Chapter Text
When the only people out in Gotham after nightfall are the vigilantes, you know it’s time to go. N and Robin had hit mid-town before their legs were completely numb to all sensation and the clench of his stomach, the almost oops with his zip line was countered by Nightwing’s uncanny sixth sense.
The second time his predecessor caught him by the back of his cape before an epic fail on the roof of the Wallstone (even through the gloves he can’t feel his hands well enough to hold the zip line), they agree wholeheartedly it’s time to call it a night. Like he’s reading their minds (or he just knows his boys), B already sent the big car down to an alleyway for their pick-up. The heater is blasting when they duck inside, limbs tingling back to life before N revs the engine and they take off into the night.
**
The next afternoon, Alfred Pennyworth hangs-up the Manor telephone and returns to the kitchen, his back a little stiffer than normal.
Looking up from the incredibly stupid “Arctic Academy” assignments for snow days, Jay’s eyebrow cocks up while Dick manages to stir from huddled around his bowl of cereal. Reading the paper and drinking his coffee, B lets the butler go through his own particular set of motions before deciding to intervene. He still taps his cane a little on his walking cast, just so Alfred knows.
The offended muttering while the butler moves around the kitchen, putting sundries away, removing his apron, going for his coat, hat, and scarf.
“It seems,” the butler finally speaks loud enough to be to them, “young Timothy has been left to his own devices and has not answered any phone calls from his parents.” Sliding on his driving gloves, the calm, cool, and collected is just the tiniest bit askew, “they have requested I go check on the boy, just to be certain he hasn’t run against any difficulties.”
Timothy?
Timothy.
“Timmy from down the road?” Jason’s brows furrow, “he’s only a fucking kid. You ain’t telling me they left him alone, right?”
The silence answers that.
B’s already ninja folded the newspaper in perfect lines, standing to retrieve his own coat from the mudroom, hobbling quickly for someone with a broken leg. “It’s literally six outside, Alfred. I’ll go. Do me a favor and check the scans running in the Cave on the last file Question sent. I’d like to know what he’s gotten into now.”
“I shall, Sir,” Alfred hums back, watching Master Bruce turn into concerned parent while he bundles up against the frigid cold.
B only has to say one word.
“Boys?”
Dick is downing his milk with more wake-up than five minutes ago. He’s due back in the Haven by tomorrow night to start his next round of Officer Grayson Solves Them All, so that gives him plenty of time to check on Timmy before heading back.
Jason scribbles a few more notes, rising from his chair to bend over for the last few lines of the book review.
The heat works double-time, all three frozen to the bone without ever leaving the garage.
Even more disturbing is the complete serenity of Drake Manor when they start to fight through the snow to get up the drive.
(Damn. Should have brought the big car.)
The scene is unmarked, pristine, just a little tell on how long it had been since someone had been in…or out.
Leaving the car running warm, Bruce is out and taking the foot-deep drifts like he takes on criminals as Batman– without a pause.
Dick and Jason are hot on his heels, eyes taking in the surroundings, the contingencies, the environment they might be following him into–
(Robin’s instinct)
The porch is finally somewhat free of snow’s terrible grip where B knocks with a gloved hand, ready to shout in case the young boy was upstairs.
The front door, however, pops softly, heavily, open under his knuckles.
All three of them stop, step back, and prep.
The motion is subtle, a flick of two fingers with the hand not holding on to his cane, and Jason is vaulting off the porch like he’s not a bit freezin’ his nuts off, rounding the house to look for any clues there might be a–
Jackpot.
One window is cracked open upstairs, and he’s already wrapped a hand around the drain pipe to scurry up.
Dick is going around the other side, still seeing no other tracks, no broken anything. Nothing through the windows except a pristine sitting room, an elaborate formal dining room, and the kitchen as he rounds to the back of the house.
The light makes his stop immediately to peer in, already trying to jimmie the window open. On the floor, wrapped up in a blanket, is a tiny bundle of a boy, every muscle drooping, face buried in his upraised arms.
From this vantage, Dick can’t tell if he’s even breathing.
“Get inside!” He yells out, knocking on the glass to see if the kid moves.
(He doesn’t.)
And the window is finally shoved up once he can get his fingers into the right places to trip the locks, and Dick Grayson is through the window fast, just in time for B to come through the kitchen door, and Jay to drop down from a vent overhead.
“Tim? Tim!”
The converge around the bundled boy, just a messy mop of dark hair peeping through the canary yellow fuzzy blanket.
It’s not until B automatically reaches out that the head flops to the side and dull blue eyes blink up at them hazily.
