he would stay in the same spot and she could sit on a nearby bench and binge read her newest romance novel. She hadn't looked up at him in over five minutes. He had counted. Because what else was there to do when just going back and forth and back and forth? Tim was bored, and thirsty. Hopping down from the swing, movement in the grass near his feet caught Tim's eye. The boy bent down, searching the green ground for the source until he spotted it. There, sat sort of sideways on a thick blade of grass, twitched a brown and golden moth. Tim looked up at the kids and parents running and playing all around him. One wrong step and the moth would be crushed. He had barely missed it himself. Tim waved his hand at the insect, hoping to scare it enough to fly away. Instead, the little creature jumped up, flapped a single wing, and then landed right on Tim's fingers. Tim squinted at the moth's left wing, bent at the middle. He was still examining the injury when the the insect started crawling farther up Tim's hand, and then arm. It was heading for his neck when Tim moved his other hand in the moth's path. The moth skittered up onto Tim's hand, only to try and make the ascension on the boy's other arm. They played this game for a while, the moth making it to Tim's upper arm, only to be cut off by the opposite hand, and then trying again. Back and forth until Tim didn't realize he had been laughing. 

"What are you doing?" Tim chided the poor thing with a chuckle. "Stop."

More so out of curiosity than anything else, Tim finally relented, watching and giggling as the moth made the slow trek up the boy's bicep, stopping and settling down on Tim's shoulder. Like it was perching there. 

Tim glanced around, noting his nanny still nose deep in her novel. He couldn't carry the creature home with him. It might not survive the trip in the car - or his nanny if she noticed. But what did Tim know about moths? He had read a book on different insects once and a lot of them liked flowers and leaves and even dried fruit. Tim still had a packet of dried cranberries in his pocket that he had swiped that morning for a snack in case his nanny forgot again. But everywhere around him was just grass and too tall trees. Sometimes, his nanny would take him for strolls through the park and Tim was pretty positive there was a field of flowers somewhere - he spun around - that way. Checking the bench one last time, Tim trotted down away from the playground. 

The moth didn't move from the boy's shoulder as Tim shuffled through the grass as it grew longer the further from the trail he went. There was dew on the blades still from the morning and Tim felt his feet getting colder, his socks wetter. There were a few patchy spots of flowers now, but they were still too close from plodding feet and thrown frisbees or footballs. So Tim trekked further off the path, deeper into the park. Finally, he came to the little meadow he had seen before from a distance. It was full and lush and bright with color. Tim didn't know which flowers were better but there was a fat, flatter one that stuck out a little higher than the others around it and it seemed like the perfect place. Tim stuck a finger out in front of the moth and his new friend readily climbed aboard. However, once Tim had gently placed him on the petal, the moth leapt up clumsily right back onto the boy. Tim scrunched his face and laughed. Tim tried again, the moth flapping its good wing to get back up on Tim's hand again. Tim sighed, puckering his lips and squinting at the bug. 

"You don't wanna come home with me," Tim huffed, "trust me." 

Digging in his pocket, Tim yanked out the little bag of dried fruit, tearing it open with his teeth and sprinkling a few cranberries onto the round flat middle of the flower between all the petals, popping a few in his mouth before putting the rest away. Tim tried setting the moth down again. This time, the creature crawled curiously toward the food. Tim grinned wide and began backing away slowly, only for the insect to suddenly spring toward him. The moth barely made it onto Tim's arm before falling. Groaning and giggling at the same time, Tim tried again. They began a dance. Set down on the flower. Jump back on Tim. Set down on the flower. Jump back on Tim. The boy hummed to himself, lips pulled together tight and squinting down at the bug while he thought up a plan. There were enough lower flowers that if the moth made for Tim and missed, it would at least have a soft landing. Tim took a few steps backward, stretching out his arm to reach the bigger pink petals. Gently placing the moth back by the fruit, Tim bounced back, nearly stumbling. The moth tried to leap for the boy, but Tim was too far away this time. The insect flapped its good wing stubbornly as it fell toward another flower. The moth landed for just a moment before it was back in the air, aimed for Tim. 

"I'm sorry," Tim moved back farther. 

The moth was persistent, plopping from petal to petal toward its target until finally - it didn't fall. With one thrust of its good wing, the other seemed to stretch and unfold, fluttering to life. And then the moth was flying, flapping all around Tim as if thanking him, or saying goodbye. The moth gave another pass around Tim's head before changing course and disappearing into the trees beyond the flowers. Tim stared off in the direction it had gone, a strange twinging mixture of happy and sad settling in his stomach. 

Giving a little wave, Tim turned and began trudging back in the direction of the playground. Or, at least, the direction he thought was toward the playground. Tim was eerily observant for a small child and had never gotten lost or even turned around before. But he had been so focused on the creature, watching it as he walked, he hadn't been paying attention to where he had wandered. 

It didn't take him long to realize his mistake. 

It took him a lot longer to find his way back. 

He could remember what side of his face the sun had been on when he went to the flowers, but that didn't matter much if he didn't know how far either east or west he had been. And now that he didn't have another creature to look after, to be brave for, he was beginning to realize how scary the trees all looked towering around him, blocking out much of the light. How little food he had with him, because of course Tim's mind went to the extreme and started planning long term survival. How cold it would probably get in the night. But none of that, none of it, compared to how angry and disappointed his parents would be. The nanny would realize he was missing, eventually, and she would have to call the cops. The cops would then have to call his parents. Maybe they would need to cut their trip short, costing them money and hurting the business. 

Something snapped behind - or was that above - Tim. 

The kid's arms pinwheeled as he spun around, eyes roaming the trees. 

Another sound, closer. 

Maybe a bird. Maybe something bigger. Tim wasn't keen on waiting around to find out. He turned to run and - 

A boy dropped down in front of him - from the trees. 

"Hey."

That was it. Hey? Tim blinked. This boy just bounces down from tall trees and says hello? 

Wait. No - what? No way. 

It wasn't just a boy. Well, yes, it was. But it wasn't just any boy. 

Tim wouldn't forget that face. The kind smile meant just for him. The bright eyes actually looking at him. The warm arms surrounding him in a hug that felt nothing like any he had received from anyone before. 

Dick Grayson was in the park. Staring at Tim. After having hopped down from the trees. 

Tim hadn't known him as anything other than Dick Grayson, formerly of the Flying Graysons, current new ward of billionaire Bruce Wayne, not yet at least. That Robin-revelation wouldn't come for a couple years. But that didn't make the older boy standing in front of Tim any less of a hero in the younger kid's eyes. 

The hero who was still looking at Tim, and waiting for a response. 

"Uh, hi?" Tim finally squeaked, swallowing. 

"What are you doing out here?" Dick glanced around, probably looking for Tim's designated grown up. 

"Were you - in the trees?" Tim said instead. 

Dick laughed and its light, but something else lingered underneath. 

"Ha, yeah," he shrugged, "just having some fun."

"What are you doing here?" Tim didn't fully realize he had just repeated Dick's question, but Tim's brain was stuttering. 

"Playing hooky," Dick rolled his shoulders, and then faltered, "which you shouldn't do, you know, ever. My da - uh - I got into an argument with someone and just needed to get away for a little while, get it?"

Tim nodded. He didn't get away up in the tops of trees. But he did have a favorite spot on his parent's roof. Someday he was going to find a better, farther away roof. Tim wanted so badly to be bigger. 

"I'd usually go into the city, but park is closer to home and I need to be back soon, even if I'm mad," he pouted a little.

"You - you go in the city - by yourself?" Tim's eyes were alien saucers.

"Uh, no, yes, maybe," Dick scratched the back of his head, "don't do that either. You're little. You shouldn't. Just like you shouldn't be alone out here."

"I'm not alone," Tim huffed.

"Really?" Dick crossed his arms.

"My nanny is here," Tim bit his lip, "somewhere."

"Uh huh," Dick's smile was soft.

"And," Tim bounced on his heels, "you're here, so I'm not alone."

"You can't really rely on someone hanging out in trees all the time," Dick laughed, "but points for trying. What's your name?"

Tim gulped. Audibly. Like a cartoon. Dick Grayson was living with Bruce Wayne. Dick might tell Bruce, and then Bruce would tell Tim's parents and then the whole anger and disappointment and costing the company money cycle would definitely happen. But then there would be the added annoyance of getting Bruce Wayne involved and making the Drakes look bad. 

"I'm not supposed to tell strangers."

"Well," Dick stuck his hand out, "I'm Dick, Dick Grayson. See, now we're not strangers?"

Tim stared at the hand, then back up at the boy. After a moment, Dick relented and pulled his arm back. 

"That's cool," he grinned again, "you don't have to tell me. I'd be scared of a kid that fell out of the trees too. But I can still help you."

And so, after some reluctance, that was how Dick Grayson guided Tim Drake back through the woods and to the playground, promising to disappear before Tim's nanny could see him. Tim's nanny didn't see Dick. In fact, she was still sitting comfortably on that same bench, a good chunk farther into her book. Tim didn't see Dick either, when he hung around, up in the trees again, listening to the woman chastise the boy for the mud on his shoes and watching them leave the park together. 

The next time Tim had thought he was going to die was when he was nine. He had only recently began his nightly strolls across rooftops, following along behind Batman and Robin - Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson. He had grown up in Gotham, he really should have known better than to have that expensive camera hanging around his neck. 

The older boys were big, brawny, and determined. Normally, he would've thrown the camera at them and ran in the other direction. But Tim hadn't exactly learned how to encrypt his files just yet and there may or may not have been some rather revealing photographs on this most recent SD card. Nothing too obvious, but enough to get the guys a pretty penny, and maybe even help whoever bought the photographs put the pieces together. Probably not, but Tim wouldn't take his chances on probably. 

He ran through the alleyways as fast as his smaller legs would carry him, huffing and puffing underneath the big scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face to shield against the winter's cold on Gotham's rooftops. His hair was becoming sticky and wet under the thick beanie. The fake glasses he wore to help conceal his identity slipped down his sweating nose. His coat felt so heavy and he wanted to kick himself for how easy it would have been to shove the device underneath it before dropping to the streets. 

Turning a corner, Tim's sneakers slid against an icy patch on the pavement and the boy skated across it, arms flailing as he crashed into something hard enough to knock it and himself over. His glasses flew from his face and Tim tucked the camera under his arms to protect it from the impact. His elbows met the concrete first and pain flared, electrifying the rest of his arms. Tim flailed, flipping over and skidding backward.

"What the -" 

And that was when Tim saw the boy. A pile of limbs and groceries. He hadn't crashed into a thing. He had crashed into a person, a boy, who looked just as angry as the ones chasing him. 

There was a broken bottle at his feet, colored liquid painting the pavement. 

"That was for my mom!" 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Tim mumbled as he tried to stand, the ice against his shoes making him slip right back down onto his backside. 

"There he is!"

The boys sprinted to a stop just before the patch of ice. 

"Grab him!"

Tim squeezed his eyes shut as hands gripped his arms. He tried to punch, kick, anything, but they were on top of him too fast. Until they just - weren't. 

"Jason! What the hell?"

A grunt. And then another. 

Breathing faster than he thought possible for his small lungs, Tim cracked open his eyes to find the boy he had barreled over was now standing in front of him. Between Tim and the attackers. 

"Move it, Jason."

"What are you doing?" Jason, apparently, dodged in the way of one the boys who tried to duck around him. 

"We just want his camera. Do you know how much we could get for that?"

"Nothing if you break it while chasing him," Jason scoffed. 

"That was stupid, but kid's fast and -"

"What was stupid, was picking him as your mark."

"Look at his camera, he's not from here."

"I don't care if he's from outer space," Jason took a step forward, "we don't steal from other kids." 

"His family's probably loaded -"

"You're two streets over from Mag's block. You gonna chase him all the way down there? Rob him and then just leave him? Knowing what Mag does to kids?"

"We wouldn't -"

"Or what if instead of running into me, kid had slipped and broken his neck?"

"Come on, that -"

"We. Don't. Steal. From. Other. Kids." Jason's fists curled. 

There was a silent standoff for what felt like the longest several seconds of Tim's life. Finally, the attackers turned and skulked away. Jason called after them that they owed him for his mother's medicine. One of the boy's flipped him the bird from behind. Jason stayed standing like that for a good long while, just breathing heavy. By the time he had turned around, Tim had gathered up the loose groceries into the discarded paper bag, a few $50 bills sitting at the top that Tim pocketed from his father's wallet for emergencies while in the city. He hoped it was enough to cover the medicine for Jason's mom. He wouldn't know, though, because Tim had snuck away into the shadows after putting it there, before Jason had started spinning around, asking if the kid was alright. 

Tim taught himself how to lock and encrypt his SD cards that very night. He also only ever wore baggy shirts or sweatshirts or jackets that he could hide his camera underneath afterward. 

Tim would make the connection years later, unable to forget a face that had maybe saved his life. What were the odds that Tim was saved by two different Robins, especially when they weren't Robin at the time? Tim wasn't sure the math of that, but later after Bruce found him broken on his kitchen floor, and then Batman saved him and his parents a few months after that...Tim started to get suspicious of the universe. 

Batman hadn't just saved the Drakes that day. Tim would be surprised if Bruce even knew that they had been at the airport. Tim was there to see his parents off after they'd had to cut their trip short to return home due to Tim's grappling gun accident. He had been completely and utterly grounded since then, after getting home from the hospital of course. The trip to the airport was one of the first times he had been able to leave the house. Even sneaking out in the middle of the night to follow his favorite masked heroes was impossible with his cast and crutches. Those were both finally, finally, gone. He still had a small boot on his foot, but it was a far cry better than trying to navigate all the stairs and priceless things in his house on crutches. His mother had forced him into a thin long Spring coat that hit the floor and covered up most of the ugly boot. His parents had almost not let him come, but seeing them off at the airport was proper. Besides, this way they had another set of hands to help with the luggage. 

When the bomb went off and Scarecrow's fear gas filled the airport, everyone ran. Including Tim's parents. Tim tried. He really did. But the boot made it difficult. He was slow and unsteady and in a crowd of people panicking, it led to Tim tripping and curling in on himself before he could take a high heel to the face. His body bent into a little ball, swallowed by the too long coat. Something else swallowed him. A green mist that he tried so very hard not to breathe in, covering his face. Things started to distort anyway. The screams surrounding him felt louder, deeper. His heart hammered and he felt blood rushing to his ears. There were a few kicks to his back and legs but then a blur of black came over him and Tim felt air beneath him and a sort of out of body sensation as he flew out of the crowd and was placed softly on the sidelines. 

"Hang on."

Batman sounded like a man from Tim's nightmares. And a little like his father when he drank.

"Batman!"

Another explosion. Smaller, but close. And Robin's voice. Dick Grayson's voice. Well, sort of. Like it was Dick's but also scratchy and thick and distorted. Tim didn't dare uncover his face from his hands. He didn't want to see what Batman or Robin would look like under the influence of the fear toxin. He never wanted anything to corrupt how he saw his heroes. 

"Keep him busy!" Batman ordered as Robin did some sort of flip that Tim only heard as a rush of movement but knowing Dick it was probably a flip. 

Tim's sleeve was pushed up and something sharp pricked the skin there. His head felt fuzzy but also clearer at the same time. His heart still raced, but it wasn't threatening to rip right out of his chest.

"You're okay now."

And it was Batman. Not distorted. Not the ghost of a monster mixed with his dad. Just Batman.

"Look ou-"

Robin was cut off by a crash and when Tim yanked his own hands away from his face finally, Batman was already at the Boy Wonder's side, shielding Dick from the next blow. From the angle, it looked like Robin had dove in front of them - or rather, him. The dynamic duo worked in tandem after that, Batman taking down Scarecrow's goons two or three at a time while Robin leapt from person to person, administering the cure before they could contribute to the chaos too much. 

Tim limped away from the battle, finding his parents huddled together outside. They hugged him and kissed his hairline and wouldn't let go until the EMTs insisted they all be checked over. That was when Tim noticed the crowd, and the cameras. He didn't let himself think about it too much. The attention had been nice, wherever the motivation behind it had come from. 

Batman and Robin saving him had been totally worth it anyway. 

Yeah, the universe definitely had something up its sleeve with Timothy Drake. He just hoped it wasn't some practical joke or he only was allowed so many saves by the vigilantes before he reached his cosmic limit. Because he sort of needed them to rescue him again.  

"If you don't do this, no matter who gets you, you will die, Tim. Do you understand? Maybe right away tonight. Maybe after they get bored with you. Maybe while brainwashed, fighting your boss to the death. I don't know. But you will die. Unless, you tell me the name."

Tim tried desperately to control his breathing, but the little black box he was in was spinning and shrinking. The cologne and cigars were suffocating him. He could still feel the man's hands on his throat. What else would he feel after he was sold tonight? No. It wouldn't happen. Batman would get there first. But he hadn't gotten there yet. But he would. He would. He - 

Tim didn't want to die. 

Sucking in a cold breath, Tim slowly turned back to face the stranger. Squeezing his eyes shut, the boy bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood - and then opened his mouth to speak. 

"No thank you."

The man looked like he had been slapped. 

"'Scuse me?"

"I said," Tim swallowed, offering the stranger his best one thousand watt Drake approved gala smile, "no thank you."

"Listen, kid," the guy pitched his voice, but his eyes couldn't quite match the feigned tone, "I don't know if you're thinking straight here -"

"Because of the kidnapping or because of the possible head trauma?" Tim cocked an eyebrow. "Both of those are your fault, by the way. I don't need to be thinking clearly, because I don't need to think about it at all. I will never tell you Batman's name. I will never tell you anything. But I will tell your boss that you were going to cut a deal with me behind her back. Do you think she'll forgive you? You don't think I'll survive the night, what about you? So, why don't you just let me go now?"

Tim kept his voice steady, challenging and cocky even, just like Robin. Inside, he was screaming. Three times he had thought he was going to die. A fourth time, he almost had falling from his own roof. Four times, they had saved him. First, Dick. Then Jason. Bruce. Batman and Robin. They had all saved him, whether they knew they were doing it or not. Whether they were masked or not. Tim owed his life to them. And he would gladly give it up now for them too. Even if they hadn't been there all of those times. They were his heroes long before any of them had helped him. And they were Gotham's heroes. Right now, it was the least Tim could do to be theirs. 

 

Notes:

So the thing with the moth...actually happened to me (aside from the getting lost part) haha
And ok, so some weren't exactly near-death but Tim was little and dramatic and scared
(I pressed POST instead of SAVE AS DRAFT so excuse any errors, I will come back and edit asap)

My favorite comment from this chapter from @PopcornIsDelicious: "This chapter is also called "4 Times the Universe tried to Get the Batfamily to Adopt Tim and They Missed Their Chance""

Chapter 11

Notes:

CW: very mild "torture" (beating) and some psychological torture with sexual references (no actual s/a). Like, the word torture is even too much for how tame I kept this. I included the "torture" tag just to be safe, but as you can see so far it is mostly mild or just implied. Although I have written violent scenes, including torture, in other fics, Tim is a child and I won't write a child being too violently tortured (although a different Tim story I am working on has him being tortured a bit more, but not in very graphic ways - that one will be published right after this one is finished)

"Listen, kid," the guy pitched his voice, but his eyes couldn't quite match the feigned tone, "I don't know if you're thinking straight here -"

"Because of the kidnapping or because of the possible head trauma?" Tim cocked an eyebrow. "Both of those are your fault, by the way. I don't need to be thinking clearly, because I don't need to think about it at all. I will never tell you Batman's name. I will never tell you anything. But I will tell your boss that you were going to cut a deal with me behind her back. Do you think she'll forgive you? You don't think I'll survive the night, what about you? So, why don't you just let me go now?"

The threat lingered between them, like dust settling in the thick air.

And then a fist was connecting with Tim's stomach and he sucked in all that air between them in one stolen breath. There was a tightness around his ribs as he tried to keep breathing, bending forward as much as the restraints would allow. 

"Not," Tim grunted between gasps, "supposed - leave - marks."

"Nobody expects Robin to come spotless," the guy sneered, "and your little stupid costume will cover up anything I do."

Another hit, right in the middle of Tim trying to catch his breath. The kid coughed, sputtering. 

"You know," the man paced in a circle around the boy, "my old boss, the one your boss got killed, he had this thing for dog fights. His fingers were in a lotta pies, you know. Trafficking, drugs, you name it. But he just couldn't get enough of those damn dog fights. He had this one pit bull, massive motherfucker, named Romeo. A beast. Tore apart every dog he came up against. Funny thing, though. After he had beaten the other dog, and I mean, beaten, Romeo would - uh - claim it. Male, female, didn't matter. And he wouldn't let anyone get near him, or the losing dog, until he, until he had his way with it. Boss loved it. Would sit there laughing while Romeo just went to town humping the hell outta those bastards. It was practically part of the show."

Heavy hands landed on Tim's trembling shoulders, gripping tight. Tim could feel the man's hot breath against his cheek. 

"That's what's going to happen to you, little birdie." He whispered. "Someone out there tonight is going to make you theirs. Maybe even put on a show about it. Is that what you want? Hmm? You're young. So young. You could have a whole life, whole future. Or, you could be someone's bitch."

Tim was shaking from the pain and the panic. This would've been easier if they had left the rest of the costume on him. Robin didn't show fear. Robin didn't quit. Robin didn't - 

"Isn't that what you are?" Tim forced the words out in a bit of a rush. "Working for your old boss? Now this - lady? Just someone's, bitch?"

Tim threw his head backward, skull cracking against crunching flesh. He had watched one of the Robins do the same thing when a goon had grabbed him from behind. Tim had done it himself to a kid at school who wanted to make an example out of the Drake's son. 

The man cried out, stumbling to the side as his hands cupped his oozing nose. 

"You little -"

The door slammed open just before the first could connect with Tim's face. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The woman from earlier was back, face red and eyes hard. 

"He -"

"Do not speak." She lifted a single, stiff hand. "Get out, now. Before you get blood on my merchandise."

The man glared from Tim to his boss before stomping out the door. Tim smiled at him. 

"Do you find this funny, Mr. Drake?" She cocked her head at him, curiosity instead of malice. 

"What I find funny," Tim tried to make his voice sound stable, "is that you're - what - number two? - guy was just trying to go behind your back and set me free, if I gave him what he wanted."

"I wouldn't call that funny," she sighed almost lazily, "predictable, but not funny."

Tim frowned. 

"What, you don't really think that we would hold someone of your standing captive and not keep watch? We have been monitoring you this entire time."

Tim blinked. He had studied his little prison for hours. There had been so sign of a camera. Unless - 

"Microphone under the chair," Tim shook his head. 

He had seen it done in a spy movie before. He'd suspected there was some sort of monitoring in the room that he couldn't see.  

"Well, of course, dear." She smiled sweetly. "We had to make sure that the famed Robin didn't try to, you know, fly the coop." She chuckled at her own joke. "Though, to be honest, Mr. Drake, we are all a little, well, disappointed. You have been vigilant, yes. Searching for weak points, clues. Struggling against your bindings. But we really thought you would have made a better escape attempt by now. Some of my boys even had money on it."

Tim deflated a little. The real Robin would have made a better escape attempt by now. Maybe Dick and Jason had been trained how to dislocate their thumbs or something to get out of restraints. Maybe they would have been strong enough to break them. Or smart enough to break out of them. The real Robin probably wouldn't have gotten caught in the first place. 

"Sorry to disappoint," Tim's voice was suddenly hoarse. 

"Oh, darling," she stroked his face again as he flinched, "you are going to be anything but a disappointment tonight. Now, be a dear boy and get dressed."

Tim's head snapped back up to meet her gaze as two muscled men stalked inside the container. She leaned forward, unlocking his chains. Once finished, the woman straightened and took a step back, doing all of it so slowly, so purposefully. Like she knew she had nothing to fear from him. 

The two goons with guns helped with that. 

Tim shuffled over to the discarded pile of his clothes. His fingers fumbled with the fabric, fear at what was next to come threatening to overwhelm him. Getting dressed in front of them made his cheeks flush. There was something humiliating about trying to squeeze into the stretchy pants while three grown adults watched. His boots were next and the left one felt a little off. Slipping it on, Tim's hand grazed the metal shoved between the lining. Tim had kept his two borrowed batarangs on his makeshift belt, but the birdarang, his favorite of the three, had been stashed in his shoe since it was so precious to him. Tim grabbed the belt, the weight of it not going unnoticed. Someone had definitely forgotten to search his belongings once he had been stripped. 

Thank you again, universe. 

And thank you either overconfident or idiotic villains. Tim had seen both of those flaws be the downfall of many that had gone up against the vigilantes. 

The momentary relief was cut short as Tim looked down at the single shirt left in his shaky hands. This was it. He was about to be marched out like cattle. 

Tim closed his eyes. The shirt wouldn't be a great distraction, but it could be something. Toss it at Goon With Gun #1 while throwing candy at the feet of Goon With Gun #2. Duck down to avoid getting blown to bits, grab birdarang, throw at the woman. Dive out the door and slam it shut, locking it. Make a run for it. The lackeys might hesitate to shoot him dead in favor of not losing their merchandise, giving him a chance to escape. Or at least create enough of a ruckus to attract Batman as they recapture him and drag him right back into the container. 

A small scream echoed somewhere in the distance, cut off quickly. 

Tim whirled around. 

"Someone please tell Marcus to keep his girls quiet," the woman called out the open container door and then smiled at Tim. "Don't worry, dear, they're just getting some of the warm-up acts ready before your big debut." 

Tim had almost forgotten that he wasn't alone. There were other people, other children, about to be sold off.

"Oh," she waved a hand flippantly, "and do know that if you try anything at all to escape, I have already given the order to kill one of our products."

Tim paled. 

"You - wouldn't."

"You, Robin, are worth far more than any of my other merchandise," she purred. "Now, finish getting dressed, dear. You want to look nice for your big entrance, don't you?"

Tim's fists clenched around the material. He couldn't leave the others. And he definitely couldn't risk one of them getting hurt because of him. Sighing, Tim pulled the tunic over his head.

The woman approached Tim, smoothing out a few of the wrinkles and adjusting the hem of his sleeves. Combing fingers through his messy hair, she parted and straightened it, all the while still smiling. Tim had to focus on not being sick.

He was still swallowing back the bile when something clamped around his throat. Tim's arms raised to remove it on instinct, but they were wrenched behind his back and bound with the same chains that had secured him to his seat. The metal collar around his neck was loose enough to not chafe, but too tight to break free. There was a short chain extending from the middle, the woman holding the other end in her hands.

"Come along, little bird."

Tim didn't obey right away. He couldn't. Fear had him stuck to his spot. But then she tugged and Tim's legs wobbled and he was forced to play follow the leader out of his temporary cell. 

He had been right, he noted solemnly as he was lead down the rest of the way of the shipping container. There were no boat or docks, though. As he walked down the ramp, Tim glanced around at the train yard. Grass had grown up around most the tracks but they were still somewhat shiny from at least seldom use. He didn't exactly recognize where they were. The Gotham City Transit Authority operated a total of 24 rail yards for the Gotham City Subway system. There were eleven for freight. In the past twenty years or so, most rail freight to Gotham moved over lines on the west side of the Gotham River where it was brought by truck into the city. If Tim remembered from his research into one of the major drug trafficking rings last year, measured by ton-miles, about 40% of freight in the United States was moved by rail, but only about 19% in the northeast. A lot of the U.S. railroad freight consisted of heavy commodities that just weren't significant in northeastern states economy. Not to mention the easy access to air, barge and ship. The ports were the largest on the east coast. 

It made sense that they would choose somewhere abandoned. There were plenty of those types of places in Gotham. But why this one? It wasn't a known or even unknown trafficking spot. 

"...surprise surprise little bird, this was my home once..."

"You know, my old boss, the one your boss got killed, he had this thing for dog fights..."

Tim's feet faltered but he kept following as the answers clicked into place. 

There had only ever really been two big names in dog fighting in Gotham. Ronny Boxer, and some small-time Romanian crime lord with a name Tim can't quite place. The guy was way before Tim's time, despite the boy having briefed himself on most of Batman's adventures. If Tim remembered right, the crime lord liked to use an abandoned freight yard on the East End for his dog fights. At least he knew where he was. However much that helped him now. 

Tim was lead into a large building with tall ceilings filled with rafters and cobwebs. The floor, however, had been cleaned and cleared out to make room for a stage and runway. There were chairs, all facing the stage - and filled with people. The front row consisted of well-dressed men and women, all with laptops in front of them. Toward the back of the floor it was standing room only. Even the stadium seating stands that stretched around the walls from back when the place was used for dog fighting were filled. Everyone was in suits and fine dresses and it reminded Tim of some disturbing version of one of his parents' galas. He almost tripped when he recognized a few faces from those parties. 

Toward the back of the stage was a tall set of stairs, leading up to platform and a metal fence - or rather, cage, stretched from floor to ceiling. The "products" were lined up in age groups, starting as young as small children and going down the line to grown men and women. The older among them looked less scared, like they knew what was about to happen. Had experienced it all before. Their eyes were hauntingly hollow. The children, on the other hand, gripped the fencing and cried, huddling together until they were prodded and scolded to separate. Some of the kids and a few of the women were chained together, sold in sets. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," a tall man with quaffed blue hair and a matching striking blue suit stepped out onto the stage with a flourish, "or should I say pimps, hoes, and thieves, do we have some product for you today! Do you like what you see?" The crowd cheered and Tim felt dizzy. "Come on now, let me hear you! Do you like what you see?"

The crowd grew louder and Tim felt something drumming in his ears. It might have been his heart. 

The gate was opened and two young girls were led down the wooden stairs and to the runway, attached together with collars similar to Tim's. They walked close together, holding hands and wearing nothing but black underwear. They were twins and couldn't have been older than ten. 

The blue haired man was talking again, describing the girls in disgusting detail but Tim could hardly hear it. Watching as these filthy excuses for human beings waved cash in the air. One of the men behind a computer raised a small sign. Tim stared at him, the man's face blank as he followed instructions from the screen in front of him. The tablet on the lap of the woman next to him had a logo in the corner. A logo Tim had seen before. 

LexCorp. 

Tim didn't need to guess why a representative had made the trip from Metropolis. 

What other supervillains were going to be bidding on the Boy Wonder? It wasn't as if they would come out and show their faces. Some lackey would do the dirty work and Tim wouldn't know who he was being bought by until he came face to face with them, later.

No, that wasn't going to happen. There was still time. Batman and Robin would come. 

More children were marched out, to further eager shouts and bids. Tim's eyes sort of glassed over for awhile. He couldn't watch this. It was one thing to research things like this. To watch his heroes take down the bad guys and stop the crime. But to be a part of it? To be a victim of it? And not like Scarecrow that day at the airport. This was so, disturbingly, different. 

"And now," the announcer bellowed, beaming, "before we move on to the more mature merchandise, it's the moment ya'll have been waiting for!"

The crowd erupted, everyone that had been sitting flew to their feet, save those in the front with the computers. Tim's skin burned, his insides tightening until he imagined they might explode. He wanted to scream. To run. To cry. To -

The collar yanked him forward and Tim trudged through the crowd. He was not brought down from the metal cage up above. No, Robin was paraded through the masses, for everyone to see. To touch. So many hands reached out to grope, slap, pinch. A few goons barked about messing up the merchandise and parted the sea of suits just enough that fingers could only just graze his skin now. The boy was brought up a small set of stairs and onto the circular platform. The woman dragged him down the runway and then back up to the edge. With a pat to Tim's cheek, she handed the leash off to one of her men while the announcer gave her the microphone. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," she began, just as sourly-sweetly as she had spoken to him all night, "we would like to think that we always provide you all with the highest quality products. But, tonight, as you can very well see in front of me, we have a lovely special treat. Timothy Jackson Drake, son of the CEOs of Drake Industries, but most of know him better as, Robin." The crowd booed and cursed. "The Boy Wonder, sidekick to Batman." The jeering increased and Tim twitched. "I am quite positive that each of you could come up with your own use for him. Keep him as your pet. Torture him for information on the Dark Knight. Find out if this little birdie can sing. Turn him against his mentor. He might be a difficult bird to break, but that would be the fun, wouldn't it?"

There was a low rumble of laughter from the audience. 

And then one sharp, high-pitched cackle, cutting through all the rest. 

Tim froze. He had been burning from shame and anger and fear and the bright lights of the stage and the harsh, hungry gazes of the audience. Now, he was ice. Instead of his heart hammering, it all but stopped. 

Everything stopped. The music. The lights. The crowd. The world. 

Everything, except that long, staggering, sickening, laugh. 

Notes:

Yeah, he gave up on the nice guy routine to get Tim to talk pretty quickly. (If you want to watch someone try to gaslight and manipulate Tim into giving up the Bats, watch out for my next fic...)

Chapter 12

The laugh felt serrated as it cut through Tim. His body shivered violently against his bindings. 

The lights had gone out, moonlight streaming through a few skylights and windows. Those in the front row tapped furiously at their computers and then checked their phones, as if more frightened of their own bosses than the new guest. Tim watched the shadows in the audience also pull out cell phones, and guns. He wanted to scream. The lights weren't the only thing cut. No internet. No phones. 

They were alone. 

With him. 

"My deepest apologies, ladies and gentlemen," the voice cut through the crowd's panicked murmurs, "but bidding is closed for the evening! Whoopsie!"

Tim's wide eyes darted between the shadows, desperately trying to find the source. At the same time, though, he almost hoped he didn't. 

"I'd tell all of you to go home now, but I do so enjoy having an audience!"

"You cannot just -"

Tim's ears rang out, high-pitched and painful as something popped inside his head. Warm liquid splattered against his cheek. 

The woman's body crumpled to the floor beside Tim, shoving him a little as it collapsed. 

Tim didn't move. Didn't breathe.  

"That's for my very rude lack of an invitation," the voice cackled, directly behind Tim now. 

Guns poked out from the shadows below in every direction, all aimed toward Tim. Or, more accurately, the murderer standing a breath away from him.  

"Ah, ah, ah," a pale hand waved a small device, "I really do love what you've done with this place, but I just couldn't help adding a little something myself."

Black dress shoes tapped against the stage floor. 

"Right below my feet are enough tanks of gas to put a permanent smile on all your sourpuss faces. Try to leave, and boom. Shoot me, and my finger goes off the switch and, once again, boom."

The guns lowered as the audience whispered and gasped.

"Now, as you all have already figured out, I've killed anything electronic. So, no phoning for help from a friend at home, okay kiddies? But, I just can't help myself. I so love to broadcast my adventures to the world! But every time I do, that Bat comes to spoil my fun. So, this time, I've had to a little old school."

A man stepped forward from the crowd, a large film camera slung over his shoulder. 

"Not the instant gratification that I prefer, but I have a live audience right here instead, and I can send the fond footage of our time together to the little Dark Blight later. I want him to be able to see this and enjoy it - as much as we're about to. Now," his voice pitched up, higher and louder, "let's get ready for the show!"

New hands grabbed at Tim's chained leash, making him cough at the pressure against his throat. 

"Oh hoo," the man crowed, "I've always wanted my own pet."

Tim was yanked backwards, slipping on the stage. 

"Here," the chain was shoved toward Tim's chest, "hold this for a second, will ya?"

Tim gaped down at the dangling leash in front of him. His hands were still bound behind him but he could run. He could - 

The bindings on his wrists came free for only a moment as his arms were wrenched backward farther. There was a pole at center of the small circular part of the stage. Tim had watched the other "products" be paraded around it. One girl had been made to dance a little on it. It looked like it used to be a support beam but years of neglect of the place had left it rotted and broken. It only reached a foot or two above Tim's head, the top broken and jagged. The stage had just been constructed around it. He felt his hands yanked around and the cuffs clamped back around his wrists. 

"Can't have you flying away," the man sing-songed, picking up the leash and dancing around Tim and the pole, the chain wrapping around and around the boy's neck. 

Tim gagged as the metal tightened, pinching his skin and constricting against his throat. 

"You know," a heavy, lanky arm slung itself around Tim's shoulders and the boy blanched, "I had a whole fun game planned for the two of us, and Batboy of course. And I was really, truly hurt that you went and got yourself caught and ruined all my fun. But then, I thought to myself, 'self, why wait?'. I can just as easily kill you now and break old Batsy's spirits right here at home. What'd'ya say, bird brain? Sound fun?"

A sweaty hand stroked Tim's cheek and then there were suddenly rough fingers squeezing his chin, yanking his head to the side. Tim had made it a point to simply stare forward since the gunshot. Not even dare glance at the clown. Maybe if Tim didn't look at him, didn't see him, it all would've stopped being real. But his face was in the madman's hand and Tim didn't have time to close his eyes before he was nose to nose with the psychopath. 

Nose to nose with Joker. 

Joker jerked Tim's head back and forth, up and down, the man's eyes narrowing as he squinted at the pale boy. The clown caressed Tim's blood stained cheek with his free hand, the other still gripping tight. Tim's eyes squeezed closed as something wet and warm ran across his face and Tim realized belatedly that the Joker was licking the woman's blood. His nose made a high-pitched wheezing sort of sound as Tim tried to control his breathing and keep from blowing chunks all over the crown prince of Gotham. 

"You're not bird brain!" 

Joker tossed Tim's head to the side, the boy's ears still ringing as his brain bounced around in his skull. The psychopath's voice sounded muffled, almost underwater. Everything, Tim realized, was underwater. When did he start drowning? 

"Unless you're another new one," the Joker hummed, suddenly on Tim's other side, pointed chin resting on Tim's shivering shoulder. 

The voice was clear now. All sharp edges and malice and madness. 

"Nah," he laughed, "you're no Robin." The smile turned so quickly to a frown. "How disappointing."

The gun kissed Tim's temple and the boy squeezed his eyes shut hard against the tears and the fear and the waves of regrets that would be the last things that filled his mind as - 

A small, sharp gust of air slapped against Tim's cheek. The sound of metal against metal was loud in his good ear as the gun crashed somewhere on the floor. Tim's eyes fluttered open in a blurry rush, his breath catching someplace between his lungs and throat. 

"You want Robin," a voice called out from behind him, "then come get me." 

 

---

 

Jason sat back on his haunches on the corner of the rooftop, cape billowing in the night breeze. The sheer amount of vehicles scattered around the train yard had been enough to confirm his suspicions, but Batman liked hard evidence. Maybe there was a different deal going down here. Unlikely, but if Robin was going to risk Batman's wrath for disobeying his orders to stay in the cave, it had to be worth it. 

Babs connecting "Hairy" to the human traffickers had been the key. If he was the only one from Gotham in this global outfit then he might have been put in charge of finding a venue whenever they visited the city. Most of his old boss's places, like the train yard where he held his dog fights, were still abandoned. Bruce was already heading there after Barbara had sent him the information on the man. Ibanescu had other properties, but it was the largest and best suited for an auction of this size. 

Something didn't sit right with that for Jason, though. Sure, he hoped that Batman would find the kid there and save him and this would all be over. But something itched at the back of his brain. Hairy was returning to Gotham, a proud part of a worldwide criminal organization. It was miles higher on the ladder than where he had started back home, especially with his family. That bad blood between him and the McKillens bothered Jason. He knew what it was like to want revenge. The sound of his mother's dealer tumbling down the stairs echoes in his mind. Could Hairy come back home and just ignore all he left behind? 

The Irish had bowed to Falcone a long time ago and there weren't many of them left after a few - incidents. Anything owned by the McKillens transferred over to the Italians, switching hands between smaller families like a game of hot potato. And then, Jason had found it. Another train yard, this one formerly controlled by the McKillens and used for fighting shows, between both people and dogs. Mostly humans pitted against other humans in some Gotham gladiator makeshift ring in one of the buildings on the out of service train yard. The dog fighting was secondary and barely mentionable, especially compared to Ibanescu's corner on the market. But the connections were there and too coincidental to not be considered. The temptation to come back home and stand proud in the place of the family that burned you, while paying respect to the man who took you in, would be difficult to pass up. Plus, this yard was closer to some of the bigger docks on the Southwest side. Easier to ship the rest of their "products" in and out of the city. 

Jason reached out to Oracle to get a satellite read or something on the area, but she had been targeted and shut down by the tech-villain currently squaring off against the Titans. Her system was fried and she had barely gotten out of the Belfry in time before her gadgets could gut her. He had offered to help immediately, but she was going underground for the time being, now that this guy had found out about her connection to the Titans and saw her as some sort of arch nemesis. She also had to pull the plug on the Batcomputer and do a complete remote shut down. Her system was connected to it, and if this maniac got access through her, things would get a lot worse. God, Gotham was exhausting. At least their villains mostly kept to the city, though. Jason would talk to Dick later about keeping his Titans enemies on their own side of the country.  

Jason was decent with computers, but without Babs or the batcomputer and its connected networks, he was basically stuck with Google Maps. Which apparently had a lot of blurred out sections of Gotham. Apparently even Google was afraid of some Gotham streets. 

Jason had no idea if the place was still even standing.

But there was a good way to find out. 

The large circular window on the top of the roof was grimy and fogged, but clear enough to watch as men, women, and children were paraded around like products in front of their potential buyers. Robin had to fight the urge to just crash through the glass and make some Batman-style dramatic entrance just to make all of these sickos piss their pants. Commotion in one corner toward the back of the audience drew Jason's attention and the vigilante watched with clenched teeth and fists as a kid was led out in chains, a kid wearing a too-familiar color palette. 

Robin put a finger to his ear, ready to call in the calvary when the lights inside the building went black, along with a few outside around him. Screams came next. 

"Batman," Jason called into his comm, "Batman, do you copy? Batman!"

Something was happening. Something worse, which was really saying something. He scanned the rooftop and darted across it. Stealing himself, Jason gripped the top of the exhaust vent and kicked his feet up inside, sliding down. There were only a few turns, and a lot of cobwebs, before he reached an opening. His eyes adjusted fairly quickly, but they didn't need to. 

The laugh was enough of a dead giveaway. 

He spotted the clown in the chaos, right as the Joker lifted a gun and pulled the trigger. The woman fell over dead - right beside the kid. Jason couldn't see the boy's face - he couldn't see much of anything - but he watched as "Robin's" whole rigid body somehow stiffened even more. The boy had tried to be brave in the alley and Jason wondered if he was putting on a face now too. Or if he was silently crying. Maybe closing his eyes to escape. 

Robin had to do something. Not just for the kid. For everyone there. But this was far past simple surveillance. And this wasn't just traffickers and thugs. Sure, Robin gave him magic. But for this? He'd need a whole damn miracle. 

All of the features of his lenses were useless, but Batman & Co. were nothing if not prepared. Robin pulled a small sleek pair of night vision goggles from a pocket of his belt. As Jason watched the sickening scene play out, he surveyed the building as best he could. He had gotten a pretty decent mental picture from the window above and was now taking in anything else he could that would help him form some sort of plan. 

Priorities: save the accidental imposter, rescue the trafficked victims, stop the Joker from detonating the gas, stop the Joker in general, avoid getting shot by the large crowd of criminals - was he missing anything? 

Joker grabbed the kid's face, turning it to the side. For the first time outside of a computer screen, Jason saw the boy's face. He looked painfully so much younger. All wide eyes and quivering lips. And blood splatter. There was no brave face. This was a child, staring nose to nose with a psychopath. Jason felt his heart constrict. And then - it jack rabbited. Joker was jerking the kid's head in all directions, examining it. The suspicion in the maniac's glare was clear even in the dark. And then, then the madman licked him. Lapped up the blood spray as the boy closed his eyes and trembled. 

