Chapter Text
Tim is… Hanging in there.
Well, it depends on how you look at it. He’s perfectly capable and in control of the situation, thank you very much.
It’s just that some people might look at him and think otherwise.
He has one hand hooked around a railing and a foot that’s just barely brushing the ledge below.
This is the one time where he wished he wasn’t stuck with crappy genetics in the height department.
He’s been waiting for a growth spurt every year, and even at the ripe old age of eleven, he still gets mistaken for an eight year old.
But hey, that’s life right?
Can’t complain when there are thugs duking it out across the street for what’s probably less than his weekly allowance.
Plus, this angle is amazing - even better than the one he was aiming for from the adjacent roof.
He takes hold of the camera hooked around his neck and pushes his body off the wall.
From this position, he’s just barely able to see into the other alley.
The fight’s still close enough that he can barely make out each person’s distinct features with his zoom in lens.
Batman and Robin are fighting Two Face, one of their less photogenic villains.
The rouge has a particularly nasty scowl that he captures right before Robin drop kicks him into a dumpster.
There’s a loud thump as the lid prompt falls down.
Ouch, that must’ve hurt. Tim’s not even on the receiving end of that and he can’t hide the grimace that crosses his face.
He snaps a picture of Robin’s victorious smile. His cheeks are stretched wide, fist pumping up in excitement. That one’s gonna make it into his favourites album.
A gust of cold wind vibrates through his clothes. He promptly lets go of the camera in favour of hanging onto the railing with both hands.
Well…This angle is great as long as he can get back up.
Which he’s not sure he can actually do.
Tripping and falling off the side of that building isn’t exactly something he plans to do on this fine Tuesday evening.
But since he’s already here, might as well make the most of it.
Plus, this fight is too good to miss.
He clicks on the shutter again and manages to get a truly epic wide action shot of the entire battle.
Batman has one fist in a thug’s face and his other hand stretched out, Batarang just barely leaving his fingertips.
‘Even if I die… Worth it.’ He thinks.
Now, onto his little issue. He looks up, staring wryly at the railing.
It was built in the kind of style specific to Gotham, with straight vertical bars joining the top and bottom railing. There gap between the two isn’t very wide, maybe around hip height for an adult, but like he said before, Tim is short.
He’s too short to push off the lower ledge and too weak to do a pull up.
Both aren’t plausible options, and he mentally crosses them off in his mind.
That leaves him with one.
He peeks down at the ground.
Well, it isn’t that far away.
He was probably on the second story, tops.
It’s also snowing. Not heavily, but the small, white hills dotting the sidewalk do look pretty soft, even pillowy, he tries to convince himself.
And it’s not like he has much of a choice.
He tosses his camera over the railing, wincing when he hears it clank against the metal bars.
Oh well, better than damaging it upon contact with the ground.
At least he can polish those scratches off when he goes back up for it.
He looks back down at the ground. This is totally survivable. Robin has survived falling from taller distances than this. And he’s definitely lighter than Jason. The acceleration of the fall shouldn’t be nearly as bad.
He’ll be fine.
He can do this. Alright, on three.
One.
He steels himself.
Two.
He tucks himself into the wall, preparing to launch off of it. There’s a snowbank that looks just the tiniest bit bigger just off the side of the wall. He’ll aim for that.
And three!
He kicks out his leg, trying to right himself in the air. All the scholarly articles he read say that it’s best to land feet first. It’ll cushion the impact of the fall, protecting the important parts of his body.
And it’s working, until he suddenly starts turning and turning and -
No.
No!
Crack!
-
Tim walks into school the next day with bruised knees and a makeshift sling supporting his broken arm.
When his teachers ask him what happened, he just looks at them with a big smile and a mischievous glimmer in his eye.
“Skateboarding accident.” He says.
And they’d just look at each other, shake their heads warily as if to say ‘Kids, am I right?’ and write him off as just another clumsy kid with no self preservation skills.
Maybe they’re right, he thinks to himself.
Not so much the clumsy part. He does, after all, spend his weeknights tailing two vigilantes. That takes more than a little bit of caution.
And no, last night’s slip up does NOT count.
He’s usually meticulous and careful.
Which is why the realisation shakes him to his core.
His camera, his prized possession, is still on that balcony.
And it has every picture of Batman and Robin that he’s taken within the last two weeks.
Shit.
He sits up suddenly. A quick glance at the clock tells him that there’s still two hours before school ends. The arm is picking frustratingly slow towards the 3 pm mark.
His teacher is droning on and on, something about multiplying fractions, which he already learnt years ago after picking up that differential calculus textbook.
Batman and Robin won’t be patrolling until night, but that doesn’t mean that someone else won’t stumble across it.
Who even owns that apartment building?