"You're not bird brain!" 

Jason's brain scratched, skipping over and over. A repeated shit shit shit shit shit screaming out against the inside of his skull. 

"Unless you're another new one," the Joker moved to Tim's other side. "Nah," he laughed, "you're no Robin. How disappointing."

The gun pressed against the boy's head and Jason's own head whited out. There was no conscious thought as he sent a batarang soaring toward the weapon, knocking it from the clown's hand. 

"You want Robin," he shouted, voice thick with rage, "then come get me." 

Jason jumped down, landing with a clang and rattle on top of the cage at the back of the stage. A few of the victims inside squealed, but he was distantly aware of a child somewhere in the caged crowd cheering. From one hand, he dropped a lock picking device between the metal links down below, giving the victims their own fighting chance. His other arm reeled back and then forward, sending a smoke bomb toward the Joker and his hostage. He flipped forward off of the cage, dropping another small smoke bomb as he moved, effectively providing the people behind him cover from the audience and thugs, without blinding them. The rest of the stage was thick with smoke and he could hear Joker and others coughing. Jason moved forward with ease. While he was as blind as anyone else in the fog, he had navigated through the stuff - and trained blindfolded with Bruce enough - to not even break his stride. He found the boy's bound hands easily. Jason had barely begun attempting to free him, when something swung out toward his head. Robin dodged the kick and then follow-up fist, rolling backward. A knife glinted somewhere in the smoke and Robin ducked and then sucked in his stomach just before he could be sliced. They danced like that for awhile, Jason keeping himself between the demon and the bound boy. 

"Boy Blunder!" Joker greeted giddily as he swung again. "I'm so happy you joined the party! I mean, we were promised Robin. And good on you, kiddo! You didn't disappoint! How -"

Robin landed a fist to the clown's face but wasn't granted time to celebrate as Joker spun to the side and the blade sank deep into Jason's thigh. Screaming, Robin ducked a blow but was too distracted by the pain to block the kick to his chest. The vigilante laid sprawled out on his back on the floor in front of the kid he had been trying to save. 

"Oh, this is just too fun!" Joker crowed, jumping up in down. "Now, now. Who do I kill first, hmm? The brat, or the bird?"

The clown stalked forward and Jason slid backward, hand and stage now slick with his own blood. Joker waved the small device in his hand. 

"I could just gas the whole place, two birds, one stone. Don't you want to die smiling?"

"Sounds fun," Jason grunted, "why don't you try it?"

"Maybe I will!" Joker laughed. "I mean, if you're here, then Daddy can't be far behind. Maybe finding his little baby bird all broken and bloody - and dead, of course - will finally, finally, give him that little push, right over the edge. He'll be swimming in my side of the pool. No rules. No code. Just vengeance for his witty bitty birdie. Do you think he'd do it? For you?"

Jason dug his elbow into the ground harder, pushing himself back faster. A part of him wanted to think that Bruce would do it, for him. Kill the Joker for killing his son. Another part of him wondered if he would at all. If Jason was important enough to Bruce. 

He could throw something like an explosive batarang at Joker but the kid was too close. Jason gripped the small stun gun clipped to his belt and pulled the trigger, the wires shooting out toward the clown, connecting with his chest. Joker squealed and dropped to his knees, shaking from the charge. 

"Oh hoo!" The man chuckled. "That tickled!"

Jason yanked out another batarang, sending this one into the criminal's collarbone. Joker screeched and snarled. 

"How did that feel?" Jason spat. 

"Not as bad as this is going to!"

In the smoke, Jason hadn't noticed Joker grab the gun off the floor. 

He didn't have time to react before the gunshot. 

Notes:

Yes, Joker is over-used. I almost didn't include any big names in this fic, but if you're going to auction of a Robin in Gotham, I think the clown is going to take notice, and take issue...

And yeah, convenient tech-villain is a little too...convenient...but I couldn't make this too easy, could I?

Jason did in fact push his mother's drug dealer down the stairs.

Chapter 13

Notes:

On a scale of 1-10, how evil is putting this right after a cliffhanger? ......

Timothy Jackson Drake

Grade 5

 

Assignment: Letter to My Hero

Yesterday we had a visit from a firefighter in class. Firefighters have a dangerous job. They have to be brave. They save lives. They are heroes!

But a hero can be anyone. A hero might be a teacher or a coach. They can be a friend of a family member. They can be someone you know, or someone you have never met. A hero is anyone you look up to. 

Who is YOUR hero?

Choose someone (living or dead, real or fictional) and write them a letter! Tell them why they are your hero. Also include any questions you would ask them if you could.

Include a picture/drawing. You can also decorate your letter. 

 

 

Dear Robin, 

I'm your biggest fan and I just wanted to let you know that you're my hero. Batman is my other favorite hero, too, but I chose to write to you because I think a lot of people talk about Batman and not enough people talk about Robin, you. Also, because you're my age. You're older, but you're not a grown up. 

That's one of the reasons you're my hero too! I think it is really cool that you save people and stop crime when you're a kid. You are also my hero because you risk your life to help others. Also, you look awesome when you do all those crazy flips and jump off buildings and stuff. 

My teacher told us to ask our heroes questions. I have lots of questions for you. Like, how do you fit everything in your belt? Does Batman ever let you drive the Batmobile? Have you met the Justice League? 

But my real question is something else. Fifth grade is almost over and I will be in middle school soon. I like my school now. I visited the new school with my class and it is a lot bigger. I'm kind of scared. Everything is going to be harder and I really really need good perfect grades. I don't have a lot of friends here and this school is going to have so many more kids and it will be tougher to make friends. 

I know a new school doesn't compare with fighting bad guys like the Joker. I guess what I'm wondering is - have you ever been afraid before? What did you do? Being Robin, I bet you're not scared of almost anything. But, if you are, how do you not be scared?

I hope one day I can be as brave as you. 

Thank you for being an awesome hero, 

Tim 

Notes:

Tim includes a drawing of Robin fighting Joker - and kicking his butt of course! He draws Batman standing on the sidelines, cheering. He decorates the letter with little Robin "R"s.

Chapter 14

Notes:

I couldn't make you wait TOO long after that last cliffhanger...
Not saying that there won't be more...
Maybe...

The smoke filled the stage and Tim tried not to cough. There was a flurry of movement all around him. 

It was Robin. 

Robin had come to save him. Of course he had. Tim had been so sure. And now he could have whooped and whistled with joy. 

It felt like emotional whiplash. One second, Tim had been preparing himself to die. Waiting for that bullet to the brain. And then the next, he was saved and seeing his hero up close in action. Well, sort of. More like seeing glimpses of him through the haze. He had to bite his tongue to keep from cheering Robin on. 

The bidders all seemed to be scattering, using the opportunity to escape. The traffickers scrambled to get to the cage. 

Tim had to do something. Robin was going to save him, yes, but he couldn't let the criminals get away with the others. His bindings were metal and just as unbreakable as they had been back in his little temporary cell. The wood beam, however, maybe wasn't. It had already broken once. His movements were limited by the leash looped around his neck. Tim bounced his body back and forth, his back hitting the wood and leaving a sharp sting each time. The beam didn't budge.

Sliding down to the floor, Tim stretched his fingers out against the ground. Robin had been trying to free him, if only for a moment. Maybe, just maybe, he had dropped whatever device when the scuffle had started. Tim had watched the vigilantes use lock picks, lasers, and all sorts of gadgets to open cuffs and doors. He was pretty sure Robin hadn't intended on using his bare hands to break the chains. As much as people liked to speculate about Batman and Robin having superpowers or being mythical creatures, Tim knew otherwise. 

As the smoke cleared more, something shiny teased Tim just in the corner of his eye. He could only turn his head sideways, just barely able to look behind him as the leash chain still wrapped around his neck choked him. Tim's fingers flailed out toward the object, kicking his feet in frustration. He made to twist around the pole, use his legs to reach it, something sharp slicing into his side. Tim tasted blood as he bit down on his tongue to keep from crying out. He couldn't quite catch a glimpse of whatever had just stabbed him, but he could deduce that there was now a crooked nail or something of the sort currently stuck inside him. He tried to turn the other way but whatever it was wouldn't let him go, Tim only succeeded in widening the wound. He was stuck like some fish on a hook. Either way he tried to turn, the unseen object tore at his skin. Now he couldn't even stand back up if he wanted. 

He jerked his arm again toward the lock pick or laser - or heck Tim would take a paper clip - and hissed as the movement pulled his shoulder wrong and then his eyes glittered. His shoulder. 

After Tim had dislocated it those few years ago, he had managed to injure it twice more. Once, slipping on a rain soaked rooftop chasing a new photograph of his heroes. The second time after a spectacular wipeout on his skateboard that got the "toy" taken away from him permanently by his parents. Tim hadn't been suffering from an injured wrist or ankle either of those times. He had been plenty capable of looking up how to put his shoulder back into place online and fixed the problem. If he could knock it out of place three times on accident, and put it back together twice, Tim was pretty sure he could pop it out on purpose. 

Also, he had seen this in a movie once so it must be possible. 

Tim shuffled his body with what little slack in his bindings he had, and what little he could stand to move against the stabbing mystery item, positioning his shoulder just right. Gritting his teeth, Tim twisted his arm. Nothing. He tried again, bashing the limb against the beam at an angle. Pain, and lots of it. But that was it. Pulling his wrist cuffs taut, Tim tried one more time, feeling the familiar sensation as the joint in his shoulder popped loose. Tim had to swallow a scream as he breathed through his nose. There was a shout and Tim wondered if he did in fact cry out, but belatedly realized that it was Robin.

The smoke was starting to scatter and Tim watched in terror as his hero crawled across the stage away from clown. 

There was no time. 

Gulping back bile, Tim slowly started to lift his arms, having to pull his almost limp limb by the wrist with his cuffs with the other arm. It was going to be close, so close. But Tim didn't just cause himself to see stars and vomit a little in his mouth for his salvation to be just out of reach. He would not sit there and watch one of his idols be murdered.

His fingertips brushed smooth metal and Tim slapped his hand over the device, dragging it across the floor. It wasn't a lock pick, or a paper clip. The little tube had a switch on one side and Tim hoped he recognized it just by shape alone. Positioning it between his wrists, Tim flicked the switch and felt the small source of heat before the tension between his hands was suddenly gone. His good arm swung quickly out in front of him, the burnt edge of the cuff's chain dangling in front of him. Tim would have to start carrying mini laser torches with him, he noted for the future. He made quick work of unwrapping the choking chain from around his neck, the leash hanging loose. He considered torching the collar but couldn't figure out how to do so without frying his own neck.

Joker lifted the gun toward Robin and time was up.

Tim slipped a hand into the lining of his boot, yanking the birdarang free. Back in that alley, at the start of his never ending night, Tim had missed. The moment ghosted across Tim's mind. The throw. The miss. That sinking feeling of failure and fear. And that had been when he had had full use of his dominant left hand. What if it happened again? What if he hit Robin instead? What if -

Tim took a single, steadying breath, and threw it. 

The birdarang sailed through the air, connecting with the gun and knocking it out of Joker's grasp. Just as Robin's had done to save Tim. The gunshot wasn't as loud as the first, but it still made Tim tremble. He wanted to wave his arms and cheer but the Joker was already turning back toward him with a curse. 

Now that he had the ability to move more freely, Tim pushed himself off of the beam, and the foreign object in his side. Screaming in pain and anger, he didn't stop his momentum, instead kicking off the ground with his feet - and barreling his body straight into the Joker's legs. The clown kicked out, Tim taking a shoe to the chin as they tangled together on the floor. Tim shrieked as he flipped onto his back, and bad shoulder. The Joker was on him in an instant, pinning Tim and reaching for his dropped gun. Tim squirmed underneath him until a small hand came up, a fist full of candy shoved into the criminal's shouting mouth. Joker coughed and choked as Tim gripped the batarang wedged into the clown's collarbone and twisted. The man's hand went slack and the deadman's switch nearly slipped from his grip. Tim reached up with his good arm, ripping the device out of Joker's grasp and tightly into his own before the gas could go off. As Joker reared back, Tim bucked, kicking out until the man stumbled sideways and Tim was able to scramble out from underneath the murderer. He was just getting back to his feet when his head was yanked, hard. The Joker had grabbed hold of the metal leash and tugged, pulling Tim down to the ground. His head hit the stage first and everything went black for a split second. The ringing in his ear pulsed and pounded worse than before. Joker was saying something, but Tim couldn't make it out. It also sounded like someone was screaming, swearing. There was a scuffling noise above him and Tim turned his head to see flashes of red and yellow and green. Robin was standing, fighting, knife still sticking from his leg. He was holding his own, for now, but it looked like he could barely hold himself up. And Joker, Joker just kept laughing. 

Something smashed high above them and a blur of black bulleted down between the Joker and Robin, kicking the clown square in the head as it landed. No, not it. He. 

Batman. 

Joker crumbled the ground in a purple pleated heap. 

The rush of air from the fall had cleared the lingering smoke. The building had been mostly cleared out, with only the traffickers and Joker's thugs remaining. The threat of the Joker's gas gone, the criminals lifted their weapons again. Either the traffickers really cared about their business, or they just hadn't been around Gotham enough to know the stupidity of going up against Batman.

The shots rang out and Batman flipped and dodged, repelling to one of the rafters.

Leaving the boys back on the stage. 

 

---

 

Jason watched and figured out exactly what that kid was trying to do as he crawled away from the Joker, dragging his leaking leg. He figured the boy would break free and make a run for it. Good. But then the superfan straight up pulled a birdarang out of his boot and knocked the gun from Joker's hand. Jason was asking himself, not for the first time, who the hell was this kid, when the idiot full on tackled Gotham's crown prince of crime. Not good. He didn't have much left in the tank then. The wound was draining his stupid life force too damn fast. If he stood up, if he moved, he could risk the knife nicking the femoral artery and he would bleed out in minutes. But then Joker had yanked that chain and sent the boy's head bouncing to the ground. Robin practically could have stargazed at the constellations dancing around the stranger's skull. 

So, he did what any sane, rationale child vigilante with a potentially fatal stab wound would have done.

He kicked that damn clown in the balls.

Still smiling over that little victory, Robin fired his grappling gun toward a rafter, using his good leg and the wire to pull himself up off the ground. The grappling wire wrapped easily enough around the clown's throat. See how he liked having a collar and leash. Jason was about to press the button on the gun to hoist Joker into the air but the man got a - totally lucky - elbow to Robin's stuck thigh. Robin was in the middle of stumbling backward when Batman came swooping in.

Crashing through the window. 

Because, of course. 

When Batman repelled to the rafters, Robin scrambled to grab the Joker's discarded gun, aiming it around frantically - just in case. No one was paying him any mind, though and Robin let himself collapse. He could. He knew exactly what his bat boss was doing. It was almost funny. Usually Robin, with the bright colors and small, spry body, acted as the distraction. Waved and bounced around in one direction to draw the criminals' attention, while Batman snuck in right behind them. At least this would keep the bullets off of him and the boy for a bit. 

And, oh yeah, the boy.

Jason turned toward him, the small, shaking figure curled up on his side. The deadman's switch was clutched between his hands, held tight like a prayer. The kid's eyes weren't closed but Jason would have bet dollars to donuts that he wasn't seeing anything. His gaze was glassy and wet, pupils blown wide. 

"Hey, kid," Robin scooted toward him as best he could, "are you okay?"

It was a dumb question. The boy looked anything but. Granted, Jason couldn't say much in his own condition. He scanned the kid, just like he been taught, cataloguing injuries. A bit of blood pooled in one of his ears but it was difficult to tell if it was from the kid or from the rest of the spray he had caught to the face when the woman had been shot. There was some bruising at his hairline. That, paired with the way his head had just cracked against the ground meant a very possible concussion. His wrists were chaffed, bright red and a little raw. The kid had fought to get free. There was no way of knowing if there were any other wounds hiding underneath his clothing just yet. There was a small patch of blood and a nasty looking gash on his side. Jason spared a glance back at the beam and found the red stained nail jutting out, crooked and dripping. Jason was going to come back to this place with a gas can and a match. It was bad enough that these people had hurt a child, but the building had wanted to get in on the action too? 

"Hey kid," Robin tried again, reaching out this time. 

The boy bucked backward, eyes still unfocused and unmoving but body seizing. All the while, his hands kept clamped down on the device in his grip. 

"Kid, kid, come on, hey! It's okay."

It certainly wasn't okay. They were both bleeding and the shots hadn't ceased all around them. Although, Jason was pretty sure he could hear a few less guns now. He kept one eye and ear always on the action, just in case he needed to throw himself over the kid to act as a human shield if the thugs got bored with Batman. The chaos was a little difficult to track, though. Joker's goons and the traffickers were fighting Batman, but also each other. It was a damn mess and the two of them were right in the middle. Thankfully, everyone else so far seemed to think they weren't a threat at the moment. Which was, sadly, sort of true. 

With a sharp breath, Jason stuck out his hand, and held it over the boy's. 

"Robin."

Jason tried his best to put all of his strength behind that one word, to imitate how Batman spoke his name in the field. A command. A call to action. A reassurance. A promise. All in one word. One name. 

The boy blinked. And then again. Ever so slowly, Jason watched as the kid's eyes cleared until they finally focused, finding his own. Jason felt his heart constrict again. That gaze was so fragile, yet so piercing. So scared, yet so sure. 

"Robin." The kid answered back, voice scratchy and small. 

Jason carefully peeled trembling fingers back away from the device, switching it off and shoving it in his belt. The kid's hands went right back to shaking and Jason reached over and held them again, squeezing gently. His grip was going slack, though. Getting up on his leg and fighting the Joker, even so briefly, had done exactly what Robin knew it would. The artery had been missed, thankfully, but the knife had been jostled in the fray. His whole leg was soaked but he couldn't even feel it anymore. But it was fine. If he was going to go out, it had better be with a bang. And what better way to do it then by saving some kid who thought he was a hero. 

"Robin," the boy repeated, his voice clearer, louder. 

Suddenly, the kid was sitting up in a flurry of movement, ripping off his own homemade cape. He reached over, opening one of Robin's belt side pouches and frantically pulling out gauze and other supplies. How the hell did he know that was in there? And exactly where to find it? How much had this kid watched them? 

The pain of the bandaging pressed against his wound was enough to distract him. As the mini medic held the quickly soaking through fabric down with one hand, he used the other to grab a hemostatic dressing pouch, fumbling as his limp arm did little to help. Giving up and bending down, the boy ripped open the plastic packaging with his teeth. Removing the bloodied bandaging, the boy placed the new dressing down. On top of the quick clotting dressing, he added more bandaging all around the knife, layering them until they were thick enough to help keep the weapon stable. Satisfied, he moved onto the gauze roll, wrapping it around Robin's leg with one hand and the quickly reddening bandaging. The pressure bandaging came next, heavy and constricting around his thigh. It was some special type of fabric that could hold apply over 30 pounds of pressure. Jason watched in confusion then as the kid shucked off own his tunic, balling it up. With his good arm, he lifted the other hand and placed it down to keep the knife steady, then lifted Robin's legs, shoving the shirt and then his cape underneath to elevate them. 

A man about the size of Bruce charged down the catwalk toward them. Jason didn't hesitate, raising the firearm. His aim was true and the bullet broke through the skin of the man's meaty muscled calf. He screamed and stumbled forward, but didn't stop. The next bullet went into his other leg. Jason squeezed the trigger again, again, again, but nothing happened. He was reaching for a batarang when their attacker finally collapsed, tipping right over the side of the stage. Jason did a quick check for any other surprises coming at them and then sighed, checking the gun's clip and confirming it to be empty. 

"It's not stopping."

Jason barely heard the boy's mumbling over the chaos surrounding them. He glanced over to the kid, who despite having just nearly been barreled over by a behemoth of a man, and having watching Robin shoot said man, was still solely focusing on Jason's injury. 

"Do you have a tourniquet?"

Jason squinted up at the stranger. Apparently he hadn't seen them use one of those in the field before. The realization made him relieved, and a little queasy. 

"Back pouch," Jason tried to reach behind his belt but the kid's hand pressed against his shoulders. 

"Don't move." He instructed, an altogether different person than the traumatized victim who's hands Jason had held moments ago. "You should really keep it next to the other first aid."

Was the kid admonishing him? 

"Don't need it, a lot," Jason grunted. 

"You need one, though, right?" 

It was the first time since he had fluttered into his fit of first aid that the kid seemed unsure. He already knew enough to impress and confuse - and concern - Jason. But it certainly made since that a seventh grader didn't know much about tourniquets. Robin glanced down as the blood continued to leak out. If his artery was opened, he wouldn't have lasted this long, but the continued bleeding was still a problem. He would have been doing all of this himself anyway if the junior doctor hadn't jumped in. It was kind of nice to be able to just sit back and focus on not passing out instead. If Robin had been in a truly dire state, Batman would have probably just scooped both boys up and grappled up and out back through the window, taking all the bullets to his own body as he got them to safety. But Batman had seen the knife in his son's thigh and had gone with diversion instead of sacrifice. He knew Jason was going to be okay. And he would be, right? 

The boy unclipped Robin's cape, setting it aside and digging into the back of Jason's belt for the tourniquet. Jason began to walk him through how to apply it, but paused, eyeing the limp limb. Putting the tourniquet on one-handed wouldn't be easy. The kid had already struggled through the first parts of the first aid with the clipped wing. 

"I can do it myself," Robin reached for the tourniquet but the boy pulled it away. 

"You need your hands free in case - something happens," he countered, glancing around at the gunfight. 

Jason didn't want to tell him that smoke pellets and batarangs weren't going to do much against a barrage of bullets aimed at two stationary targets. Robin also wasn't going to tell him about the plan to just cover the kid with his own body, knife wound and bullets to the back be damned. 

Jason watched, his eyes only growing wider and wider, as the boy braced himself, bending and slowly twisting as he very methodically rolled his shoulder. Jason could tell the moment it popped back into place as the kid clenched his teeth. He tested the limb a little before shaking it out. And then, as if nothing had happened, the kid picked up the tourniquet looked at Robin. Jason started his instructions over, the kid nodding in understanding and skipping ahead to finish setting it up before Robin could continue his explanation. Jason groaned with every twist as it tightened and the kid looked painfully apologetic. Once done, the boy's hands just sort of hovered over the injury. There was nothing more he could do but Jason knew firsthand that the sense of urgency didn't just go away. Glancing around, he grabbed Robin's cape, draping it over Jason's body. 

"Shock, right?" He squeaked.  

"Right." Jason just openly stared back at him. 

Robin was pretty sure the boy needed the makeshift blanket more. Jason had a sense he was going to lose the kid to that strange catatonia again soon if the Robin Jr. didn't stay busy. Maybe he knew that too because the kid wouldn't stop moving, or speaking. 

"Thanks for saving me."

He had been talking a little louder than needed and the words were almost shouted this time. Jason had just assumed it was to be heard against the backdrop of bullets, but the blood in the boy's ear suggested otherwise. 

"You saved me too, remember?"

The kid spared a backward glance towards the clown's collapsed body. 

"Pair of cuffs," Jason instructed just as the boy asked, "Do you have your cuffs?"

"Huh?" The kid turned his head to the side toward Jason and Robin was sure as shit about that ear. 

"Right -"

"Side," he finished for Robin. "I know."

Jason was still shaking his head as the kid dug around in the pouch. The boy crawled on all fours over the Joker's body, shaky and hesitant as he reached over and dragged the madman's arms over to the beam. Jason felt the newly familiar mixed sensations of both pride, awe, confusion, and terror well up in him again. He hadn't even suggested securing Joker to the pole. Putting an arm around each side, he clamped the cuffs around white wrists. A small, slow, finger poked the criminal's skull and Jason watched with coiled tension as the boy inspected the man for signs of waking up. After two more experimental pokes, Robin Jr. seemed satisfied and scooted back over to Jason's side. 

"You should lie down."

"In the middle of a gunfight?" Jason lifted a single eyebrow. 

"Lower to the ground," he shrugged, "you'd be less of a target."

"Then you lay down," Jason huffed, cracking a small smile. 

The kid opened his mouth, looking like he was debating if he should argue with his hero.

A pair of arms reached up onto the stage, wrapping around the boy's body, yanking him backward and over the edge. 

Jason reached out, screaming in protest while the boy cried out. Robin made to move, pain shooting through his leg and bringing him back down to the ground. He lifted his arm to reach inside his belt when the stranger struggling to subdue the kid drew a pistol, leveling it with Robin. 

"Twitch and your dead."

And no, that wasn't a stranger. Jason recognized this goon's ugly mug. Had stared at during his research. 

Owen O'Connor. 

Hairy.

Jason swore at him, starting to make a threat, when the kid opened his mouth - and bit down. 

The small teeth drew blood from Hairy's forearm but he only cursed and roughly shoved the gun into the wound on the boy's side. The kid cried out, the fight going out a little in him as Hairy was quick to return the pistol to point back at Robin. Jason had just barely gotten one of his belt pouches open before the gun was trained on him again. Robin glanced around, wide eyed. Batman was still disarming a handful of lackeys on the other side of the building. 

"Batman!" Robin called out to him. "B!"

But when Jason turned his head back, Hairy - and the kid - were both gone. 

Jason pulled himself by both arms to the edge of the platform, trying to gain a better view of where they could have disappeared to. A door hung open on the far wall. A small scream sounded from somewhere beyond it. Jason's fist slammed against the stage as he shouted, his other arm uselessly reaching out, as if he could just grab the kid, will the boy back to him. Anger and fear eclipsed all of his pain. They had been so close. He had been right there with the kid. Jason heard the cry again, his own scream already on his lips.

"Tim!" 

Notes:

So, yes, sometimes people who have dislocated their joints before can do it again on purpose. (Additionally, once you dislocate a joint, you are MUCH more likely to do it again). Could Tim do it with a wooden beam while handcuffed? Probably not. SHOULD he? Definitely not. But this is comic book logic where you can fix dislocated shoulders by bashing them into wood beams (ie Nightwing in The Judas Contract) or shoving them against the back of an ambulance (ie The Punisher in season 2) Thankfully, Tim likes reading and learning and watching YouTube and knows a better, less bashy way, to pop it back in after. If you want a visual of how Tim is able to reach farther with the dislocated shoulder, you can look up Thea and Oliver escaping their cell by dislocating Thea's arm in the tv show Arrow.

Chapter 15

Notes:

I really could've just saved Tim back at the train yard and this would be over and done. Why am I so cruel to you all, and myself?

Batman climbed back into the Batmobile, slamming a fist against the steering wheel. He had combed through every known and not-so-known trafficking spot throughout all of Gotham. And now the East End train yard previously owned by Ibanescu had been empty too, apart from a small tented homeless encampment. Banging down random doors wasn't going to work, Batman knew that. There was always a chance, though, a hope. Barbara and Jason were doing the detective work for a change. Bruce's head wasn't completely clear to do it. Kids were always harder, of course. But this child had been taken, in part, because of him. Because he looked like his Robin. 

And that made his mind murky too. No, Tim wasn't Jason. But he very well could have been. He confronted those criminals without hesitation or backup, just like how Robin had the tendency to jump in head first lately, sometimes even without Batman. This was the exact thing Jason would've done. The real Robin would have had more gadgets, more training, but all it ever took was one stray bullet, like with Dick on that rooftop with Joker all those years ago, or one lucky hit, one mistake, one slip. 

Barbara's attack was still so recent. Joker had shot her, paralyzed her, just to get at James Gordon, which was all just to prove a point to the Dark Knight and play his violent game with Batman. His fault. 

No, he needed to be out there. Moving. Pounding the pavement, and the occasional criminal. Besides, it was also tactically the best option. How was Jason going to go around Gotham looking for Tim? He couldn't dress as Robin and blow the boy's one advantage to staying alive. Not to mention the fact that Jason was still benched. He was already stuck at the cave and so it made the most sense to have him doing the digging, even if he hated Bruce for it.

An alarm sounded and Batman clicked on the car's console display. Robin's tracker had gone offline and Bruce felt his heart shoot up somewhere in his throat. Jason wouldn't have shut it down himself. Jason was headstrong and rebellious, but he wouldn't turn his tracker off. (And he only knew about one of them). Bruce was fully aware that his son had already snuck over to the Drake's estate a few hours prior, a fact Batman had been silently sitting on and stewing over without actually shouting at Jason about. He actually gave himself parent points for that. If Jason had been going to disable his tracker, he would have done it before sneaking out. This was different. The far more likely scenario, especially with his son's independence streak, was that Robin had ventured farther out than just next door and something had gone wrong.

Bruce tried not to think about exactly all the different "somethings" that could be as he called out to his son on the comms. 

No answer.  

A digital map of Gotham and a radar was displayed on the screen, a little red dot flashing and then just - vanishing. 

Robin's trackers had been disabled. 

The tracker's last logged location was all the way over on the southwest side of Gotham, near the harbor. 

Batman cursed under his breath. Of course. Bruce quickly pieced together what Jason had already deduced. He would have congratulated his son on his cleverness had he not been so angry, and worried. 

It was an almost 40 minute drive clear across Gotham to the other train yard. Well, 40 minutes in traffic and not in the Batmobile. While the city never truly slept, the streets were definitely far more empty so late - or rather, early. That, combined with all of Batman's known shortcuts, and the fact that his vehicle could top over 200 mph, he could make it there in less than ten. 

His knuckles were white under his gloves the whole race there. 

They only grew paler in his fist as he approached the train yard, spotting the goons in clown masks guarding the doors of the largest building. He dropped two of them with ease as he made his way up to the roof for a better bird's eye of what exactly was happening inside. Stalking toward a large window, he paused in front of bits of a muddy boot print, the size of his son's. 

The building was dark inside, confirming his suspicions. Someone had set off an EMP. Well, not exactly someone. The guys in the clown masks gave it away just a little. The Joker was there, with his son. His son who was cut off from his comms, and many of his other gadgets. Bruce's heart hammered as he switched his lenses to infrared, clocking the dancing duo on the stage, one tall and lanky, the other dance partner short and staggering. He didn't hesitate before jumping. 

His feet connected with with the clown's face, a satisfying crunch coming from beneath his boots. He hadn't even landed before eyeing Robin's injury. He surveyed Tim, too. The boys had put up what looked like an admirable fight. Jason's leg was a mess, but there was no arterial bleeding. The knife was buried to the hilt, though, and while it corked a lot of the blood flow, the blade had been moved and the wound widened, leaving his leg stained red. Simply picking Robin up into his arms and grappling away could too easily jostle the knife enough to nick the femoral artery. 

He was spared from having to decide what to do next by the barrage of bullets. He almost moved to shield the boys but the weapons were aimed high above their heads, toward the only adult left on the stage. Batman dodged and they followed him. He was the main threat, main target, now. He loathed leaving his son but this was the only option. Batman grappled to a distant rafter, and then waged war. 

The traffickers crowded him as Joker's lackeys hurried in from outside, except for the one who dropped some large film camera and turned tail. Tossing a handful of smoke pellets as he moved, Batman dropped down from the rafters onto one man's shoulders, using his momentum to roll the guy up and over his head, and hurled him toward another gunman. Batman almost felt bad for them. 

Almost.

With the infrared lenses, they were practically sitting and coughing ducks in the plume of smoke and fists. 

Leaping back up onto the beam, Batman ran across it through the smoke to drop in the middle of a small circle of criminals, tossing small sticky grenades onto each of their weapons and grappled away as they detonated.

A man turned to flee from of the smoke, and toward the boys. Batman vaulted the gap between rafters, landing and shooting out a rope toward the runner. The weights on the ends of the twisted cords swung out and around the man's knees, wrapping them tight together until the criminal crashed to the floor. A second thug seemed to have a similar idea and Batman fired a wire in his direction. The hook on the end shot through the target's ankle. Batman pressed a button and the cord reeled backward, hoisting the man upside down from the rafter. 

Bullets bounced off of his armor, narrowly missing his neck. Batman spun, diving and driving his shoulder into a masked clown's weapon, knocking the gun into the air. The weapon didn't even hit the ground before Batman swept his leg underneath the Joker's lackey. Beefy arms tried to grab at him from behind, Batman bashing the unlucky attacker's face with skull so hard that the stranger stumbled to the floor and didn't get back up. Surrounded on all sides, Batman worked his way through each contestant, blocking blows and landing his own. 

He was standing in a sea of slumped over and unconscious bodies, finally finishing off the last few fools, when he heard it. 

"Batman! B!"

That wasn't Robin calling out to him. It was Jason. Young and panicked and desperate. 

Three more bodies joined the pile as Bruce sprinted toward his son. 

"Tim!"

Jason's voice was raw, an open wound and it bled all over the building, all over Bruce's heart. 

Batman raced toward the door that Robin was so wildly reaching toward. 

"At least we get to kill the real bird after all!"

Batman whirled around, two freaks in clown masks advancing on his injured son. Jason didn't even clock them coming up behind him on the stage. He was still just staring frantically at the open door. 

The batarang sunk itself into the taller one's hand, gun dropping from her hand as she howled. Batman was already running back toward them as he threw another, the second attacker ducking the projectile. Bruce bounded up onto the stage, tackling the thug. The vigilante gripped the goon's hair, cracking his head against the ground and knocking him out in one hit. The woman with the batarang protruding from her palm picked up her gun with her good hand but Batman was up and shoving her arm up as the bullets rang out against the roof instead of his son's body. Batman whipped the weapon away from the woman, using the butt of the gun to render her quickly unconscious. 

Bruce knelt down next to Jason. 

"Get Tim," Robin ground out. "Save him."

Engines were revving outside the building, vehicles peeling off in different directions. He could have maybe bolted back out that door and located the exactly car or truck that Tim had been loaded into. Maybe chased it down in time. But Bruce would be forced to leave his son behind, bleeding out alone. There was no way of knowing if any of the thugs would wake up while he was gone either. 

From what Batman gathered when he first showed up on the scene, Joker had been trying to kill the kid. The trafficker had carried him away, not outright murdered him. That meant something. It had to. Tim was certainly still in danger, but he would still be alive, at least long enough for Bruce to find him again. 

He couldn't say the same thing for his son. 

Batman checked the bandaging and tourniquet and would have been impressed if he wasn't so busy being worried. 

"Get off!" Jason pushed at Batman's chest. "Go! Save Tim!"

"He has time," Bruce barked, "you don't."

"I don't care!" Robin made to get up, too easily stopped with only one of Batman's hands. "Tim! Not me! Not -"

Jason swayed, cheeks suddenly a few shades whiter than their already ghostly pallor. He looked like he was ready to make another argument, but Robin's eyes fogged over and then his head was drooping, the rest of his body not far behind. Bruce kept his son steady, lowering Jason gently onto his back. By the time Robin's head was place carefully on the stage floor, his eyes were closed. 

"Robin!" Batman cupped Jason's face. "Robin!"

 

---

 

The trunk of the car was hot and cramped, Tim's already sore and bleeding body having to contort to move at all. His fingers flailed in the darkness as he blindly searched for the emergency latch, not surprised when he couldn't find it. 

"What the hell are we going to do?"

Tim snapped his head to the side. He hadn't even seen anyone else climb inside the vehicle when Hairy had been tossing him in the trunk. 

"We're going to finish the job."

Tim had to scoot over and press his good ear against the very back of the trunk to make out what was being said. 

"The job?" The other man sounded terrified. "Our boss is dead! Most our guys are back at the train yard. Almost a fourth of our merchandise went missing in the chaos!"

Tim was happy to hear that some of the victims had gotten away, but so many were still in danger - including him. 

"I'm the boss now!" And yeah, Tim recognized that angry voice. "We have plans in place for situations like this for a reason. We have enough pull to get our people out of jail. We'll hunt down whoever managed to escape. This is Gotham. They've got nowhere to go. We find them and we sell off the rest of our product, at a generous discounted rate, and then we blow. Or else we will have nowhere to go."

"But how?"

"Half of our buyers tonight were online anyway. We sell the rest of our stock online too. Anything we can't unload in the next 24 hours, we dump."

Tim's eyes filled with hot tears of anger and fear. They were just going to "dump" whoever they couldn't sell to make a cleaner getaway. He hadn't thought he could hate these people any more than he already did. 

"And what about - him?"

"Oh, the kid?" Hairy chuckled, like this was all a big joke. "He's already been bought."

Tim swallowed, trembling. 

"By who?"

"One of our overseas clients. He sent us a number that I'm positive no one tonight would've beat about five minutes before the auction officially started. We were only parading the bird around on stage to play fair and give the audience what they came for. We drop off the kid with this guy's representative and take the money before he can get the story of what happened tonight, and who the pipsqeak is, or well, isn't."

"And you're sure he doesn't already know?"

"He confirmed the address two minutes ago. He has someone already in the city that will escort Robin to the airport."

"But what if he finds out?"

"That's why it's our first stop, genius," Hairy swore loudly at the man. "Ditching the kid is the first priority. It gets us the money, and gets us gone, away from our client and from Batman. If the client backs out, we just sell the kid like any of our other products. He's young. He'll still make us at least something."

Tim tasted bile. 

He had been so close to escaping. The brush with salvation would just make it all worse. Knowing he could have been free, been safe, had Hairy not gotten his hands on him at that exact moment. He had been focused on Jason's injury, but still had been keeping tabs on the fighting around them out of the corner of his eye. There had only been a few goons with guns left. Just another minute or two and Batman would have been at their side. A few seconds sooner, and Tim would have been busy cuffing the Joker, farther from the edge of the stage, and would have noticed Hairy's approach.

Tim tried to count the turns, measure the distances between changes in direction, but it seemed nonsensical. Twice, the car went in a complete circle around a couple of blocks. If they were trying to throw Batman off their trail, they were going to have to do a lot better than that. If the vigilante was indeed following them. Tim almost didn't want to dare to hope again. 

Tim tried to kick out against the taillights, attempting to dislodge them and create a hole to see through or flag down help. He only got two good hits in with his feet before the top half of the backseat that separated the trunk from the rest of the vehicle was wrenched down and a gun was shoved toward his face. 

Tim had stared down the barrel of a gun enough tonight for a lifetime, thank you very much.

When the car finally came to a stop, the seat was pulled down again and Hairy waved his weapon on the other side of the opening. 

"Time to go, Timmy. You scream or try to run, and I put another hole in your side. This one from a bullet."

Tim was tempted to argue that he was worth more alive than dead, duh, so he wasn't scared of his threat, but he was actually pretty petrified. Not to mention that the guy's business had just taken a pretty big hit and now was probably not the best time to test his patience or plans. Usually, in the detective novels and comics, and the real criminal cases Tim had studied, when the bad guys were on the ropes or faced a setback or something, that was when they were vulnerable. They would usually slip up, make a mistake. However, it was also when they were the most unstable, unpredictable. A man on the edge might push you off, even if it means going down together. 

Once the trunk was opened, Tim climbed out carefully, holding his still sluggishly bleeding wound. 

Gun to his back, the men lead Tim toward a back entrance of a tall building. He tried to survey his surroundings as subtly as possible, but it only took a casual glance to place himself on his mental Gotham map. 

The Diamond District certainly stood out, compared to Gotham's other neighborhoods. Tim could even see the tip of Wayne Tower in the distance. He imagined himself breaking free from his captors and running full tilt to the tower. He wouldn't be let inside, but at least the place would have good, non-corrupt, security staff. He had already shed most of his costume back at the train yard. He would only need to shuck off his mask and belt and maybe muddy up his boots. He would just look like some unlucky child who got jumped. Not a lot of folks in the Diamond District would care about some street kid, heck most would probably avoid him, but Tim was pretty positive Batman wouldn't let people like that be employed at his company. He could always attempt to break in, too. Security would take that seriously. Maybe Bruce himself would be contacted. That would certainly solve the issue of the vigilante finding him again. 

In the end, the gun kept Tim in line and he didn't dart off on any daring escape plan. Instead, the boy was escorted inside what looked like a lavish hotel. There were a lot of those around here, stacked up against each other. If Tim had gotten his bearings right while outside, he guessed that this was Hotel Belle Monico. The top floor penthouses were home to a couple Brazilian millionaires. They weren't involved in anything nefarious themselves, but that didn't mean the hotel itself kept its nose clean. Cash was passed off to a man in a uniform and the stranger lead them down a long hallway and then into an elevator accessed by a keycard. Somehow, that elevator ride felt slower and smaller than being stuck in that trunk. Someone was waiting for him at the other end of this little ride. Someone "overseas". Sure, it kept Tim alive longer. If the mysterious client wanted him killed, he would have to wait for Tim to get there to do it himself. Paying for someone across the globe, though, lead Tim to consider that this client wanted "Robin" alive. The possible consequences of that were numerous and mind-numbing. Not to mention the fact that he was going to be dragged onto a plane, away from Gotham, away from Batman. Would the vigilante track him down across the ocean? Even if Batman tried, it would be nearly impossible. Tim had to think. His plan to run to Wayne Tower was a bust, sure, but he had to come up with something. 

In a kidnapping, the best time to escape was during transportation. 

He had remembered that same thing, back in little temporary cell. It was common knowledge. It was also common knowledge that you didn't allow yourself to be taken to a secondary location. Tim had been taken to a secondary. And now a third. And he hadn't managed to escape during the transportation step either time. How many more chances was he going to be granted? 

There would be the drive to the airport. The airport itself. Then the trip to his final destination. And Tim knew deep down, the word "final" was more than likely correct. Even if this client kept him alive, for whatever nefarious purposes, Tim wouldn't be allowed to leave. And how long until the guy realized he didn't have the real Robin in his possession? Maybe Tim wouldn't even make it over the ocean. 

The airport was Tim's best bet. It was coming up on the early morning hours of the business day. And it was still Halloween. People would be on edge, as they always were in Gotham during the holidays. 

Halloween. 

Tim had almost forgotten. It felt bizarre. It had been what had gotten him in this whole mess in the first place. That silly photo shoot on the rooftop felt like ages ago now.

Tim shook his head. He had to keep thinking.

It would be easiest to slip away at the airport. His captors couldn't very well put him on a plane in chains. All he had to do was just wait for his moment, and then disappear into the crowd. He had spent the better part of his childhood slinking around rooftops and crime scenes and gawkers watching Batman do battle with some supervillain flavor of the week. A packed airport would be perfect. The International Airport was on the west side of the river, away from the city. There were far less familiar places to hide or seek refuge in around there, but he could try to beg a couple quarters off of a passenger to make a quick call to Jim Gordon. Or sneak on an entirely different flight if total escape from the building wasn't possible. If he did get out, it was just a short distance to Mooney Bridge and then Tim would be in Bristol County. It would be a long walk, but he could make it to Wayne Manor. Or break in somewhere to use a phone. Or lift a wallet to get enough cash to catch a bus. Stealing wasn't great, but survival sort of outweighed that moral dilemma. He also figured r that Batman - Bruce Wayne - might reimburse in those types of situations. 

Yeah, Tim had plenty of options. There was a Plan A all the way through to a Plan G. By the time they reached the airport, he was certain he would have the whole alphabet. 

They elevator dinged and the metal doors swung open, Tim flashing back to that metal door on his cell. 