Oh god. He’s already broken out into a cold sweat. That’s okay. He’ll just go there, get the camera, and go home. There’s still time to fix this.
He only lets himself commit morally questionable crimes during an emergency.
And this definitely counts as an emergency.
His good hand catapults up.
“I’m feeling a bit sick. Can I please be excused?”
Well, at least that isn’t a lie. He’s already feels the familiar gurgle of anxiety taking root in the pit of his stomach. Even his face looks a little green.
Mrs Bramble waves him off dismissively. She never liked him since he wasn’t one of those classically ‘good’ students that always paid attention in class. Not that he could blame her. With his nightly activities taking up most of his time, his attendance is nothing short of abysmal. She’ll always see him as the troublemaker no matter how well he scores.
When she waves dismissively at the hall pass hanging on the door, Tim all but bolts out the door. “Make sure you check in with Mrs Sanger so she can call your parents.” She calls out before he slams the door shut.
Mrs Sanger’s the nurse. She’s called his parents a few times over the years to come pick him up.
They never came. But it’s different these days.
He’s not a kid anymore.
Why should he wait for parents that’ll never show up?
He can just hack into their email to let her know that someone will come pick him up and hack the administration office to show that his fake guardian has checked him out.
Simple.
In fact, that’s exactly what he does.
As he’s pelting down the hallway, backpack swinging left and right haphazardly, he hurriedly types into his phone with his good hand.
Done.
Done.
And done.
Everything sorted. He’s free to leave.
He skids to a halt in front of the bus stop.
There are still a few minutes to spare. The bus won’t come for another ten minutes.
He pulls out his laptop and starts to do a deep dive into the owner of the apartment building.
The security is weak.
He breaks through the firewalls as if they’re thin sheets of paper.
Once he gets his camera back, he’ll write a strongly worded letter to the building manager and provide him with a list of low cost online security services.
The residents do NOT deserve to have their data leaked.
Well… Besides to him, of course. Then again, he’s innocent and trustworthy, so it’s not like he counts.
He pulls his sweater tighter against himself as he breaks through the second firewall of the building’s office management system.
It’s a cold day.
The kind of day where wind nips at you, working its way into the nooks and crannies hidden by warm fabric.
Winter had crept upon them so suddenly that autumn seemed liked a distant dream. They’re already three weeks into Gotham’s winter, and he doesn’t even remember when the crinkle of leaves had given way to harsh bursts of snow.
The wind is picking up now, sending tufts of snow flying into his clothes.
He hugs himself and types as quickly as he can, wishing that he bought a thicker jacket.
There’s only a couple layers of security left. He just has to redirect the email to steal the admin’s One Time Password and he’ll be in.
Just when he’s about to enter in the code, a hand clamps his shoulder.
He jumps nearly a foot high.
“Hey! Calm down, kid. Didn’t mean to scare ya like that,” A thick, lower Gothamite accent drawls out. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
He shoves his laptop back into his bag, jumping around to face his assailant.
And it’s -
Robin.
No, that’s Jason standing in front of him now.
He doesn’t have the mask or cape on, just a standard Gotham Academy uniform.
It’s a little crinkled now, far from the neatly pressed lines that he’d come to school sporting. A thick winter coat sits haphazardly atop his broad shoulders. His tie has been loosened and tossed over his right shoulder.
He’s been watching him from afar for so long that picking up on all the little details from up close feels stilted. It’s almost wrong to not have to squint. This feels like a fever dream that he never wants to wake up from.
He doesn’t realise that he’s staring until Jason is snapping his fingers in front of his face.
“Oi, did the cold eat into your brain?”
Despite his harsh words, his eyes carry an undercurrent of worry, as if he's concerned about a kid that he doesn’t even know.
Tim can feel tears welling up in his eyes.
When was the last time someone looked at him like they cared?
He squeezes them away because no thank you, he won’t be having a breakdown in front of his idol just because he made him feel like he mattered.
“I - I’m okay,” He stutters. Then, clearing his throat, he speaks with more surety. “I’m not feeling too well,” He fakes a small cough. “So I have a note from the nurse clearing me to go home.
“Reeeally?” Jason looks at him with a ‘Don’t fuck with me’ expression.
“Yes really!”
“I literally saw you gunning it through the halls at top speed. Didn’t even think a sick kid could run that fast. If you’re ditching, just admit it kid, seriously. I’m the last person who would judge.” He snorts as if sharing an inside joke with himself.
He’s probably referring to his time as Robin. Just like Tim, Jason’s attendance record is abysmal.
He’s had to skip his fair share of classes to fight the latest crisis. Tim would know. He was probably tailing them during those very same battles.
And with all that training under this belt, he could sniff out Tim’s lie from a mile away.