He was marched down to the end of a long, wide hallway. The uniformed man handed Hairy his own keycard and then a second one, nodding at the next door over, before disappearing back down the way they had come. As Hairy slid the card through the slot, Tim closed his eyes and took a breath, readying himself for whatever, whoever, awaited him on the other side of the door. 

Notes:

Who doesn't love a boring dialogue exposition dump via eavesdropping from the trunk of a car? Sorry guys.

Chapter 16

Notes:

This chapter is chaos. Just...chaos. You've been warned.

He was marched down to the end of a long, wide hallway. The uniformed man handed Hairy his own keycard and then a second one, nodding at the next door over, before disappearing back down the way they had come. As Hairy slid the card through the slot, Tim closed his eyes and took a breath, readying himself for whatever, whoever, awaited him on the other side of the door. 

A short woman with a stern face and the tightest ponytail Tim had ever seen stood inside, greeting them with a simple, single nod. Tim recognized her from the train yard. Despite a small scrape above her eyebrow, she seemed to have escaped unscathed, probably long before Batman had come knocking. 

"It's ready," she said, gesturing toward an open door. 

Hairy bent forward, jamming a key in the collar around Tim's neck and pulling the metal and chains off. Tim sucked in a greedy breath, swallowing hard. The skin was sore, but the relief was enough to make tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He reached up to pat his neck gently, half expecting the collar to somehow still be there. 

"Watch them, Luca," Hairy turned to the other man, "I got to make some calls and try to get this all sorted." 

The woman looked at Tim, and then the door, an obvious command in her eyes. When the kid didn't move, the man - Luca - shoved him between the shoulder blades with his gun. Tim stumbled forward, nearly falling against a marble sink. The girl glided into the bathroom beside him, folding her arms in front of her. 

"Strip."

Tim blinked at her, gaping wide-eyed. 

"Now."

Luca lifted his gun, waving it at Tim from the threshold with a sneer. 

Tim held his breath the whole time as he peeled off his sweaty and blood stained clothing, fearing he wouldn't be able to hold back the tears if he didn't. The shirt stuck to his side, dried blood plastering it to his skin. When Tim struggled, the woman reached forward and tugged, ripping the fabric, and dried blood, free. Tim made a sick sound in the back of his throat, but he refused to open his mouth. Dropping the shirt on the floor, Tim removed the homemade domino mask, setting it far more gently on the counter. With each item of clothing, he was feeling less like Robin, and more like Tim. Being "Robin" had helped him keep it together so far. Even Jason had called him Robin and it had helped Tim snap out of the spiral he had been falling down. Robin could survive all of this. Robin could do anything. But when he was just Tim? Tim was a child. Tim wanted to cry and crawl into a ball and just go home. Shucking off his boots and socks, Tim trembled as his bare feet hit the cold tile. The pants came next and he had to close his eyes as he rolled them down. 

Tim stood there, in a random hotel bathroom, with two strangers watching him, shivering in his underwear. 

There was no way he was going to remove those voluntarily. This next part was going to get painful if they forced him. But, to Tim's surprise, the woman didn't reprimand him or make him continue. 

"Sit."

She pointed at the bathtub's edge and Tim obeyed, finally allowing himself to breathe. 

It was only then that Tim noticed the assortment of soaps and ointments and first aid equipment all lined up along the countertop. The tub was already filled with steaming water. 

A knock on the hotel room door had Tim jumping. A moment later, a woman in maid's outfit entered the bathroom, retrieving Tim's discarded clothing and then leaving without so much as a single word. 

Tim opened his mouth to question it, but a soapy hot washcloth was suddenly stroking his skin. Tim flinched and made to pull away on instinct alone, but the woman had a firm grip on his arm. She worked meticulously, scrubbing away all signs of dirt or grime or blood from every inch of his body, trading out towels when one became too soiled. It was the first time Tim had gotten a good look at his body since the alley. There was a smattering of bruises, some from that first fight, a few he recognized from Hairy's hands. She scooped the blood out of his ear and Tim almost passed out in her arms from the pain. She was careful around his wounds, but not caring. Tim didn't know if that made sense. Once the area on his side was clean, she disinfected it, making Tim wince from the sting, and then started sewing the skin up right there. No painkillers. No numbing. Just a sharp needle penetrating his flesh over and over until Tim was bent over, hurling into a wastebasket. It was eerie. Tim had barely felt it coming, and yet the woman had reached over and grabbed the bucket before he had started to hurl. How many times had she done something like this? To how many people? Kids? 

And how many of those other "products" from tonight were having the very same thing happen to them right then somewhere else in the city? 

The stitching done, she bandaged the area neatly. 

The woman moved onto his wrists and neck then, applying some sort of gel ointment that started cool and then warmed against the raw skin. 

Once satisfied, she forced his head back, turning on the shower head and washing his hair with coconut scented shampoo. He felt like he was a toddler again, being bathed by his nanny or mother, though this woman didn't kindly shield his eyes from the streams of shampoo and hot water. 

She toweled down his hair and skin in an efficient, firm, manor. It had been a very long time since someone had combed his hair and when she started doing so, Tim was struck at how sick it made him that the contact felt oddly, nice. He wouldn't admit that her fingers against his scalp had had a similar effect. He hated it, he did. But there was some traitorous, touch-starved part of his brain that rebelled. 

Clipping and cleaning out his fingernails next seemed a little extreme. 

He just wanted all of this to stop. 

It was a little creepy when she put product in his hair and dried it, styling it just like Robin always kept his. Which, ironically, was pretty much how Tim styled his own. Not that he was copying his hero. Nope. 

She was applying some sort of lotion to his skin when Hairy walked into the bathroom and bent over in front of him. 

"Alright, listen kid," he started, sighing, "who are you?"

Tim squinted. 

"Huh?"

Hairy slammed his hands down on the tub's edge on either side of Tim.

"You're Robin," he snarled, "got it? You say anything different, and you're dead. Either I'll kill you myself, or our client will. He doesn't want Tim Drake," he spat the name like it was dirty, "he wants Robin. If he finds out you're not the sidekick, he'll kill you."

"Yeah?" Tim tried to make his voice stop shivering. "And what will he do to you?"

Hairy raised his fist, swinging it toward Tim's face. It stopped midway, wrist caught in the woman's grip. 

"I don't have time to cover up anything else."

Hairy pulled his arm away, standing. 

"Touch me like that again, and I'll give you a bruise to cover up."

The woman didn't seem bothered. 

"Why the hell did you pretend to be Robin, asshole?" Hairy stuck a finger in Tim's face. "Who lies about that, you little freak?"

"I never said I was Robin," Tim swallowed. 

"Then why the fuck -"

"Happy Halloween," Tim huffed, "idiot."

"You," Hairy wiped a hand over his face, fist clenching, "you little shit. You dressed up - like him - and then you tried to stop a crime? Who are you calling an idiot?"

And yeah, okay, that definitely stung. 

"Whatever," Hairy lowered himself again, "who are you?"

Tim frowned. Hairy reached over and gripped Tim's chin, just as the Joker had. He felt the panic pulse through him. 

"Who. Are. You?"

Tim steadied his breathing, glaring at the man in front of him as he spoke. 

"Robin." 

"Good boy."

Hairy let go and patted Tim's cheek as he smiled. The man left the bathroom and the woman began cleaning and packing up her supplies. The three of them remained in the room, silent save for Hairy's countless phone calls. Every time it sounded like he got bad news, Tim grinned. The maid returned, Tim's clothes now clean, the blood even gone from his shirt. She also carried in with her another folded outfit, this one brand new. 

Right, he couldn't exactly go catch a flight in a vigilante's costume, even just the bits that he had left after using his cape and tunic to help Jason. 

Jason. 

He prayed the real Robin was okay. 

The jeans were a little too tight but Tim would take that over too loose and risk them falling during his big escape. The shirt was a simple black cotton tee. He was given a bright red zip-up sweatshirt and black baseball cap. The pop of color the better to find him if he tried to run. The hat the better to hide him from other eyes. Tim Drake was officially missing, after all. He slipped on his old socks and the shiny new sneakers as there was another knock. 

"Hot off the presses," a gruff guy with scruffy sandalwood hair handed over a passport to Hairy. 

"We good for everyone else being shipped out today?"

"Kid's the only one we didn't already have one whipped up for," he answered. "Police will get a report in about twenty minutes of someone trying to fly out of Bludhaven with a fake passport for Timothy Drake. I'm heading to rendezvous C to help with the big escort."

"Good," Hairy nodded, "thanks."

There were more phone calls and more drop offs, Hairy's mood swinging like a pendulum with each bit of news.  

"He's here."

Hairy looked up from his phone and over at Tim, currently sitting on the edge of the bed while Luca loomed nearby. The woman had disappeared awhile ago. Hairy stalked over to the boy, bending down to meet the kid's eyes.

"Who are you?"

Tim turned his head away.

"Robin."

A hand clamped down on his shoulder and Hairy shoved Tim off the bed and toward the door. He shoved his hands in the sweatshirt pockets to hide their shaking. The group gathered in the hallway as Hairy knocked on the next door over, sliding the second keycard he had been given. 

Inside, the overhead lights were all off, a few small lamps casting shadows into each far corner of the large room. It looked exactly the same as the theirs had been, save for the darkness.

And the tall man standing against the wall. 

"Hello," Hairy greeted awkwardly, stepping farther into the room and dragging Tim with him. "You must be our client's associate."

"I am."

The voice was deep, clipped with a hint of an accent. 

"Thank you for coming," Hairy pressed on when the stranger didn't continue speaking. "We have Robin right here. He has been changed and processed, and all of the necessary paperwork is right here."

Hairy lifted a file of documents and Tim's new passport - they had used his school photo, Tim had noticed when it had first been handed over. The stranger didn't move to retrieve them and Hairy was left to just set them down on a nearby table. 

"My - master - requires proof of his status as the true Robin."

"There are videos, and pictures," Hairy nodded, "and this."

Hairy tossed Tim's homemade domino mask toward the shadowed man, the stranger stepped forward a bit into the light to catch it. He was oddly robed with what looked like thick and expensive fabric that held strange markings. The hood of the robe hung low over his face, obscuring the top half. He held a phone up to his ear with one hand and caught the mask in the other. 

When he opened his mouth next to speak, it was in Arabic, not English. 

"These men are lucky I am not the man that they think I am. This mask would not fool one of them." His head turned and although Tim still couldn't see his full face, he was sure the stranger was staring right at him. "It is very well made, though. Impressive."

Tim almost squeaked aloud before his brain caught up with him. 

"Hal tafhamunaa؟" Do you understand me? 

The man spoke into his phone, but Tim still nodded anyway, praying and hoping that this wasn't a trick. 

"Ladaya risalat min ajilika." I have a message for you. 

"'Asfar." Yellow. 

"Byny." Penny 

"Musiqaa," Tim whispered. Music. 

"Is everything okay?" Hairy asked, a little impatiently. 

"The funds have been transferred," the man nodded, speaking English again and pocketing his phone, face coming just barely into the light. "I also have something for both of you, from my master. As a - token - of your business partnership together."

Hairy and Luca exchanged glances before they stepped past Tim and closer to the shadowed figure. 

"Ainzil!" Get down! 

Tim didn't hesitate. Even in Arabic, he knew that voice. That commanding tone. He also knew that face, even if he only was able to see the lower half of it. It was the part of the man's face Tim had seen the most - the rest always hidden behind that cowl. He couldn't have been sure, though. Hope was blinding and painful. But those words. Those three tiny words from all those years ago that had stuck with him ever since. Bruce had asked him to remember them. And Tim had. For so long. When Tim had panic attacks in the school bathroom or under his bed, Tim had repeated the words like a prayer. When his parents fought so loud he had to press his headphones so tight to his head that they hurt, Tim would whisper them to himself. Bruce had been there. Had cared for him. Consoled him. And if he closed his eyes and imagined hard enough, he could pretend he was there with him again all those times. 

Bruce was there now, though. 

From somewhere under the robe, the man pulled out two round blinking circles. He tossed them forward and they stuck themselves to each of the trafficker's guns like magnets. The blinking turned red and a shock swept over the weapons. Hairy and Luca both yelped and dropped their guns as they sparked and sizzled. The man's robe was yanked back, revealing the Batman cowl and suit underneath. Before the robe had hit the floor, Batman sprung forward, pouncing on the men, one hand on each of their throats as he pushed them backward to the ground. Batman's elbow made quick work of Luca's consciousness, cracking against the goon's temple. Hairy was next. 

As Batman reared his fist back, something - no - someone - crashed through the closet door. 

The new player barreled into Batman, tackling him off of Hairy as they rolled together across the room. The party crasher was wearing an all-black ensemble that Tim thought would look better on the set of a ninja movie.

"You will die for impersonating a follower of The Demon!" The ninja shrieked as he was kicked up and off of the vigilante. 

"Get in line," Batman flipped up onto his feet. 

Tim was reeling. Sure, there was still the absolute terror and the overwhelming relief, but he was about to watch Batman fight a real, actual, ninja. 

Unless Hairy had anything to say about it. 

The trafficker watched the two spar for a moment before apparently making a decision and turning to leave whatever this mess was. 

And taking Tim with him. 

Hairy didn't stop running as he reached out, hand gripping Tim's arm and yanking the boy along behind him. The force had Tim tripping as he tried to keep from toppling over. The pair burst out the door and into the hallway as Tim screamed and struggled against the hold. With a grunt and a curse, Hairy flung Tim against the opposite wall, his back and head cracking a mirror. He was still wincing when Hairy pulled the knife from his belt. 

"You've cost me too much," Hairy stepped forward, a new madness coloring his eyes. "I don't care how much I could still get from a little boy like you. Sure, the money would've been nice, but I really wanted Robin to get to Batman. Killing you when he came all this way to save you, and when the real Robin is probably somewhere bleeding out right now from what Joker did to him, well, that'll work for me. Plus," he twisted the knife in the air, "you've been a fucking pain and I'll enjoy it."

Hairy lunged.

Tim ducked and summersaulted, springing up and not wasting any time before sprinting down the hall. Hairy whirled and then followed, hot on his heels. A cleaning cart was sitting outside a room and Tim vaulted it, kicking back with his feet to send it flying into his pursuer before landing. He reached the elevator, sliding and catching himself on the wall, fist pounding on the button until he saw the little black slot. The one for the keycard. He could maybe yank it off, mess with the wiring or hack it, if he had the time. Unfortunately - he dove out of the way, knife plunging into the wallpaper instead of the back of his head - he didn't have the time. Hairy made to tackle Tim, catching the kid's shoulder with the blade. Tim shrieked, reeling back as his elbow cracked against Hairy's nose. It was Hairy's turn to scream, howling as he mercilessly yanked the knife from Tim's flesh and cupped both hands over his squirting nostrils. Tim saw white as the blade broke free, crying out and kicking, until he was up off the ground. Hairy was blinded by the blood and pain for only a moment before he took off after Tim again, promises of threats on his bloody lips. Tim barreled through a nearby door, almost tripping down the first step. He hurried down the stairs, taking two at a time before even that wasn't good enough. As the stairwell door slammed open again, Tim leapt up onto the railing, sliding the rest of the way down. He stumbled off of the makeshift slide, crashing into the door to the next floor.

Another keypad.

He made for the staircase, taking the railing shortcut again and leaping over the final few steps. The door to the next floor opened, a tall man in running shorts and a knee brace walking out wearing wireless headphones and humming along. He yelped at Tim, who in turn dove between the stranger's legs.

"Out of my way!"

Tim listened as Hairy pushed the man to the side, sighing in relief. He had hoped his attacker's anger toward himself would keep him too focused to try to target the other man. Even though he had been stupid enough to apparently want to workout on the steps of a secluded stairwell in Gotham, despite the place probably having a fancy gym with one of those StairMaster machines. Still. No one else needed to get hurt because of Tim. Not like Jason. 

The stranger's room must have been the one closest to the stairwell exit, the door still slowly swinging closed. Tim thanked the hotel owners for the ridiculous luxury - and heavy - taste in craftsmanship as he slipped inside, shoving the door fully closed. He reached for a chain lock or deadbolt, finding none. The whole locking system was all electronic, tied to those stupid keycards. He assumed they weren't universal, so Hairy's wouldn't get him in there. But the stranger's on the steps could. Tim quickly inspected the bathroom doorknob. Just a simple knob lock. Easily jimmied or picked. There was a yoga mat on the floor and a three-piece suit hung up on the closet door. All of the man's other possessions were neatly put away and there was no time to searching for a weapon. 

"Where is it?"

Tim whirled back toward the door, Hairy's mad muffled voice out in the hall. 

There was a jingle and shuffle of fabric. He wasn't shaking down the stranger. He was searching his own pockets. Apparently that employee had given the traffickers an all-access pass. Great. 

Tim glanced around. All he had was a pencil on the desk, furniture and lamps that were all probably bolted down because this was Gotham, a television remote - and a window. They were up so high up, so many floors. But no other options. 

Ripping the balcony door open, Tim stepped onto the landing. The morning sun was bright and he squinted down at the traffic below. The door to the room burst open and Tim whirled around as Hairy's silhouette appeared, the knife raised and ready. Sucking in a breath, Tim used his uninjured arm to hoist himself up and over the balcony.

His toes teetered on the tiny ledge, barely able to fit half of his foot. His hands flailed for purchase against the smooth stone, slick with sweat. His fingers found a thin groove and Tim shuffled along toward the next balcony, slipping and nearly plummeting to his death only about half a dozen times. All while Hairy screamed and waved his knife uselessly, too far away to reach him, and apparently too afraid to follow.

Tim could do this. He had scaled the sides of buildings and ran across rooftops just to snap a photograph. He could surely do the same when fighting for his very life. 

Tim had counted five doors between the elevator and that first room he had been taken to, and the room Batman was possibly still in was just the next one over. Six rooms. Six balconies. Sure thing. No problem. Six over. Two up. 

Five over. Two up.

Four over. Two up. 

He was getting closer, but his limbs were growing weaker. He tried every door at each landing, all locked. The glass, all too thick to break - even when he had hurled a metal patio chair at one of them. The wind whipped that high up, battering his already sore and bleeding body. He refused to look down again after that first glance. He also refused to go through all of this just to end up a pancake on the street. 

Jason had gotten hurt for him. Possibly worse. That wasn't going to be in vain. Besides, Robin had had a knife sticking out of his thigh and still fought Joker. Still tried to get up and grab him when Hairy snatched him up off the stage. Robin was strong and Tim needed to be too. 

Tim's foot faltered, his small frame falling as he bucked and hugged the wall harder. 

What was he thinking? He couldn't do this. He was just a kid and this wall too much. Batman was fighting a real life ninja while an international human trafficker was hunting him down after a killer clown had tried to murder him for fun. And he was hanging off of a high-rise. He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. He was going to fall. Or get caught. Get stabbed. Die -

"Robin."

Jason's voice echoed against the wind in Tim's ears. 

"Tim."

Tim pressed his forehead against the cold stone. Closing his eyes, he willed his lungs to obey him, slowing his breaths from fractured gasps to controlled, deep, inhales, and then smooth, focused exhales.

"Asfar. Byny. Musiqaa." Tim whispered. 

He took another step.

"Yellow."

A second.

"Penny."

He reached the third balcony.

"Music."

Tim climbed over the railing again, continuing on to the next. He repeated the words as he worked, murmuring them like a prayer until finally, finally, Tim's feet landed on the last balcony. Craning his neck all the way back, Tim looked up at the row of windows and balconies. 

"Batman!"

He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted again to no answer. Maybe the fight was still raging on. Or it had moved out into the hall. Or the vigilante had defeated his opponent and was out looking for Tim. He didn't even allow himself to consider the alternative. Because Batman didn't lose. Especially not to some nameless ninja, no matter how cool they had looked. Tim leaned over the edge of the railing and then peered back up. He could try to continue scaling the building, work his way down this time instead of across. But that was riskier. The gaps between ledges and footholds were far. He could try climbing up to the room to find Batman, and chance coming across the ninja or Hairy instead. He could also just stay there, hunker down and wait. Someone was bound to find him eventually, but would that someone be paid off like that other employee and just turn Tim over to the traffickers? They were all pretty awful options. 

Sighing, Tim eyed the balcony above him. It was a decent distance away with nothing to cling to in between. Tim glanced around, eyeing the small table and chairs - and the string of lights. They were too short to reach, but there were a few more strands dangling from the last balcony he had crossed. Groaning, Tim took to the wall again, doubling back. 

Several minutes, a few more near missteps, and an armful of party and Halloween lights later, Tim was back in position. He tied the strands together with a series of strong knots, testing each one before moving onto the next. His makeshift rope complete, Tim whirled the end in the air before letting it loose. The lights shot up, and then crashed back down, pooling around him. On the fourth attempt, Tim tossed the lasso so hard that he stumbled onto his backside, but it did the job. The string slung up into the air, and over the above balcony's railing. The other half of the lights hurled back down toward him and Tim had to dive to the side. He was laughing, actual full bodied belly laughter, as he got off the ground, bending over and running trembling hands through his hair. Now came the difficult part. 

Tim tied the other end of the lights off around the lower railing, wrapping them around several times. The structure was sturdy metal and stone and would hold. The lights, however, Tim had far less confidence in. Shoving the table and chairs up against the door, he took the cushions and pillows, spreading them over the ground. They wouldn't do much if he fell from far enough up, but the sentiment helped his courage, a little.

Tim tied the other end of the string around his waist, gave an experimental tug, and then began to climb. 

Propping his feet up against the wall, Tim hoisted himself up bit by bit, step by step, as he walked sideways up the skyscraper. The lights scraped at his hands and the string burned, but he didn't stop. A noise drew his attention upward, just in time to see the gun glint over the edge of the next balcony. Luca's head appeared next, right as the shot rang out. Tim kicked out, swinging far right and narrowly missing a bullet to the top of the brain. Somehow, the trafficker had not only regained consciousness, but got into the room below. Tim really hated those stupid keycards.

A second head popped out, peering down at him. He looked vaguely familiar and Tim thought he was posted at his cell at one point, yelling at him about trying to break free of the chains. How many more of these guys were at the hotel?

Luca fired again, Tim barely bouncing off the wall in time.

"Help!" Tim cried out. "Please! Batman!"

A bang sounded from higher above and suddenly Batman leaned over the edge of the railing. He glanced at Tim and then at the balcony - and the goons - below. The small explosive Batman dropped down landed between their feet and Tim listened as they screamed, running inside to escape the gas now emitting from the little bomb. No one was shooting at Tim anymore, and hey, that was a big plus, but all the swinging had pulled the strings too much. Tim could feel them slipping, ripping. 

"Batman!" 

He screamed again, staring up in terror as the cord tore and frayed 

Batman reached over the ledge, grappling gun in hand, just as two sets of arms wrapped around his neck and chest. The single ninja now had a friend. How were all of these bad guys just coming out of the woodwork? 

The grappling gun came loose from the vigilante's grip as he was yanked backward. Tim looked up, watching it tumble in slow motion. He could try to kick off one last time, aim for the balcony below, but it was so far now. There was no time to second guess. The string snapped and Tim pushed himself away from the balcony, and toward the plummeting gun. 

His limbs flailed and pinwheeled as Tim free fell one, two, three, more stories down, down, down. With a cry, he reached out, fingertips brushing the edge of the grappling gun. He was going to miss it. One serving of Pancake Tim, order up. 

Tim flapped his arm, fingers tapping the gun, causing the gadget to bounce. It rolled in the air, back toward him, landing in his palm. Tim wrapped his fist around the grappling gun tight enough to hurt, lifted his arm, and fired. He brought his other arm over, gripping the gun in both hands as the hook sunk into the stone. The sudden stop in momentum had Tim crashing against the wall. The pain exploded in his arm and side as they made contact but he was too busy whooping and sobbing to care.

Tim hung there for a long few seconds, remembering how to breathe.

He couldn't stay there, though. His grip would give out eventually. And more traffickers - or you know, ninjas, because why not - could come. Tim was pretty positive one of Batman's lines would hold up better than a few strands of lights if he was shot at again, but he couldn't guarantee he would keep being fast enough to dodge the bullets. Tim was getting real tired of these impossible choices. Once again, up or down. He remembered the button to retract the cable, pull himself up. His body still ached at the memory of that fall. Or just ached from, you know, the stabbing and falling and everything else that had somehow happened to Tim Drake in less than 24 hours. Up meant Batman, but it also meant multiplying ninjas and Luca and Goon #2. It meant maybe not being able to get in from the balcony at all if the door was locked. Down was, well, down. So very far down. But down was the street and level footing and no more falling and people and cars and escape. Escape sounded nice. So did sleep. 

Bracing his body, Tim switched the button in the opposite direction, hoping he guessed correctly. Thankfully, the cable began to extend, lowering the boy further below at a brisk, but not fatal, pace. The line wasn't long enough to reach the pavement, and when Tim dropped down those last remaining few feet, he felt his legs go a little wobbly. His vision blurred and he tried to take a step, but his legs wouldn't stop shaking. He wanted to collapse to his knees and kiss the solid ground but he feared if he went down, he wouldn't be able to get himself back up. 

He stared at his red hands, raw and chafed - and were there four of them? 

Something solid crashed into his side and he felt a sudden sharp and searing sensation somewhere in his stomach. 

A woman screamed across the street, a man shouting to get inside. Tim wanted to go inside. To go anywhere away from this pain and the weight on top of him. 

"I told you that you'd die if you didn't listen to me," a voice grunted, too close. 

Tim reared back, bucking underneath the weight. With a cry, he brought his knees up, kicking out and releasing a puff of air as the heaviness left him. 

Tim tried to blink back against the painful, blurring world. A familiar figure rose up off of the ground a few feet away. It lifted long tendrils for arms with something shiny at the end of one, stretching them out toward Tim. He tried to back away, crawl, anything, but his body felt so heavy and that made no sense because he had kicked the weight off of him already. The figure howled, moving toward him closer and closer until - 

The sound of skidding tires cut through the haze, followed by a crunch. The figure flew up and outside of Tim's field of distorted vision. There were more noises. Something metallic slamming. Footsteps right there next to him. And then a voice. Familiar, but not frightening in its familiarity like the figure. Almost warm, deep and Tim thought he could sink right down into it. 

Tim squeezed his eyes shut and then tried opening them again. The world was still sort of twisted and foggy around the edges, but clearer. A face formed above him, dark and round and kind - and scared. Tim cocked his head, letting the memories slot properly into place. He coughed and reached up.

"Jerry?"

 

Notes:

Confused? There will be some explanation for all of our surprise guests...

Is a lot of the timing of this chapter oh so incredibly convenient? Well, yeah. But isn't that usually how these things play out in comics?

I am not fluent in Arabic. In one story, I used the written form in the dialogue, while in this one I used the phonetic spelling so you could get a sense for what the conversation sounded like. Which is preferred?

There were several comments that guessed the identity of the "overseas" client correctly and wondered if Tim was being taken to the League. Now I want to write a story where that does happen and Tim runs away from the League with little baby Damian to save him & bring him home to his father. If I DO write it, it won't be for awhile. I have a lot of stories in-progress currently (And they're almost all about Tim....smh). I also would need to read a lot more comic issues involving the League. If you have suggestions, I'd greatly appreciate them!

I added this note in a previous chapter after writing this one as I realized I never explained my reasoning for Tim's knowledge of foreign languages. Here is that same note: There are some inconsistencies as to which languages different characters can canonically speak. Russian and German are pretty consistent, with Spanish and French coming up too. I think it's mentioned that the Earth-27 Tim can speak over 20 languages. Obviously, that's later when he is older and a crime fighter. However, with the pressure to enter the world of business and take over Drake Industries, it would make sense for Tim to be pushed to learn Arabic and Mandarin in the modern world.

Chapter 17

While you all so patiently wait for the resolution to the last chapter's cliffhanger, here is some amazing artwork for chapter 1 by Maryke 

You can find it, and her, on Twitter HERE

 

 

Now, just don't think about that awesome handmade costume all bloody and dirty - and that sweet sweet smiling face full of pain and fear....

Chapter 18

Notes:

This....turned into something way more in depth than planned...

Jerry the Uber driver worked three jobs. 

It wasn't exactly something uncommon for the lower, or even lower middle class members of the city. 

During prime driving - and tipping - hours, he chauffeured whoever to wherever all over Gotham. Before Uber, he'd been a taxi driver for around a decade, but preferred being able to make his own hours now. Still, both jobs had afforded him to becoming uniquely and intimately familiar with the city streets. And a whole lot of gossip from the backseat. 

On weekends, he bounced for different fancy clubs in the Diamond District and lower Gotham Proper. If he disliked wealthy passengers, he loathed even more the elite guests who blanched if he didn't know their name and reputation just by looking at them. He bore witness to a lot of drama, and sometimes even dealings. He never let anything too nefarious slide, but surviving Gotham meant keeping your head down. Prior to his bouncing days, Jerry tended bar. He heard a lot of sob stories and gossip there too in his younger years. But, at least now he got paid better for breaking up fights. He still had the scar from a wooden chair he'd taken to the side of the head one night at that hole in the wall. Boss had barely blinked at him before muttering to get back to work.   

His third job was with a maintenance company. They had contracts with various businesses in the city and would get called out on occasion. If his other occupations kept him in contact with Gotham's upper crust, this one got him on a first name basis with the working class. He knew security personnel, cleaning crew, and a handful of receptionists. He'd been with a security firm for a bit before, but maintenance paid better, and came with less lethal risks. 

In a city like Gotham, it was impossible to know everyone. 

Jerry came close. 

At least, when it came to the lower working class. Those that struggled, really struggled, but never succumbed to selling drugs or joining one of the gangs or any number of Gotham's more lucrative, but illegal, methods of getting money, were made of the truly tough stuff. Not that Jerry faulted anyone for giving into that temptation. He had a brother-in-law in Blackgate for dealing, all because his insurance wouldn't cover his kid's cancer treatments. Jerry took care of the payments now. 

"You know, you're oddly very grumpy but very nice."

And yeah, the kid hadn't been exactly wrong. Jerry was guarded, sure. A little short-tempered, yeah. Brandished that thick skin like a shield, definitely. But, his core was soft and light and okay, yeah, nice. He got on with pretty much anyone he worked with - and if he didn't, it was usually for good reason and the other person was plainly made aware of it.

That's why it made it almost easy when he decided to do his own detective work.

After giving his statement to the police, Jerry had gone home. He tried to take his mind off of that boy and his smile and his apparent lack of self-preservation. 

"You should take the rest of the night off," Tim sighed, handing the man a thick stack of bills, "it's not safe."

The kid would know all about that, wouldn't he? He had been giving a lift to Robin. As in Batman and Robin. As in bright colors and quips and spending school nights dodging bad guys and bullets. 

"I can take care of myself." 

And, yeah, Jerry didn't doubt that. Robin had helped saved the whole city before. But accidents happened and everybody's luck in Gotham ran out sometime.

"I'll be fine." 

"Sure," Jerry had shrugged, "but I won't be unless I know that the scrawny little brat that I brought out here, is back home safe and tucked away in bed like a kid your age should be."

Jerry sighed, tossing down the magazine he had been trying to read. A poor distraction for his guilt and worry. He wasn't working tonight, or tomorrow. Maintenance wasn't called out on holidays except for emergencies, and he took off from his other jobs. 

He had been planning on taking his nephew out to the suburbs for some safe trick-or-treating, but Xavier's chemo was doing a number on the boy's body. He barely left his bedroom lately. Jerry's sister had been sleeping curled up next to her son on the small bed when he had gotten home that night. 

"Next year," he'd promised. 

No one mentioned Xavier might not have another Halloween. 

Jerry didn't care that clearing out a whole shelf of candy at the corner store had cost him an entire day's pay. He was going to borrow a couple scary movies from a coworker. The guy was dropping them off on the way home tonight. 

Jerry rubbed his forehead. Thinking of his nephew didn't exactly help him stop thinking about another little boy. 

Knuckles rapped against the door and Jerry rushed to get it before the noise could wake either of the other occupants. Xavier was always so sick or in pain that he couldn't sleep, leaving his mother up too. 

"Hey, Rico," Jerry greeted, stepping out into the hall of the apartment building. 

"Hey Jer," the man handed over a stack of DVDs, "these are all the ones the ex-wife always approved, so your sister should be cool with them too. A couple scary, and then a couple of those Halloween Disney movies that my daughters can't get enough of. You're lucky the discs still work."

"They won't miss them tomorrow?" Jerry chuckled. 

"Neighbor hooked us up with his streaming," Rico grinned, "now I get nonstop peace and quiet. It's a beautiful thing."

"Thank you." Jerry glanced through the titles, something itching at the back of his brain. "Did you hear about what happened to Robin?"

"Shit, yeah," Rico shook his head, "it's all over the news. Drake Industries' kid. Who da thunk, right?"

"Good kid, too," Jerry sighed, "I drove him today."

"Shit, really?" Rico whistled. 

"Hey," Jerry snapped his fingers, "you still have that second job over at the casino?"

"Fridays and Saturdays, yeah," Rico shrugged, "why?"

And that's how it started. 

Jerry wasn't a cop, but it didn't take a detective to figure out what criminals would do to Robin in Gotham. If the sidekick wasn't found hanging from a building or wrapped up on Batman's front steps soon, then it was obvious that he wasn't getting murdered - yet. There had been no ransom to Drake Industries and no villain taking over the airwaves to threaten the Dark Knight. 

Marcus from the cleaning crew where Jerry did maintenance had always been nice enough. Not overly friendly or annoying. Jerry didn't go for that. But a decent guy who Jerry had spotted a cigarette or two to during break back before Jerry kicked the habit. It took two phone calls for coworkers to find his number. Marcus was working nights now for the GCPD. Well, not exactly for them. But he mopped their floors and cleaned their windows. He also overheard a lot of juicy gossip and arrests. It took him about ten minutes to get the details on the kid's case back to Jerry. 

Eliza, the best bartender at one of the clubs Jerry bounced for, and the woman he had had the absolute pleasure of kicking scum to the curb for - worked part-time as a nurse at Gotham General. She was at the club tonight, but her cousin, Esperanza, was also a nurse and on shift. The brother and sister that had been saved in that alley weren't talking to anyone, apparently not even Batman. Esperanza and Eliza had grown up on and off the streets together. They understood. The kids weren't ungrateful. They were terrified. The sister had been hurt worse, and the brother practically pounced on anyone who came too close to her. Esperanza guessed that the girl had been the target of the attack. 

Fran, the receptionist for the old security firm Jerry had previously worked for, volunteered at local shelters in her free time ever since she had spent a good chunk of time in a women's shelter. She was great with kids and the two had stayed in contact as Fran sometimes helped watch Xavier. She remembered the siblings, once Jerry sent her over a picture - the one Esperanza had snapped. Apparently, the pair had a friend. One that was basically attached at the hip to the both of them. One that hadn't shown up to the shelter in a day or so. 

When Fran reached out to the other youth shelters in the area, a good chunk of homeless kids were seemingly MIA. 

Jerry didn't like the way this was starting to look.

Rico wasn't working the casino that night, but he stopped in anyway to "grab something he forgot". Within minutes, every staff member from dealers to dancers had their eyes and ears open. 

The other bouncers that worked with Jerry, along with a few bartenders, only required a quick text message. 

Yeah, surviving Gotham meant keeping your head down. But this was a little boy. This was Robin. 

Robin, who saved a group of homeless teenagers from a burning building all by himself and got people to safety while the Bat fought the big bads and helped the elderly across the street and carried groceries for a guy who had just been mugged and kept a closer eye on street kids than anyone else in the city cared to.

And it was Jerry asking.

Jerry, who had broken up fights and offered rides to and from work between Uber clients and babysat and spotted cigarettes and helped move furniture and scared off ex-boyfriends and always offered to grab another coffee on his way to the machine and - 

Jerry's phone buzzed. 

Andre, a college kid from the casino, had set up the group chat after Jerry spent a good hour relaying messages. Andre had called the group "Birdwatching". Jerry thought the bright boy in his backseat would've liked that. 

Andre : "Charity" Auction. Invite-only.

That had promise, Jerry considered grimly. 

Jerry: Location? 

Sammy: Nothing yet.

Sammy was a waitress at the casino. Jerry had gotten her girlfriend a job at a club. 

Sammy: High-rollers are jumpy.

Jerry:  Scared? 

Sammy: Excited.

And wasn't that entirely disturbing. Not every high roller who hung out at those clubs was dirty, but most people in Gotham didn't get that kind of money and keep their hands clean. 

Andre:  Guys, shouldn't we be using code names or something? 

The plan came half from Jerry through the group chat, and half on the fly from his friends. 

The LexCorp big wig yucking it up in the club's VIP room was the safest target. It wasn't exactly smart to get in the way of one the local crime family heads. Also, Lex Luthor openly disliked Superman - and Batman. If there was a chance for someone to get their grubby hands on a sidekick, Luthor wouldn't pass up the opportunity, despite the man's proclamations and promises. Not everyone bought the guy's own press. Especially people in a city like Gotham where they were used to everyone in power being two-faced or just plain villainous. 

According to the girl assigned to his section, he was visiting town on short notice and had only gotten to the club less than an hour ago to meet with someone. He had been happy to gush to the girl about his work. And even happier to invite her back to his hotel. After he finished some work he needed to head out for soon, that was. 

Just arrived and leaving already? Suspicious.

Overly flirtatious? Easy. 

As he went to leave, Eliza tagged the waitress out, "bumping" into the man near the door. She held his attention for awhile, until he insisted that he needed to leave before he was late. Late to something in the middle of the night?

That was fine. 

Kenny, the valet, was already on it. The rental car just would not start. Would you believe it? Marcus got off the bus right on the dot, donning his cleaning uniform shirt. It wouldn't matter. The man wouldn't look at him that close. People like him didn't really look at people like them. He claimed to be a mechanic on his way home from the bar and "fixed" the stranger's missing spark plugs that Kenny had removed. 

Rico and Sammy's girlfriend, Alyssa, showed up right on cue. The club Alyssa worked at was right down the road and Rico had picked her up on the way from the casino. Their argument outside of club, and right in the middle of the exit to the street, was Oscar-worthy. The LexCorp employee's driver could only honk until he finally got out and threatened to call the cops or run them over. 

By then, a familiar sedan with an Uber sticker on the windshield had pulled up alongside the road and the lover's quarrel ended as briskly as it had begun. 

Jerry followed the LexCorp vehicle all the way to the train yard. 

He parked a good distance away, waiting for any signs of confirmation to send up a signal to the actual police. Jerry was a good man, but he wasn't Batman. 

Pulling his cell from his pocket, the group chat flashed on the screen before the gunshot rang out. 

Everything was silent for a few minutes. 

Until it very much wasn't. 

Gunshots and screams echoed through the yard. The mass exodus that followed was chaos. Vehicles sped off in every direction. There was no way of knowing which to follow. 

Jerry gripped his steering wheel, ducking down but all the while trying to search the fleeing crowd for a familiar yellow, red, and green. Something else, though, caught his eye. There, on the edge of the train yard, a group of young girls huddled together. Across from them, a man held up a pistol. 

Two could play that game. 

Jerry slammed on the gas, sticking his arm - and his Glock - out the window. 

When he reached the man, the car stopped only inches from his body. The thought of just running him over was almost too tempting.

Almost. 

"Drop the gun and back up, or I will make you my new hood ornament!"

"Who the fuck are you?" The man waved his pistol between the group of girls and Jerry's headlights. 

"The guy with a gun and a car both aimed at you!" Jerry shouted. 

The man seemed to consider it for a long moment and Jerry let up off the brakes, just a little. The stranger stumbled backward, tossing his gun and scrambling away. Jerry watched him go, ensuring he wasn't coming back or bringing his buddies, before turning toward the girls. They were scantily clad with collars and chains and it made him sick. 

"Get in!"

Jerry was speaking before he was thinking. He wasn't sure what he should be doing, but he wasn't about to leave them out there in the middle of a firefight and in the cold. 

The girls exchanged glances. 

"I promise, I'm not going to hurt you," Jerry called out, dropping his arm, but not the gun - just in case. "I came here to find someone, to help them."

They didn't seem convinced. 

Jerry looked them over, shaking and terrified and - familiar? 

His gaze snapped back to the teenager in the middle. Jerry lifted his phone in his free hand, scrolling back up to the picture Fran had sent him earlier. It was from the "missing" board at the shelter. The brother and sister that had been saved by Robin both leaned back in the grass, a girl sandwiched between them and sticking her tongue out at the camera that she was obviously holding for the selfie. The photo tacked to the missing board had her circled in red marker. 

"Are you McKenna?"

The girl stiffened, round and wet eyes blinking back at him. 

"You are, aren't you?" Jerry waved his phone. "Fran sent me your picture. From the shelter. Do you remember her? I was there, er, sort of, when some guys tried to take Katie. She was with her brother -"

"Paul?" The girl squeaked and he could hardly hear her over the noise.

Jerry nodded.

"Are - are they okay?" She raised her voice. 

"They're both fine," Jerry answered with a gruff smile. "Come on! I'll get ya'll outta here!"

McKenna moved first. The rest hesitated, glancing back at the gunfire and their potential buyers fleeing the scene. Soon enough, they were piling into his car. Two kids were lifted into the passenger side by McKenna, followed by four teenagers squeezing into his backseat. 

Sparing one last look at the train yard, Jerry sped away. 

Robin would have to wait. 

Or, apparently, not-Robin. 

Real-Robin had saved the girls, dropped some sort of laser cutting device down into the cage. Tim-Robin, well, they weren't sure what happened to him. Apart from the Joker crashing the party and sniffing the kid out as a phony. 

Maybe the boy Jerry had driven to his capture earlier wasn't Robin. Or maybe there was more than one. Or maybe he was some wannabe hero. Or maybe he was a kid and it didn't matter and Jerry could figure that out later after he was safe. 

Now what was he supposed to do? Hospital? Police station? The girls wouldn't agree to go to either. 

A quick text to the group chat found that Sammy and Alyssa lived closest. Rico had already dropped Alyssa off back at her place, and was apparently still there. He would head home and grab a few things from his daughters' closet, and the box of the clothing his ex-wife had left with him. Eliza was clocking out soon. She would pick up Esperanza from the hospital and they would come check on the girls. Esperanza could at least give them all basic medical care. Fran was already on her way. 

Marcus:  Cops are saying a bunch of the guys got away - with the kid. 

Marcus: Heard someone say Batman was there? 

Andre:  Whoa, did u see Batman?! 

Rico: You ok, Jer? 

Marcus: Batman was gone before cops got there. What's going on? 

What was going on? What was Jerry doing? He had been just trying to get a good look at the place. See if it was the right one. Then call it in. Now he had threatened to shoot and/or run a guy over and was rescuing a car full of terrified teenagers and children. 

And he still felt like he needed to do more. 

"Where would they take you, someone, to -" Jerry bit his tongue. 

"Hotel," an older girl from the backseat whispered, "at least, last time it was a hotel."

Jerry ground his teeth. He should have ran the man over. And then again for good measure.

"Most just get handed off at the auction, but if - if you're someone important - or someone important bought you - they take you to a hotel. I - I was going to a congressman. That's how I got away." She continued, quiet, distant. "There was a fire and everyone had to leave. I ran." She paused, staring out the window. "They found me the next day. The - buyer - wasn't interested anymore."

Scratch that. He should've shot the man in the kneecaps, and then ran him over. Twice. 

Jerry swallowed. 

"A nice place?"

She nodded. 

By the time the girls were inside Alyssa and Sammy's apartment, the group chat had expanded by a couple dozen people. 

His sister was a housekeeper for a hotel chain. So was Kenny's mother. One of Jerry's old regulars at the bar was a concierge. He only still had the number because he used to have to call the guy's wife to come pick him up almost every weekend and Jerry never cleaned out his contacts. Alyssa knew a cook at the Hamilton Suites. 

Once the girls were safe, Jerry drove off into the night. He started near the train yard and wove his way through streets and traffic from there. It was pretty pointless, but it felt better than doing nothing. He would stay out for another hour, tops. He was kidding himself with this hero shtick. 

"You should take the rest of the night off, it's not safe."

"You're not safe," Jerry answered the ghost in his backseat.

When Jerry's nephew had been diagnosed, there had been nothing he could do. Sure, he took on extra work. Opened up his apartment to his sister and her son. But that wouldn't save Xavier. 

And the kicker? There was something out there that could save him. Some experimental gene therapy that had had incredible success rates over the past few years. But they would never be able to afford it, even if Jerry worked six jobs. There was something in the world, out there right now, that could save his nephew, and there was nothing Jerry could do about it. 

He could do something for Tim. 

Buzz. 

Three words. 

Hotel Belle Monico.

Jerry cranked a U-turn.

Notes:

Jerry has had a colorful career, which might seem unrealistic, but I started working at 12. I've been a nanny, fast food worker, retail worker, manager, assistant manager, customer service, cold caller, secretary, receptionist, tutor, crisis worker, and more. In under 20 years, I've had over a dozen jobs, usually 2-3 at a time.

Jerry was NOT going to be this involved. And maybe it is a little unbelievable that a random guy who met Tim for a few minutes would go to such lengths, but it's also a little unbelievable that a man would dress up like a bat to fight crime SOOOO.....also, Jerry is just a good dude who got in over his head. And I am a writer who got in over my head with this chapter because I liked Jerry, and all the commenters liked Jerry.

Also, I did a lot of research on EMPs, etc because the Joker used a small EMP of sorts during the auction if you remember. Unfortunately, most information out there is about nationwide EMP attack, nuclear attacks, etc. However, I found a lot of evidence that said that most vehicles would be fine from a smaller EMP pulse, so the attendees could use their vehicles. And Jerry is parked far enough way that it didn't affect him. And hey, comic book logic people.

Chapter 19

Notes:

This scene took forever to get to you all, and I apologize. I just couldn't get it right. But here it is. My apologies if the action isn't as good as previously as it just wasn't working for me.

Bruce Wayne wanted to scream. 

He had been so close. 

Tim Drake had been right there. 

And so had his son. 

He could have grabbed them both under his arms and grappled them back up through the skylight. Just like that. 

So.

Close. 

But then there was the gunfire. A barrage of bullets that would have most likely hit one of the boys as they ascended. Not to mention Jason's stab wound. Grappling would have aggravated it, possibly even caused the blade to puncture his son's artery. 

Not that Robin hadn't been doing a fine job of risking that all on his own, what with getting up and fighting with the thing still sticking out of his thigh. 

By some miracle, the blade hadn't opened the artery. But it had shifted and twisted and opened the wound significantly. His boy was losing a lot of blood, and fast. It wasn't immediately fatal, but it could be. Especially if he didn't stop moving.

Robin thrashed against him as Batman carried him bridal style to the Batmobile. 

He had come to just around the time Bruce had scooped him up. It was a good sign that he had only fallen unconscious for a minute or so, but the vigilante almost wished his son would've stayed out. 

The Cave felt so very far away. All the way clear across Gotham from where they were. Far for Jason. Far for Tim. 

"You should've saved Tim!" 

Tim. 

It hadn't escaped Bruce's noticed how Jason had avoided saying the kid's name throughout their investigation. Now, he wouldn't stop. 

"I'm saving you," Bruce sighed, easing his son into the vehicle. 

He climbed in after the boy, setting the Batmobile on autopilot. 

"I don't - I'm fine -"

"It's not your fault."

The words came out in a rush. He should have said them sooner. Should have known to. Because of course Jason would blame himself for a kid dressing up like him and getting kidnapped. Bruce had honestly been too busy blaming himself. 

"Yes - it's -"

"No." Bruce's voice was solid as he grabbed his son's hand tight with the hand not holding pressure to the wound. "You saved Tim tonight. No matter what happened, no matter what - else - happens, you saved him from the Joker. You. Saved. Him."

"But he -"

"I'll find him, Jay," Bruce vowed, "I will. You've done the hard work. You cracked the case. You figured out where he was and you got to him in time. You did good, son. Let me take care of the rest. Let me find him this time."

They would talk about Jason disobeying Bruce later. About Robin going off on his own another time. Bruce didn't have room in his heart to be mad just then. Not when a child was still missing. Not when his own kid looked so - broken. 

"They're gonna kill him, B," Jason's voice cracked and so did Bruce's soul.

"No," Batman shook his head, "no. They took him. That means something. They might try to sell him before news of Tim not being Robin breaks. Or, they'll sell him as one of their other -" Bruce ground his teeth. "They wouldn't take him if they were going to kill him."

"Still should've - he's just a kid."

"So are you."

"Not - the same."

There was pain in Jason's eyes that had nothing to do with the knife in his leg and something grim clicked in Bruce's brain. 

"No, it's not. You're right. You're my kid. My son. And I would never leave you."

The shock that flashed across Jason's face felt like a hot knife in Bruce's heart. How had he missed this? World's Greatest Detective and his own son had been doubting his father's love for him and Bruce hadn't even noticed.  

They would have to address this later. Bruce would have to make himself address this later. Robin couldn't be flying around the city thinking his partner would leave him. And Jason couldn't be living under his roof wondering the very same of his own father. 

Alfred was going to give him the most passive aggressive "I told you so" if he found out that pestering Bruce about going to therapy for all those years was actually paying off. 

"Sir."

Speak of the devil. 

"Batcomputer is back online. All connections to Oracle and the Belfry were severed before she initiated the shutdown, so it should be safe."

"Can you -"

"Ahead of you, sir. Checking satellite imaging now to see if we can follow our friend from the train yard. No luck so far. However, an anonymous tip just came into the GCPD. They claim that the traffickers will be heading to a select series of secondary emergency locations. Any - merchandise - still needing to be handed off to a buyer will be brought to a hotel for the transaction."

"Name?"

"They couldn't be certain. Something posh, they presumed from previous - experience."

Well, that eliminated a fair chunk of places. But it still left far too many. 

Batman could eliminate a handful owned by various crime families. They were all monsters, sure, but there were some, quite a few actually, who forbade human trafficking. Not everyone was that sick. 

Without Oracle, Batman felt a little blind. He had come to rely on her so much recently. 

He couldn't think about that, though. It was bad enough Jason was bleeding out underneath him. He couldn't let himself spiral into worry over Barbara and Dick. Despite his earlier reservations about the team, the Titans had proven themselves quite capable. 

He had to move quickly. 

There were kids and teenagers scattered all over the city now, running and hiding from the traffickers. And there was Tim. This operation was global. If they got out of Gotham, they could go anywhere. 

"Check all private airstrips and air traffic control. Then, pull up our cameras on the docks and train stations. Watch for anyone suspicious trying to leave, or come in."

Bruce sighed, staring down at his son. 

"And -"

"MedBay already prepped and ready, sir."

"Thank you."

Bruce bowed his head, only for a second, before rechecking the tourniquet.

"He knows."

Jason's voice was so soft, compared to the shouting he had been doing ever since Batman carried him out of that building. 

"B," Jason met his eyes and they were too young. "The kid knows."

Bruce swallowed. He had suspected as much, what with the boy's up close and personal photography. 

"I'm sorry," Jason murmured, "I should have told you - when I found out. I just - I didn't - I thought maybe you -"

"Never." Bruce promised, squeezing his son's hand with the one not currently on the boy's leg. 

"The mission comes first -"

"Saving lives comes first." Bruce swallowed around the aching lump in his throat. "Lives come first. Tim's life. Your life." Bruce shook his head. "I'm sorry I made it seem otherwise."

Okay, yeah. They had a lot to talk about after all of this. 

The Batmobile screeched into the Cave. Alfred was already there as the door opened and the pair carried Robin to the MedBay. Alfred got to work immediately. Dr. Thompkins was on her way too, just in case.  

Bruce wanted to stay by his son's side.

Batman needed to keep working. 

Giving Jason's shoulder and hand a final squeeze, Batman turned and hurried to the Batcomputer, picking right up where Alfred had left off. 

He was so focused he almost didn't notice his phone ringing. 

"Talia."

"Hello, beloved."

"Your father."

Bruce bowed his head. It couldn't have been a coincidence, her calling right then. 

"Yes," she replied simply, "he activated a League member in Gotham the moment he heard."

"I thought you told me you don't have any more of your people in my city."

His voice was low, but steady. He was angry, of course he was angry. But if she was calling now, and not after, she intended to help, not gloat. 

"And that is true. I do not. But my father does."

There was so much he wanted to say.

"Where?"

"I do not know."

The weight of that sat between them, even miles and miles apart they could both feel it.

"If," she started, softly, "if my father succeeds, I will do my best to protect him and get him back to you. Jason was kind to me. He is a good boy."

"It's not," Bruce shook his head, considering, "it's not Jason, Talia."

"I hadn't realized you had acquired another one." 

Bruce sighed. He didn't always trust Talia. She could be manipulative, self-serving, and even cold. But she wasn't heartless. And if - if Bruce failed here in Gotham, if Ra's got his hands on the boy, this untrained, young, innocent, boy - 

"I haven't."

The following silence was deafening. 

"He's just a child, Talia. A child who - dressed up - as Robin, for fun."

"Then I hope," she started, after a long moment, "for that child's sake, that you find him. And quickly."

The line cut out and Bruce pocketed the phone. He hung his head for just three seconds. 

One second to breathe.

One second to reframe his thinking on where to look.

One second to hope. 

Knowing it was Ra's who made the purchase was both terrifying and helpful. Bruce could narrow his search down quite considerably. The League was good at staying hidden, but Bruce was better at finding things people tried to hide. He knew which airstrips and safehouses they preferred. How they thought. How they moved. 

With a brief explanation to Alfred, and squeezing his son's hand, he was ready to go back out.

"Find him." Jason squeezed back. "Find Tim."

Searching the shadows for other shadows wasn't easy, but the darkness was where Batman lived. Finding the assassin only took checking satellites and heat signatures of their known hideouts in the city. Following the assassin only took a well-timed throw and a tracker. 

He jumped the man as soon as the stranger opened the hotel room door. The fight was brutal, but brief. The exchange was happening  any second now and Batman didn't have time for anything more elegant than restraining the unconscious League member in the nearest closet. 

He had barely slipped the robe on over his own outfit when there was a knock on the door and then the sound of a keycard. He had kept the overhead lights all off, leaving only the few small lamps scattered around the room to cast shadows. Just as he liked it.

He could tell by the hesitation of the man - Hairy - that it was working. 

"Hello," Hairy spoke slowly, stepping farther into the room - and dragging Tim with him. "You must be our client's associate."

Bruce could just make out Tim's too pale skin. He remembered where bruises should have been but apparently had been covered up for the - sale.

"I am."

His voice slipped into something deep. Not gravely, like Batman. But low, quiet. He let the barest breath of an accent break through.

"Thank you for coming," Hairy continued as Batman surveyed the scene instead of speaking any further. "We have Robin right here. He has been changed and processed, and all of the necessary paperwork is right here."

Hairy waved a stack of documents, making to pass them over. Bruce didn't extend his own hand. He didn't move. With something between confusion and annoyance, the man set the papers down on a table. 

"My - master - requires proof of his status as the true Robin."

"There are videos, and pictures," Hairy nodded, "and this."

When Hairy threw the homemade domino mask toward Bruce, he could've caught it easily with just an outstretched arm. Instead, Batman took a deliberate step forward, carefully placing himself in the dim light. Tim was staring at him with wide, terrified, but watchful eyes. Bruce met that gaze.

The Arabic came easy, speaking as if into the phone held up to his face, but all attention on Tim. The boy had been so very clever. Bruce needed him to be clever just one more time and then he would get them out of here. He would bring Tim home. 

"These men are lucky I am not the man that they think I am. This mask would not fool one of them. It is very well made, though. Impressive."

Bruce saw the moment realization struck Tim. He held himself remarkably still, but there was a little twitch about his face that gave the boy away. 

"Hal tafhamunaa؟" Do you understand me? 

Tim nodded and Batman felt his insides untwist, just a little.

"Ladaya risalat min ajilika." I have a message for you. 

"'Asfar." Yellow. 

"Byny." Penny 

"Musiqaa." Music. 

Tim whispered the last line before Bruce could and it was all Batman could do to keep from smiling. 

"Is everything okay?"

Hairy was getting impatient. The danger of that alone sent all thoughts of smiling away. Tim was still in between Batman and the men. The men with guns.

"The funds have been transferred," Bruce nodded, speaking English again and pocketing his phone. "I also have something for both of you, from my master. As a - token - of your business partnership together."

Hairy and the other man exchanged a look before they stepped past Tim and closer to the Batman. Tim was now behind them.  

"Ainzil!" Get down!

And Tim. Clever, brave, child, Tim - didn't even hesitate. 

Reaching into his belt, Batman retrieved two small magnetic gadgets, tossing them toward the men's guns. They had hardly made contact before electrifying, carrying the current through the guns until it reached the criminals' hands. The two of them shouted and dropped their weapons as the metal continued to spark. They were too busy gawking at their guns to notice when Batman ripped off the robe and flung forward. He tackled each of the men to the ground by their throats before knocking the bulkier trafficker out with a precision strike of his elbow. He was moving to render Hairy unconscious next when the closet door crashed open in a flurry of splintered wood and striking assassin. 

The League member barreled into him and they rolled off of Hairy and across the room. 

"You will die for impersonating a follower of The Demon!"

The assassin howled as he the vigilante kicked him off. 

"Get in line," Batman leapt up onto his feet. 

Ra's' follower flipped forward, forcing Batman back - further from Tim. And Hairy. Hairy, who was fleeing the room. 

With Tim. 

Batman sent a batarang toward Hairy but the assassin knocked the projectile out of the way in his advance. Bruce had hidden away the League member's sword, but the man grasped a lamp and spun it. Batman ducked and then dodged, gripping the lamp shade and ripping it loose. He sent the shade spiraling toward the assassin, only for the attacker to deflect the makeshift projectile. The lamp swung for Batman's face but Bruce gripped the metal pole, snapping it. The assassin made to stab the vigilante with the now jagged end, Batman twisting away and gripping the lamp. He bent the metal while still in the man's grasp, going for the assailant's thigh. The metal missed and both men dropped the pieces of the light fixture. 

The assassin hopped backward, creating distance between them. In quick succession, he snatched objects off of the nearby desk, hurling them at his target. Bruce dodged the stapler, pens, and phone easily. 

Something swooped in from the hallway, hurling through the air until a second assassin's foot was smashing into Batman's side. The vigilante stumbled but still managed to catch the attacker's leg, swinging the stranger into the wall. The drywall caved and cracked and the criminal crumpled. 

A third assassin was right behind him, throwing a knife. Bruce leaned backward, the blade barely missing his neck. 

A fist came for one side of his skull, then the other, Batman weaving between the assassin's arms. The sword was drawn next. Bruce leapt back over the bed to avoid the first and second slash. The assassin followed him, vaulting over the bed and bringing the sword down to Batman's face. Bruce blocked with both arms, using the spikes on his armor to break the blade in one swift motion. The first attacker was on top of the bed then, a spinning kick landing on the side of the hero's head. 

Dazed, Bruce missed the fist against his face. But when the assassin on the bed leapt for him, Batman barreled forward, tackling the now sword-less stranger into the television. It continued like this for some time, a dangerous dance in too-close quarters. At one point, they ended up somehow in the bathroom, and then back out in the main room. The mirror and toilet were smashed, the shower curtain was torn in two, and the faucet was on. It all happened so fast, Bruce couldn't catalogue who was responsible for what. 

The fight was taking too long though. Bruce should have been able to dispatch a couple assassins, but of course Ra's had sent some of his best to secure Batman's protege. He could have finished this off quicker, but every time he went for a bomb or smoke pellet or anything in his belt, he found himself too busy bringing his hands back up to block or punch. 

"Batman!"

The scream was faint, but fraught. And - coming from outside? 

The first assassin's upper body ended up halfway through the wall. The second still hadn't woken from that first crack against the plaster. The third, was tangled up in a bola. 

Gunshots popped off outside, close. Close like Batman had heard the scream. 

Someone was firing at Tim. 

"Help!" Tim cried out. "Please! Batman!"

Batman broke through the glass of the balcony door in one leap, leaning over the edge of the railing to find - Tim. Tim, clever, brave, insane, child, Tim - hanging from Halloween string lights. Above the swinging kid, two traffickers on the balcony just below his own aimed guns down toward the too-easy target. He found the knockout gas bomb quickly, dropping it down. Then men hollered and coughed, hurrying inside to escape the gas. The relief that no one was shooting at the boy anymore was short lived as Batman stared down at Tim, and the string of lights holding him a few dozen stories over the ground. Wires were beginning to fray, split. Soon, they would snap altogether and send Tim down, down, down -

"Batman!" 

Batman reached an arm over the railing, grapple gun outstretched. An arm curled against his neck suddenly, a second wrapping around his chest. They yanked him up, Batman's arm crunching painfully between the railing bars. The grapple gun fumbled, and then fell out of his hand. 

He didn't see it topple the rest of the way down. 

Or see Tim do the same. 

He was too busy being dragged back into the hotel room - and screaming. 

This time, the assassins were unconscious and tied up in less than two minutes. 

There were more traffickers crawling around the hotel, possibly more assassins. 

Good. 

He hoped he ran into them. He hoped he got to crack their skulls. 

Because as he fought his way down through the hotel floors, he knew what he was going to find at the bottom. He didn't want to see that. Didn't want to look down at the broken body of the boy who was dead because of him. Because Batman had sparked some kid's interest enough for the child to practically stalk the vigilantes. Enough that he dressed up like Robin. Enough that he tried to save someone with no training or gadgets. Because then, when Batman had finally found him, he had let Tim get taken away. And then a second time, let him fall. So many failures. So much guilt. 

He stopped pulling his punches about halfway down the hotel. 

When he got to the front door, he saw the outline of the boy, sprawled out and spread eagle on the pavement. He could make out the blood, pooling underneath his chest. His chest - 

his chest -

Batman sprinted outside, skidding to a stop on his knees just as a man hurried over. Bruce went for his batarang but then surveyed the scene in the second it took the stranger to get to them. Hairy was on the ground, limbs limp and angled unnaturally - a gun lying a few feet away. The vehicle that had hit Hairy had hopped the curb, had aimed for the guy. And the man that had gotten out of the car, the one rushing to meet them now, kept his own Glock trained on the downed trafficker. 

"He's dead."

The stranger stumbled, making an odd choking noise. 

"The man," Batman corrected quickly. 

Because Tim's chest - was moving. He was breathing. 

There was a knife sticking out from his stomach but it was small and the bleeding was sluggish and Tim was alive. 

"I need your car."

Batman picked the boy's body up into his arms. The Batmobile was parked too far away to safely move Tim, and the hospital was close enough to do without the suped up vehicle's speed. 

"No one drives my baby except for me," the man argued, while still helping haul Tim over to the backseat. "Even Batman."

"There isn't time to -"

"Look, man," he blocked the vigilante as Batman tried to move past him to the front door, "you're beat to hell. I'm not. Who makes more sense to drive? Ambulance is gonna take too long, right?" He cocked his head toward the hotel. "Julio!"

A short, shivering kid not a day over 22 stumbled out of the front door. He was dressed in a hotel uniform. Batman thought he might have passed him crouched behind the counter on his way out. 

"You good?"

Julio just nodded. 

"Got your phone?"

Another nod. 

"Good," the man slipped into the driver's seat, "answer it."

Batman ignored the interaction, going for the door to the car. He could take the citizen down but the man seemed determined. 

"Let me."

"No way."

"This is -"

"Do you want to argue, or do you want to save that kid back there? Because I will peel out and leave your ass here to take him to the hospital myself." He gripped the wheel and then sighed. "You don't know me, but I know that kid. Or, sort of. I took him to that place. Where all this started. This mess. And I'm going to be the one to take him out of it."

Bruce looked from the man to the boy in the backseat. With a low growl, Batman climbed into the rear with him. Carefully, Bruce hoisted Tim onto his lap, putting pressure on the wound once more.

"Besides," the stranger smirked as he indeed peeled out at a pace rivaling the Batmobile, "if we get followed or attacked, I'd rather you have your hands free."

Batman kept his head on a swivel as they ducked through traffic. 

"Here," a phone was passed into Batman's bloody hand, the other staying on the wound. 

It was already ringing until a small, crackling voice picked up on the other end.

"Julio, Batman. Batman, Julio. He gave me the heads up Tim was here. Since the cops are already on their way - you're welcome -  I'm betting you're the one man in this city who knows which of them aren't dirty."

"Gordon," Batman grunted, confused but not interesting in interrogating right now for Tim's sake, "Jim Gordon."

"Julio," the driver continued without missing a beat, craning his neck to be heard on the speakerphone over the traffic, "Rico and a couple of the guys are heading there. They'll get there before the cops. You said over the phone you locked up your manager?"

"Yeah. Me and a bunch of the cleaning crew knocked out some of the other staff involved."

"Keep them that way. Don't hand them over to anyone except for this Gordon guy, okay?"

"There are people all over the hotel," Batman explained to both men, "either unconscious or tied up. Do not engage any of them."

"Me and a bunch of the guys got most of the guests out while it was all happening," Julio reported, voice still a little shaky. "Then they left too."

Huh. Whoever these strangers were, they'd been busy. 

"Good. You stay outside, out front then. Rico and the rest of them are," he checked his watch, "one minute out. They'll find you." He eyed the mirror again and he must've caught Batman's glare. "They won't 'engage' anyone, alright? They'll just make sure you're safe. And tell Rico to talk to this Gordon guy about the girls, okay? If Bats says he can be trusted, he is the only one Rico can talk to about it, got it?"

"Uh huh." 

"You did good, kid."

The man reached back around to grab the phone, tossing it onto the front passenger seat. 

Batman had so many questions.

But none of them were more important than the boy in his lap. 

 

Notes:

While Talia is a "villain", she still shows love for Bruce. She has saved his life in the past and took in Jason after his resurrection to try to win Bruce's affection. She even tried to stall Jason from killing Batman by sending him off to different people to be trained, etc. She only changed her mind later, after a story arc involving her sister, the death of her father, and Talia being killed and resurrected over and over and driven mad....and then of course, her character was just made into a one-dimensional villain later by writers. Pre-crisis Jason met Talia twice, and even saved her once. (Also, this was all off of memory so if I was incorrect, let me know) Also, she might surmise that if "Robin" is taken by her father, then Batman will eventually figure it out and come looking himself...and then find out about Damian. (And don't get me started on how tempted I am to write an AU version of this story where Ra's succeeds in kidnapping Tim and then Tim breaks himself, and little Damian, out of the League...)

Chapter 20

What I Did For Christmas Break

By Timothy Jackson Drake

Grade 4

 

On Christmas, I woke up and it was Christmas. I had red and green poptarts. I tried to make red and green juice but it turned brown so I had cranberry juice because it is red by itself. It was gross. Mom says it is very good for you so I think its really medicine disguised as juice by the government. 

After, I tried to 100% complete Metroid ii return of samus. It took a lot of time to beat the final boss ridley, which is a dragon that controls all the space pirate arm and tries to steal the baby Metroid from you. You have to shoot your plasma beam and super missiles at his head which is really hard. I played so long I didnt know it was night until I looked out the window and it was dark and I was hungry.

I ate a turkey and mashed potato microwave meal that comes with stuffing and carrots. A whole Christmas meal in a box. So cool. I had hot chocolate and burnt my tongue and watched Sherlock Holmes: the case of the Christmas pudding. It was good but I figured out the ending. My dad makes me read a lot of old books and they are boring but I like Sherlock and detective stories. He doesn't think comic books are real books but I read a whole pile of them instead of going to bed on Christmas! 

The next day, I watched more Christmas movies and ate popcorn and tried to use food coloring to turn it green and red but it made it look sort of gross and moldy but it still tasted good so I ate three bowls.

The next day I went to a gala. They are like a big, fancy, party with important people. I think they are boring and they don't even have good food because its all weird stuff that tastes funny but mom and dad were there with me and I got to stand by them the whole time and we talked about Bolivia on the car ride and I learned all sorts of stuff. 

I spent the rest of the week playing more video games and reading. I also built a pulley and button system with ropes and legos and marbles and toy cars. Now I can turn my light off from my bed without getting it! I could have made it just a string or something but this looks really cool. I think I'm going to change it and make new ones to make it harder. 

Yesterday, I got a package. It was a whole collection of all Sherlock Holmes stories! My parents got it for me for Christmas! It is exactly what I asked for in my email and they bought it! I am just sad that I wasn't able to finish them all before school started again. 

 

 

Notes:

I'm not entirely thrilled by this addition. Tim sounds too young but this is actually pretty accurate grade-level wise for what I've seen from students this age. But then he turns around and is reading Sherlock Holmes. Just a little contradictory. But hey.

Chapter 21

"..life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. We would not dare to conceive the things which are really mere commonplaces of existence. If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the strange coincidence -"

Jason paused, pressing his finger to the page just under his last word. 

On the bed before him, Tim Drake twitched in his sleep. 

Jason held his breath and watched the wrinkled nose with rapt attention. When Tim's face smoothed over again, the older boy sighed. Every little noise and movement made Jason think the kid was going to finally wake up. That he would open those eyes and look at him and Jason would know that Tim was okay. 

Of course he was okay. Mostly. But Jason...he needed to see it in the boy's eyes to be sure. 

There had been that moment, back in the train yard as Tim, little scared and bruised and so brave Tim, was clutching the switch to Joker's bombs. When the kid had curled up protectively around the device with that wide, unseeing gaze. When Jason wondered if the boy had been broken by the trauma. 

But then there was also after. When Tim's eyes had cleared and he'd gotten to work patching Jason up. Those dark blues full of fear, but also a sharp clarity beyond his few years. 

Jason thought that would still be there. Hoped. 

He heard what had happened from Bruce. How Tim had somehow gotten away from his captors, had scaled a damn skyscraper. 

But what about now? After the kidnapping. After the adrenaline. After getting stabbed on the sidewalk. 

After dressing up like his hero nearly got him killed. 

Jason just needed to be sure. 

Sure that the mantle of Robin, who had saved so many, hadn't condemned this child. 

Jason closed the book, keeping his hand in the page but leaning his head back. The kid liked Sherlock Holmes apparently, according to the books in his bedroom and some of the things Jason had found on Tim's computer. He liked other detective series and comic books but Jason wasn't a comic books type of kid and all of Bruce's classic detective novels were rare finds or first editions. Of course, the guy had some antique set of Sherlock Holmes, too, but he also had a banged up, well-worn and well-loved set from his own childhood. And the set he got Jason. At least if this copy got lost or damaged, it wasn't irreplaceable. And yeah, Jason still had a hang up over using Bruce's books sometimes, especially taking them out of the library or Manor, okay. They were beautiful and old and valuable and not his. 

Maybe if Sherlock didn't work, Jason could resort to reading from those Russian manuals on Tim's kindle. 

The little weirdo. 

Jason smiled down at said weirdo fondly. The kid really was clever.

And brave. And kind.

None of those things no thanks to his no-good parents, thank you very much, Jason thought solemnly.

Jason knew what it was like for your parents to be there and not really be there all too well. He missed his mother. Missed her something so fierce it hurt to think of her. But he had lost her long before he found her in that alley, overdosed and already cold. She was there, laying on the couch or curled up in the bathtub, physically there. But the mother that had sung him Beatles lullabies and took him to the downtown street market and kissed his temple was nowhere to be found. Sure, she was also the woman who had screamed back and forth with his father while Jason hid under the kitchen table, but that was better than the nothing-person. 

Catherine had had a difficult life filled with abuse and poverty and sickness and pain.

What were Jack and Janet Drakes' excuse? 

72 hours.

It had been 72 hours since Tim first went missing. 

Halloween had come and gone. Tim had been kidnapped and rescued. 

And still no word from his mother and father. 

It made Jason sick with anger. 

He thought of that clean, empty, lonely house. 

He thought of Tim finally waking up after that second surgery with no one there to comfort him. 

There would be soon.

Hopefully.

With no parents in the country, and a handful of those traffickers scattering like rats throughout the city, Tim was placed in protective custody pretty quickly. Not that he actually was going anywhere anytime too soon, what with the whole still-being-unconscious post-stab-wound-and-surgery-thing. He got a rotating detail on his hospital room door, handpicked by Jim Gordon himself. 

He also got a swanky, large private room in the children's wing thanks to a certain billionaire who created and funded that very wing of the hospital. 

Bruce Wayne was also working his considerable pull and power to leverage himself as Tim's emergency foster care placement should Janet and Jack remain AWOL. CPS was already involved. 

When Tim had first been reported missing, no options were left off the table. Based on the circumstances surrounding the abduction, it was most likely a "Robin"-napping, but the cops still had to cover all bases. Checked for threats to Drake Industries or the family. Looked into the parents' most recent trip and determined if they had been a target too. Or suspects. 

They had had the photos from Tim's phone for the news and to know what the boy had been last seen wearing, but any other information regarding Tim or the family had to be hunted down through Drake Industries' representatives. One of them, some cheeseball from the Board of Directors, was actually petitioning for temporary guardianship of Tim on the Drake's behalf. That same man had gotten Tim's age and height both wrong when questioned. Unfortunately though, he was still a contender. 

Not for the first time, Jason thought about doing a little light kidnapping of his own and just absconding off with an unconscious Tim back to the Cave. 

When detectives were looking to put together a list of friends, acquaintances, staff, or anyone else who might have information about Tim, there had been startling little information to find. There also wasn't a butler or nanny or even teenage babysitter taking care of the child while his parents were out of the country. 

That was around the time CPS was brought in.

Tim had an entire file on his computer about how to fake his death and run away to join the circus. It was labeled "Just In Case". In case what? In case he just felt like it? In case he got sick of sitting alone in that stupid museum of a house - Jason wouldn't call it a home. In case his parents were more than just criminally neglectful? (And if so, Jason was going to make Jack and Janet hurt, a lot.) 

Jason considered implementing the first phase of Tim's plan. The death-faking. Not the circus part. That was stupid. But Jason could do it. Fake Tim's death. Bring him - not kidnap him - to Wayne Manor. Hide him away from the reporters who now flooded the front doors of the hospital, the Drake Industries representatives who wanted to butt in just to save face for the company, the news channels calling the children's wing and the Commissioner for updates, the parents who were never there.

There were enough electronics and books and video games and movies and anything Tim could wish for at the Manor to occupy him. There was Jason to play with. Alfred to cook him real meals, and not those TV dinners Jason had found in Tim's trash. Bruce to - uh - do parental shit - somehow. They would dye Tim's hair and change his name and give him contacts or glasses. Batman was a master of disguises, after all. Maybe Jason could even teach him a true Gotham accent, and none of that Bristol or Crest Hill bullshit. 

Jason thought Tim would appreciate the dramatics of his plan.

Jason would appreciate Tim waking up.

While Jason had cleared out any Bat-related photos or files from Tim's bedroom and transferred all Bat-related research off of Tim's computer, he left the folder about Tim faking his death for CPS to find. 

A low murmur came from beyond the door. Jason recognized the cop's cadence. The second voice was higher, feminine. After a moment, the door opened and a nurse stepped inside the dim room.

"What in the -"

The officer whirled, hand on his hip as the nurse dropped the supplies in her hands.

Jason had been sitting on the window, one leg swung over either side. His injured limb hung out over the city air while the other kicked and dangled down in a bored sort of fashion over the tiled floor. With a smirk, Jason tucked the book close to his side, offering a little salute with the other hand.

"You should really have someone covering the window too."

"We - we're on - this is the seventeenth floor," the cop stuttered, body still tense but hand a little looser at his side. 

"Those windows are locked," the nurse pointed, "they're not supposed to be able to be opened."

Jason just shrugged, threw up a peace sign - and tipped sideways out the window.

He laughed at their mirrored gasps as he grabbed his grappling gun and fired. Swinging over to the neighboring building's rooftop, Jason readied himself for the landing. Putting the weight on his good leg, Jason made sure to slow his decent enough as to not hurt the fully working lower limb he had left currently. 

"I told you to keep an eye on him."

Jason huffed, dismounting and setting the book down on the piled sleeping bag and blankets. 

"And I was," Jason rolled his eyes, "a closer eye. Actually, I really can't keep an eye on him from way over here. I can see his window, and his thermal outline, but not him. So, technically -"

"You were seen -"

"On purpose," Jason threw his head back dramatically. "You said we need to make sure I'm - Robin - is seen enough at the same time as Tim is to be sure no one still believes he's, well, me."

"I also didn't tell you to stake the place out." 

Batman ignored Jason's brilliant plan, instead looking around at the backpack, blankets, and then pointedly at the folding chair Jason was dropping down into. 

"What good is his room being bugged and listening and watching, if I'm across the city if something happens?" Jason gestured vaguely in the direction of Wayne Manor. 

"Jason, you can't just stay out -"

"I'm fine." Jason crossed his arms. 

"You're healing." 

"Yeah, but I only have one stab wound. Tim has two. I mean, one is from a stupid nail but it still sort of counts. It counted enough to give him an infection."

"You monitor from a safe distance, indoors, and you contact me if anything -"

"Contact you?" Jason dropped his arms.

"Yes. You -"

"You were late!" Jason shoved himself up out of the chair. "If I had stayed in the Cave that night -"

"Then you could've told me what you found out instead of running in there alone and I could've saved him sooner."

Jason's head snapped back like he had been slapped. 

"What?"

"What you did was reckless, dangerous -"

"Good." Jason swallowed, quiet. "You said I did good. You said it - right after."

Batman deflated into Bruce. 

"Jason, I -"

"No," Jason shook his head, "no. Were you - what - just lying to me so I'd calm down, cooperate? Like some child?"

"No, it -"

"I didn't just run in there," Jason waved his hands. "I was doing recon. I didn't know for sure if it was the right place and pulling you away from your search for a dud lead would've been a waste of time. And would you have listened to me? Would you have gone to check it out right away? I only 'ran' in when Joker showed up and started killing people. And I tried to get you on comms, but I couldn't! I had to do something! I had to save him! I did save him!"

"I know you did, son -"

"Where were you, when he was scaling a fucking building? When he was getting stabbed? You didn't save him in the end, you know. Tim would've been shot, right there on the side of the street, if that guy hadn't shown up! You get that, right? You didn't save him."

"Jay -"

"You didn't save him!"

Jason pushed against the chest plating of Batman's armor. Once, twice. 

He didn't make it to three. 

He didn't make it because Bruce grabbed hold of his son's wrists, and pulled him close. 

Jason struggled a little under the broad arms, wriggling and grunting. 

"W-what are you doing?"

"Something I should be doing a lot more." And that was all Bruce, no Batman, whispering into his ear. 

After a long moment, when Jason finally settled, Bruce pulled back, keeping a firm grip on the boy's arms and looking him square in the eyes. 

"All of this," he started, somberly, "is my fault. I know you still think it's yours, even though you're yelling at me, I know you do. Heck, you might blame me in part too. That's okay. But do not put any of this on your shoulders, son. Not one single ounce of it. Do you understand?"

Jason frowned. He wanted to turn his head. Lower his own gaze. But Bruce's piercing stare was somehow even more immobilizing than Batman's. 

"I do think what you did was dangerous, but I should never have said that you were reckless or -" he paused, lips twitching as if trying to find the right words to wrap around, "-I just shouldn't have said any of that. You did your very best in an awful situation. And you saved Tim's life."

Jason took a long breath. The exhale came out a bit choppy.  

"I - I wouldn't've had to - if - if he hadn't - dressed, like me."

"He didn't just dress like you, Robin," Batman squeezed Jason's shoulders, "he was inspired by you. That is something to honor. Not regret. That little boy saved those two kids. Maybe he would've done it without the costume. Maybe not. But he said it. We both saw the video. He said he'd never felt stronger. You gave him that strength. And you're still giving it to him now."

Jason cleared his throat, taking a step back. And Bruce let him. As he turned, his gaze caught the window. Seventeen stories up, four windows over. Without a word, he grabbed the miniature binoculars and switched them to thermal vision, zooming in. No nurse. No cop. Just one snug and safe Tim. 

The kid had to pull through this. He had to. Jason didn't know what he would - Tim had to. 

He wanted to give Tim all of that strength Bruce had mentioned. If it was possible, Robin would have cut himself open and bled it into the boy.

Jason loved Bruce and Alfred, and well, him and Dick were working on it. But this felt different. This felt like when he would beat drug dealers with baseball bats to keep them away from his mother. This felt like he needed to wrap Tim up in his Robin cape, and maybe a layer of bubble wrap, and never let him go. This felt so good and so terrible all at the same time and it sort of made him sick.

The guilt was still there, thrumming defiantly against Bruce's words. But it felt, lighter, somehow. Quieter. 

He glanced back at the man. It was the only invitation Batman needed to step forward and join Jason on the edge of the rooftop. Jason worked his way down carefully. He imagined Dick just dropping down with his hands. He walked upside down enough on them, a knife to the thigh probably wouldn't have put the first Boy Wonder out of commission as much. 

Damn it, he really needed to stop comparing himself to Dick. Surprisingly, that line of thinking hadn't come up too much in the search for Tim. He had been so busy wrapped up in research and guilt and wondering if Batman would leave Tim behind, leave him behind, and -

"You're a good Robin, Jason."

Jason managed not to swivel his head toward Bruce. He stared instead straight ahead at the hospital. Stiffly. Damn Bruce and his inconsistent mind reading abilities. Sometimes, it was like he was swimming around in a pool of Jason's thoughts. Others, the man was so emotionally stunted that he didn't even know how to get to the ladder to climb in.

"You're a good kid."

Jason bristled. He hated being called a kid. He didn't feel like one when he had to call 911 on his overdosed mother for the first, or second - or last - time. He didn't feel like a kid when he was living alone on the streets, fending and fighting for himself. He didn't feel like a kid when he was draped in the Robin colors and responsible for actual human lives. 

He sure as hell felt like one when Joker was aiming that gun at Tim. 

And then again when it was pointed at himself. 

But then he remembered the word preceding it. 

Good.

"You did good, son."

It was sort of weird. How easily Jason had accepted Bruce calling him son. He felt like the man's son. Even if he wasn't entirely ready yet to think of Bruce as his father. It was complicated.

"You're a good Robin, Jason."

Even if he hadn't been suffering from his self-induced Dick Grayson jealousy more recently due to the distractions, it was still always there. Hanging out in the back of his mind like a Nightwing-sized shadow. He wanted to be a good Robin. He needed to be. 

"You're a good kid."

"If I'm good," Jason started, sighing, "then what are you?"

Batman furrowed his brow. Or well, he definitely did under the cowl. Jason had learned to understand the tiny creases in the material or the corresponding wrinkles in the man's chin or mouth. 

"You know you're a hypocrite, right?"

Now Bruce turned his head toward him. He was sitting on the edge too. Their shoulders brushed in the night wind. 

"You said that none of this is my fault, but that it's yours." Jason explained, leaning back. "That's bullshit."

"That's - different," Bruce replied after a breath. 

"What? I'm the OG Vigilante and anyone who gets hurt because they wanted to be like me or whatever is on me? Crap." Jason huffed. "Do you think the first police officers saw the next ones and - wait, no. Ignore that. The first cops were slave patrols. The police force is literally built on racism. And you wonder why I hate most cops." He shook his head. "Okay, scrap that. You think it's a firefighter's fault if some kid gets inspired and grows up to become one and then gets hurt?"

"It's," Bruce opened, closed, opened his mouth, "I have a responsibility -"

"Did you buy Tim the stuff to make his costume? Did you put out a PSA to kids that I missed about how they should go fight crime too?"

"I made myself a target," Batman growled, low, "if someone else gets -"

"Dick wasn't the OG Vigilante, but he was the OG Robin. He made himself an actual target. Bright colors and red on the chest like a bullseye even. Is it his fault if I get hurt? Is this," he gestured at his leg, "your fault too? Seems a little unfair to hog all this credit, old man."

"It's not the same." Bruce laid a hand next to where a knife had recently held short-term residence in Jason's thigh. "That, this, was different. That's not just Batman failing. That's - I'm your father, Jason. It's my job to protect you. Not hurt you."

"You didn't -"

"Get you hurt," Bruce corrected, "you know what I -"

"Yeah," Jason turned toward him, propping his good leg up so that he could better face the man, "I know what you meant. And that's not it. Because I know what it feels like to be hurt by your - by your dad. To be hurt inside. And out. I've been punched, kicked, hit, stabbed, you name it. By people when I lived on the street. By criminals as Robin. And none of it, Bruce, none of it feels the same. Feels worse." Jason lifted a hand, paused, then laid it over Bruce's. "Nothing that happened to Tim, happened to me, is your fault. Not Batman's. Not Bruce's."

Jason curled his fingers around Bruce's hand. And waited.

Bruce squeezed back. 

They sat together in the shared silence until Jason's leg started to fall asleep. And maybe he had also been dozing a little against Bruce's side but neither of them mentioned it. 

"You really shouldn't stay out here all night," Bruce spoke softly, finally cracking their quiet. 

Well, there were still the cars below, the occasional train horn, planes, machinery and everything else that made up the white noise of Gotham city. And that was what it was to them. To the boy who had slept among the sounds and the man who spent his nights swinging among its songs. Just white noise. 

But up there, with just the two of them together and the symphony down below, it was quiet. 

"You really shouldn't stay out here all night," Bruce repeated when Jason glared at him, "alone."

Jason's frown flipped and spread into a long, wide, smile. Bruce stood first, reaching down to offer a helping hand to the boy. And Jason took it, letting Batman haul him up and then limping over to his little camp. 

He had definitely prepared. There was the folding chair, a tiny table, some surveillance equipment, a sleeping bag, a stack of blankets, pillow, snacks, some books, and a lantern to read them by. He could have just continued Sherlock Holmes but that was meant for Tim. It felt wrong. Besides, Alfred was having Jason study Shakespeare and he wanted to be ready for their next discussion and/or debate over helping the butler with dinner.  

The blankets were a little overkill honestly. The sleeping bag was high end and thermal-lined and would keep him comfortable in the arctic probably. But Jason slept outside in Gotham before. If he was going to do it again willingly, at least he was going to be comfortable, and a little bougie because, yeah, he lived with a billionaire now. (Yeah, taking blankets and bat-equipment that wasn't his was different than taking books that didn't belong to him out of the library, okay? Again, it was all complicated.)

He offered a couple of the blankets to Batman, who rolled one up for a pillow. Jason was suddenly struck with the image of the Batsuit having one of those built-in inflatable neck pillows somehow integrated into the lining of the cowl. It was hilarious. But also sort of tempting to bring up because sometimes Robin's neck got stiff and sore on stakeouts. 