Just in luck that the one person that happens to witness his manic exit happened to be the son of the greatest detective he’s ever had the pleasure of spying on.
“Okay, fine,” Tim relents, recognising that this is the smartest lie he could go with. “I’m ditching. Please don’t tell on me.” And with it, he puts on his best puppy dog eyes.
It’s easier to let Jason believe that he’s just a kid trying to ditch class than to pretend that he’s sick when he’s evidently not.
Unlike his teachers, Jason isn’t stupid.
He is, however, a softie at heart.
Tim watches as he utterly melts. “Fuck kid. You really know how to pull on those heartstrings why don’t ya?
“I’m not a kid!” He shakes his head in denial. It doesn’t help that his voice comes out with a crack.
Puberty could not come at a worse time.
“You are, and that’s why ditching isn’t okay. Gotham’s not a safe place for kids, even at this hour, and you’re dressed so lightly that I’m surprised the wind hasn’t blown you away by now.”
He covers his face in embarrassment, peeking through his fingers to glance at the empty road.
The bus should’ve been here by now. The fact that it isn’t shows how truely terrible his luck is. First the camera and now this? It’s like the universe wants him to suffer.
Suddenly, there’s something warm being draped over him.
The warm feathers sticking out of the hood tickle his scalp and soothe his wind bitten cheeks. He lifts up his face, hands shooting out to bury itself within the warm sleeves of the coat.
In the rush, he had forgotten how cold he was.
“You looked like you needed that.” Jason is looking at him again, voice low and soothing. His wide blue eyes are filled with empathy.
Tim wants to burry himself into the coat to hide his embarrassment.
“But it’s your jacket,” He tries to say. “Take it back, really!” He manages to pull one arm out before Jason tugs it back inside and begins buttoning up the front.
“Please. You’re shivering in those pixie sized boots. At this rate, you might actually catch that cold instead of faking it.”
Tim looks at him with betrayal from under the layers of cotton. “Mm not small!”
“Sure, kid,” Jason ruffles his hair. “And I’m the queen of England,” At Tim’s indignant expression, he lets out a laugh. “So, what are you ditching school for? It’s not safe out here for a kid.”
Tim lets the ‘kid’ comment slide this time. There’s just no use fighting it when he’s on such a strict deadline.
He blows out a big breath of air. “It’s just that… My parents are coming home tonight. I wanted to get the house ready for when they come back.”
It’s not a lie. His parents do have a flight scheduled back for tonight.
But nine out of ten times they end up cancelling, pulled to a different country for some sort of exotic dig.
Tim’s not mad. He knows that they have responsibilities. Besides, he’s eleven (nearly twelve!) and he’s more than old enough to take care of himself.
Jason doesn’t seem to think so. His eyes soften, taking on a calmer, more comforting quality. “It’s nice that you care so much about your parents,” He puts his hand back on Tim’s shoulder. This time, he almost wants to melt into the touch. “But i’m sure they wouldn’t want you missing school and getting sick because of it.”
“Are you going to make me go back?” His voice takes on a little wobble. It’s manipulative, sure, but this is an emergency.
What if someone finds his camera?
Jason looks between the school doors and Tim’s pleading eyes. He can physically see the conflicting emotions flickering through his face.
When he rubs his face into his hands tiredly, Tim knows that he’s won.
Finally.
“Shucks, kid. Stop looking so sad,” He totally doesn’t. Jason positively crumbles. “Fine, you win,” Tim internally whoops with joy. “I’ll take you home.”
HUHH??
He does a double take. “No - No! You really don’t have to!” He shakes his head rapidly. “I take the bus all the time. It’s totally safe!”
Jason looks at him wryly. “We’ve been here fifteen minutes and I haven’t seen any bus. Plus,“ He looks him up and down. “You’re what? Four foot five?”
“And a quarter!"
“Exactly. You’re hobbit sized. Anyone could kidnap you in a second.”
Tim looks at him incredulously.
“Just come with me, kid. I ditch school all the time.”
“You just told me not to do that!”
“Never said I was a good example.” He shrugs, smiling lightly.
The last thing he wants to do is bother Jason. Imagine if he was the reason Robin missed class.
He’s already dying from the guilt.
“I’m totally okay. Really!” Tim takes a few small steps back, ready to make a break for it.
The next bus stop isn’t that far. He can totally make it.
He’s just about to turn around and leave when Jason snatches him up by the handle of his backpack.
Either Tim is vey light or Jason is freakishly strong. He’d like to think it’s the latter.
Jason hauls him up until they’re eye level. “That wasn’t an offer. It’s not safe for you out here. Besides,” His eyes take on a mischievous tint. “You’re wearing my jacket. Running away with it would be considered stealing.”
“You put this on me!”
“Details,” He shrugs before throwing Tim over his shoulder. “Now what’s your name, kid?”