"Report," Jason mumbled, wrapping a blanket around his body and snuggling into in a way that made Bruce's mouth tick up. 

This was usually the time of the night when Batman asked the same of Robin. 

"I was able to follow up with Mr. Campbell's - contacts - and the women and children that he rescued that night are all now either back home with their families or somewhere safe." Batman glanced at the hospital. "I tracked down four more victims and two more of the traffickers. It took some, persuading, but they gave up another one of their guy's locations. Gordon and GCPD raided it less than an hour later. He tried to run. When he's conscious again, he'll be questioned as to where those that he left the warehouse with were - sold. The authorities in Albania apprehended one of the men coming off a plane and I tracked a train with a few of the smuggled victims in it on its way to Canada. They're safe now."

"There's still more," Robin spoke, staring up at the sky. 

He heard Bruce sigh. 

"There always is."

Jason never really got out of the city. Even when he visited Dick and the Titans, they still lived in San Francisco. It was a little better out by Wayne Manor, but the city was just too close. Some day he was going to go somewhere where he could see all the stars instead of smog or city lights.  

Tim's parents travelled all the time to loads of places that probably had great views of the sky. Jason wondered if Tim had ever been allowed to see any of them for himself. 

"Mr. Campbell and his - friends - have been helpful. I have my sources, of course, but they're, connected. Could be useful." 

"You know he came by the hospital again today," Jason hummed. "Mr. Campbell - Jerry - Jim Gordon, Bruce Wayne, all basically strangers to the kid and they've shown up. What about his parents?"

"According to the representative from Drake Industries," Bruce rubbed a hand across his face, "they've been reached - finally. They are catching the next flight out of somewhere in South Asia near the Maldives, which isn't until the morning. The flight'll take at least 18 hours."

"So another whole day." Jason grunted. 

He wanted them back for Tim. But he wasn't sure why some part of him was upset they were returning.

The Drakes were getting absolutely blasted in the media already. The local news stations were playing it nice, but social platforms had done what they did best, and gone completely off the rails. Was Tim actually Robin? Did his parents know? Did they encourage their young son to engage in such dangerous behavior? Did their frequent absences make becoming the sidekick easier? Exactly why was a minor left alone for so long? 

Drake Industries was doing damage control, of course. But it was too late. Jack and Janet Drake were being burnt alive at the stake in a trial by the general public, and Jason was okay with that. 

It was conflicting, though. Jason didn't want Tim to be separated from his family anymore than he already was. He also didn't want the kid going into the system. Not after everything he had been through. Not ever. But what were the other options? 

Jason slowly turned his head to stare at Bruce. 

Notes:

In an alternate version, where Jason does actually take Tim to the Cave......

 

B: so...you kidnapped him, *after* he was already kidnapped
J: logically, i think that cancels it out if you really think about it.
B: jason...
J: it's just a double negative, you know. I didn't kidnap him, but I didn't not move him to a safer place.
B: ...
J: also, i totally saved him first so i call dibs
B: you can't call dibs on a person
J: you did with dick. And me.
B: (heavy sighing, lots of it)
J: so can we keep him?

Chapter 22

Tim's parents were coming home. 

It was one of the first things the doctor had told him after waking up. 

"They're on their way, don't worry."

Don't worry. 

Don't worry.

Don't worry.

Tim was usually so excited when his parents were finally coming back. But this time? They were coming back because of him. Their trip was cut short and it was his fault. 

Tim's parents were coming home. 

It should have filled him with warm comfort. Instead, it made him cold and his fingers itch and his chest feel heavy and - 

Tim's parents were coming home. 

He had been kidnapped. Stabbed. Chased around a hotel and fell from a skyscraper and so scared and almost died and almost got Robin killed and nearly shot and hurt and -

Tim's parents were coming home. 

Why was that single thought causing him more anxiety than everything else he had endured? 

They wouldn't be mad at him for getting kidnapped, right? But there would be questions. So, so, many questions. There already were. From police. From representatives from Drake Industries. From the news. 

His whole life Tim had been alone. 

For the first time ever, he actually wanted to be. 

His parents weren't bad people. They weren't mean or abusive or angry. They weren't - anything. Not really. But he loved them and he wanted their love after all of that. He did. Badly. But not if it came with more questions. More noise. 

Tim wasn't Robin. That much was clear. From the headlines. From how spectacularly he had screwed up. But people still wanted their stories. The representative, Bob Otten, from Drake Industries, was already scheduling him appearances on television shows and interviews with papers. Normally, his parents would have probably preferred to have all of this swept quietly under the rug but it was out there now. It was everywhere. And they needed to spin this in their favor, and soon. Drake Industries stock was plummeting. There were social media campaigns championing Tim Drake as a child of neglect being spearheaded by people he didn't even know. There were other accounts already bashing him for getting all the attention when there were plenty of other children being abused or neglected by their parents but because Tim was a white, rich kid, he had the spotlight.

Tim didn't want the light. The attention. Any of it. 

With a sigh, Tim opened the flight tracker on his phone again with his free hand. His other was fine, but it was a little difficult to use while the arm attached to it was held in a sling. Because apparently purposefully dislocating and then resetting your own shoulder, and then climbing a wall and hanging from a string of lights weren't all brilliant ideas. Who knew?

It wasn't his phone, exactly. That was still with the police as evidence. Along with his laptop. And tablet. And Kindle. He had an old MP3 player somewhere in a shoebox in his closet. He wondered if he could get someone to grab it. The television in his room was nice, but daytime TV wasn't really his thing. He had finally gotten a company phone from Mr. Otten. Probably just to get the kid to stop bugging him. It was heavily locked down to keep him from seeing the news and probably from reaching out to anyone before they could get him an approved script, but that didn't stop him. It wasn't as if anyone at the company actually knew how smart Tim Drake was and had to worry about him hacking one of their devices. His own parents didn't know he was clever. 

Ten more hours. 

Tim stared at the little clipart image of an airplane. He wondered what his mom and dad were doing as they sat on that plane. Were they worried? Were they relieved? Were they sleeping? 

If they ever got kidnapped, Tim wouldn't sleep. Tim would figure out what happened. He would save them. He just knew it. He would go to Batman if he had to. 

Batman.

That was just one more thing Tim had the privilege to worry over. 

He needed to fix this. Make sure he didn't cause any more problems for his heroes. 

Checking the door, Tim laid his head back against the pillow and stared at the window. 

"Robin." His voice cracked on the name. "Robin. I know you're listening. Of course you guys are. And - and I think you're close. They don't leave me alone a lot when I'm not sleeping so I don't know when else I'll be able to talk to you." Tim swallowed, glancing again toward the door.

"I'm sorry."

The words came out whispered and Tim should have probably tried to get his voice louder. He wasn't sure how well the equipment would pick up his voice but it was Batman's tech after all. And, really, he couldn't make himself louder if he wanted to. He could barely get the words out at all.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for getting you hurt. For making this big mess. I need you to - I want you - I wasn't - I wasn't trying to be you. Not that being you would be bad. It would be really cool, because you're a hero, you know? But I wasn't trying to - steal it - or anything. I was just taking pictures."

"I know."

Tim hadn't realized he had closed his eyes. When he opened them, Robin was just - there. Casually sitting in the window like it wasn't over a dozen floors above the ground. Like he hadn't been stabbed only the other day. Like him and Tim were just talking, just friends. 

"I saw the video from your phone."

Tim blushed. 

"You got some good moves," Robin huffed, swinging his good leg over into the room. "I mean, I saw some of them that night - which was so stupid, by the way. You should have just ran away when you got free."

"You were hurt," Tim frowned. "Joker - he - he was going to - kill - you."

"And he could've killed you." Robin rubbed his neck, shaking his head. "Shit, I sound like B." He looked right at Tim then and there was something like relief and pride and something else that made Tim feel funny. "What I mean, is that you were really brave. You saved me."

Tim shrugged, biting back the wince when the movement pulled his shoulder and side stitches.

"You saved me first."

"Okay, then we're even," Robin smirked.

Tim glanced away at that. They weren't even. Not even close. 

"Did you want to talk to me?" Robin leaned forward. "Is that why you reached out?"

Tim folded and unfolded the edge of his sheet. 

"I just," Tim smoothed the bedding, rumpled it, "I just wanted to apologize. For - everything."

"You got nothing to apologize for," Robin sounded surprised, but serious. 

"People know now, that I'm not Robin, not you," Tim bit his cheek, "but I was still wearing the colors. I hurt Robin. I got you actually hurt. And I hurt, you know, the name. Made Robin look weak and -"

"I'm gonna stop you right there, kid," Jason snorted, putting up a hand. "Robin gets kidnapped all the time. Batman too. It's part of the job. Usually, it comes with getting dangled over some mystery vat of acid or chemicals - or sometimes sharks. They didn't dangle you over sharks, did they?"

Robin laughed and Tim couldn't help it, he laughed too. 

"No."

"Good. Just checking." Robin's face fell serious again. "Sure, you got snatched up while looking like me. You know what else you did in that costume? You saved those two kids. And because we were looking for you - we saved a bunch of other people at that auction. We still are. Batman is dismantling that whole operation. A whole operation that no one even knew where to look for them, until that night. Until you."

Tim bowed his head.

"You honored the Robin name, Tim," the older boy continued, "you did. And don't think any different. 'Cause, you know, I'm Robin. So if I say you did, then you did. Okay?"

Tim still couldn't look at him. Instead, he nodded. 

"By the way," Robin cleared his throat after a long moment, "I know we sort of met when you were stopping me from bleeding all over, but, it's nice to meet you. For real. And without bullets everywhere."

Tim's mouth was trying to smile. 

"Are you okay?"

Robin chuckled, an odd sound of surprise. 

"Me? Yeah, I'm good." He stretched his injured leg. "Had worse. And this one was worth it."

Tim felt something buzz in his chest. 

"Are you okay?"

Tim startled so hard he actually finally looked back up at the boy. Robin sounded so very much like he meant it. And not just that he meant it. That it meant something more to him. That it was important to Robin whether Tim was okay or not. Besides the doctor, no one had asked him that yet. 

He wasn't sure if anyone had ever asked him that and sounded so sincere. 

The shock of it had Tim shaking his head before he could form the familiar "fine". 

"That's okay, you know?" Robin leaned forward. 

Tim twitched. His knuckles wrapped themselves in the sheet. 

"Look, I'm gonna be honest," Robin sighed, "I was in your room. And your computer. Trying to find something to help you. I'm only telling you so I can say this to you and not 'cause I feel bad because you snooped on us first."

Tim's face felt hot. He figured that was going to be brought up sooner or later. What exactly were they going to do about some kid knowing their secret? 

"What I found," Robin continued, "it looks like you've been taking care of yourself for a long time now, right? That you had to be okay. 'Cause no one else was around to help if you weren't. You got someone now."

Tim furrowed his forehead, glancing up at the boy in confusion. 

"Me," Robin rolled his eyes but then stared right at Tim, "you got me now."

Tim blinked, shaking his head. 

"But - but I - I spied - and I know - and I'm just - me - just, nobody."

Robin looked stricken. 

"What are you talking about? You're Robin. You were Robin for those kids. You were Robin in that train yard. And it takes someone special to be Robin. I should know. I'm awesome. But - but even if you weren't. Even if you're just Tim. That's somebody. Somebody who is teaching himself languages and cares about people and is stupidly smart and who saved me and who I care about now and is just gonna have to deal with that. Got it?"

Tim ran his tongue over his teeth. They didn't know each other, not really. Sure, they both knew a lot about each other now - Tim wasn't ready to think about what embarrassing things were found in his room or on his computer. But that was different. In Tim's life, he had to work for attention. Work to be cared about. That was just how life was, right? 

Right? 

"You're not - mad? That I know?"

"You knew for awhile and didn't tell anyone. And you didn't tell anyone while you were taken. Even when he might've saved your skin. And besides," Robin shrugged, "you come first. Getting better and being safe. B will probably wanna talk to you soon. Give you some serious, boring lecture about how important and dangerous what you know is, blah blah -"

"You're right," Tim swallowed, "I wouldn't tell. I swear, I would never tell anyone."

"We know," Robin leaned forward. "He knows."

"He - he really isn't angry?"

"Nah," Robin waved a hand, "even if his face is all scrunched up and he looks sort of constipated when he gives you the lecture, just trust me. It's his resting face."

Tim worked his jaw. 

"And I - I really - he's going to talk to me?" 

He looked halfway between terrified and awe-struck. 

"And here I thought you were my fan," Robin huffed dramatically. "You do know B isn't actually that cool, right?"

Tim cocked an eyebrow, thoroughly unconvinced. 

"You haven't heard his dad jokes, or seen his pre-coffee morning face - and hair."

"You should see me before coffee," Tim grunted but then hummed mournfully, "ugh, coffee. How long has it been? They won't give me any here."

"Yeah," Robin snorted, "because you're on meds, and healing, and like five."

"I'm 12," Tim whined. 

Robin laughed, and Tim found himself following suit. Soon, the pair of them were trading jokes and stories and giggling like old friends. It was surreal. Tim almost asked the older boy to pinch him at one point, but thought better of it. After awhile, Tim snuck a glance at the plane tracker again. 

"Tim," Robin shifted, clearing his throat, "your parents -"

"They're not going to get in trouble, are they?"

"They're gone, a lot, and -"

"Leaving children home alone is not a punishable offense on its own. And it does not qualify as neglect as long as the child's needs are met."

"Rehearse that a lot, huh?"

Tim crossed his arms close over his chest, biting back the wince as the movement pulled his stitches. 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, I -"

"Are you - is Batman going to try to take my parents away from me?" Tim felt his face flushing, cheeks and stomach hot with embarrassment, and anger. 

"I think the Gotham public is doing a good enough job." Robin scoffed. 

"But you're helping," Tim narrowed his brow, "you - you and Batman. You were in my house, my computer. Did you show social services stuff?"

"And what would I show them?" Robin cocked his head.

"N-nothing!"

"Tim, look -"

"No, you can't do this. You already saved me, okay? I don't need any more saving."

"We just want to help -"

"You're not!"

"83 hours!"

Robin's sudden shout shook Tim enough into silence.

"It's been 83 hours, Tim, since you went missing. And not a word from your folks. Nothing."

"They - they're traveling. Trying to get back."

"They're Drakes," Robin ground out the surname like it was both sour and sharp, "they can find a way to contact you from across the country. They got in touch with the company, right? That's how you know they're coming."

"It was a short layover -"

"I don't care if they had two minutes to run across the entire airport to catch their flight," Robin shook his head, "they have phones. They have connections. They have money. Somehow, with all of that, they forgot they also have a son."

"It's not their fault I got in trouble while they were out of the country -"

"No, but it is their fault for not calling their damn kid - the one that just nearly died."

Tim flinched at the reminder. 

"And everything else?" Robin continued, calming but muscles still coiled. "Everything before this happened? That is their fault."

"Their work is important."

"So are you."

Tim rolled his eyes. 

"Shit," Robin whistled, "they really did a number on you, didn't they?"

"What?"

"Look, Tim," Robin - Jason - lowered his voice, "my dad was a drunk and a dick and went to jail and then got himself killed. He chose being a criminal over us, over me. My mom - she - she was sick. She made a lot of mistakes. And then she left me. She chose drugs over her own kid. I love my mom, but sometimes I - sometimes I'm so mad at her it hurts. Just 'cause it's not crime or heroin - don't mean your folks aren't choosing something else over you."

"They're home sometimes."

"And how much of that time are they working or busy or at the office? Huh? I know what it's like for your parents to be there, and not be there. I miss my mom, all the damn time. But I missed her before she died. I lost her way before that."

"I - I'm sorry," Tim rubbed his elbows, "but it's - not the same."

"No, it's not." Jason tensed again. "My mom - she had a rough life. It was - bad. And she turned to drugs because of it. That don't make it right, but it's something. What are your parents' excuse, Tim?" 

"It's different," Tim bristled, "they own a whole company and -"

"So does -" Robin cut himself off, shaking his head, "B is Batman. He saves the city, like, regularly. Of course, I'm a key part of that. Obviously. But he does. And he has - all his other stuff. I'm not saying he's a perfect d-boss. But he makes time. Sometimes. Okay, actually, he screws up a lot, but he tries to make up for it. He tries. To be there. And when he's not, he makes sure I have - uh - someone watching out for me."

"I can take care of myself."

"So could I," Jason breathed out slowly. "That don't mean we should have to."

They were silent for a long time after that. Finally, in the middle of the quiet, Tim's throat made a noise he so desperately tried to silence. 

"I don't want to lose them."

Jason waited until Tim met his gaze. 

"I'm sorry, Tim," his eyes were somber behind the mask, "but do you even have them now?"

Tim opened his mouth to answer, and then closed it. 

"Will you stay?" He asked instead. "When they come - later - will you - could you -"

"I ain't going anywhere, kid."

Tim's parents were coming home. 

His whole life Tim had been alone. 

For the first time since he woke up, he didn't want to be.

For the first time since he could remember, he wasn't. 

Notes:

I realize that it is not the "CPS" in New Jersey but I accidentally called it that already and to just keep things clear, I am going to stick with it. My apologies.

Chapter 23

Tim fell asleep waiting for his parents. 

He didn't think he could. Didn't think his brain would shut off or his nerves would stop playing pinball in his stomach but he did. 

Because Robin was there. 

He tossed and turned and startled awake a few times with the laughter of a clown echoing in his ears. But then Robin flashed a light into Tim's window, just a small sign to signal that the older boy was still there, and Tim settled again, sagging against stiff pillows. 

"Timothy."

His own name sounded so very far away. He reached out, tried to catch it. It's his afterall. 

"Timothy, son."

He felt a groan somewhere at the back of his throat, but he didn't hear if he actually made a sound. 

"Come on, Timothy. It's time to wake up."

Tim wanted to ask for five more minutes. To roll over, away from whatever noise was rude enough to wake him. 

But then - he remembered.

His parents were coming. 

They didn't exactly have a history of taking "no" for an answer. 

He stirred a little, let himself come back to his body slowly. He was coming around, which would satisfy them, but he could at least stretch out the time between sleep-filled bliss and beratement. 

Something was tickling his forehead and it sort of itched. Tim wanted to swat it, but that would have given himself away.

"Timothy, we're waiting for you to get started."

Tim felt his eyebrows sort of scrunch together. Get started? His parents hadn't actually scheduled some interview or something already before even saying hello, had they? 

The curiosity won out, Tim's eyelids blinking open until the bleary film faded. 

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

His mother was bent over him, arm outstretched toward his head. Belatedly, Tim realized that she was stroking his bangs against his forehead. He couldn't remember the last time she'd done this. There was a foggy memory of second grade and pneumonia but Tim still had a nanny back then and he couldn't remember which woman it was. 

Tim peered over his mother's shoulder to check the clock on the wall, but he couldn't quite make out the numbers. He didn't think he'd been sleeping that long.

"You - you're here already?"

"We came back early, dear," she cood, "to surprise you, of course."

"We?"

His father appeared in the doorway, as if on cue, a box in his arms and a wide smile slapped across his normally serious face. 

"Well, of course," Jack leaned against the frame, hugging the box to one side, "you've only been going on and on about this for ages. We weren't going to miss it."

And with that, he was hurrying off down the hall. 

"Come on," Janet tugged Tim's blankets off the boy. 

"But I -" Tim's hand ghosted over his abdomen, finding smooth skin instead of bandages. 

Belatedly, he realized he'd reached with the arm that was supposed to be in a sling. He flexed the limb a little, testing it. 

Tim sat up slowly, only to find no pain protesting from his stomach or side. 

"What's the matter, dear?" His mother frowned.

Tim blinked, staring down at himself.

"Uh, nothing." He shook his head. 

"Good," Janet patted his knee, "now get dressed. Don't forget your coat and boots. It's a bit of a mess out there today. I told your father we should've done all this before we started getting snow, but you know how he is."

She offered her son another smile before standing and leaving Tim alone - in his bedroom. He could have sworn he'd been somewhere else. But it felt distant. Like a dream he couldn't quite hold onto anymore after waking. 

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, Tim stood, careful at first. When nothing hurt - and why would it - he shuffled over to the window. Fat flakes of snow drifted down from the sky on the other side of the frosted glass. The yard, their whole property, was peppered in patches of white. At this rate, it would be one white sheet by the end of the day. Leaning close, Tim huffed out a small breath against the window, watching the fog clear and then cloud over. His face broke out into a grin and Tim turned, scrambling now for his closet. 

Thick sweater, and thicker socks, now on, Tim rushed out and down the stairs. His eyes caught the framed photos on the walls. Family trips and school portraits and missing posters of children all scattered along the halls. His jacket and shoes were already laid out and ready for him by the door and Tim hurried to pull on the bright green boots. The coat was yellow with red trim and felt too big but his mom got his sizing wrong all the time so that was okay.  

Trudging out into the cold and snow, Tim turned to find his parents setting up a ladder, already surrounded by boxes. 

"Looking good, sport."

"Are you kidding, Jack?" His mother chuckled. "That thing is ridiculous. There's a reason he wears his pea coat in public."

"Well," his father shrugged, "at least we'll always be able to find him when he goes wandering off." 

"But you didn't find me."

Tim's voice was soft and he spoke before he even realized it, whispered words lingering in the fog of his breath between him and his parents. 

"Come on, Timothy," his father waved a hand, "these lights aren't going to hang themselves, are they?"

"We'll start with the lights," Janet nodded, taking a step back to survey the house, "then the rest of the outdoor decorations. We'll be cold enough afterward for some nice hot cocoa and we can warm up inside while putting up the indoor decorations."

"Your mother," Jack huffed fondly, offering Tim a hand up onto the bottom rungs of the ladder, "always has a plan for everything."

His father hefted a box onto his hip, digging out a string of lights and passing them to his son. Tim took them, holding the little light-up pumpkins out in front of him. 

"These aren't right."

"What are you talking about?" Jack craned his head, checking the thick black words of Christmas Lights scrawled on the side of the bin. "These are the same ones we use every year."

"We're on a schedule, dear," Janet hummed, pulling ghosts and snowmen out of the other boxes. 

"You heard your mother," Jack shook his head, "up you go."

Tim squinted at the orange lights. With a sigh, he started up the ladder, his father feeding him more and more of the string as he climbed. The metal clanged with each booted step, starting a sort of rhythm. It echoed in Tim's head until it felt like it had somehow seeped out of the real world and settled instead in his brain. Like if he stopped moving, the sound would still keep going. But he didn't stop. One foot after the other, Tim pulled himself up and up and up until the air started feeling thinner and he was sure he should have made it to the roof by now. Each floor had exaggerated, elevated ceilings, but the house was only two stories. 

Tim stumbled, a stinging sensation spreading across his side. He must have pulled a muscle. 

Finally, finally, Tim reached the roof. The plastic clips were already in place and Tim started to feed the lights through them. He'd have to actually climb up and onto the roof to get to the rest, but when Tim made to move, his boot slipped, suddenly too big for his feet. His body flailed, knee knocking the ladder and tipping it over. Tim's hands latched onto the edge of the roof as the ladder fell from under him. 

He just hoped it didn't squash his parents down below. 

His fingers dug into shingles until they started to shake from the cold and weight. Tim screamed as his knuckles gave out, clutching the string of lights as he slid. His body buoyed in the breeze and Tim didn't mean to look down. He hadn't wanted to see his mother and father flattened by the ladder if it'd happened. 

But there he was, gaping down and down and down. The distance stretched out underneath him, his vision tunneling as he tried to make out the blurs below. 

Jack and Janet Drake weren't there. 

But Joker was. 

The sound of one of the plastic clips snapping drew Tim's attention back. The lights shook with the new slack. Another pop. Another crack. And Tim's lifeline of tiny pumpkins dropped him down more again and again. 

"Hey bird brain! Watch where you're dripping!"

Tim glanced back down. Blood leaked out from both his side and stomach, draining down his pants and staining his green boots red. It drizzled like sick red snowflakes, landing on the clown's face. 

Because he could see Joker clearer now. 

Because he was closer now. 

Because the lights were stretching and falling and somehow the distance down was less than the climb up but that didn't matter because Tim was going to die. 

Whether it was the fall or the blood loss or the painted, purple-suited maniac making snow angels underneath him, Tim was going to die. 

Tim was going to - 

"Hang on!"

Tim gasped, feeling the air fill his lungs for the first time since it had been knocked out of him when he fell. Craning his neck, Tim watched as Robin leaned over the edge of the roof. Gloved hands reached down, yanking the strand of lights. 

"I've got you, Tim!"

Robin rushed to reel him in, Tim's palms sweaty and slipping. 

"Don't let go! I -"

Robin went stiff, a strangled sound cutting off his words and filling his throat. His back arched, and it was only then that Tim could see the knife sticking straight through Robin's chest. A man appeared from behind the boy, standing. 

Hairy. 

Tim tasted snowflakes as he screamed and the cord went entirely slack and he fell. 

A shadow swooped low, scooping Tim just before he hit the ground. It wrapped Tim in black and carried him off as Robin choked and Joker cursed after him and his parents were nowhere to be found. 

"Robin!"

His voice was muffled as he was flown away. 

"No!"

When they landed, the thing surrounding Tim unfurled and a shadow became a cape and a cape became a man and Tim fell into Batman's arms. 

"We have to save Robin!"

"Tim," Batman held him close as the boy beat against the vigilante's chest. 

"We have to go back!"

Tim turned, trying to break free from his hero's hold. 

"Tim."

"We can't just leave him -"

"Tim -"

"Robin -"

"Tim."

Tim fell asleep waiting for his parents. 

He woke up, with Bruce Wayne at his bedside, bent over him and making these quiet little shushing noises that Tim never imagined the Dark Knight was capable of. He should have been starstruck. Or skittering across the room in case the guy actually was angry about Tim deducing their identities. Right then, with the man hovering above him, a strong hand on Tim's uninjured shoulder, all he could feel - was relief. 

Tim came to his senses pretty quickly. He'd had nightmares ever since that day at the circus when Dick Grayson's family fell to their deaths in front of him. Batman saved him in those dreams too. Sometimes Robin. 

And now they had both saved him outside of his dreams, too. 

Still - 

He knew it wasn't real. Recognized it as a nightmare almost instantly. 

But -

The loss, that felt real. Still did. Something aching and burning and screaming in his chest in the same spot where the knife had cut through Robin like bloody butter. 

Just like the one that had been stuck in Jason's leg at the train yard. 

Just like the one that had torn into Tim's own gut outside the hotel. 

Robin died in the dream. He'd almost died in the real world. 

Tim had almost died. 

"Are you okay?"

Robin had asked him. Asked him like he meant it. Like he cared. But Tim had been so focused on his parents and making sure Jason was alright too and that the vigilantes weren't mad that he knew their identities and - and - 

Tim felt his throat swelling and he swallowed it down. Swallowed it all down. 

"Pretending to be strong all of the time is exhausting."

Bruce's voice was like a balm pressed up against his ear. It was low and soft, but also so sure. 

"You don't have to do that. We've been watching you, Tim. From the moment you woke up, you've been putting on a mask. I know what it's like to wear one. It's not rubber or leather. It's a part of you. It's so much harder to take off. But you can , Tim. Take life in. Let it in. Let yourself feel it. The fear, the pain, the grief of the life you almost lost."

Tim wrapped the edge of the bedsheets in his fingers, twisting, pulling. 

"You, you don't."

Bruce bowed his head. 

"No, no I don't. Not always. But, I'm not exactly the best person to look up to."

Tim's head snapped up. For the first time since waking, since standing opposite of each other in a hotel room, he looked at the man in the eyes. 

"Yes you are."

Bruce frowned, face heavy. 

"I felt it, Tim. Fear. When I found out you'd been taken because of what you were wearing. Because of me. Then when I got to the train yard, and Jason was hurt. And you were hurt. And then you were gone again. I felt it when you fell, Tim. When I thought I'd failed to save you. Which, I did. You saved yourself. I've been afraid ever since you went missing."

Tim's brow furrowed as he studied the man.

"You, you have?"

Bruce simply nodded. 

Tim's throat was thick again and he had to look away. Biting his lips together, Tim breathed only through his nose because he worried if he opened his mouth, just a little, it would all come clawing and crying out. His Adam's apple bobbed from the effort of keeping it contained. 

"Tim."

The boy's chest shuddered. 

"Tim."

His eyes burned. 

"You can cry, Tim. It's okay."

Swallowing again, Tim shook his head. 

"Not - not in front of Batman."

His voice was small, so small. He hated how it sounded. How he felt. 

Bruce made a sort of humming noise, somewhere between amusement and agony. 

"I'm not Batman right now, Tim." He whispered into Tim's good ear. "I'm just Bruce. I'm a father. And I'd like to be your friend. If you'd let me."

"...you've been taking care of yourself for a long time now…you had to be okay. 'Cause no one else was around to help if you weren't. You got someone now."

Tim had been angry, just a little, at Jason. For bringing up his parents. Making assumptions and saying things that sounded an awful lot like accusations. 

"Me. You got me now."

Yet. Yet a part of him - the part of him that still hoped one year his family would actually put up their decorations together for the holidays and maybe his parents would even be home for them and that used to sneak into his mom and dad's bedroom when he was very little and wrap himself in the covers, in their warmth and scents, that part of him - wanted to lunge across the room, pain and stitches be damned, and crash into Jason. 

"You got me now"

To let Jason just have him. Hold him. 

But Bruce was holding him now. With Robin, with Jason, for the first time in a long time, Tim hadn't felt alone. Now, with Bruce's strong arms wrapped around him, for the first time, Tim felt like he could fall apart. That those arms were strong enough to hold him together if he did.

From being kidnapped to stabbed to having people be there for him, Tim was sure experiencing a lot of firsts lately. 

Thinking about being kidnapped and stabbed brought back images of dark train cars and a woman's blood splattering across his face and a sidewalk that seemed so very far down below. Brought back feelings of fear. Of how a blade felt when it sank into flesh. Of how it felt to be dying. 

Tim didn't realize he was finally crying until hot tears smeared against his neck when Bruce pulled him closer. His face was warm and wet and some of the tracks along his cheeks and chin were already drying and - how long had he been doing this? 

There was a sound, something broken and deep, and that couldn't have come from him, could it? It was there again, starting somewhere in his chest and tangling up in his throat. 

His fingers tightened around the sheets, except, except - now they felt thicker, coarser and when Tim opened his eyes against the fog of tears he found himself clinging to Bruce Wayne's coat. It wasn't a cape. Wasn't the shadow from his dream that swooped down and saved him. 

But somehow, it felt just as safe. 

 

---

 

The strangled sobs coming from the boy in his arms felt so soul deep that they reached right into Bruce's own heart, and squeezed. 

According to Robin, Tim hadn't cried once since waking. Not when the doctors explained and cataloged all of his wounds, which there were many. Not when the kid had tried to get up on his own accord and make it to the bathroom before falling right off the bed and busting open both his sets of stitches. Not when he relayed his entire, detailed experience to Jim Gordon. 

He'd been strong before then, too. Bruce had seen it. 

The way Tim saved his son's life there on the stage. 

Those wide, terrified eyes when he'd been brought to the hotel room, to his buyer, so full of fear but so vibrant with fight and flickering around the room like Tim was calculating how to escape, and then studying Bruce disguised as the stranger, as if calculating how to behave, talk, survive. 

The clever, brave, insane, child hanging from Halloween string lights over the side of a skyscraper. 

Apart from a singular moment where Tim had been clutching a kill switch for a bomb, the boy hadn't broken. Had hardly even cracked. 

How long had Tim been doing just that when there wasn't gunfire or explosives? 

How many nights had this child laid alone in a too-big house with no one else there, made microwave meals for one when his family could have afforded fine dining or a chef, got himself home from school and had no one to help him with homework or talk about his day? For how long had Tim refused to show weakness to even the shadows? 

And then, of course, there would have been the times when his parents were around. Bruce knew enough about the Drakes, about what Robin had found in that house and on Tim's computer - and enough about the types of people, types of parents, of the upper class, to make his own deductions. 

Bruce's own mother and father had been the exception. He'd met others, too, of course. But so many, too many, were coarse. Sometimes even cruel. They loved at a distance. Hired nannies and sent their children off to boarding schools. Expected respect. And whether they achieved that through fear or love, well, it didn't always much matter. 

But those children, most of them, still had someone. When Bruce's parents were away, he'd had Alfred. Where was Tim's nanny or butler or hell, even a babysitter or tutor? Someone, anyone. 

Bruce had lost his parents because of a gunman. 

Jason had lost his to crime and drugs. 

Tim didn't have his mother and father - because of work? 

The boy's fingers clung to Bruce's coat, holding so tight like he was afraid the man would let go. Or maybe, Bruce was the one thing keeping Tim together. Because it sure looked like the kid might just shake right apart into a million little pieces. His bruised body shivered in time to his cries. Cries that became sobs which became sort of screams. 

How long had it been since Tim had cried?

Since he'd let himself let go? 

Were these tears all for the last few days? Or were they something more? 

A lifetime of hurt and holding it all together?

Is this what Bruce had been doing to Jason? To Dick? Making his boys think they had to be perfect. That the mission came before even them? Jason had outright said it. Had been worried what Batman would do if he found out Tim knew their secret. Worried what? That Batman wouldn't save a child? 

God, he'd been so wrong about so much for so very long. 

It took taking a hard look at Tim's parents to understand just how similar he sometimes was to them. It made him sick. 

But he was doing what he did for Gotham, for the people, for - 

No. 

Just because the rationalizations were different, didn't mean the effects weren't the same. Didn't mean Tim and Jason and Dick weren't all suffering, and for similar reasons. 

He needed to fix things with his sons. 

And, with Tim. 

Tim, whose cries had finally crested, throat cracking and hiccuping as he settled into sleep. He still stirred, here and there, moaning or sniffling, and Bruce didn't dare let him go until a nurse came in to administer his new dose of antibiotics and check his bandages. 

Bruce wasn't made to leave and he was grateful. Maybe the woman was too afraid to try to shoo away the guy who'd donated the wing she was working in. Or maybe she'd seen how the kid was clinging to him and thought better of it. 

Bruce had seen most of the damage himself firsthand as he'd rushed Tim to the hospital. He'd even gotten the full report and a copy of the chart. But seeing him now, in the quiet and calm, was still a little startling. 

Tim's hairline was smudged black and blue. There were two bumps just underneath his mess of bangs. The concussion wasn't serious, but there had been enough initial swelling near the brain to cause the doctors some concern. 

The rest of his body was a painful portrait of mottled bruising. It was difficult to distinguish what came from blows or the side of the building as he'd swung against the brick. The skin not discolored was either too pale or white with bandaging. Five stitches for the nail in his side - after the first set was done by a strange woman in a hotel bathroom. Thirteen for the knife in his stomach. And that was after the staples and the surgeries. 

One arm was in a sling from the damage Tim had inflicted to his own shoulder to break free, to save Robin. But both wrists were red and raw underneath thin wrappings.

He had a ruptured eardrum that would heal in a few weeks time and Jason had nearly hooted in celebration when they'd found out the kid wasn't going to be partially deaf from the gunshot. 

He'd have a hard time hearing, sitting upright, standing, moving, sleeping, everything, for awhile. But, he was alive. 

And Bruce - and Jason - would be there to help him now. 

Bruce checked his watch, carefully craning his neck instead of moving his hand out from where it was currently wrapped around Tim's. Only a few more hours until the Drakes arrived. 

Yes. Bruce and Jason would be there to help Tim now. 

No matter what happened next. 

Chapter 24

"He's my son, I have a right to see him!"

"Jack, honey, lower your voice, you're making a scene."

"I'm not the one making a scene here, Janet! It's this poor excuse for a -"

"I'd be very careful about what you choose to say next, Mr. Drake."

It didn't feel like a Tuesday. Tim was sure of it. 

But his father always spent Tuesday mornings yelling on the phone with somebody from the company.

When he was home. 

Their house was big, but the shouting somehow still seemed to travel. It had stopped startling Tim awake years ago. Now, he just sort of laid there, words warbled in his sleep sticky brain. He'd made the mistake of going downstairs when this was happening on precisely one occasion only. He'd been late to school because Jack had given his son a lecture on business management that had lasted well over an hour. By the end of the rant, Jack had just been complaining and Tim had been pretty positive that their little chat had nothing at all to do with Tim. 

"I want to talk to your supervisor -"

"I'm the commissioner, sir -"

"Then I want to talk to the mayor -"

"Sure, give him a call. Just not from here."

No.

It wasn't a Tuesday. 

And Tim definitely wasn't at home. 

The dim hospital room blinked into bleary focus. Tim's eyes darted to the window. 

He was alone. 

His parents were here and Tim was alone. 

But Jason had promised -  

And Bruce had said -

His parents were here. 

And he was alone. 

He couldn't do this alone. 

God, he'd been alone for so long and now he hadn't been for less than a day and he suddenly needed Batman and Robin to hold his hand. Pathetic. 

But still.

Tim wanted them there.

He also wanted his parents, though. 

But he didn't want to face them.

It was complicated - okay?

Tim couldn't make out the next shout, but the timber of his father's voice trembled out from the other side of the door. 

They were going to get in.

His parents always got what they wanted.

Tim glanced around the room. There weren't exactly a lot of options. The bathroom was obvious, and childish. He'd seen Robin come and go from the window, but the thought had him shivering. Tim definitely didn't need another course in how to scale tall buildings without any equipment, thank you very much. And at least last time, he'd had pants. 

Tim pushed the blanket down, the air cold on his bare legs. Patches of black and blue and purple splotched along the pale skin and he wasn't sure which were from that first fight in the alley, the scuffle on stage, or playing piñata hanging outside of a skyscraper.  

Tim certainly felt like his insides were going to spill out any moment now. 

With the arm not currently tucked away in a sling, Tim reached over to the machines beside the bed. A quick internet search on his phone for the system's handbooks had them depowered without raising any alarms. That settled, Tim went to work on the wires connected to his body. The catheter had already been removed - thank God - but the IV still stung when he yanked it out.

Wiping the blood from his hand onto the bedding, Tim sat up, slow and staggering. He already had to stop to catch his breath by the time he was merely upright. The last time he had tried this by himself, Tim had splattered onto the floor and torn open both his sets of stitches. He wasn't exactly aiming for Round Two. 

His legs were bruised but mostly seriously unharmed, yet he winced as he dragged them over the side of the bed, every movement making the spot on his stomach that had swallowed a knife scream. 

"Come on, Tim."

He ground the words out. The same thing he'd said to himself when he'd been home alone with the flu and had trudged off to school anyway. The same thing he'd told himself when he'd had pneumonia while his parents were overseas and he'd made it all the way to the front door with his backpack on before passing out. 

The same thing he'd whispered to himself alone in that shipping container. 

When Tim's feet hit the floor, Tim nearly did too. Legs wobbly, and stomach searing, Tim hooked his free hand around a monitor screen. Using one of the IV stands for support, Tim hobbled his way over to the door.

"This is ridiculous! We are his parents -"

"Who are facing possible charges of criminal neglect, among other things -"

"We haven't been arrested or -"

"Yet. The case is still open and -"

"Get out of my way!"

Tim took an instinctive step away from the door, nearly tumbling backward. 

"Put your hands on me, Mr. Drake, and you will be under arrest far more quickly."

"Jack, why don't we take this down the hall so we don't wake your boy? He's been through a lot."

Tim blinked. He had the ridiculous urge to cartoonishly stick a finger in his ear to clear out the cobwebs of a dream he was surely hearing instead. 

Because that was Bruce. 

Bruce Wayne. 

Which, right, shouldn't have been a big deal, but that didn't stop something warm from settling in Tim's chest. 

Sure, he'd said he be there for Tim - right after Tim had bawled in the man's arms - but adults said that sort of thing all the time. And Mr. Wayne was a busy man. Batman was even busier. He'd already saved Tim - how much longer was he really going to stick around when there were far more important things for him to be doing? 

"Bruce Wayne? What are you doing here?"

"Mr. Wayne has been very involved ever since your son went missing. He even offered to pay a hefty reward to get Tim back."

And Tim, Tim didn't know that bit. 

How much had the billionaire been willing to shell out for a stranger? 

Finding out his life was going to be boiled down to some number at the auction had been sickening. Someone was going to pay for him. Like he was an object. A thing .  

Finding out Bruce Wayne had been ready to pay for him, to get him back, felt entirely different. 

His parents must have listened to Bruce, though, because the voices started drifting farther away. Tim's shoulders sagged, the relief nearly tipping his feeble frame over. Steadying himself, Tim shuffled closer to his door, pressing his ear against the cold surface. Hearing nothing, he began easing the door open ever so slowly. When there was enough of a crack, Tim smashed his face up against the opening, one eyeball peering wide through and down the hall. 

His parents were down a ways and around a corner, the back of Bruce Wayne's crisp suit jacket all Tim could see. It might have been nothing, just chance. But it looked like the man was strategically standing at the mouth of Tim's hallway, placing himself between parents and son. 

Pulling the door open more, Tim stuck his whole head out this time, craning his neck both ways. The coast clear, Tim shimmied out of his room, still clutching the metal pole keeping him upright. 

He made it down the opposite direction and into a supply closet before banging his head against the wall. And then promptly wincing. 

This was silly. 

Where was he going to go? He couldn't exactly hide from his parents forever and disappearing now would only make their inevitable reunion worse. 

And there was this part of him - this stupid, naive, piece - that wanted them.

He was reaching for the knob when it twisted, door flinging open. Tim jerked back, hissing in pain. His free arm went wild, searching for the pole but knocking a broom and mop instead. 

"There you are!"

 

---

 

It was different, watching Tim sleep now. 

As Jason Todd, instead of Robin. 

Bored and restless, instead of worried if the boy in the bed would ever recover. 

Jason was technically supposed to be resting, too. After his leg, and then climbing in and out of Tim's window a few times with the injury, and the fact that he'd been staying up most nights to keep an eye on the kid. Sitting at Tim's bedside was sort of like resting. His leg was stretched out up onto the edge of the bed, notebook balanced precariously atop his own thigh. Bruce had gotten him out of class for the following few days to recover - and be there for Tim - but that didn't mean he was going to fall behind. 

If he didn't actually enjoy school, Jason might have considered petitioning his new young genius friend to help him with his studies. Not that he would ever admit balancing vigilantism and school was a bit difficult out loud. He loved his school, despite the rich prick bullies. Growing up, he hadn't always been able to attend. Between taking care of his mom, helping make money to keep the lights on, and then living on the streets later, Jason's attendance record was spotty - at best. 

Now, not only did he get to regularly attend classes, but this place wasn't held together by paperclips and chewing gum. Kids didn't have to share ripped up copies of books or worry about gangs or rotate computer priveledges for the few the school even had running. Sure, Jason still felt out of place at the private school with its dry cleaned uniforms and Bristol accents and teachers bristling when he cussed and being placed in lower grade math and science, but it was still school. He was catching up fairly quickly, thanks to both Bruce and Alfred's assistance with his studies. He was already slated to skip a grade next year in English. Grammar wasn't a strongpoint, but he'd already read a lot of the books on the syllabus thanks to long lonely nights with nothing better to do alone in a rundown room, pages lit by the cigarette hanging from his lips. 

Oh, and he ran circles around those upper crust kis in gym. 

Long before Robin training, Jason had been forced to learn how to fight, to move quickly, to climb broken fire escapes, and to outrun the guy chasing you. Even in the sports he didn't have a lot of practice in, most of the other students were simply afraid enough of the street kid. They never got too close guarding him in basketball. No one dared aim for him in dodgeball either. 

Tim didn't seem like a gym kid. Sure, the little guy could move. He'd seen that for himself on that stage. And heard all about it from Tim himself regarding the whole hanging-from-the-skyscraper-fiasco. But he was definitely more brain than brawn. 

And that could work. 

Jason could help Tim learn to fight and maybe have him cracking open some of those stiff, untouched spines of the rows and rows of books from Tim's bedroom and teach him how to cook something that doesn't get shoved in a microwave. In return, Tim could tutor Jason in math and science - and heck, maybe Russian. Or Arabic. 

Jason was learning both from Bruce, alongwith French and Italian and a smattering of Latin. He was in Mandarin at school, too. He was nowhere near fluent yet, but progressing well, according to B. It was a lot, but when Batman and Robin were in the field running survellience on the Russian mob or Italian mafia or dueling some League of Assassins ninja, they didn't exactly have the luxury of waiting for a translation from the Batcomputer. 

He knew some Spanish and Portuguese from the neighborhood, but otherwise Jason couldn't imagine teaching himself any of these languages. Yet there Tim was, learning German and Russian, and probably more considering the array of books and graphic novels in varying dialects, all on his lonesome. Oh, and Arabic. Because, yeah, Jason had found homework for both Arabic and Mandarin, but the kid had only been registered for Mandarin class. 

And he wasn't being trained by the Dark Knight or the world's most intelligent - and badass - butler.

Little weirdo. 

Jason considered having a study buddy around the manor would be nice. 

Heck, having anyone his age around the manor would be nice. 

He wondered if he would feel this same way if Bruce had just up and brought home another kid. Jason was self-aware enough about his inferiority complex to know that, no, that would not have ended well. But this? This felt different. 

Tim wasn't going to replace him, as a son or as Robin - despite the whole costumed outing that lead to this mess. 

Instead, Jason wanted Tim to join him, as a son to Bruce, and heck, maybe even eventually as Robin. 

If Tim wasn't traumatized by wearing the colors, that was. 

But hey, Tim could do the brainy parts. He could analyze toxins and develop new gear and fix tech and dig through files to solve crimes like he did in the margins of all those detective novels. Maybe give Alfred a break here and there minding the comms and Batcomputer. 

Because the old guy really deserved some nights off. 

They could pull pranks on B together, have someone else to blame when some priceless vase or statue fell victim to the forbidden Manor Parkour, outvote Bruce or Alfred on movie night, have a Player 2 in video games, complain to each other about the jerks at school without every venting session being turned into a lecture about tolerance and respect. 

They could be brothers. 

Technically, Jason already had a brother. Sort of. But Dick Grayson was half a decade older than him. And a little absentee. Which, he tried to understand. Things were rocky with the old man. And the Titans needed him. And he didn't know Jason from Adam. 

The only thing Jason needed to worry about was Tim latching onto Grayson and ignoring him. Because, yeah, the kid kind of hero-worshipped the dude. Tim idolized all of them, sure, but Dick was different. Not that Jason had figured out exactly why yet. But the secret shrines of news articles and photos definitely focused more on Robin 1.0 than anyone else. 

And, okay, that stung. 

He hadn't let it get to him before because Tim's life was on the line and petty jealousy wasn't going to do him any damn good. 

But now? 

Now it nagged something inside of him. 

Was he so desperately wanting Tim to join the family so that Jason could swoop in again to be the one to save him? To earn him that many more brownie points over Dick? Or because Jason wanted to claim Tim as his? 

All of those reasons felt wrong. 

That wasn't fair to Tim. 

Or himself. 

And he was pretty positive they weren't even true.

But still.

He worried. 

Over on the bed, Tim mumbled in his sleep. Jason crawled out of his own mind, leaning forward. Tim made another noise. Something resembling a word. 

And then promptly settled. 

Jason exhaled. 

Bruce had told him about the nightmare. Tim's panic. His tears. 

Jason wanted to be there for Tim, but he wasn't sure he was ready for something like that. Not certain he was qualified really. 

There was a new noise and Jason glared at Tim's stomach. Right there, another small rumble. Was this hospital not feeding him enough? Tim had already been through hell and now this place couldn't even keep him from being hungry? 

Okay, so maybe Tim had been only picking at the not-wholly solid foods he had been allowed to consume so far, but this wasn't the kid's fault. 

And hey, having something for Jason to direct his anger at always felt good. 

Jason glanced at the clock, then the door. 

With Tim's parents coming soon, Jim Gordon himself was standing guard currently. There was going to be a difficult conversation to be had and Jason darkly couldn't wait to witness the commissioner give those two a verbal dressing down. 

The Drakes weren't due for over another hour, though, so Jason had plenty of time to go scrounge up some semi-solids for Tim. 

Slipping soundlessly out the door, Jason nodded at Gordon. 

"How's he doing?"

"Sleeping," Jason reported, "again." 

"Yeah," Jim gave a long sigh, "that's expected given what he went through. It's good of you to sit with him."

Jason just hummed. 

"So," Jason scratched the side of his face, "any word on what's going to happen with his parents? I, uh, heard that cops found a lot of stuff on them."

"You know I can't comment on an open investigation, son," Gordon offered the boy a small smile.

"They're not going to just get Tim back after everything, though, right?"

"Child abuse is difficult enough to prove sometimes," Jim shook his head, "neglect can be even harder. We haven't even talked to Tim extensively about all of this and -"

"So what?" Jason scoffed. "Just because his bruises are from Joker and not his parents right now he has to go back to them? Do you think they'll stick around long enough this time to help him recover? Will they even hire someone to take care of him if they leave?" 

"Jason," Jim lifted his hands, "I think it's honorable and kind how much you care about Tim. Please know that I would never allow him to be put in any situation that I thought was unsafe."

Jason crossed his arms. 

"Your father trusts me," the Commissioner leaned forward, "and I hope, in time, you'll trust me too."

Jason shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glancing down either end of the hall. 

"I'll be right back."

And with that, the boy stalked off without further reply. 

Having been perfecting the art of stealth under the tutelage of the literal Dark Knight, sneaking into the hospital cafeteria was child's play. Tim had been eating the chocolate flavored pudding cups during his short stay so far but Jason couldn't be sure if that was just because it was the kind the staff brought him. Because, yeah, Tim Drake was able to face down criminals and clowns, but from what Jason had learned, and observed, the kid wouldn't ever speak up if it meant causing some sort of inconvenience, no matter how minor. Maybe Tim actually preferred vanilla, or buttercream. Hell, maybe Tim wasn't a pudding fan at all. Sighing, Jason got to work collecting a heaping assortment of pudding, and jello. 

Arms filled with his spoils, Jason slipped back up the stairs and down the hall. Commissioner Gordon, strangely, was missing. Hairs prickled along the back of his neck. Jason considered dropping the desserts right there, but there was always a chance his bat-training was causing him to overreact. And hey, they'd make half-decent projectiles in a pinch. 

Using his elbow, Jason shimmed the door open, poking only his head inside to find the empty bed. He could glimpse the bathroom from that angle and there was no one inside, or reflected in the small mirror. Frowning, Jason retreated back into the hallway.

And that was when he heard it. 

"While we, of course, appreciate everything you've done to help our son, Mr. Wayne, we are his parents and we are here now. This isn't your business any longer."

"Well, I've made it my business, while you were - busy. And, as of, oh, about five minutes ago, it legally became my business."

Jason's forehead pinched together, stepping on tiptoes as he approached the voices at the far end of the hall.

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, that, due to your initial absence, and now with the criminal investigation, emergency guardianship for your son was deemed necessary by the state. Just now, I was granted that privilege."

Jason nearly tripped, dessert cups rattling in his arms. A small, smug smile stretched at his face. 

Tim was going to be his brother. 

Not just in his crazy concoction of a fantasy.

Sure, it was just temporary emergency placement or whatever, but this was Bruce Wayne. Adopter of young boys with black hair and questionable pasts. Billionaire with teams of lawyers. 

Oh, and he'd sat there with Tim while the younger boy had cried. 

Yeah, Jason's old man was just as taken with Tim as Jason was. 

It didn't register that this was the first time Jason had referred to Bruce as anything close to his father. 

"He is still ours!"

"Step back, Mr. Drake."

"I'm warning you, Wayne. Timothy is our son."

"Was that a threat, Jack? I'd be very careful what you say, considering everything you already might be facing. I am only trying to help."

"You're trying to take our son!"

As much as Jason longed to linger and listen, and hopefully see the Drakes put in their place, there was something more important.

Someone more important. 

Tim had been sleeping less than ten minutes ago. One guess as to why he wasn't anymore. Even moving back down the hall, Jason could still hear the Drakes making their scene. 

He was so stupid. Jason never should have left Tim alone. 

It wasn't as though the kid could have gotten far, what with his injuries and the time table. 

And then Jason remembered something. 

A flat, ruffled pillow. A rumpled blanket. A pair of headphones.

All tucked underneath Tim's bed. 

Jason scanned the halls for somewhere small and maybe dark, eyes landing on a supply closet. Hurrying over, Jason hooked the handle with his elbow again, and yanked the door open. 

Tim stood there, or well, sort of staggered to one side. His good arm had flung out in surprise, taking a mop and broom with it. 

"There you are!" Jason whisper-shouted. "I leave you alone for five minutes to nab us some extra dessert and you decide to become a janitor."

He watched Tim's eyes glance over at the mop currently teetering against his shoulder. 

"It's a noble profession," Tim shrugged, righting the mop.

Except the damn thing tilted again, taking a second broom with it. Tim attempted to catch them, but missed. They clattered to the ground. Bending over to retrieve them, Tim yelped, eyes going crossed and then pinched closed. With a whine, Tim kicked out at the offending equipment. 

Jason's little grin at Tim's joke fell. Keeping his eyes on Tim, he collected the mop and brooms, never dropping a single pudding or jello cup. The mess remedied, Jason lifted his hand, palm out, toward Tim. A question, and a kindness, shown in his gaze. 

Tim ducked his head. 

"My parents are here."

"Yeah," Jason muttered, cursing, "I saw. I bribed this lady at the front desk to let me know when they came in. She owes me a hundred bucks."

Tim just shuffled his feet.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here." Jason stepped forward. "But I am now. What do you need?"

It was a question Alfred often asked him, especially right after Jason came to the manor. And not in some butler, "let me fetch you a snack or drink" sort of way. Just, letting Jason have control. Letting him decide what to do and what to say. Letting him feel whatever, however, he needed to feel. Not trying to always fix it or fix him or impart some lecture. Just, being there. 

"It's stupid," Tim shook his head, "I should -"

"Not what I asked," Jason interrupted. "What do you need? Right now."

Tim's lips parted, mouth hanging open sort of loosely for a long moment. 

"I," his voice was small, "I, uh, I don't want to see them. Not yet."

Jason just nodded.

"I don't want to be here."

And suddenly, Jason's ridiculous kidnapping plan didn't seem so ridiculous at all. 

"Okay," he said simply. "Let's get you out of here."

"I can't leave the hospital," Tim's eyes went wide in the dark.

"Can't and 'not supposed to' are two different things, Timmy," Jason waved a hand. 

Yeah, he probably shouldn't leave, considering his condition, but there was a perfectly working MedBay in the BatCave that had literally saved Batman's life on more than one occasion. Jason could handle taking care of Tim now that he was out of surgeries and recovering. 

Also, seeing his parents, when he obviously wasn't ready, and being sent into some panic wasn't great for his recovery either. 

And hey, Jason tried to steal hubcaps off of the Batmobile and actively chose to go out at night fighting crime as a school aged child, so, he didn't always make the smartest, or safest, decisions.

"Okay," Jason said after a moment when Tim didn't object, "you wait here. I'll be right back."

Chapter 25

Dear Santa,

I want mommy and daddy home for Christmas. 

- Timothy Jackson Drake, age 5

 

---

 

Dear Santa, 

Last month mom and dad took me to a cool building with lots of colorful walls and rooms and got a picture together. I even got a new watch to look like dad's! They made it our Christmas card. I hope you like that I sent you one! 

Please let mom and dad be home for Christmas.

- Timothy Jackson Drake, age 6

 

---

 

Santa,

The other kids in school get different wrapping paper on their presents from you. Seems suspicious.

But -

Please, if you are real at all, can you bring my parents home for Christmas? 

- Tim, age 7

Notes:

Did I shamelessly steal this bit from my other fic: What Christmas Means to Me, or was that fic inspired by this one all along but because it's taken me a whole dang YEAR to get this far, you'd never know?

Chapter 26

Bruce Wayne had a headache. 

For as much as people - especially his newest son - liked to believe that his money and status could get him anything he pleased, that just wasn't always the case. 

There were laws and red tape and phone calls and being put on hold and talking with a lawyer on his one phone while smooth jazz hummed from the other and, and, and - 

At this point, Bruce might have agreed to go up against the League of Assassins' acolytes again than do this. 

But, of course, that wasn't true. 

Bruce would do this, and more - so much more - for Tim Drake. 

The boy - the child - who had figured out their identities years ago all on his own. 

The kid who could have given those identities up in an attempt to save his own skin, but didn't. 

The crazy, brave, boy who had scaled a skyscraper because Batman wasn't able to save him. 

Batman had failed Tim. 

Bruce wouldn't.  

There had been concerns, from the case worker assigned to Tim - who hadn't even had the chance to meet their client yet - and a judge, that this was an extremely high profile case. Would putting Tim with an equally high profile person such as Bruce Wayne be a good idea? 

Bruce, and his team, had argued that this was actually beneficial. Bruce could help Tim cope with the publicity and attention, as well as be skilled in shielding him from it. 

Not to mention the unparalleled security Mr. Wayne could offer, in case any criminals, or fans, came knocking. 

Another hiccup had been the fact that Jason Todd hadn't come into his care not all that long ago. A street kid with an arrest record and an attitude problem might not be a good influence on Tim. And could Bruce, essentially a single father, really focus properly on both boys?

This time, Bruce's rebuttals had been a little heated. 

His lawyer had, a little more calmly, also explained how Jason had formed a bond with Tim during the younger boy's hospital stay. Such relationships were crucial in Tim's emotional recovery, of course. 

Oh, and how Mr. Wayne had a personal butler and entire staff at his disposal to help with whatever Jason, or Tim, needed. The kid could even have his own private tutor if he wasn't ready to go back to school anytime soon. And a therapist. "Single parent" or not, that was more than the Drakes had ever offered their son. And far more than an overwhelmed group home or random emergency placement foster family could provide. 

"It just seems odd, to me," a representative from Drake Industries cleared his throat over the conference call, "that a man such as Mr. Wayne would take an interest in Timothy in the first place. Shouldn't we be concerned that this could be some attempt at a publicity stunt or something?"

"And I'm sure," Bruce ground his teeth, "that an employee of the Drakes, has absolutely zero biases in the whole matter. Frankly, you being involved in this conversation at all feels, to me , a complete conflict of interest."

The man was forcibly disconnected from the call only moments later. 

The Wayne team had a judge on the line within the hour. 

Emergency temporary custody. 

There would be future, in-person hearings and meetings, of course. But for now, Tim was his. 

Theirs. 

Bruce felt a little taller as he strode down the hospital hallway. He was excited to tell Jason. Maybe a tad nervous to tell Tim. But overall, Bruce felt - in control. Tim was going to be safe now. From any stragglers connected to the train yard. From Ra's, if the man decided to try and collect on his purchase. From the press. 

From his own parents. 

"This is ridiculous! We are his parents -"

"Who are facing possible charges of criminal neglect, among other things -"

"We haven't been arrested or -"

"Yet. The case is still open and -"

"Get out of my way!"

Tim's parents. 

Who, apparently, were here. 

And arguing with the commissioner.

Because of course.

Sighing, Bruce straightened his shoulders and turned down the hall. 

"Put your hands on me, Mr. Drake, and you will be under arrest far more quickly."

Carving a smile into his clenched jaw, Bruce placed a hand on Mr. Drake's stiff shoulder.

"Jack, why don't we take this down the hall so we don't wake your boy? He's been through a lot."

Bruce eyed the closed door. Tim had been sleeping a lot recently due to his recovery. But Jack Drake was loud enough to wake the dead. 

The man reeled back, face doing something that would have been comical in a different situation. It reminded Bruce a little of the expressions some criminals wore when Batman swooped in. 

"Bruce Wayne?" Jack bobble-headed, taking in the billionaire from head to toe and then back again. "What are you doing here?"

Commissioner Gordon stepped forward at that. And God bless Jim. That man had more patience than Bruce ever would. 

"'Mr. Wayne has been involved ever since your son went missing." Gordon explained. "He even offered to pay a hefty reward to get Tim back."

"Wha - why?" Jack shook his head, squinting.

"I have sons of my own." Bruce took a few steps down the hall, the rest of their little group following suit without much realizing it. "I know that if something happened to one of them, and I was - away - I'd hope there were people doing everything and anything in their power to help. With Tim being a Drake, I thought that there might be a significant ransom demand, and I am one of the few in Gotham with the means of paying such a steep price."

As Bruce continued to talk, he also continued to walk. Again, they followed. Until he had them all the way down the hall and around a corner.

"And then when the human trafficking ring was uncovered, the Batman reached out to myself and Commissioner Gordon. There were names and ties in the organization that ran deep in and outside of Gotham. We were two of the only people Batman seemed to trust after saving your boy. We couldn't risk someone from the ring getting to Tim."

"You really think they'll come after him?" Janet cupped a small hand to her mouth. 

"The GCPD and Batman have been working tirelessly to take down every member since the auction," Jim rubbed at his hairline, "but there is the possibility. Whether to make back a buck or just out of anger."

"I still don't even understand how Timothy got mixed up in all of this," Janet waved a hand airily. "He knows better."

"He was trying to help some kids," Jim sighed. 

"And he did." Bruce's chest puffed out just a bit, with something akin to pride. "He saved them."

"And got himself in all this trouble at the same time," Janet shook her head. "He could have died."

"And this whole dressing up as Robin?" Jack scoffed. "What was he thinking? In this city?"

And, well, that was surprising. The Drakes seemed to actually care. Not just about the tarnish to their name or the inconvenience of it all - which were definitely disproportionate concerns too - but there was love there. However flawed. 

But then Bruce thought about little Tim alone in the too big house. For weeks. Months. About the nest underneath his bed. About how a child snuck out to follow around a couple of vigilantes in some of the worst parts of Gotham and his parents never even noticed. The emails. The 911 call and broken arm. Tim's detailed plan of faking his own death and joining the circus. The amount of school absences that were excused by a boy genius' forgery skills while his parents were continents away and none the wiser. How the Drakes weren't even reachable when their son was missing. Or when he was found. The doctor's reports that the boy was under height and weight for his age. Not nearly as bad as Jason used to be, but enough to be noticeable. Enough to be unhealthy. How guarded Tim always was. Afraid to cry. Afraid to just - be. 

Bruce opened his mouth to say something, but paused. Someone was there. Just beyond the corner and around into the other hallway. Something in his gut tickled. It wasn't the same sensation as being watched, but Batman snuck up on enough people to recognize when it was happening to him. The hospital was bustling with sounds. Still, he'd heard the telltale tiptoe of his second son plenty of times before. 

Jason used to eavesdrop on him and Alfred all of the time when he first moved in. Waiting until they left the kitchen to go and grab something for himself. Checking that they weren't discussing him. That they weren't going to boot him. He'd been decent enough, for a kid, back then. He'd even learned all the loose boards and little sounds the mansion made impressively quick. Now though? After training as Robin? Bruce almost missed him this time.

Almost.

"Look," Jack cleared his throat, "while we, of course, appreciate everything you've done to help our son, Mr. Wayne, we are his parents and we are here now. This isn't your business any longer."

Bruce leveled the man with a look that had Jack taking a step back. 

"Well, I've made it my business, while you were - busy. And, as of, oh, about five minutes ago, it legally became my business."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, that, due to your initial absence, and now with the criminal investigation, emergency guardianship for your son was deemed necessary by the state. Just now, I was granted that privilege."

Janet's eyes went wide, while Jack's - Jack's narrowed in a way that might've seemed dangerous to someone else. 

"Excuse me?" Jack turned toward Jim. "He can't do this!"

"Legally," Gordon replied, lifting his hands, "he can."

"First we can't see our son and now - now - now this?" Jack whirled to face Bruce. "He is still ours!"

"Step back, Mr. Drake." Commissioner Gordon moved between the pair.

"I'm warning you, Wayne," he leaned forward, "Timothy is our son."

"Was that a threat, Jack?" Bruce cocked his head. "I'd be very careful what you say, considering everything you already might be facing. I am only trying to help."

"You're trying to take our son!" 

"No." Bruce didn't yell like Jack, but somehow, he felt so much louder. "I am trying to help him." He moved until he was towering over the other man. "Do you know what isn't helping your son? Screaming and arguing outside of his hospital room. Going out of the country for months and months at a time with barely a postcard. Leaving a child home alone without so much as a nanny or butler or gardener to see to his care."

"Timothy is mature for his age," Jack adjusted his coat. "He's 12, for goodness sakes. He's proven more than capable of being home -"

"And what about when he was 11? Ten? Nine?" Bruce lifted his brow. "It seems he's been on his own for quite some time."

"He's always been very independent," Janet spoke up, but her voice was quiet, hesitant. 

"And you're better for our son than us?" Jack scoffed. "Billionaire Brucie Wayne, drunk table dancing at clubs and dating - what - how many women is it right now? What do you really want out of this, huh? No one does things like this out of the goodness of their heart. First the circus boy, and then some street kid? People talk, Wayne. It's starting to look like you have a type. And I will not let my son go with some perver -"

"If you want to add defamation to the list of charges being investigated against you, keep talking." Bruce's growl echoed Batman's. "You're already facing possible criminal neglect. Not to mention some of the questionable business practices that were found happening within your company." Bruce's voice, and face, both softened within a single sigh. "You are Tim's parents. He doesn't want to lose you. And I don't want him to. But this is what is best for him right now. Don't make this harder on yourselves, or on him, than it already is."

Jack looked like he was winding up to say something more until, finally, his shoulders slumped. 

"Can we at least see him?" Janet stepped forward. "Please?"

Bruce glanced from husband to wife. 

"I'll speak to his case worker first thing to see what is allowed during the investigation." Bruce nodded. "And I'll talk to Tim. When - if - he's ready, I don't see that being a problem. But that will be for Tim decide."

"And why wouldn't he want to see us?" Jack scoffed. "Our son -" 

"But," Janet settled a soft hand on Bruce's forearm, "he is okay, right?"

"Yes." Bruce put one of his own hands over hers. "Physically, he will make a full recovery. He's been through a trauma. There will be emotional scars too. I believe Tim to be a strong young man. He'll heal, body and mind. But it will take time."

These were words once spoken to him by Alfred. About himself. About Dick. And Jason. 

The same was surely true for Tim. 

He was strong. And brave and smart and loyal and selfless and so many more qualities. Bruce didn't know where he learned them from. His parents cared, but it was in their own way and on their own terms and in their own time. 

Bruce exchanged only a few more words with the Drakes before Jim escorted them away. Jack didn't go quietly. And Janet didn't go willingly. But still, eventually, finally, they were gone. 

Bruce closed his eyes, letting a full body sigh settle somewhere in his bones. Squeezing the bridge of his nose, Bruce wiped at his face and schooled his features. 

He was about to see Tim. 

Again, sure, but this - it was different. 

Tim was his.

Albeit, temporarily, for now, but still. 

Tim wasn't just a victim Batman saved and was following up on. 

Had he ever been just that anyway, though?

No. 

But Tim was Bruce's responsibility now. Legally. He'd felt responsible for the boy from the moment Bruce had watched the kid dressed up as Robin get snatched up off the street. This had new weight to it. 

For Tim, too. 

Would Tim be excited? Or upset? Would he think that Bruce was trying to tear apart his family? Or - knowing Tim - be suspicious that it was all a ruse to make sure he kept his mouth shut about the secret? 

Well, standing in the hallway staring at a powder blue wall certainly wasn't offering Bruce any answers. 

Straightening his back, Bruce rounded the corner. Jason was long gone. Bruce had heard his son silently scamper back off mid-argument with the Drakes. Probably to check on Tim. His boy had turned into a real mother-hen with Tim lately. It was enough to make Alfred look lacking. And for Bruce to feel flushed with pride. 

At the door, Bruce leaned an ear close. Inside was quiet. Too much so. No heated debates about book versus movie adaptations where Jason ended every one of the arguments claiming that Tim could in no possible way be fit to properly debate because he'd only watched the films. No tales of Robin's adventures, spoken carefully in third person even behind a closed door, and with Tim asking frenzied follow up questions. Not even soft snores. Or whispered words read aloud from a book. 

Glancing in either direction down the hall, Bruce ducked into the room readily. Muscles coiled, he scanned the rumpled sheet, empty chairs, and vacant bathroom in one swift sweep. The machines next to the bed were off. Tampered with carefully, not broken. Nothing was overturned or even out of place. If someone had come to claim Tim, Jason would never have let them go without a sign of struggle. They also probably wouldn't have taken Tim and Jason's belongings with them. 

Tim had been in Bruce's legal custody for less than an hour and he'd already misplaced the kid.

This would certainly look great to the case worker who was scheduled to visit later today. 

Or, you know, any of the hospital staff that could wander in at any moment. 

Shaking his head, Bruce pulled out his phone. 

"Alfred, yes. I think you should prepare for a couple of visitors."

 

---

 

"It's dumb. I faced people who wanted to sell me - and the Joker! I've faced my parents my whole life!"

Tim bit down, ripping off a corner of the sandwich with his teeth in a sort of savage way that normally would have made him embarrassed.

Somehow, after his and Jason's little escape act - a daring feat that involved "borrowed" clothing from the hospital lost and found, a wheelchair…also borrowed, and an Uber ride, he and Jason had arrived at Wayne Manor to an expectant butler. There were sandwiches and snacks suitable for Tim post-surgery, a sleek, motorized wheelchair not owned by Gotham General Hospital, and a disapproving, but kind - and maybe a little amused - Alfred. 

Tim had met the man before. A polite introduction nod or smile here and there at galas and similar events. But also back at the hospital. Alfred had popped in when dropping off Jason or accompanying Bruce. Always with the kind of smile that made Tim’s chest just a little warm and full. 

His stomach was certainly getting full now too. But even with sandwiches and stolen pudding there was still plenty of room in Tim's belly for butterflies, and shame. And he would know - Tim and Jason had scarfed down half of their stash of snack cups in the backseat of the Uber already. 

"It is no such thing." Alfred poured himself a cup of tea as he settled across the table from both boys. "You have endured quite the - eventful - week. Things are different, in the moment, of course. You were fighting to survive. Not to mention that nifty fear and adrenaline you had to give you a boost. Now you've had time to rest. To start to process all that happened to you. You are perfectly allowed to feel however you feel."

Alfred glanced over toward Jason.

"You are, however, not allowed to perform an impromptu jailbreak from the hospital when you are still physically recovering. But I certainly don't blame you, Timothy, for that."  

"He didn't want to see them, Alfie." Jason shook his head.

"If my recollection is correct," the butler hummed, "there was a perfectly working door on young Timothy's room, was there not? You know very well that your father would have never let Mr. and Mrs. Drake inside if Timothy did not want them to be there."

"You didn't see them," Jason gestured with his sandwich, some of the jam squeezing free of the bread, "they were pretty determined. And annoying."

"And Master Wayne isn't determined?"

Jason shoved the rest of the peanut butter and jelly into his mouth to hide the contrite little curve to his mouth. Jason's cheeks scrunched and some part of Tim wanted to laugh but couldn't. 

"I am afraid we will have to escort you back to the hospital soon," Alfred sighed, turning back toward Tim, "but I can promise you that you will not be made to see anyone or do anything that you do not want to." 

Tim frowned around the last corner of crust. He hesitated, and then nodded. Jason had snuck him home. Alfred had promised. He could handle it. Really. He could. It was just -

"You know I was supposed to go to boarding school?" Tim slid a finger along the edge of his plate. "I was all signed up and ready to be shipped off for the school year. But then the headmaster's husband said something bad about my parents' company to the press. Mom and Dad are trying to get me in somewhere else for next year."

"Do you want to go to boarding school?" Alfred leaned back in his chair. 

"I don't know," Tim gave a small shrug. "I like being able to do whatever I want at home. Boarding school has a ton of rules. But - I mean - I know my parents aren't home a lot, anyway, but if I'm away at school, I'll see them even less. Like, I want them to be there - here, with me - but at the same time…I don't." Tim tossed his head back. "It doesn't make sense."

"Sometimes," Jason started, swallowing as his knuckles drummed the edge of the table, "sometimes, when my folks were around - it - it was worse. In a way. Or lots of ways. But I still wanted them. You're right. It doesn't make sense. But, it also does."

A door closed somewhere in the Manor and Jason rolled his eyes. 

"Here we go."

"I'll say it was my idea." Tim began pushing his borrowed wheelchair from the table, biting back a wince. 

"You think you can lie to Batman?" Jason chuckled. "At least you dream big, kid. Besides," he shook his head, smile straightening out into something serious, "no way. Whatever happens now, with Bruce, with your parents, all of it, you're family now. I don't care if you end up living here or back with your folks - which I will be happy to steal you back from them if that does happen - or, I don't know, on the moon. No matter what. We're family. I've got your back."

Tim felt his stomach tighten. There was that heat again. The same kind he got from one of Alfred's smiles. The same kind he'd been becoming more familiar with these past few days. Absently, Tim ghosted fingers over the stitches on his abdomen.

Just to be sure. 

"Well," a voice sounded from around the corner, "it seems that a certain son of mine has beaten me to the news."

Jason bowed his head, only slightly, a low smile stretched to just one side of his face - sheepish, but not scared. 

And then there was Bruce, standing in the doorway and looking down at Jason. His gaze certainly wasn't happy, but there was still so much love, just sitting there in the corners of Bruce's eyes. 

Tim still straightened. 

"I'm sorry," he blurted, before Jason could take all the blame - because they were family now, he'd said it, just like that, like it was real and true and Tim would need time to process that, to believe it, to - 

"You have nothing to apologize for." Bruce shook his head, kneeling now so that he was at Tim's level. "You shouldn't have left the hospital, especially without telling me or another adult. But you were scared and maybe confused. Jason, however," Bruce turned toward the other boy, "knows better."

"Hey, I'm sorry B," Jason lifted his hands, "but you should've seen -"

"We'll talk about it more," Bruce arched an eyebrow, "later." Face smoothing out, Bruce swiveled back to Tim. "What exactly did Jason tell you about what is going to happen now?"

"Uh," Tim glanced from father to son and then back, "he said I was going to live here now. But, I really don't have to. I'm okay on my own back home. And I don't want to be any trouble and -"

"Tim." Bruce placed a soft hand on his shoulder. "You shouldn't have to be okay on your own. And you aren't any trouble at all. I promise. Okay?"

Bruce didn't continue until Tim finally nodded in understanding. 

And then they sat at the table, all of them together - even Alfred - and Bruce explained everything. The charges that the Drakes were facing. The emergency guardianship. How Tim's placement with the Waynes wasn't currently permanent, but that it could be. If Tim wanted it. How Bruce asked for this. Wanted to do this for Tim. 

There were a lot more words. Tim was sure of it.

He just couldn't really remember them. 

It was all too much. 

"Hey Tim," Bruce cleared his throat, "why don't you go rest in the parlor while Jason and I have a word. Alfred will show you where it is. Then we'll need to get you back to the hospital."

"But -"

"No 'but's," Bruce lifted a finger toward his son. "Tim wasn't officially released. My first act as his legal guardian can't be helping to smuggle him out."

"Suddenly you care about the law," Jason scoffed, smiling. 

"You won't have to see your parents when you go back," Bruce met Tim's eyes, a promise. "Not until you're ready. But you do have to go back. We'll all be there for you, though. And it won't be for much longer."

Tim conceded quickly. He'd already gotten the adventure of the prison break with Jason. And he didn't want to make trouble for Bruce. With one last shoulder squeeze from Bruce, Tim followed Alfred out. He paused around the doorway for only a moment, pretending to fumble with the wheelchair controls. 

"When did you figure it out?" 

"About thirty seconds after you came to get us."

"So you totally could have stopped us! You let me get Tim out of there. You're an accomplice."

Whatever Bruce said as a reply was low and muffled.  

"He wanted to run away, while at the hospital, because his parents showed up. That's damn good evidence he shouldn't be going back to them."

"Is that why you did this?"

"I mean, not the only reason but -"

"Jason -"

"No, Bruce. He's our responsibility. He's ours."

A throat cleared nearby. Tim glanced up to see Alfred standing over him, lips quirked up on one end. Cheeks red, Tim followed the butler the rest of the way down the hall without a word. 

Tim definitely tried to listen to Alfred as the older man showed off some of the more rare editions filling the shelves of the ornate parlor. Apparently, there was a whole small library somewhere else too. Tim's home was sizable, sure, but this, this place was in a league of its own. And Tim was interested in all of it, and what Alfred was going on about, really, he was - but - well, he couldn't stop wondering exactly what was being said back in the kitchen. Was Jason actually in trouble? Would their little escape act change Bruce's mind about fostering Tim? Did Tim even want to be fostered, by the Wayne family - or anyone? Did - 

"Eh hem."

Tim blinked, glancing around the room. He'd lost track of Alfred at some point. Tim found him across the parlor, a gloved hand at his throat as he cleared it, and a subtle little smile curling against fine wrinkles. Belatedly, Tim noticed Alfred looking at something else and followed the butler's gaze down to his own hands. Too-fast thin fingers drummed against the wheelchair's tires with a speed that could have rivaled a hummingbird's wings. Tim's hands froze in place, but the beat didn't stop. It was only a moment later Tim realized it was coming from inside his chest. 

"I suspect Master Jason will want to give you the full tour of it himself later," Alfred tilted his head, "but how would you like to see the infamous BatCave?"

And just like that, Tim's heart was racing for an entirely different reason. 

 

---

 

Nightwing bounced an escrima stick against the broadside of a grizzly bear. With a flick, Dick sent enough joules of electricity through his weapon to put an animal twice its size down. The effect was, well, underwhelming. The bear buzzed, sparks shooting out at the neck and joints, but it didn't back down. Lifting its banjo, the grizzly made another swing for Nightwing's head. The vigilante had only just ducked when an overall-wearing lion pounced his way. 

 

"I knew there was a reason these things always freaked me out!"

Kid Flash wiped his brow, a thoroughly disassembled pile of animatronic animals at his feet. A green tiger roared somewhere in the distance, until they could hear its footfalls coming closer. The tiger leapt over Nightwing, snapping the bear's head clean off with one bite. The tiger was shifting before it even finished landing, a green-skinned teenager taking its place.

"The arcade and shopping center are all clear," Beast Boy reported. "Looks like you guys have been having all the fun over here. But if one of these guys tries to stuff me inside a suit, I'm outta here."

"KF," Dick turned toward his friend, "do another sweep of the rest of the amusement park. Make sure Kory and Donna are okay at the pier and that we didn't miss anyone in the evacuation. We're blind to each other out here without our comms."

Kid Flash was gone before Nightwing had finished speaking, but that was okay, considering the bear's headless body was trying to tackle him. Dick flipped the limbs of metal and wires onto the ground. 

"Remember," Gar crossed his arms, "these characters hold a special place in the hearts of children and we need to show them a little respect -"

"If you make one more reference to that stupid -" Something beeped and Nightwing glanced down at his belt. "Finally."

Reaching a hand into a pocket, Dick flung a rectangular device into the middle of the fray. A light blinked once and that was all the warning given before a small explosion erupted. But instead of fire and debris, a bright light and pulse shot out in all directions from the epicenter of the burst. Dick leapt backward, avoiding the limited blast radius, just as the animatronic attackers crumpled to the ground. 

"Those things are taking too long to recharge," Dick retrieved the EMP, "and we're almost out."

The new cyber villain - Wally kept referring to him as Artificial Citizen or Data Stream - had only just popped onto the scene a couple of days ago but the Titans had been playing wack-a-mole with his "pets" ever since. Everything from toasters to Roombas to performing animatronic animals. With three members of his team in space, and Cyborg still putting himself back together after their very first fight with the guy, they were running on fumes to keep cleaning up these messes. They'd almost had him yesterday, but he'd shorted a civilian's pacemaker, sent a SmartCar off a bridge, changed all the traffic lights in a ten block radius to green, and shut down a hospital's power. 

Oracle had been doing everything she could, even slowing him down with a hack once and a couple viruses. But this guy was good. 

Nightwing was holstering the now drained EMP device back into its charger when static crackled in his ear. 

"Nightwing, it -"

"Oracle, you said not to use comms. He can -"

"He's going after the Cave."

Dick did a double take, despite Barbara being across the country.

"I thought you -"

"Yeah, I disconnected everything before I shut it all down."

"So he shouldn't be able -"

"He shouldn't be able to shake off every virus I throw his way like the common cold, but he does. He shouldn't have been able to find the Cave, but he did." Oracle took a breath on the other end of the line. "The amusement park, the pier, the mall all getting hit at the same time - it was a distraction. And now I can't get a hold of B. Or anyone there. That means -"

"He's already in the Cave's system."

Notes:

A wild Dick Grayson appears! Please excuse the Titans characterizations. I've never written any of them.

To clear up some confusion in the comments: I added a little more to Dick's section to further explain who they are fighting. The tech-villain had been mentioned several times throughout the story. If you remember, it was why Dick was busy and why Barbara had to go dark and Batman didn't have full computer access during Tim's search/rescue. I apologize for the confusion. I should have thought about how long it has been between updates so it wasn't clear what was going on.

Chapter 27

Debate Notes

Topic: Jail - Punishment VS Rehabilitation 

 

1. Why did you pick this topic? 

Have you ever been bullied? Childhood is supposed to be the "best years" of a person's life, but when someone grows up being bullied, those "best years" can be the worst. Now, imagine a school made up of almost all bullies. That is what it is like living in prison. 

If a person is always being bullied and threatened, it is no surprise that they become hard and angry. How can they even try to become a better person and learn from their mistakes if they are busy just trying to survive?

2. Introduction

When someone is caught committing a crime, they usually go to jail. In jail, there are strict rules about what they can do, when they can do it, etc. This is their punishment. Some jails also have rehabilitation services, like work programs and counseling. Which of these is better for the criminals, and for society - punishment or rehabilitation? 

3. Research/Statistics 

Research shows that punishment is not that big of a deterrent because the recidivism rate (the rate that people commit repeat crimes) is up to over 60%. Rehabilitation teaches job skills, helps criminals find places to live, drug and alcohol rehab, and more so that they won't commit crime again.

4. Opposition 

Victims of crimes probably prefer punishment. They, and others, don't think criminals have rights or deserve to be rehabilitated. One study found that 70% of people think that punishment is the purpose of prison. 

5. Counterpoint 

Some criminals only commit crimes, especially stealing and drug dealing, to stay alive or support their family. 

6. 

---

New Message 

From: [email protected]

Subject: New Debate Topic 

 

Hello Mrs. Kessler,

I would like to ask to change my debate project topic. My father does not approve of my current choice. I know that our pre-debate notes are due tomorrow and I am making new notes for new topics. My father looked at the list of example topics you handed out and approved several:

• Democracy - Is It The Best Form of Government?
• Corporate Governance
• Chinese Trade
• Cuba Embargo

I will be making notes for these topics and my father will read them over before class tomorrow and decide what topic I can do.

I know this is last minute and I am sorry. My father wants to make sure I am choosing a good topic that will help prepare me for life.

 

Thank you,

Timothy Jackson Drake

 

SEND

---

Chapter 28

Notes:

Happy Halloween! Crazy to think this story started 2 years ago for Halloween. Whoopsie. I can't believe ya'll have stuck with it. Seriously. From the bottom of my cold gay heart, thank you.

Jason leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely in front of him. The feigned indifference slipped on just as easy as his Robin mask. Okay, so maybe not as easy because those things were made of some high tech compressible micro fabric with a sour smelling adhesive gel. But anyway. Jason knew Bruce had been able to see through his charade a long time ago, but old habits, and all that. Bruce might have been angry, but he would never be Willis-Todd-Angry. And Jason had pulled plenty enough stunts in and out of costume by now to know, on some level, that Bruce wasn't going to kick him to the curb like so many others in his life. 

And yet.

Yet.

There was still that instinct. 

Still that whisper of doubt. 

Still the crossed arms to shield himself and the aloof pitch to his voice. 

"When did you figure it out?"

Bruce was still staring out past the doorway, like he was the one with x-ray vision in the Justice League and could watch Tim walk away. 

"About thirty seconds after you came to get us."

"So you totally could have stopped us!" Jason sat up straight, smiling. "You let me get Tim out of there. You're an accomplice."

"Actually," Bruce pulled out a chair, easing down into it. "I was pulling some strings to cover your tracks. If his parents or anyone found out, I could lose the temporary custody of Tim that I have."

"He wanted to run away, while at the hospital, because his parents showed up. That's damn good evidence he shouldn't be going back to them."

Bruce paused, angling his head just slightly. He was looking at Jason in the way that tended to make the kid believe the older man did have that x-ray vision.

"Is that why you did this?"

Jason glanced away.

"I mean, not the only reason, but -"

"Jason -"

"No, Bruce." Jason looked back at him then. "He's our responsibility. He's ours." 

Jason's hand was splayed against his own chest, heart hammering underneath. 

"Son," Bruce sighed, "you're not still blaming yourself, are you?"

"No," Jason shook his head, "it's - it's different. I know you heard what I told him, and it's true. I meant it all. It doesn't matter what happens, even if he goes back to his parents - which, I think, would be shitty - he's - he's - I don't know. I'm not saying he belongs to us or - damn, this is - I don't know how to say it. I just feel it, B." Jason rubbed at his neck. "That sounds stupid -"

"No it doesn't."

Jason blinked over at the man across the table. Bruce's gaze was steady, sure, as he locked with the boy's eyes, and yet it also seemed far away at the same time. Maybe Bruce was also seeing a young boy at a circus who had just watched his parents fall to their deaths. Maybe Bruce was looking at Jason-now but seeing Jason-then, a street kid with a tire iron and something to prove. 

Bruce hadn't felt like family right away, not to Jason. 

But Tim had. 

The want, need, to help. To protect. And so much more. 

Was that how - 

"It felt like that," Bruce cleared his throat, "for me. With you. And Dick. And now, Tim."

Maybe Bruce secretly had telepathy too. 

The man looked like he was about to say something more, but as Bruce opened his mouth, the lights flashed. And not just the kitchen lights. They were flickering on and off in the hallway too. 

Bruce went rigid, body snapping like a rubber band out of his chair. Jason leapt up, vaulting over the table to follow him out the door. 

To anyone else, it just appeared as though there was some sort of power surge or faulty wiring. But to the people who knew what actually sat hidden below Wayne Manor, it was a warning. 

The lights were halfway through their Morse code message when everything suddenly went dark. From what had already been relayed, there was either a physical intruder down in the BatCave or someone had hacked into the BatComputer. 

Bruce reached the grandfather clock first, twisting the metal hands. 

Nothing happened. 