“Tim! And this is kidnapping! I could literally call the cops on you!” He thumps his weak fist into Jason’s back.
Jason snorts. “You’re funny. But you have a broken arm that you’ve obviously wrapped yourself and I’m gonna make sure that you’re okay.”
There’s so much adrenaline running through his system, akin to six shots of coffee. (Been there, done that.) All he can think about is that this is Robin, and Robin will find out that he’s the kid that’s been staking him and and his secret stash of photos and take him away from his parents and lock him in jail and -
Tim bites him. Hard.
“Ow! Oi kid, I’m just trying to help here.” He sets Tim down gently.
He blushes so deeply that it’s hidden under the fold of his scarf. “Sorry! I - I didn’t mean too.” He cowers slightly, crumpling himself into Jason’s oversized jacket.
“Shit, kid. I’m not mad.” He kneels down until he’s eye level with Tim. “I just wanted to help.” He says it with absolute sincerity.
And embarrassingly, Tim starts crying. It’s been three months since his parents visited and he’s had almost no sleep last night because a broken arm hurts so much and they won’t let an eleven year old buy painkillers and he really, desperately, just wants to be cared for.
Jason cradles him in his arms, letting his tears stain his shoulder for as long as he needs.
When Tim has nothing left to cry out, Jason hands him his scarf.
“What’s that for?” Tim asks dumbly.
“I don’t have a tissue so you’re gonna have to blow your nose with this.”
It’s cashmere. Cashmere!
His mother would have his head if he tried to do that at home. “I’m not gonna ruin your scarf with my snot, Jason.”
He freezes. “How do you know my name?”
“I - “ His brain short circuits. He can’t exactly admit that he’s the kid that’s been stalking them for the past year. “I saw you in last year’s spelling bee!” He blurts out.
He doesn’t even know if Jason ever tried to compete, but he’s at the top of his english class, so he must’ve done it at some point… Right?
Jason still looks a little wary, but he hands over this scarf all the same. “Didn’t know I had a fan,” And the suspicion melts into a smile. When Tim tries to push it back, he uses it to dab Tim’s nose. “Here. Blow. Bruce has hundreds of these anyway. Someone’s gotta help the old man spend all that cash.” He winks.
Tim hasn’t cried since he was five and took a bad fall down the stairs. When he ran to his mom with cuts on his knees. she took one look at him and told him that he was a big boy now, and that he was too old for crocodile tears. He still remembers the disappointment in his eyes, that cold apathy.
He’s a Drake, and Drakes aren’t meant to cry.
What is he even doing?
With one last sniffle, he wills his tears to dry up. “I’m sorry,” He says again. “I’ll replace the scarf and you can have your jacket back.” His parents might be a bit suspicious with the month’s spending, what with the scarf and potentially a brand new camera, but he can just as easily hide it under different transactions.
Jason shakes his head. “Nah kid, I don’t need that. How about you just let me give you a ride home. Then we’ll call it even?”
“That seems more like a favour for me than it is for you.” Tim’s eyes feel wet again.
“It’ll give me peace of mind. That’s more than enough.” He winks.
And that’s how he finds himself in Wayne manor, bundled up in blankets, and having been bandaged up with a real cast instead of his makeshift sling.
A waft of smoke curls up from below him. He takes a sip of the warm hot chocolate. It’s heavenly, perfectly spiced wth just the barest hint of cinnamon.
In fact, everything around here is warm, from the fireplace to the wooden floors and honeyed lights.
It’s like something out of a catalogue, so far fetched that he never would’ve imagined it for himself.
He can’t believe it.
This is Batman’s home.
It’s the home he grew up in, the place that held him as he sharpened himself into Gotham’s protector.
He wants to meander through the halls of this place and thank each individual crevice.
Okay, so maybe he’s a little starstruck, but who can blame him?
He’s still staring around in awe when Jason catapults himself over the back of the couch, shaking it. Tim grabs onto his cup for dear life. God forbid he stain the couch. He’s already intruding on their space. If he ruined their furniture too, he’d never live it down.
“C’mon Tiny Tim, you ready for some Mario Cart?” He whips out two controllers from the drawer on is right.
“Mario Cart? But I have to go.” Tim starts to say. “You said we were only staying for a minute.”
“What time is your parents' flight meant to land?”
“6:30.”
Jason points towards clock on the bottom of the screen. “And it’s only 1:30. You have plenty of time.”
The characters on the screen beep happily. He looks at Jason’s hopeful face, then at the hot chocolate that’s still steaming in his hands, and he just can’t imagine going back to the cold marble tiles of Drake manor.
When else is he going to get the chance to spend time with his hero?
Though it goes against every alarm bell in his head, he picks up the controller.