Jason leapt over the large desk, throwing open the hidden panel in the floor and yanking the manual lever. 

Still nothing. 

Jason looked up from under the desk just in time to watch as Bruce adjusted something on his watch. Lifting his hand, a laser shot from the watch and into the plaster, cutting around the outline of the clock. Jason hurried over and the pair worked together to heave the clock out of the wall. It came free, only to reveal the sealed metal door behind it. 

Without a word between them, both of them bolted from the room. Bruce disappeared up the stairs, most likely making his way to the fireplace entrance in his bedroom. 

Jason, instead, went to the parlor. Alfred would have recognized the warning and taken Tim somewhere safe. Maybe one of the panic rooms. But as Jason sprinted to and from every hall and room and closet, he found no sign of them.  

Either someone got into Wayne Manor and snatched both the butler and boy up without a struggle -

or - 

Jason hurried back toward the kitchen. Flinging open a cabinet and shoving a few boxes of cereal aside, he hit a small release that opened the false back piece. Both he and Bruce had already checked their phones during the race to the office. No service. 

It didn't take a vigilante genius to figure out exactly who was in their cave. The two of them had been fairly distracted by Tim's disappearance and recovery, but the tech villain giving the Titans a run for their money had already bested Barbara. 

After Oracle severed her connections to Batman's tech, scrubbed her drives, and shut everything down, she'd put safeguards in place before rebooting the BatComputer. They'd needed it, afterall, to find Tim. It had been risky, but it had been very worth it. 

That is, unless they used the system to save Tim, only to bring him here to be killed by it courtesy of some villain of the week. 

Because yeah. 

Because the only place left for Tim and Alfred to be was in the BatCave.

Because of course.

Unless this was all just Tim. Brilliant, curious Tim, finding his way into the Cave and trying to hack the computer. Oh, Jason hoped that was it.

But, no, they didn't tend to have that sort of luck, especially this kid. Tech villain was definitely the more likely candidate. 

If Bruce adopted him, the old man might have to take out TimBadLuck Insurance or something. 

The secret shelves in front of Jason were lined with battery and solar powered radios - both CB and two-way, flashlights, outdated communication devices, burner cell phones, and even a telegraph for messages in Morse code sent straight to Oracle and The Watchtower.

Jason keyed a quick warning out. He wasn't sure who was currently manning the Justice League's floating space base, but if someone was getting their hands on League secrets, and weaknesses, through the BatComputer, they needed to know immediately. 

It was Batman protocol. 

There was Batman protocol for everything. 

Well, almost everything. 

BatComputer being compromised by an evil Batman, hacker, or tech-powered villain? Yes. Intruder in the BatCave? Yes. 

Intruder in the BatCave compromising the BatComputer while a seriously wounded civilian child was down there with Alfred? 

Not so much. 

Digging further down into the emergency supplies, Jason heaved some climbing equipment over his shoulder. He was rounding the corner back out of the kitchen when he nearly ran full speed into Bruce's chest. 

As he opened his mouth, something else nearly ran into both of them. 

There was a whoosh of air and then Nightwing and Kid Flash were there in the hallway. 

"Hanger doors are locked," Dick reported in lieu of greeting, eyeing the climbing gear, "and the entrance at the bottom of the dry well is closed off."

"I was going for the elevator." 

"Won't work," Dick sidestepped in front of him. "You can pry the top doors open, sure, but the bottom will be sealed, just like all the others."

"And what about him?" Jason waved a hand toward the speedster. 

"I - I haven't totally gotten phasing down," Wally rubbed the side of his neck. "I tried. I can't even get my hand through for some rea -"

"Nth metal," Bruce interrupted. "The Cave's walls and doors are several layers thick, and a mixture of Nth metal - and lead."

"You've seriously got trust issues," Wally lifted a brow. 

"Guessing since you two are here that this is definitely your meta," Jason sighed.

Dick just nodded.  

"If Barbara was here," Dick scratched the back of his head, "maybe she could override it, but she can't remote access in. The override hack would take time, but -"

"We don't have time!" 

As they argued, Jason watched as Bruce walked across the hall to the wall, pressing down on another secret panel. This one gave way to reveal a control panel and wiring. Ignoring the others, Batman got to work. 

"Calm down, Jay," Dick lifted a hand. "We all know the kind of damage this guy could do with the stuff in the Cave."

"I don't care about that!" Jason shouted, attention whipping back to Dick. "Tim is down there! With Alfred!"

"What?" Dick glanced between Bruce and Jason. 

"Who?" Wally asked. 

"That kid dressed as Robin you guys saved?" Dick shook his head. "I thought he was in the hospital." 

"A kid?" Wally glanced around. "What kid?"

"You're sure he's down there?" Dick stepped toward Jason. 

"I can't find him anywhere, and unless they're somewhere else in the manor -"

Another whoosh and Kid Flash was gone. Barely a breath later, and he was back.

"No one else in the house," he reported. 

"What about a localized EMP?" Jason plucked the one off of his brother's belt.

"It wouldn't penetrate through the Cave's walls." Bruce shook his head as he worked on the wiring. 

"And this one hasn't recharged," Dick swiped it back. "There are EMPs in the Cave, if they can get to one of them -"

"It's not like we gave Tim a tour!" Jason waved his arms. "He's not going to know where they are!"

"But Alfred does," Dick placed a hand on the younger boy's shoulder. 

"We need a bomb." Jason shook him off. "A bazooka. A tank. Whatever will get us through those doors! Is Superman free? Or maybe -"

There was a low buzz and then a whir, and in an instant all the lights were back on. Without a moment of hesitation, the group sprinted toward the elevator. Bruce opened the hidden panel and smashed the button, cranking a lever that nearly put the metal box into a free fall with how fast it started to speed downward. 

Jason braced himself. For a fight. Or for finding Tim's body. 

The doors opened and they all spilled out, muscles tense and fists coiled. Bruce took point, but Wally whooshed past him, a blur of color bouncing around the whole Cave. 

But Jason couldn't focus on him. 

Because right there, in the middle of scorch marks and broken pieces of tech, was Tim.

Not exploded into little bits by their own cyber bombs. 

Not crumpled under the weight of the Batmobile. 

Not ripped apart by a giant animatronic dinosaur. 

A giant animatronic dinosaur that was currently on its side on the floor. 

Next to Tim.

Who was standing.

Alive. 

Or, well, more like slouching, slumping? Yeah, Tim was definitely about to topple over. 

Bruce caught the boy before he hit the hard concrete. 

"You have a dinosaur."

Jason skidded to a stop, leaning over to get a better look at the kid. His sling was torn, but he seemed unharmed, at least from whatever had happened. Sweat was beading across his skin, pain pinching his eyebrows. 

"You have a dinosaur." Tim repeated, blinking. "Why do you have a dinosaur?"

"That is an interesting story," a voice sighed, "and one I'd been planning on telling you before we were so rudely interrupted."

Jason looked up, finding Wally standing with a hand on the shoulder of a slightly charred Alfred. 

"Are you both alright?" Bruce glanced from the boy to the butler. 

"Jeeves here was unconscious when I found him," Wally reported. 

"I am perfectly fine." Alfred straightened his suit jacket. "A little singed, and a little bruised. What's new? I believe young Timothy is the one who needs medical attention."

"I'm fine," Tim moved to sit up more, wincing and slumping farther into Bruce. 

Bruce lifted Tim's sweatshirt and shirt up, a patch of white bandaging now stained red.  

" You , dear boy, are meant to be recuperating in a hospital, not fighting off maniacs." Alfred stepped closer. "I swear, Master Bruce, the children you bring into this house."

"I wasn't actually fighting," Tim rolled his eyes. "My wheelchair just sort of tried to take me on a joyride by itself so I dove out of it. I tore my stitches. It's no big deal, really."

"I think we'll let the doctors decide what is and isn't a big deal," The butler sighed. "Speaking of which, we should get you back. You need to be looked over and we need to figure out what we're going to say happened that doesn't result in Master Bruce losing custody of you."

"Is no one going to ask what happened?" Jason waved his arms, gesturing at the Cave. 

Because, yeah, this was weird. Bruce hadn't even cleared the area of potential threats before going to Tim. And he wasn't demanding a full report right away. He was just - holding onto Tim. 

"We'll debrief later," Bruce said, finally, "is the Cave secure?"

"No sign of Tech Wreck, or his possessed tech, anywhere," Wally reported. 

Tim blinked, focusing on the speedster, and then the blue and black clad vigilante beside him. His eyes went a little wide, something bright and shining and so young sparking behind the pain and fear and adrenaline. Because yeah, Tim had started following Batman and Robin before Jason came into the picture. Tim loved Robin. Sure he'd written Jason-Robin a letter about not being afraid and copied Jason's suit for his costume, but Dick was the kid's OG hero. 

The flash of jealousy was quickly and efficiently smothered by the guilt of even thinking about something like that with everything else going on. 

"He's not in the system anymore," Dick typed away on a nearby tablet, "but who knows what information he was able to steal - secrets, identities -"

"You and Kid Flash stay here," Bruce nodded, "call Oracle and see if you can track down anything he took. Wally, dismantle everything down here with so much as a battery."

Jason watched as Dick bristled, lips pursed. He wasn't Bruce's to command anymore. In fact, Dick was the one who called the shots on the Titans. 

But then Dick glanced at the frail kid in the older man's arms and unclenched his jaw. 

"The rest of us will see Tim back to the hospital," Bruce continued, "where he will stay this time."

And yeah, that tone was aimed at Jason. 

Which, yeah sure, valid.

Alfred had a few minor injuries that he was going to stay and tend to. He might have also muttered something about the state of the Cave and not trusting the speedster not to break anything more than necessary. 

The trip back to the hospital was mostly silent. Tim kept drifting off against the car window, only to startle awake. 

It was still surreal. A villain had gotten into the BatComputer. The guy could have all sorts of secret and dangerous information. Batman should have been making plans, and backup plans. 

Instead, he just called Clark with an update and kept driving. 

It had been almost two hours since Tim and Jason had made their escape. And yet, the hospital wasn't in a frenzy looking for a missing kid. Jason wasn't sure what Bruce exactly did to, as he'd said, "cover their tracks", but he wasn't going to risk poking the bear by asking. It probably involved paying certain staff members off or something. Hell, maybe Bruce just bought the whole dang hospital. 

It was easier sneaking Tim in than out. The torn stitches and new bruises already forming were credited to the kid trying to go to the bathroom without assistance and falling. 

Tim was, scarily, very believable when he lied. 

Sure, maybe Bruce really had paid off the doctor but the way Tim came up with the story all on his own - and then sold it with rosy embarrassed cheeks and a slight quivering lip - was both impressive and sad. How often had Tim had to perform on command? Had to tell lies and half truths to please his parents or cover for their absence? 

Jason made a mental note to watch out for this. He wasn't going to have Tim putting on any sort of show to convince them he was fine when he wasn't or hiding what he really felt. 

The things Jason had done when Bruce first took him in. 

The same things Dick had probably done too. 

Jason worried that Tim was better than them at faking it. 

Maybe Tim actually could lie to Batman.

At least Bruce possibly, maybe, had that telepathy thing.

By the time they got Tim alone, away from doctors or nurses, the kid had fallen asleep. Bruce had already spoken with Alfred on the phone. The butler, unfortunately, didn't have much to share, as he'd spent most of the time in the Cave knocked unconscious after doing his best to protect the kid. It looked like the debriefing of whatever happened down there was going to have to wait. With the BatComputer compromised, things could be dire. And yet, neither Jason or Bruce were going to wake the boy for the world. 

The Justice League, and any other heroes and vigilantes with compromising information stored on the computer were sent alerts. Most went dark or put their loved ones in hiding. Bruce, of course, was helping facilitate all of it. There were things, information, on that computer that some of his friends didn't even know he'd had this whole time. There were definitely going to be some heated exchanges later. 

They watched the news, waiting for a headline about Bruce Wayne being outed as Batman. They prepared exit strategies for the whole family - and Tim. They could have left right then. Been halfway across the world under new identities by the end of the day. But there was a fight left unfinished and a kid in a hospital bed that needed them. 

The same kid who, about an hour later, woke up - jolting and shouting about robot ninja dinosaurs. 

"Is Mr. Pennyworth okay?"

It was the first thing Tim said, after the half-asleep incoherent cries upon waking. Because of course it was. 

"Alfred's fine," Bruce nodded, a small smile just there at the edge of his mouth. 

A doctor came in, alerted either by the machines or Tim's screams, Jason wasn't sure. But there was some more poking and prodding and stern reminders for Tim to stay in bed. 

Dick and Wally showed up at the hospital just as the man was exiting the room. The doctor just looked over the two newcomers and then back at Bruce and Jason, leaving them with another stern reminder that Tim needed to rest.

With the door closed, and locked - and one of B's anti-surveillance devices attached to the wall, Dick and Wally gave a report of their findings of the Cave. They were in civilian clothing now. Which somehow had Tim gazing up at Dick with even more awe and wonder and come on, Jason had been the one to save him that - 

Jason shook himself. His issues with Dick weren't something Tim deserved to have shoved onto him. 

"I swept the whole secret lair, the whole Manor, like four times." Wally leaned against the wall across from Tim's hospital bed. "Anything with a plug or a battery has been dismantled. Uh, good luck reassembling all that, by the way. You have some scary tech in the Cave, man." He looked to Bruce. "Lucky you did - whatever - you did to stop it or -"

"I didn't stop it," Bruce interrupted, frowning.

"But you were messing with that panel in the wall?"

"And was nowhere near success," Bruce shook his head. 

"Then how?" Dick squinted. "Did he get what he wanted from the BatComputer and just, what? Leave?"

"I have my theories," Bruce turned toward Tim.

And in the following long moment of silence, everyone else slowly did the same. 

"I think it's time for that debrief now," Bruce said, not unkindly. 

Tim crinkled the edges of the sheet between his fingers. Head bowed, he glanced between all of them. 

"Oh, well, some crazy guy took over the computer – and all your tech. It was very scary, but also very cool. But mostly scary. Alfred kept me safe, but when he started controlling the vehicles and that dinosaur thing, I knew I had to do something. After my surgery, Jason and I talked about a lot of things. He told me about how the Titans were facing a new meta. I figured that if he was really a meta, and he was controlling technology, then his powers might come from the binary code inside of his DNA. So, I used your computer to create a program encoded with a numerical string pattern of 1's and zero's to reverse the order of the code. 1's become 0's, and 0's became 1's. Basically, I gave him a virus."

Tim let out a breath and shrugged, as if it was no big thing. 

"I think you should be able to make a serum or something that you could inject him with to do the same thing and shut down his powers for good, but I don't know how to do that." 

"Shut down." Wally chucked. "He makes bad puns, just like you Dick. Do you have another brother I don't know about?"

"I don't know," Dick leveled a curious look at Bruce.

Jason snapped his fingers. 

"Those Russian manuals I found on your computer were about coding."

"You speak Russian?" Wally cocked his head at the kid. 

"No." Tim shook his head, grimacing. "There's translator apps. I was just trying to challenge myself. Like a game."

"Totally normal," Jason shook his head. "What a slacker. How dare you only know German, Arabic, and Mandarin?"

"And Japanese." Tim lifted his head. "I told my dad I wanted to learn it because it's good for business. But really, I just like anime."

Jason wanted to laugh. 

Or cry.

He wasn't sure. 

Tim was definitely riding an adrenaline high. The normally quiet kid did tend to talk a lot, and fast, when it came to things that interested him, so it was a little difficult to tell. The shaking hands gave it away, though. 

God, between this and the auction Tim was going to get high blood pressure before he got a driver's license. Or Jason was going to get it from having Tim around. 

"That's exactly what Oracle had been trying to do," Wally lifted his brow, "but we could never get his cyber-consciousness to stick around long enough to make it work. Wow," he whistled, "smart kid."

"Eh," Tim shrugged, "I'm better at engineering and stuff than tech. But I do like puzzles and figuring stuff out. I wasn't sure it was going to work and I barely knew what I was doing."

"How did you do all that without him stopping you?" Dick stepped forward.

"I, uh, just kept him talking." Tim mumbled. "That's how a lot of the villains you've faced screw up. You know, they want to be able to gloat and share their genius with someone. It's like they can't help it."

"Very smart kid," Wally huffed. 

"He didn't notice?" Dick asked. 

"I've been typing one-handed under my desk at school since fourth grade. And sometimes I play video games with one hand while working on my homework with the other. One time at the mall, I got top score on two arcade games at the same time, just to win a bet against an older boy. I think I could do three if I really tried."

They debriefed for a while longer about the attack, Tim guessing that the guy would need at least half a day to recover from the virus. Oh, and that he'd hidden an encrypted tracking code in it so that they could find him - the real, physical version of him. Dick had looked like he could've kissed Tim's forehead. Bruce looked like he wanted to rub his own.

Dick and Wally left to catch the meta, but not before Dick gave Bruce a pointed look and a mention (warning?) that he'd be back after to discuss all of this, nodding toward Tim. 

Which, fair. 

Tim was too busy falling back under the spell of painkillers and exhaustion to notice. He was out like a light before the door even finished closing. 

Alfred showed up not long after, favoring one side but refusing to let Bruce or Jason fuss over him. Bruce was in and out, checking with doctors and social services and Clark. There was still nothing surfacing about secret identities and no one was using certain failsafe plans against any Justice League members yet. Tim had explained that he'd tried to tie the virus code into the files being stolen from the BatComputer in hopes that the data would be too corrupted to decipher. Either Tim had succeeded, or the meta was too busy trying to reboot, or whatever. 

And when Dick called, explaining that the crypto-creep had been apprehended and the only BatComputer files recovered by Oracle were glitched gibberish thanks to the virus, everyone in the room released a breath of tension. 

Just in time for Tim's social worker to show up. 

 

Notes:

I 100% made up what the Cave walls are made of. But it tracks that he would line them with lead so a certain Kryptonian can't see through them.

Yes, I skipped the Tim vs the meta scene. I figured ya'll have seen enough action, especially with Tim. Thought I'd spare you (and Tim). Plus, I think this makes the reveal that he's fine better.

Chapter 29

Notes:

We're almost at the end. Just this chapter and then the epilogue (unless it turns into something longer).

"I just came in here to talk. I help run this whole business and I can get you out of here. Make it look like you just escaped on your own."

"What do you want?"

"Nothing really, just tell me who Batman really is, under the mask."

Bruce's fingers tightened around the edges of the tablet in his lap. Gordon had sent him the file the morning after the train yard auction. It was recovered from a recording device where Tim had been kept. Gordon promised that he listened to it himself, alone, first, before letting any other detectives take a listen to aid in the investigation of the traffickers. 

Just in case. 

In case Tim had cracked and given someone Batman's true name. 

Tim had said he hadn't. 

And Bruce believed him, really.

But he'd had to have been certain. 

So he'd listened, between tracking down leads on the traffickers and checking on Jason and Tim and making legal arrangements for the kid. 

And now he was listening again, waiting for a representative from CPS to finish interrogating speaking to Tim.

Almost everyone from that night had been tracked down by now. There wasn't a need to comb through this again for clues. 

And yet - Bruce couldn't help himself. 

This was his fourth time listening through the damn thing. 

And he didn't know why. 

"I've been doing this for a long time, kid. The people that come to these things, they're the lowest of the lows."

"What does that make you?"

The corner of Bruce's mouth ticked up, just so. 

"What I'm saying, is that they'll do things to you, kid. Things you're not ready for. That no one ever is. And that's just the regular ones. I know you were told about Hatter. He will take your mind apart, piece by piece, turn you into a weapon. That's what a lot of them coming tonight want to do. Make you theirs . Send you out after the Bat like a toy soldier. I overheard one of them on the phone with my boss. They want to take you to the tallest building in Gotham, and then see if you can fly like a real bird. There are more, that want, more , from you. To play with you."

Bruce closed his eyes, only for a moment. These were real horrors that could have very easily happened to an innocent civilian boy if just one more thing had gone wrong that night. Very real horrors that could still happen to Robin, every time Jason put on the cape. 

Bruce was going to protect Tim, but what did that really mean? For how long? The boy had a chance now. To get away from all of this. To be safe. 

The first punch landed and Bruce could hear Tim grunt on the recording. The man hit the kid again and Bruce pulled the earpiece out, shutting off the tablet. 

"You know, I was going to give you a bunch of shit for all of this."

Bruce turned his head, his eldest propped against the threshold with his arms crossed. Bruce had secured them a private waiting room just down the hall from Tim. Jason, however, had refused to leave Tim's door. He was out there now, sitting vigil. Dick and Jason had spoken after leaving Tim's room and Bruce had been hard pressed not to eavesdrop. 

"Especially for not telling me." Dick pushed off the doorway with his elbow, sauntering over. "And don't give me any crap about me being busy with that meta because we both know that's bullshit. You were talking with Babs, and she didn't tell me, which means you told her not to. Oh, and by the way, she said that she totally would have told me anyway if she hadn't had to unplug and go underground."

"So," Bruce stowed the tablet, "why didn't you?"

Dick sighed, sinking down in a chair a few over from Bruce. 

"Because I saw you, Bruce." Dick turned toward the older man. "I saw your face, when we found Tim in the Cave. I don't think I've ever seen you look like that."

They sat in silence for a while after that. Bruce clenched his jaw. Everything in him, habits and training and pride and some stupid sense of stoicism, were all screaming - trying to drown out the image of Jason there on that rooftop watching out for Tim and blaming himself, the image of the last time Bruce saw Dick, angry and broken and storming out of the Cave. 

"No," Bruce said, quiet and low, "you've never seen me look like that." He raised his gaze to meet his son's. "Because I always make sure you're looking away."

Dick looked stricken. His eyes dilated and then darted, scanning Bruce up and down in a frantic, searching sort of way. The surprise hurt Bruce. Warranted, sure. But it still hurt.

"Tim didn't cry." Bruce began, clearing his throat. "Not when he was being held alone by traffickers. Not when they were hurting him. When Joker came and -" Bruce shook his head. "When Tim was taken to that hotel. And then - after. In the hospital. He just kept - holding it together. Until he couldn't. Until he woke from a nightmare and finally, just - broke. I, I held him. For a long time."

This was more words than Bruce had said to Dick in quite awhile. Especially outside of the cowl and combat. It still wasn't enough. Bruce wasn't sure if anything ever could be. 

"Tim," Bruce took a breath, "he's a strong boy. There's something inside of him, something a person is born with. The same thing that I saw inside you, and Jason. But," Bruce paused, straightening his back, "there's more."

"His parents," Dick nodded, "Jason told me."

Bruce sat there for a long, quiet moment, before finally, finally, turning wholly toward his son.

"Is that what I did?" He asked, voice small. "To you both?"

Dick blinked, making an odd noise in his throat. 

"Bruce, what -"

"Jason was worried." Bruce interrupted. "He found out that Tim knew our identities and Jason was scared to tell me. Worried that I'd - that I'd value the mission over Tim's life." Bruce sighed with his entire body. "Did I - did I make the two of you think you had to be perfect? That the mission came before your lives?"

"But the mission does come before our lives." Dick narrowed his brow. "Protecting people, protecting our cities, that's worth dying for. Worth sacrificing for. And - that's not a bad thing. You taught me that."

"Well maybe I shouldn't have."

"I'm not saying you should have left Tim," Dick huffed, "or that I think you'd leave Jason or me to die. There's a time for sacrifice, and there's a time for saving." Dick scrubbed at the back of his neck. "I - I can't believe I'm the one saying this right now, but I think you're being too hard on yourself."

"And here I was thinking I've been too hard on the two of you."

"Oh yeah," Dick lifted his brow, "yeah, you definitely are. And you should work on that if you don't want to push Jason away too." Dick frowned. "But seriously, Bruce. There is a world of difference between what you're doing, and what Tim's parents are doing. You're trying to protect people. You put pressure on us to keep ourselves, each other, and the people we help, alive. They're putting pressure on Tim because they want him to run some stupid company. You're not around because you're saving people. They're not around because they're traveling the world."

"No matter the reasons," Bruce countered, "the results are still the same."

Dick leaned back, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

"Yeah, they could be." He rolled his head against the wall to look at Bruce. "Or you could make sure they aren't. When I was in the circus, my parents put a lot of pressure on me when it came to our routines. They needed to. I was a kid and I needed to understand the risks if something went wrong. That sort of pressure, it needs emotional reassurance and consistent shows of care to back it up. I never doubted my parents loved me - even if I did sometimes leave practices angry at how hard they'd pushed me.  

Bruce hummed.

"When did you become so emotionally mature?"

"One of us had to be," Dick snorted. "And besides, I've been leading a team of dysfunctional teenagers. I sort of had to pick it up pretty quickly." Dick paused, face thoughtful. "Yeah, you put a lot of pressure on us and aren't always around - and that whole stoic non-feeling thing is a bunch of crap that's going to damage Jason if you keep it up - but you know what your biggest problem is, Bruce?"

Ah, here it was. Bruce had been wondering when Dick was finally going to lay into him. He'd been so…understanding, sitting here and giving Bruce advice and making jokes like there wasn't this chasm between them. Like every conversation, no matter how few and short they'd been, they'd had as of late had been weighed down with tension and ended in arguments. 

Bruce didn't say anything. Simply waited for the gavel to come down.

"You don't communicate." Dick finally spoke again. "You don't talk to us, or anyone. About what you're feeling or planning or thinking. You just do what you're going to do, and leave everyone else to deal with the fallout. Consequences be damned." Dick's muscles coiled and Bruce watched as his eldest forced himself to relax, body going loose. "But look what you're doing right now," Dick gestured between the two of them, "it isn't so hard, is it?"

Bruce didn't respond. Dick just shook his head. 

"It's killing you, isn't it?" He smirked. 

Bruce's lips twitched. 

"I've been through worse."

They sat together in the following quiet. Not tense. Or heavy. Or even awkward. Just, quiet. Bruce took the tablet back out, pulling up a new set of windows, thumbing through the hospital security footage - the live hospital security footage. He paused when the grainy black and white image of his son came into view. Jason was still perched on a chair outside Tim's room, but now he was trying to balance the seat on a single leg, with some success. It was half stubborn determination, half childish. 

Bruce forgot to hide this smile. 

But then his face fell. 

"Jason is a child." He sighed, resting the tablet on his lap. "You were a child. Am I being reckless?"

"Yes." 

Dick's answer held no hesitation, but also no hostility. When Bruce finally looked over at him, Dick's brow was raised. 

"But you already tried firing one Robin, and you saw how that turned out." Dick continued.

"So you're saying it's too late for Jason?"

"Maybe," Dick shrugged, "but that doesn't mean it's not too late to train him better, prepare him better." Dick turned his whole body to face him again. "To parent him, love him, better."

Bruce swallowed, staring at a point on the wall somewhere past Dick's head.

"And Tim?"

Dick twisted back around, leaning back in his chair. 

"I can't tell you what to do about Tim," he whistled out a sigh, "I don't even really know him. I do think Jason's already adopted him, though, so there's that."

"Jason." Bruce huffed. "I can barely handle him. What makes me think that I can handle another son?"

Dick's feet clattered to the floor from where they had been propped up on an adjacent seat. 

"I thought you were just considering fostering the kid," Dick said, "temporarily. You just referred to him as a son. I think that's all the answer you need."

"He's a child," Bruce shook his head, "whose parents are -" 

"Neglectful and absentee," Dick finished for him. 

"Alive," Bruce corrected. "They could change. Maybe they deserve that chance, for Tim."

"And maybe Tim deserves a chance to not have to wait and see if they won't," Dick countered, not unkindly. "Look, I was a kid and you took me in. Not because you wanted a sidekick. Because you saw a boy going through exactly what you did and knew you could understand him, help him. I became Robin because I wanted to get my parents vengeance. You taught me justice. I was going to go after them whether you were Batman or not. Whether you trained me or not."

Bruce thought of that little boy with the messy black hair who would only eat potato chips when he first took him in and was always so angry, but in a different way than Jason. Maybe a more dangerous way. He was this bright, pure, truly good soul that laughed at bad puns and grinned from ear to ear doing backflips off the chandelier and gave hugs, and himself, so freely and readily. 

And he was at risk.

At risk of something black and coiled and sticky seeping inside and dimming that light. Maybe even snuffing it out. 

Bruce needed to make sure Dick Grayson didn't become like that.

Like him. 

But still - 

"I worried that by stepping in," Bruce started, voice quiet, "I made things worse for you. That I'd stopped you from living a normal life. From being safe, from being happy."

"I am happy, Bruce. I don't like how some things went down between us, but I also don't have any regrets about how my life turned out. I hope you know that."

Dick adjusted himself, shoulders hunched. 

"I wasn't always exactly thrilled with you taking Jason in, especially right after - we - well, you know, and even more not happy that you didn't even tell me," Dick cleared his throat, " but, this isn't about that. Or me. Or us. That's for a different conversation. One I'm not sure I'm ready to have just yet."

Bruce watched Dick, so raw and open and just opposite of everything he himself has been for, well, as long as he can remember. 

"I was on a path for vengeance," Dick ran a hand through his hair, "and Jason, Jason was on a different path. But still a dangerous one. You're trying to guide him toward a better one. But Tim? I think Tim was already on our path. I know he didn't put that costume on to go fight crime, but he still jumped right in. And it sounds like he's been studying, hell, idolizing, Batman and Robin for a long time now. The kid has digital crime boards. He sends anonymous tips into the GCPD. He wants to be a detective." 

Bruce clicked his tongue.

"Jason really did tell you a lot about him."

"Are you kidding?" Dick laughed. "He wouldn't shut up about Tim. It's the most that kid has talked to me since - well, ever."

Bruce saw the absolute love Dick held for Jason shining in his eldest's eyes. Despite their infrequent visits and the rocky start to their relationship not so long ago, it was there. Bright and bold for everyone to see. 

Bruce really didn't deserve Dick Grayson. 

"I'm not saying that you should adopt Tim and then throw him in a pair of tights. Heck, maybe he will become a detective. A real, legal, detective. But he'd be the best damned detective on the GCPD because he was trained by you. Or maybe he's got a taste for it all now and would become a vigilante anyway."

"Or maybe he's traumatized and being around this life, my life, would do him more harm than good." Bruce bowed his head.

"Or maybe none of what either of us just said matters because we don't know what is going to happen." Dick looked at Bruce, really looked at him. "All we know is what's in front of us. All you can do, is what's best for Tim. Right now. Why did you offer to be his temporary guardian?"

"Because the trafficking ring might still be after him," Bruce crossed his arms. 

"And?" Dick leaned forward. 

"Because he knows our secret and it's safer for everyone to keep him close."

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" Dick rolled his eyes.

"I don't know wh -"

"Because you care about him, Bruce." Dick threw his hands up. "Is that so hard to say?"

Bruce swallowed, staring at a fixed point on his son's forehead.

"Sometimes."

After a long moment, Bruce's gaze finally shifted, meeting Dick's. The man's hand came up to rest on Dick's shoulder. 

"But it's getting easier."

 

---

 

Tim was waiting. 

Waiting to be in trouble for leaving the hospital. 

Waiting to be told he couldn't stay with Bruce anymore. 

Waiting for his parents to come crashing into the room with their lawyer.

Waiting for some scattered leftover member of the trafficking ring to pay him a revenge visit. 

Waiting for his buyer to come collect, despite not being exactly what, or who, the stranger paid for. 

Waiting to hear Joker's laugh outside his door. 

At least Tim was used to waiting. 

For his parents to come back home. 

For Batman and Robin to show up on one of their patrol routes. 

For his heroes to come save him. 

He remembered the feeling, that day he fired a grappling hook for the first time. Losing his grip on the gutters.  

He remembered the frayed holiday lights and a skyscraper and gunmen and plummeting.

He remembered his dream-parents with boxes of decorations and a ladder 

Falling and falling and knowing that the ground was coming. 

But having to just wait for it.

He was sitting in his hospital bed, oddly alone for the first time since returning. The social worker had left maybe thirty minutes ago. Either the Waynes weren't coming back in to see him, or they weren't being allowed back in. 

The woman had been kind, soft-spoken, offering quiet smiles and gentle questioning. Everything Tim would have suspected to have been long since beaten out of the social workers for a place like Gotham City. 

"How are you?"

It had been her first inquiry. Right after introducing herself as Mrs. Sarah Holland and asking if Tim would be okay if she sat down next to him. 

And boy, what sort of question was that? 

How was he even supposed to begin to answer it? 

But, he tried. 

And he'd been honest, really, as much as he could be while omitting his little excursion to Wayne Manor. 

And then, there'd been more.

So, so many more.

"How do you feel at home?"

"What do you feel about your mom and dad?"

"How often do they leave you home alone? For how long?"

"Has your mom or dad ever done something you don't like?"

"Are there times at home or with your parents when you feel scared? Unsafe?"

"Tell me more about the times when you've felt like this."

"Can you describe for me a typical day at home? What do you eat? Who makes the food? Where do you play? Who comes to and leaves the house and when?"

"Tell me about the time you broke your ankle."

"What happens when you do something your parents don't like?"

The woman was so very considerate and careful with Tim, and yet this line of questioning felt worse than being interrogated by the traffickers. 

By the time she left, Tim was shaking under the covers. 

And now, he was just left waiting. 

The door creaked open and Tim quickly wiped at his eyes, shoulders slumping when a nurse walked in. 

But before the door swung back shut, Bruce was there, walking through the threshold. He didn't ask Tim impossible questions, not even if he was okay. He just crossed the room, sat down in the chair previously occupied by the social worker, placed a hand over where Tim's was under the sheet, and smiled, small and reassuring and sad and kind and sure all at the same time. 

They stayed like that for a while.

"Alfred and Jason would like to come back in," Bruce finally said, "even Dick. If you're alright with that." 

That was right. 

Dick. 

As if he hadn't been spending enough time lately with his heroes. His OG hero way back from the circus had shown up in the Cave when Tim was hardly holding onto consciousness through sheer force of will and adrenaline. 

This whole week was trying to kill him. 

Tim just nodded. He was pretty sure it was all he was capable of doing just then. 

The others filed in, offering silent smiles. Dick even gave a little wave that made the corners of Tim's mouth curl. 

"We know you just got asked about a million questions that you probably didn't wanna answer," Jason slid into another chair opposite Bruce, "so you don't need to say anything if you don't wanna, okay? We're just here for you."

Dick was looking at Jason in a slightly surprised, but also sad and proud sort of way. 

"And also," Jason continued, kicking a leg up onto the edge of the hospital bed, "Dickie Bird here wanted to meet you, officially."

"Things were a little crazy earlier." Dick stepped forward. "Hi, I'm -"

"Dick Grayson," Tim whispered, a little breathlessly, "yeah, I know."

"Well," Dick grinned, "it's nice to meet you, Tim. You sort of saved the day before, you know that right?"

Tim lowered his gaze.

"I wasn't - I didn't really -"

"Yes," Dick interrupted, firm, "you did."

"Well," Tim shrugged, "you guys have saved a lot of people, a lot of times. Including me."

"Is this a contest now?" Jason chuckled. "You stopped me from bleeding out from that knife in the leg and -"

"No, I meant -" Tim bit down on his lip, going quiet. 

He didn't see it, but he felt the people in the room with him exchanging silent glances. Bruce's hand squeezed, just a little, where it was still placed above the sheets, above Tim's. 

"What did you mean, Tim?" He asked. 

Tim chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"Do you, do you remember when I broke my ankle?"

It was Bruce's turn to bow his head. 

"I'm sorry, Tim." Bruce sighed. "I should have known something wasn't right. I knew your parents. I was there that day. I suspected something was wrong but I didn't - I should have -"

"It was a grappling gun," Tim blurted, cheeks going pink. 

Bruce just blinked back at him.

"What?"

"I didn't fall out of a tree," Tim hurried to explain. "I found Robin's grappling gun after a fight and tried to use it on my house. It - didn't go as planned. I wasn't dying or anything, but the pain was so bad and I was so scared, so when you showed up, it felt like you were saving me."

The lines in Bruce's forehead deepened. There was something like a weary fondness clouding his features. 

"That's three times."

Bruce's brow furrowed.

"Hm?"

"Three times you've saved me," Tim shrugged, "unless you count all the times you saved the whole city, or the world."

Bruce stared off somewhere over Tim's shoulder before something lit up in his gaze.

"The airport," he muttered, "of course. Scarecrow's attack. You were alone."

"No I wasn't," Tim corrected, "well, yes, but my parents were there. But we got sep -" Tim stopped himself, realization coloring his own eyes this time. "They ran."

Everyone was quiet for a long moment. 

"See?" Jason whistled. "Kid gets into trouble like it's second nature. Told you he'd fit right in. Saved by B three times."

"And you," Tim smiled. 

"Right, can't forget my daring, incredible, heroics at the train -"

"Twice."

Jason did a double take. 

"I'm worried to ask," Bruce rubbed at his temple. 

Jason wasn't. 

And so Tim explained the older boys and the attempted theft of his camera - and the head-on collision with young Jason Todd. 

"That was you?" Jason shook his head. "You left me, like, over a hundred bucks!"

Tim lowered his head, lip curled against teeth.

"It was for your mom," he whispered. "I never got to ask, before. I hope it was enough to replace her medicine." 

"Yeah, yeah," Jason swallowed, nodding slightly, "more than enough."

"Good," Tim lifted his head only just, still not meeting the older boy's eyes.

"So who else has saved you?" Jason cleared his throat, smile small but real. "Alfred? Batgirl? Superman? Please say Wonder Woman."

Tim shuffled under the sheets, gaze drifting over toward the other older boy.

"Me?" Dick stood up straighter. "When?"

"At the airport, too," Tim rubbed his arm, "you jumped in front of me when Batman was giving me the antidote. Oh," Tim brightened, "and the park. I was six and got lost. You were in the trees."

"That certainly sounds like Master Richard," Alfred sighed, not unkindly.

"You trusted some strange kid that just hangs out in trees?" Jason snorted. 

"Oh, it was okay, I'd met him before so I knew I could -" Tim snapped his mouth shut. 

"Tim," Dick moved forward, "when did we meet before then?"

Tim turned away, finding something very interesting in the wood grain on the window sill. 

"The circus," Tim spoke softly after a moment, "when Haly's Circus came to town."

Tim heard a muffled curse, like it was coming from behind a hand. 

"You were there."

Tim still didn't dare to look at him. After a moment, Tim nodded. 

"How old -" Dick trailed off. 

"I was five," Tim swallowed. "It was my first time at the circus and my mom wanted a picture. You hugged me and sat me on your knee. Said you were going to perform just for me. No one had ever done anything just for me before. Even us going to that circus wasn't just family time. Dad knew a bunch of other businessmen were going with their families, and wanted to make some connections."

"Oh my -" Dick breathed out slowly, "you saw - that? When you were that young?"

"I used to have dreams about it," Tim muttered, embarrassment coloring his cheeks, "a lot. In the dream, and that night, you did a quadruple somersault. The ringmaster said that only three people alive could perform that move. And then, later, Robin did the same somersault on the news while fighting some guys with Batman. Since Batman had shown up at the circus, and you'd been taken in by Bruce Wayne, I figured that if you were Robin, then Bruce was probably Batman. Once I was looking at things through that lens, the pieces just sort of started fitting together." 

Tim scratched the back of his neck. Everyone was just sort of silently staring at him and he wasn't sure if that meant he should continue or stop. 

"And then, later, Robin disappeared for a while. People thought he'd died or something. There was a rumor Joker had shot him on a roof. And then - Robin was back. Except, he was, uh, different," Tim glanced nervously toward Jason, "not bad different. Just, little things. The way he moved. His size. And then Nightwing showed up, and did the same quadruple somersault. Plus, you were working with the Titans," Tim turned back toward Dick, "the same group Robin had lead."

Dick was wide-eyed, but Jason was smirking. 

Bruce sighed, low.

"I'd been wondering how you managed to figure it out, but we've been a little - busy."

"I'm surprised you didn't interrogate him right away," Dick shook his head. "Patience is not exactly your style."

"I'm just glad I wasn't the one who blew our identities," Jason whistled, elbowing Dick. 

"I'd been meaning to have a conversation with you about all of this," Bruce said, voice serious.

"Really B?" Jason folded his arms across his chest. "After everything he just went through? After that lady practically -"

Bruce held up a single hand.

"But it can wait," he sighed. "I think Tim knows, more than most who've learned our secret, just how dangerous having that knowledge can be. And I," he paused, "I appreciate it, the lengths you went to safeguarding that information. It took Oracle and Jason a good deal of skill and time to gain access to any of it. But I hope you understand, Tim, that I can't allow such information, such photographs, to remain out in the world. For our sake. But more importantly, for yours."

Tim bowed his head. He'd give it all up, of course, to keep them safe. But it felt like he was losing a part of himself. 

"But hey," Jason nudged Tim, "you can always look at them on the BatComputer. Or, you know, actual Batman files. Not saying you didn't do some pretty awesome detective work on your own, but this would be trading up. I mean, B will probably only give you like, limited access, or whatever at first, even though that's bullshit 'cause you already used it to save -"

"Wait." Tim shook his head, looking from Jason to Bruce. "I - I'm still staying…with you?"

Jason made an odd sort of face, scoffing.

"Well, yeah." He said it like it was obvious. 

"But you had to lie to the hospital, and to the lady from CPS," Tim glanced between them all, "and I snuck off and caused you trouble -"

"In case you forgot, Tim-Tam," Jason interrupted, "you just left your room. Busting out of the hospital was my brilliant idea."

"Tim." 

Bruce squeezed the same hand he'd been holding earlier. It felt like safety and strength. 

It felt like home. 

"I don't know what's going to happen with your parents," Bruce began once Tim finally looked at him, "but you are more than just welcome to stay with us, you are wanted. For however long you want or need."

Wanted.

When was the last time Tim was wanted somewhere? He was a good prop at galas and functions, but also caused his parents stress and embarrassment when he slipped up. Jack brought him to work sometimes to learn, but sometimes Tim got in the way, and other times he was simply forgotten, sitting alone at his father's desk. The trips around the world were for the business, not a family vacation, he was always told. 

Wanted. 

They discussed some details after that. About how Alfred had already gotten one of the bedrooms in the family wing - not the guest wing - ready for Tim. What things, if any, Tim wanted from his house. How he was going to be excused from school for a bit to recover - both physically and emotionally - and that there were alternatives on the table, like transferring to Jason's school or temporary homeschooling. Tim voted to take some time to think on that one. Plans were made for Dick to come visit more regularly, including sometimes to do one-on-one brother or vigilante stuff with just Jason. 

Wanted.

Bruce and Jason and Alfred and Dick. They wanted him. And Tim wanted to be with them. 

And maybe, for now, that was enough. 

 

---

 

Sometime Later:

 

Jason: He figured out our identities. He's crazy smart. Are you sure he's not actually your son?

Dick: Hey, maybe you do have a kid out there that you don't know about. 

Jason: Can you imagine? A mini-B? Terrifying. 

Dick: I don't know, might be sort of adorable. 

Bruce: Good thing we'll never have to find out.

Dick: Never say never, Bruce.

 

Notes:

I am not entirely satisfied with this chapter. The conversations feel clunky and I don't know if I captured Dick's personality enough. I did take a few lines of his exchange with Bruce directly from comics.

Chapter 30

"You can take the rest of the night off. I won't be needing the car."

Tim reached for his bag on the floor of the backseat, looping a single strap around his shoulder. It was heavy, what with the new laptop, textbooks, circuit boards for his STEM club project, a coding manual (with handwritten notes from Barbara, and the latest Shakespeare play that Alfred - and Jason - had him reading through. He could manage it. The tired leather strap on the bag, however, was struggling.

"You mean you won't be needing this car."

Jerry's eyes were a little too piercing through the rearview mirror, but easily contrasted by the sly smirk of a smile that soon stretched into a toothy grin. 

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Jerry lifted his brow nearly all the way to his hairline. 

"I'll be fine." Tim sighed.

"Sure," Jerry shrugged, "but I won't be unless I know that your scrawny little brat behind is back home safe and tucked away in bed like a kid your age should be. So…"

Jerry stretched the vowel out long and slow. 

"So I'll text you when I'm home safe."

"Damn straight you will." Jerry nodded. "Now, we still on for dinner Thursday?"

"I mean," Tim chuckled, "you're the one that picks me up from school so you could just, like, kidnap me and take me straight to your place."

Jerry just blinked back at him in the mirror.

"Too soon for kidnap jokes?"

"Always." 

Tim just laughed. It was nice to laugh about it. Considering for a while there, it had been difficult just thinking about it. 

"As long as V is cooking and not you, I'm there."

"Hey, I taught Veronica how to cook when we were growing up."

"Well then your sister definitely surpassed the master," Tim snorted.  

Tim pulled a folded packet of papers out from the side pocket of his bag, handing them to Jerry between the front seats. 

"I put together some easy study guides for Xavier on the stuff we've been working on during my free period today. It's all color-coded."

"Because of course it is."

"Dick is visiting this week." Tim continued. "He said he'd swing by during Xavier's PT. Oh, and Jason is going to lend me his old copies of Hatchet and Little Women. I'll bring them on Thursday. They have all his notes - and rants - in the margins. He said he'd look over Xavier's essays about them too."

"Jason?" Jerry huffed. "You mean the kid that just bolted from this car before I was even fully parked without saying goodbye? Wayne not teaching ya'll manners with all your - extracurriculars?"

"I think he just wanted to make sure my surprise was ready." Tim rolled his eyes. "Not that I'm supposed to know that there's a surprise, but," Tim's grin turned toothy too, "I totally know there's a surprise. Figured it out days ago."

"Well," Jerry grumbled, "surprise or not, no one gets out of my vehicle while it's still moving. And no one gets out without a proper goodbye."

"You sound like Alfred." 

"Good," Jerry smiled, "he might be the only person you kids listen to around here."

"Don't let Bruce hear you say that."

"He probably already has," Jerry scoffed. "You don't think that man didn't bug the car his sons were going to be driven around in, huh? Not that I'm not grateful." 

He said this last part a little louder, leaning closer to the dashboard. 

Tim just shook his head. 

Jerry had been his personal driver - chauffeur? - valet? - God, he hated all those terms, for nearly a year now. And every afternoon following school had gone a little something like this. Sometimes, after the harder days, especially back in the beginning so close to the fallout of the train yard, Jerry would just quietly take the long way to Wayne Manor. Driving around for an hour or longer while they just joked. Banter with Jerry was always easy. Going home to face physical therapy or another court appearance or reporter trying to get an exclusive or the new family that he'd been struggling to accept and navigate and just let in - was sometimes a little too much. 

It had been a surprise. One that Tim actually hadn't seen coming. 

Back when his parents' trial was occurring simultaneously with the trials of several of the arrested traffickers from that night. Bruce had promised that Tim didn't have to testify for any of it, if he wasn't up for it. But that hadn't felt right.

But it was - a lot. 

He had to talk so much, in front of judges and juries and prosecutors and police and therapists and social services that he just sort of…stopped talking everywhere else. 

Everyone tried. Dick on his sudden surprise visit. Jason at school and home. Bruce over dinner and breakfast and outside Tim's bedroom door. Alfred on the drives to and from school. Tim wasn't outright mute with them. He wasn't rude either. He just...wasn't. 

Until one day after school when a familiar looking Rolls Royce pulled up and Tim climbed in, only for an old familiar face to be smiling back at him from that rearview mirror. 

Just like he was now. 

Jerry became Tim's personal chauffeur after that. And Jason's too by proxy since they were attending the same school after Tim's initial choice of homeschooling left him climbing the walls. It worked for everyone all around. Alfred, who already had far too much on his plate for any human being to carry, was relieved from at least one of his countless duties. Jerry got to quit his litany of jobs. And Tim got to have what felt somehow like an old friend back in his life. 

It had taken a while for Tim to get the whole scoop from Jerry, but apparently Bruce had asked for a favor. And that favor turned into a job. Bruce had told Jerry that he didn't have to accept. That he would get the man any job Jerry wanted in return for what he'd done for Tim. But Jerry liked spending time with the kid, much to his teasing when he told Tim. And Jerry also just liked driving. He ended up being something of a sort of driver and bodyguard. Of course, even with his impressive physique, the latter job had required combat training from Alfred. They got to spend a lot of time together after that. And it meant Jerry was there during the court dates and appointments and everything else Tim started hating less and less when it meant he got to make fun of everyone involved afterward with Jerry - and stop for ice cream. 

(It was around then when Alfred started insisting on evening tea time in the library with Tim since they no longer had their drives for bonding time.)

And then of course there was the time where Jerry came to pick the boys up for school in the morning and Tim had watched as the larger man got out of the driver's seat with tears in his eyes. Instead of opening the back doors for either of the kids, Jerry had instead marched straight over to Bruce Wayne and hugged him too tight to be comfortable. 

Apparently, Bruce had found out about Jerry's nephew early on, but hadn't said anything until he'd secured Xavier a spot in a hospital down in Texas doing experimental gene therapy. Later, when that didn't work, Bruce flew the family to Australia where the world's most leading cancer facilities and doctors resided. It took some trial and error, and Tim was fairly certain that final treatment wasn't even legal yet, but Xavier came back to the United States in remission. 

And to a new home. 

Jerry had explained to Tim that Bruce offered a place nearby, but Jerry had politely declined to leave his neighborhood because it was "who he is". So instead, Wayne Industries bought Jerry's whole building - and a few others on the same block. Bruce had his people work with the tenants, actually finding out what they wanted and needed. The place was still going to be low-income housing, but now the pipes weren't rusted, the faucets didn't leak, there was no lead in the paint, and - oh yeah, the apartments were huge, and beautiful. Even though Jerry wasn't low-income anymore, he remained there. It made sense, seeing as Veronica was promoted from a hotel chain housekeeper to apartment complex manager. She got to stay home for her job while Xavier recovered, and someone who understood their neighbors was in charge, instead of "some douche corporate proxy."

Those last bits had been Jason's words during Jerry's explanation. Because yeah, Jason had been involved. He'd even been the one to recommend involving the tenants in the first place. 

Jerry wasn't the only one who Bruce helped after the incident. Tim found out about the "Birdwatching" group chat and dug up information on every single person involved. He just showed up in Bruce's office one day with a thumb drive of names, needs, suggestions, and spreadsheets. Esperanza, the nurse who talked to the kids from the alley, was going to medical school to become a pediatrician - free of charge. Andre, the kid from the casino, no longer had to worry about college tuition. Rico's daughters suddenly had scholarships to private school. Oh, and Rico, Sammy, and Alyssa announced their polyamorous joint relationship status on social media about six months ago. Not that Tim had anything to do with that one. 

Tim even kept the "Birdwatching" group alive. Well, "Batman" did, under Tim's suggestion - through a more secure, encrypted app server. And Tim did most of the communicating, through a code name. Only Jerry knew the truth. They weren't vigilantes or anything, but the network proved useful for information and surveillance.  

Tim had already used it to help track down all the remaining victims from that auction night. Housing, therapy, rehab, whatever they needed was taken care of. Everyone underage without safe homes to return to were put with families vetted by Batman himself, including Katie and Paul, the two kids from the alley the night this all started. Even more rings and criminals were taken down too - after some of the victims who had been passed around between buyers or organizations were able to tell their stories. Helping those people and getting justice for them was almost all Tim spent his free time doing for a long while, sitting down there on the BatComputer with a comm to Batman and Robin in one ear and a map of their current GPS location on one screen - and all his research about the traffickers and victims on the others. Alfred was there as well, of course, for those first few months. Barbara too sometimes. Training him on the tech, the code words, the emergency plans, all of it. 

"You'll be careful tonight, right."

It wasn't a question. 

Tim just smiled, nodding as he slid the rest of the way out of the car. Straightening, Tim gave a final pat to the driver's side door. Jerry offered a half-salute in return. The vehicle stayed there all the way up until Tim got in the front door before pulling away. 

Tim barely made it through the front parlor before Jason rounded the corner. Tim clocked the sweat barely beading on the other boy's hairline, something he probably wouldn't have picked up on a year ago before training. And before knowing Jason as well as he did now. 

"Hey Timbo," Jason folded his arms too casually, "can you come downstairs and help me with the Bat-puter?"

Jason never called anything by the proper "Batman" names when not on the job. Every time one of his little nicknames made Bruce flinch or grimace, it made Jason quirk a smile. It wasn't like anything had a super serious code name to begin with. Afterall, most of the names had stemmed from Dick's nine-year-old brain anyway. 

"I was trying to look at some of B's super secret files and maybe, accidentally, possibly-probably, initiated the files' self-destruct sequence."

It was a decent cover story. Jason absolutely would do something like that. But he would have never asked for help right away. At least not until he'd tried to fix it himself to spare his own pride and ended up making it worse. Besides, Jason might not have been the strongest tech member of the team, but he was still very smart, and still trained by Bruce and Barbara. 

Tim just rolled his eyes. He'd play along. At least, as best as he could. If Jason couldn't hide his deception from Tim, how on earth was little old Tim supposed to hide his own from a family of super sleuths?

With a huff of agreement, Tim followed Jason through the manor, dumping his bag on a chair in the hall. They passed the kitchen and Tim shot a glance inside. No Alfred fixing them an after-school snack. If that wasn't enough to confirm Tim's suspicions, nothing was. 

The elevator was concealed by a large panel in the wall. It required a secret button sequence on a hidden keypad to reveal itself, followed by a retinal scan for the door to even open. Once inside, the user could offer a specific voice command or fingerprint to be taken directly down the Cave. 

After the tech villain incident, a few other very secret, very guarded, entrances were constructed that couldn't be shut down or sealed off unless done manually. 

When the elevator finished its descent and the doors opened, Jason rushed outside in front of Tim. Stifling a laugh, Tim stepped out. Taking a moment to school his expression, Tim squared his shoulders and rounded the corner. 

"Surprise!"

Jason and Dick's voices rung out against the impossibly high ceilings. Dick's arms were raised high and the edges of his grin nearly reached all the way up with them. Alfred and Bruce were nearby, smiling in this sort of way that had come to make Tim want to roll his eyes, but also hug them and not let go. 

The older boys were standing in front of the row of cases containing all of the vigilantes' different suits. Batman's was the first, furthest on the left. Then a spot for Nightwing's - something that had been added during Tim's attempt to repair the rift between the pair - followed by the Robin costume. Or, rather, two of them. The first was obviously Jason's, but Tim didn't really spare it much of a glance. He was too busy, too excited, to check out his own outfit. Because that's what this whole surprise had to have been about, right? There wasn't anything else that - 

Tim blinked. 

And then did it a second time for good measure. 

The costume in the final spot was definitely Tim-sized, and definitely Robin, but it wasn't anything new. 

There, staring back at him behind a glass door, was the somehow blood-stain free and re-sewn together costume from last Halloween. From the day that started this all. While Tim had tracked down actual Kevlar and bat-accessories for the outfit, it definitely looked lackluster standing there right next to the real deal. Especially that thin red cape - 

Wait. 

Tim moved closer, cocking his head at the fabric. 

"While you were in the hospital, I went back to the trainyard to find your cape."

Tim swung his head around, not having noticed that Jason had sidled up next to him. 

Huh. There had been a massive fire at the trainyard around that same time. Tim had been pretty positive he'd known the culprit back then. He was certain now, if Jason's teeny, twitching, smirk was anything to go by. Bruce, obviously, would have easily deduced the arsonist the day it happened. As far as Tim knew, Bruce had never said anything about it. And neither would Tim. 

"Wasn't there, of course," Jason shrugged, "got taken in as evidence."

"Master Jason," Alfred tutted, "did you steal from the police department?"

"What?" Jason lifted his hands. "It had my blood all over it, my DNA. I was protecting the big secret. That's Rule Number Two."

"Number three," Dick jabbed an elbow into Jason's shoulder.  

Tim only half listened to the bickering that ensued after that. His fingers ghosted over the glass. Whatever had remained of the outfit when he'd gotten to the hospital had been carelessly cut off his body and tossed aside. He hadn't seen a single piece of it since, let alone the whole thing patched perfectly back together. 

He could feel how the too-tight pants chaffed just a bit against his legs. How the Kevlar sat heavy against his chest. The cool air on his flushed cheeks under the homemade mask. 

"I don't know if I have ever felt so freaking happy or strong or cool, or well, anything, in my whole entire life." 

He remembered waking up in that dark train car, having been stripped down to his undershirt and thin pants while unconscious. Shivering and struggling against shackles. Being forced to dress the part and then be paraded out in front of the crowd. Using his cape to elevate Jason's leg as it bled and bled and bled. Having to strip down again in that too-crowded bathroom with rough-handed strangers. 

Tim took a breath, realizing belatedly that there was a hand now on his shoulder. Bruce was by his side this time. He didn't say anything just then, he so rarely did. Sure, they'd all been talking to Leslie Thompkins and going to therapy and actually dealing with their emotions and having real conversations with each other, and Bruce was getting better, really. But this time, he didn't need to speak. And they both knew it. 

Tim looked at the older man's hand on his shoulder, and then Bruce's face. Tim nodded, just once. And Bruce squeezed. 

And it was more than enough. 

Tim processed the surprise, and the momentary flashbacks, and found himself landing somewhere in the realm of - confusion? Sure, this was a touching and meaningful gesture, really. And he appreciated it, honest. But Tim had been expecting a little something - different. 

He tried like hell to make sure the disappointment that followed the confusion didn't show anywhere on his face. 

"Did we trick him?" Jason spoke up, rubbing his hands together. "Did we actually finally trick someone in this family?"

"I knew he'd know," Dick shook his head. "I realized he'd figure'd us out a few days ago."

"I knew weeks ago," Bruce smiled softly.

"Hmm," Alfred sighed, "I guessed that young Master Timothy sniffed out our plans the moment they were hatched months ago."

"See?" Dick patted Tim on the back, who just glanced back at him owlishly. "That's why I said we needed to trick him."

Tim's mouth parted into this sort of small 'o' shape, and stayed that way for a good while. 

"What are you guys talking about?"

No one answered Tim. In fact, no one spoke at all. Instead, Bruce simply stepped to the side and pressed a button. A panel in the wall next to the glass cases shifted, opening. Something else was standing there next to his old handmade suit now, except it was covered in a dark cloth. 

"This is the part we knew you'd figure out."

Bruce spoke as he pulled away the sheet, another shiny case underneath - and a brand new Robin suit inside. This one wasn't pieced together with suspiciously obtained used Kevlar and fabric scraps from his mother's sewing room and boots from some old vintage store. It even looked - familiar? 

"Jason found your files when you were missing." Bruce explained. "You had pages and notes on his and Dick's costumes to recreate them. But you also had ideas. Designs. Thoughts on different improvements. We tried to incorporate all of them."

And it was true. Sure, the outfit was similar to Jason's in style and build, but there were obvious variations. The majority of the material was a darker red, with black pants and accents. The only splash of yellow was the large "R" on the upper left side of the chest. The belt was definitely tactical, but it was more technical than either Robins' had worn. There was even a wrist computer built into both arms for two different types of field work: combat on the left and reconnaissance on the right, if they'd followed his apparently not-so-secret blueprints. 

Bruce stepped back. He must have pushed another button because the case door opened. Tim stood stock still for a moment. It was silly. He'd known that this was going to happen sooner or later. He'd even clocked that they were going to reveal it today. And yet…yet. 

It still knocked the breath right out of him. 

His eyes ran up and down the suit again and again again almost reverently - until - 

"Wait," Tim lifted a hand toward the costume, "is that…"

"The birdarang you used to save my life." Jason finished for him when Tim found himself unable to continue speaking. "Yeah. We were going to keep it on display with your OG outfit, but that didn't feel right."

Tim let out a little puff of air. 

"It - it's perfect."

And it was. The birdarang had been separated into two interlocking pieces, forming the front latch for Tim's utility belt.

"It - it's all - the whole thing," Tim continued, swallowing, "is perfect."

"B will go over all the specifics with you," Jason patted Tim's back playfully, "and oh boy, won't that be an exciting eight hour lecture, but the birdarang buckle can actually come off and be used as one piece or two separate pieces as like a last ditch projectile. But I think you'll have enough weapons hidden in this thing to fend off a small army."

"The 'R' emblem is also removable," Dick added, "and can be thrown. Just like in your designs, which were genius, by the way. The edges of that thing are sharper than any shuriken," he wiggled his own fingers and winced, "believe me."

"And oh," Dick pointed to a few spots on the boots, pants, and belt, "I took the liberty of having some secret snack pouches added. I've seen how wrapped up you can get in a case just down here in the Cave and not touch anything Alfred brings you unless threatened with being sent to bed. Not that we know anyone else like that." Dick glanced poignantly toward Bruce. "You can't risk getting tired out in the field in a fight because you forgot you had a body that, you know, needs things to live."

"Oh, and no chocolate in the suit," Jason nodded sagely, "learned that the hard way."

"Not that you haven't already snooped around this entire place a few dozen times and have every inch memorized," Dick rolled his eyes, "but there's a cabinet right over there with all the best protein bars Bruce's money can buy. Trust me, those things are more valuable to you than any gadget." 

"You're starting to sound like Alf," Jason chuckled.

"Well thanks Jay," Dick ruffled his brother's hair, "I take that as a compliment."

"As do I," Alfred added, straightening his shoulders. 

Bruce stepped forward again, clearing his throat. 

"We wanted to give you your new suit, Tim," he started soberly, "but also honor the one that you made yourself. To display it as a reminder that you boys represent something bigger than yourselves out there. You represent hope. The inspiration to cobble together a homemade costume and the bravery and goodness to leap into danger to defend others. And to let you know that with this new suit, you are another Robin now, yes, but that you've been Robin since you jumped down into that alley to save those kids."

Bruce took him by both shoulders then, turning Tim to face him fully. 

"You were a hero then, and you're going to be a great hero now."

Tim tried to remain stoic, he really did. Seriously. Hugging Bruce just sort of happened out of nowhere, okay? He didn't even realize he'd done it until he was already pulling away. 

"Just, uh, not tonight," Jason coughed, giving a playful punch to Tim's bicep. 

Tim took a step back, glancing from Bruce to Jason.

"Huh?"

"You've been training in Jason's spare Robin suit that we had tailored for you," Bruce sighed, "not in this new one. When you're on these streets, you need to know your suit like your own skin, like -"

"Like it's an extension of yourself," Tim finished, frowning, "yeah, you told me all that months ago when I started training." He quirked an eyebrow. "You also said that I shouldn't be dependent on it."

"Ouch," Jason hissed, "he's got you there, old man."

"Why do you call Bruce 'old', but never Al-"

"Finish that question, Master Richard," the butler interrupted, "and you just might find yourself uninvited to tonight's celebratory dinner."

"Why don't I just wear the spare Robin suit I've been training in tonight?" Tim reasoned, trying to hide the hints of desperation in his young voice.

"And deprive this city of how badass you're going to look in the new one?" Jason folded his arms. "No way."

"I won't look very badass if I'm stuck here," Tim slouched. 

"Nah, Timbo," Jason shook his head, "you're still coming with us. Just, like, as a training day."

"I thought this was to celebrate my training being over."

"Oh come on, Tim," Jason rolled his eyes, "hasn't Bruce told you a million times? 'Training never ends.'"

The gravely Batman impression wasn't half bad. But Tim wasn't about to give Jason the satisfaction. 

"Think of it like an observation?" Dick shrugged. 

"A take-your-kid-brother-to-work day?" Jason offered, grinning. 

Tim rubbed at his forehead.

"Look, not that I am not totally, seriously, really grateful. Because, I am. Like, this is amazing. Probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me, besides you know, like, saving my life a few times and then adopting me, but you know, still pretty great. I love it. I might be in love with it. But," Tim scratched roughly at the back of his neck, "why didn't you guys just give me the suit months ago when I was in training so that I'd be able to actually, you know, be a vigilante on my first official night as a vigilante?"

Jason and Dick exchanged a glance before smirks began to grow on both their faces. 

"Hey," Jason lifted his hands, "I said the same thing."

Dick slung an arm around Tim's shoulders, pulling the younger boy in close for a stage whisper. 

"B just likes to be dramatic."

Bruce side-eyed his son in a way that Tim had learn to interpret as fondness.

"Well," Dick chuckled, shoving Tim just a little, "go try it on!"

"Wha - right now?" Tim glanced between the oldest boy and Bruce.

The latter simply nodded. 

Tim waited a beat, mouth hanging open only slightly - and then surged forward. Dick and Jason helped him, showing Tim how to release some of the hanging levers on the case, and then he was off. He didn't care that there was a changing room of sorts just a few feet away. Tim shed his sweatshirt and shucked off his sneakers and just began pulling the pieces on right there. It took a little time, more than it had to slip into Jason's spare Robin outfit these past months. Jason - who was currently laughing. Tim had part of the tunic and armor over his head but he managed to hear a soft thud and Jason cursing.

"Hey," Dick laughed, "I seem to remember someone else being pretty excited. You asked us if you 'passed mustard' instead of 'muster'."

"Wow," Jason scoffed , "making fun of the kid who'd been growing up on the streets and didn't have a proper education. Real nice, Dickie."

This time, Tim saw the punch as Jason knuckled his brother's arm.

"You were reading Shakespeare and Brontë even though you barely sat your butt in a classroom." Dick rolled his eyes. "You were already smarter than me back then."

Jason gasped.

"And Tim is smarter than me." He whirled on Bruce. "Is that what you do, old man? You just keep upgrading? What next? A robot Robin?"

"Robot Robin does a nice ring to it," Dick nodded. 

"Shh," Jason shouldered Dick, "not in front of the baby genius. You'll give him ideas and he'll go off and build the damn thing." 

The brothers continued bickering but the sound sort of just - faded. Tim had found his way a couple steps to the left toward a large mirror. His breath left him for a moment. He'd deduced this was going to happen days ago. He'd been so prepared for it.

Except no.

No he wasn't.

Not at all.

Looking back at himself in the dark red and black leather and Kevlar, he didn't see Tim. 

He saw Robin. 

His hand ghosted up to his chest, gloved fingers slowly tracing the edges of the yellow "R". 

When he'd first seen the suit only moments ago, he'd been itching to tear into the technology. Check out all of the specs and gadgets. 

But now? 

Now all Tim could really do was stare. 

He had never felt so happy or strong or cool in his whole entire life.

Another silhouette shadowed over him in the reflection, that same strong hand coming back to rest on Tim's shoulder. 

"Shit," Jason whistled. "Now I want an upgrade."

"We will go over the basics of the suit this evening before patrol," Bruce began, "and then tonight -"

"But first," Alfred stepped forward, "the aforementioned celebratory dinner. I do know how you boys," he glanced at Bruce, "get so easily distracted. If I leave you all down here now, you'll be eating those protein bars instead of the delicious meal that I have spent the better part of the day preparing. Now, come upstairs before I am forced to confiscate all of your patrol suits, and I do mean - all," he swept a steady gaze across all four of them, "and you will be forced into a horrible civilian night of relaxation and proper sleep."

"Don't doubt his powers," Dick clicked his tongue, "I still don't know where he hid my suit when I had pneumonia that one time. And that was after I'd moved out of the Manor."

"Threatened with super-suit-napping," Jason slapped Tim between the shoulder blades, "you really are a Robin now. You know, unless you feel like going by a different name?"

"There's a literal 'R' right there," Dick pointed to the emblem. "And Bruce just gave a surprisingly heartfelt speech about how Tim 'is and has been' Robin."

"I just want Timbo to know that he has options," Jason waved a hand. "You know, the scientific name for Robin is Turdus migratorius. That's a great code name."

"Great," Dick scoffed, "then Batman can be Chirptera. These just roll right off the tongue."

The brothers continued in that way again, friendly verbal sparring that had become something of a warm white noise to Tim over the past year. He joined in, more and more as time went by, but usually he just listened. Let the words wash over him, warbled and muffled as Tim just sank into the comfort of them. Sometimes, even when they were arguing, really arguing, Tim caught himself smiling. Once, Jason noticed it. He was mid-sentence, practically screaming, and then he'd just looked over and Tim swore the older boy got whiplash with the way his face just shifted so suddenly. Jason had asked Tim why he was smiling. And Tim - Tim hadn't known. 

He did now. 

Jack and Janet fought here and there, but it was mostly in a silent match of cold shoulders and glares. For the most part, though, they weren't around Tim enough for him to ever see them fight. See them do, well, much of anything. 

With this suit, he was a part of the team. A part of something so, so much bigger than himself.

And it was amazing. It was incredible. 

But it wasn't what he's always wanted. 

That, right there. Dick and Jason butting heads over ridiculous code names and devolving into childish name calling and chasing each other around the BatCave while Alfred gently scolded and Bruce hid a chuckle, that was what he'd always wanted. 

Tim stared back at his reflection, watching the older boys bolt after each other in the background. 

Yeah.

He had never felt so happy or strong or cool in his whole entire life.

He had the suit now.

But he'd had this family for a lot longer.  

Notes:

This was supposed to be the epilogue, but of course it took over and got longer and had a mind of its own - told you so - oh, and yeah, there is just a teensy bit more coming in an *actual* small epilogue (unless I get an itch to add a jason or bruce pov ending note but I think I've tied up most of their stuff)

 

Could all of this really happen in just a year? Eh. Is that important? Eh eh. Trials are long. Recovery is long. But comics are never consistent with time so why should I be beholden to it? And dang it, I really wanted to do a specific thing for the epilogue (which you'll see next chapter) that takes place during a specific time. Sentimentality trumps time logic. As for Tim's training, yeah, he'd probably train for longer after recovering, but we've seen shorter training spans in different Robin iterations. Tim's OG comic training was very long and he even went to other countries and trainers, but that was after Jason had died so I think Bruce was being way more cautious. Just let me have this.

Chapter 31: Epilogue

Epilogue

Tim didn't remember falling asleep. 

He didn't think he could. Didn't think his brain would shut off. Replaying the night again and again and again. Happy little bundles of nerves and energy pinballing in his stomach. 

He didn't remember falling asleep.

But he would certainly, definitely, never forget everything else that preceded him somehow, impossibly, passing out. 

Something interrupted his dreams. Through the flashes of night sky and cold air and brotherly banter in the back of the Batmobile and - 

"Tim."

Oh, right, it was his name. 

It sounded so very far away. He reached out, tried to catch it. It was his afterall. 

"Tim, son."

He felt a groan somewhere at the back of his throat, but he didn't hear if he actually made a sound.

"Come on, Tim. It's time to wake up."

Tim wanted to ask for five more minutes. To roll over, away from whatever noise was rude enough to wake him. 

"We're waiting for you to get started."

Get started? 

His parents never waited for him to get started on anything. Sometimes they left for work before daybreak. Several times, they were already at the airport heading to a different country prior to Tim's alarm ever going off. And then there was that one -

No. 

Damn it.

Tim hated that his sleep-addled brain still did things like that. Not often, not anymore. 

"I let you sleep in after last night, but we need to get going if we're going to beat the weather forecasted for later."

Bruce's voice slipped into his subconscious. It was so gentle, Tim was surprised it had been able to break through at all. 

A stark contrast to the gruff gravel and gravitas the man had been using just last night on Tim's first patrol. 

"Wha -"

Tim's mouth was all cotton, consonants a little out of his grasp just yet, thank you. Still under the covers - when had that happened? - he flexed, pointing his toes and wriggling his fingers. 

Everything was sore, but in a sort of satisfying way. He hadn't been allowed to really engage in any of the fights, but he had definitely participated in a few rooftop races. Not to mention the several hours of learning the new suit, through sparring, before patrol had even begun. 

Stretching his limbs, Tim got his body back and rebooted. The last to seem to come back online were his eyes. Finally, finally, he blinked them open until the fuzzy film faded. 

"Good morning."

Bruce was sitting on the edge of Tim's mattress, smirking in that soft sort of way he sometimes did when people weren't looking. Except Tim was looking now. 

Tim peered over Bruce's shoulder to check the clock on his desk. Nearly noon.

Late for Tim, early for Bruce. 

Like most patrol nights, Robin - or well, now, Robins - had been sent home earlier while the Dark Knight stayed vigilant. On school days, Batman would remain out until dawn and sleep until midday or later. Unless there was an urgent case. Or a new son under his roof not yet in school and recovering from a traumatic event. Then, then Bruce would do something Alfred most disapprovingly referred to as "micro-napping". By now, Tim had seen the man go several days without a full night's rest. But hey, he wasn't exactly one to throw stones when it came to dysfunctional sleep habits. 

Despite Friday and Saturday patrols going later and longer and harder, Bruce still had started to wake earlier on the weekends to spend more time with his kids. 

Tim had accidentally overheard Bruce talking to Alfred shortly after moving into the Manor. Something about how Bruce just being around would often surprise the so-often-left-alone-Tim seemed to have struck something in the man. Bruce had told the butler that he didn't want to just be one more absentee parent in the boy's life. And how much he hadn't realized until Tim's disappearance that Jason needed him around more. And a bunch of other stuff that Tim totally didn't hear because he may or may not have run off to cry quietly in his room. 

Tim shook himself out of the memory and the last dredges of sleep seemed to finally shake off with it. 

Dick appeared in the doorway, as if on cue, a box in his arms and a goofy grin slapped across his face. 

"Manage to pry him out of bed yet?"

"I seem to remember Alfred having to carry you down to breakfast on his back after your first patrol," Bruce cocked his head, and then smiled, "and Jay."

"Well," Dick strode into the room, "we wouldn't want to break tradition. And since Alfred's busy -"

Dick shoved the box into Bruce's chest. The older man huffed, but stood from the bed, box in his arms. Dick, on the other hand, bent down and spread his arms just a little. It was entirely too corny. 

"I'm not a baby."

"But you are our baby bird."

Tim almost rolled his eyes.

Almost.

Apparently that was all the permission Dick needed before Tim's world was tilted and upside down and backwards and then righted in a matter of seconds. It took a moment for his brain to catch up with what had happened. Somehow, he had gone from being in bed and under covers to being perched on the older boy's back. 

Tim glanced down at himself. He was still in the simple clothes he'd worn under the suit last night. They were probably sweaty and a bit stinky but Dick just adjusted his grip and galloped out of the bedroom. 

There were more boxes scattered all throughout the Manor as they went. Dick was moving far too fast for Tim to read any of the labels. By the time Dick deposited Tim in a chair at the kitchen table, he had somehow gone from groaning in embarrassment to laughing. 

"When are you going back home?"

Tim learned a long time ago that it was always better to be prepared for people leaving. It was silly, really. Dick visited all the time. He had a family that he lived with. Bruce worked a lot and patrolled sure, but he made a point to be around more. If Jason went off with friends, Tim was usually invited. And Alfred almost never left the place. 

And yet. 

Tim knew every business trip or Justice League mission departure date. He marked down Jason's visits with the Titans and that theater summer camp thing not happening for over six months from now.  

"Not until Monday." 

Dick lowered himself into a seat opposite Tim, keeping the smile securely in place but something else settling in his gaze. 

Stupid detective siblings. 

"You mean we have to suffer your face all weekend?"

Jason rounded the corner, sliding on socked feet across the floor and straight into the chair next to Tim. 

"Hey," he popped a handful of berries into his mouth and just kept talking, "some of the Titans want to come over to help today. Unless you want it to be just family, Timmers. 'Cause that's totally cool. But superstrength and flight aren't bad to have around because my shoulders are already sore and there are, like, a hundred more boxes that need to be brought down."

Dick reached across the table, snatching a raspberry and blueberry out of his brother's hands, even though there was a full bowl of them right there on the table. He popped the raspberry in his mouth and chucked the other berry right at Jason's ear. 

Tim just sort of blinked owlishly at the older boy, ignoring the exchange. He hadn't even reached for a slice of toast yet. Heck, he probably still had little clumps of sleep crust in the corners of his eyes and morning breath. Give a guy some time to boot up the hard drive, would you? 

When Jason didn't exactly follow up with an explanation, Tim just sort of shimmied his confused gaze over across the table to Dick.

"He hasn't even been awake for a full five minutes, Jay," Dick shook his head. 

"Did Alf carry him downstairs?" Jason grinned. "I bet he carried Tim down the stairs."

"Actually," Dick smirked, "I did."

"Wait, what?" Jason whirled on Tim. "That's not fair. I was your brother first. If Alfred doesn't get your first post-patrol piggyback ride, then I definitely should."

Tim rubbed at his eyes. "It's not like I asked him."

"Dick!" Jason spun around back to face the opposite side of the table. "You didn't even ask consent?"

"He consented." Dick waved a piece of pastry.

"I protested." Tim moved to massage his brow.

"You laughed."

"You didn't even let me put on my robe."

"Oh, shit," Jason gasped, "Dick, he's scandalizing us with his lack of robe. You made him scandalize us."

Tim's head hit the table with a satisfying thud.

"I hate you both."

And then, a beat, before Tim suddenly sat up, a napkin sticking to his forehead. 

"Wait, what's happening today?"

"Why, Christmas decorating of course," Alfred announced matter-of-factly, gliding in from the kitchen with a platter of eggs. 

Bruce followed in behind the butler, carrying a tray of breakfast meats. 

"I was going to tell you upstairs," he sighed, "but someone got a little overexcited."

Dick just shoved the rest of the pastry in his mouth. 

Tim glanced through the far doorway at some of the boxes he'd seen lying about, and squinted.

"But last year - didn't you have Alfred and like - hired people - put all of this up?"

Bruce's smile was small, but warm, as he pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Last year we were in the middle of custody hearings and physical therapy appointments and you weren't fit to climb a step stool, let alone a ladder."

It wasn't said unkindly, but it still stirred guilt up in Tim's stomach. He hardly remembered the holiday. One of his testimony dates had been the day after Christmas. He'd gotten a pile of incredible gifts he definitely didn't need from Bruce and Jason and Dick and Alfred and some guy named Clark - who he'd met later and clocked the Superman alter ego before the man had finished shaking Tim's hand. They'd had cocoa and cookies and turkey and a movie marathon but it was just - a blur of white. Probably because he'd spent the day, and those leading up to it, mostly just staring at the wall. 

It was…difficult…to think about those early times in the Manor. Such love and warmth, after so much cold loneliness. Trying to adjust to a possible new family while simultaneously going to trial with his previous one. 

Neglect charges were hard to stick, no matter the case. And trying to prove emotional and verbal abuse was difficult. But that wasn't going to stop the general public once the Drakes were thrust into the social justice spotlight. Bruce could have sat back and let amateur keyboard detectives do all the work. Tim wasn't even out of the hospital before some hacker found digital evidence of Drake Industries' tax evasion and exploitative practices in third world countries - trafficking in natural resources and the sale of fraudulent medicines and medical supplies. With Jack and Janet's connections and money, they didn't exactly end up behind bars, but they most certainly weren't getting their son back. There were supervised visits - later, much later. And then unsupervised ones. And through some regret and remorse and humbling, the Drakes actually did try. Tim would remain Bruce's son, but he would, eventually, let Jack and Janet become some semblance of parents. 

But that reconciling had only just barely begun. 

Something warm pressed up against Tim's arm. With a glance to his side, Tim looked over to find Jason's shoulder leaned up right against his own. 

Jason, who knew all about complicated parents. 

Tim still sometimes shuddered when thinking about those few months back when Jason found out his birth mother was alive. About the trap Joker had laid for Robin. (Because of course he had escaped in the chaos of that night at the train yard.) About how easily things could have gone differently had Tim not talked Jason off the ledge of just up and going to the Middle East by himself. 

"Your friends can come," Bruce continued a conversation Tim had apparently lost track of, "if Tim is alright with it, of course."

"You cool with it, Timmy?" Jason asked, voice and tone both soft and serious, despite the ridiculous baby nickname. 

The Titans were family to Dick and now Jason. If today was meant to be for family, then who was Tim to decide who fit in theirs? Besides, he was really starting to like some of them. 

Jason shot off a text message and not halfway through breakfast, Wally showed up - more than happy to fill a plate, or two, at Alfred's suggestion.

Patrol had been chilly, but there hadn't been much snow that had stuck around yet this winter. The fat flakes falling on the other side of the frosted glass looked like they were about to change that. The whole property was peppered in patches of white. At this rate, it would be one big white sheet by the end of the day. Maybe a few super friends helping with the decorations wasn't such a bad idea, considering how enormous this place was. Tim had spent years wanting to do just this with his family. But he wasn't, you know, keen on extra hard labor. 

Jason was halfway through his second plate and Wally had already zipped in and out with a handful of garland (and a whole tray of muffins), when Connor made an appearance.

Unlike Wally, he didn’t just materialize in the kitchen mid-sentence. No, Superboy knocked. At the front door.

Alfred, ever the consummate host, had answered with his usual grace. And on the return trip - having ushered in their newest guest - it seemed the butler had also taken a moment to start the music. Soft instrumental holiday jazz began to drift through the Manor, curling through the air like steam from a warm mug.

Tim stood up and wandered to the far window.

He pressed a hand against the glass, feeling the cool contrast of inside and out.

It was strange. The last time he’d stood this still, this quiet, watching snow fall, he’d been alone. The house had been dark. No music, no voices, no smells of cinnamon and pine and homemade food. Just silence. Just him.

But now - 

A warm shape leaned against his side.

Bruce didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. He just stood there with him, shoulder to shoulder, gazes parallel, like they were both learning how to do this still.

He glanced back at the breakfast table - the clutter of plates, the overlapping conversations, the sound of someone humming along to the music drifting in from another room.

Wally was leaning against the counter with a half-eaten sugar cookie in each hand. In the time it took Tim to stand up and cross the room, he had apparently changed into a hideous, flashing Christmas sweater that claimed: “FASTER THAN SANTA.” Conner sat nearby, absentmindedly taking bites of food while untangling a mess of cords with inhuman patience. No one argued that he could just ask the speedster in the room for help. Everyone apparently knew better. 

Jason was leaning back in his chair, long legs sprawled and socks mismatched, still absently tossing berries at Dick, who caught one in his mouth and bowed dramatically. Alfred raised a brow at the spectacle but said nothing, merely sliding a tray of cocoa into the center of the table as if this chaos was routine.

Tim had been learning over the year that, yes, it really was. 

The whole scene was loud. Messy. Slightly absurd. And real.

No explosions. No auction blocks. No cracked bones or empty doorways or cold waiting rooms. Just a cold morning. A full table. A full house.

Tim’s gaze drifted back over to Bruce, who was now returning to the others to help Alfred move chairs so Kory and Donna could bring in another box of decorations. (Apparently they showed up via teleportation downstairs. Because that was something Batman just had sitting around in the Cave.) Bruce didn’t look out of place at all. In fact, he looked like he belonged right there - elbow-deep in tinsel, accepting a garland crown from Kory with only the faintest grumble.

It still felt new sometimes. All of it. Like waking up inside a story that had been told to other kids. But this time, it was his. His table. His weird family.

He could still remember a time when his kitchen had been silent. When eggs had been cold on a plate, left by a housekeeper, and no one had come down to eat with him. This kitchen was nothing like that. This kitchen was alive.

By the time they made it outside, the light had changed. Pale gray clouds sagged overhead, heavy with more snow, and the wind had teeth. But it wasn’t unpleasant - just brisk enough to remind you that you were alive.

The back patio had been transformed into a staging area. Boxes overflowed with lights, ornaments, and all sorts of absurdly large decor that only someone like Bruce Wayne could pull off for a “casual” family celebration. Someone had already half-wrapped a topiary in garland. There were ladders set up at intervals, and figures moving about - some walking, some floating - stringing lights along the eaves and trees.

Tim followed Bruce out the door, tugging a hoodie over his head. (Red, Jason's. Or was it Tim's now? How long after you borrowed something and the person never asked for it back did it became yours?) The sleeves were a little too long, the pocket seams frayed, and it smelled faintly of engine oil and cinnamon gum.

Familiar. Warm.

He paused on the step, blinking against the sudden brightness as the clouds broke briefly and let down a splash of morning sun across the lawn.

That’s when he saw it.

A strand of lights, wildly uneven, swung gently in the wind above the far edge of the balcony. They flickered uncertainly, clearly installed by someone with speed and enthusiasm but not a lot of attention to detail. Tim squinted up at it.

Bruce came to stand beside him, quiet as always.

“This is real, right?” Tim asked. "We're really doing this?"

Bruce’s voice was soft. “Yeah. We are.”

Tim looked up again, watching the lights sway. His breath came out in clouds. Behind them, the house hummed with noise - music, laughter, someone yelling for more cocoa. The sharp, painful quiet of years prior felt far away.

He glanced to the side. One of the ladders stood nearby. Not in use. Just waiting.

It would be easy to call for help. Easy to let Kory or Conner or Wally swoop in and fix the sloppy string of bulbs.

Instead, Tim stepped forward and took the ladder.

Bruce didn’t stop him.

The climb wasn’t long, but every rung felt deliberate. He was careful. Slow. There was no rope, no grapnel. No fall this time.

Just him.

When he reached the top, he adjusted the lights, steadying them with frozen fingers. Then he reached for the next section.

Below him, Bruce remained at the bottom of the ladder, eyes on him. Not a shadow. Not a net. Not a lecture.

Just a presence.

Watching. Waiting.

Catching him, if needed.

Tim breathed in through his nose, air crisp. 

He remembered dangling. He remembered falling.

At his home.

The hotel.

In his dream.

The sick twist in his stomach, the lights pulling loose, the drop below.

But today, he wasn’t falling.

Today, he was home.

And someone had already caught him.

Notes:

And there it is. This story could've ended like 10+ chapters ago. But it just wouldn't let me go. And now here I have another long Tim-centric story that ends with Christmas. Because sure. Is this my formula now? Tim+hospital stays+inadvertently saving Jason from Joker+adoption+Christmas. I really am having trouble with my "Tim gets kidnapped by Maroni for Batman intel" fic that got sort of left abandoned. Should I just skip to Christmas and then inspiration will strike? Just kidding. Maybe.

But seriously. THANK YOU to all you lovely amazing readers and commenters who have stuck with this story, stuck with me, for so very long. I can't believe how much love this story and "I'll Stand By You" have received. Really and truly it means more than you all know. All the love, and I promise I will be working on one of the abandoned Tim stories next....you can drop in the comments to tell me which one you want to see (Tim meets the mob aka "Stay Tuned", Tim and Jason summer adventures aka "Finders Keepers", Tim deals with grief...and a trio of Wayne brothers who suddenly take an interest in his life aka "Tell the Bees", there really are too many and I deeply apologize)

Notes:

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Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Tim Joins BatFam AUs
• Part 6 of batfamily vibes