“Mister…Mister Wayne?” Nasilly and hoarse, Tim Drake is pale in the face with only dark rose to his cheeks, tip of his runny nose, and forehead. “What are…what are you doing here?”
“How long have you been by yourself?!” Dick demands gently, pulling a glove off to put a hand on the kid’s forehead, his pounding heart finally easing down slightly now that Tim has actually moved.
“Mrs. Mac couldn’t get through the weather,” the young boy yawns, letting his head drop forward a little into Dick’s cool palm. “S’ okay. I’ve got plenty of stuff to eat and–”
A hard cough rattles his chest a little, and he ducks his head out from under Dick’s hand to bury his face in his blanket.
Jay goes around to close the window Dick left open, noting the thermostat is set at 61 degrees, and nudges B’s shoulder just slightly.
The exchanged look is the very same nope, not okay while Dick just gives in to his instinct and eases the coughing boy into his lap to cuddle.
Tim was too sick, too tired, too everything to really notice the cool outer material of Dick’s coat was against his cheek, and the hand moving in soothing circles on his back felt nice, so nice.
“What’s the plan, Boss?”
B is already pulling out his phone, making a quick call. Jay gives a brusk nod and affectionately ruffles Tim’s messy hair. The big, watery eyes look back up at him blearily around Dick’s coat, and Tim smiles gently.
“Hi Jay. Did you come to play video games with me?”
At the hopeful note in the kid’s tone, Jay completely pretends his heart isn’t breaking open wide. Instead, he crouches down (just like he’s Robin) and tries to make himself smirk so he don’t let Timmy know how ungodly pissed off he is.
“Can’t stay, Baby Bird, but howz ‘bout ya come back ta the Manor with me n’ B n’ Dickie, yeah? We’ll play some games there n’ get some good eats, you feel me?”
That seem to perk Tim up a little, enough to get the boy to at least sit up in Dick’s lap on his own, “can I? I mean, I can? I mean, is that okay?”
His eyes go to B, who is moving smoothly instead of limping heavily when the other line finally picks up. Tim buries himself a little deeper in Dick’s coat when Mister Wayne crosses the room to talk in a very low, deep tone.
Almost a growl.
“It’s totally fine, Timmers,” Jay tries to grin, laugh it off a little so the kid doesn’t think anything is wrong (even though it is, all of this fuckery is), “Alfred was gonna come getcha ta hang out since it’s a snow day.”
“Mister…Mister Pennyworth is so…nice,” Tim replies with another puppy yawn that completely entrances Dick since it’s just too adorable for words.
“Yes, he is, Timmy. And he very, very much would like it if you would come to stay with us for a few days, okay? Jay will go upstairs and pack you some clothes, we’ll wrap a few more blankets around you, and we’ll go have some nice soup and watch some awesome movies between video game rounds.”
“I would love that, thank-you, Dick.” He tries to be enthusiastic, tries to be happy, but he’s so achy and sore and tired. His throat is scratchy and his belly rumbling with hunger under the blanket. “But…but could I get up and get my soup out of the microwave? I’m not sure how long it’s been in there, and I should put it in the fridge for next time.”
And, well, no Timmy, you’re probably not going to escape that hold.
Ever.
Jay grins wider when he sees Dick reflexively tighten down for the long haul.
“Don’t gotta worry ‘bout it, Timmers. Just let Dickie getcha ready ta go outside. ‘S cold as a motherfucking bitch, lemme tell ya, and we don’t wanna letcha get any sicker, you feel me?”
“Little Wing! Language!”
“Aw, hell with it, Dickie. He’s a smartie, didn’t cha know?”
“It’s…I’m not, I mean, I’m okay, really. I can take care of myself.” The boy looks a slightly panicky, his small hands peeping through his blanket burrito to tighten down on the edges. “You don’t have to do anything at all! I promise. I won’t be any trouble–”
“You are never trouble,” B interrupts darkly, finally finishing his conversation, and has returned to the trio without a sound. “And we’re glad to have you stay with us.”
Those eyes get more moist, his nose nudges down into the blanket, his forehead turning into Dick’s jacket.
“After you’re feeling better, I’m going to give you the phone number to the Manor to keep in your room at all times.” B crouches down strangely with the cast, trading places with Jason, who is already moving out of the kitchen and strafing up the massive staircase to start packing their sick Baby Bird a bag.
“O-…Okay,” the boy finally looks up at B’s dark eyes.
“If you’re ever here alone and you need someone for any reason, you need to call me. From now on, Tim, do you understand?”
“Yes, Mister Wayne.”
“Bruce.”
“Yes, Bruce.”
“That’s a good boy,” and the ruffle to his hair is absurdly gentle, making Tim ease down on his death-grip and raise his head up enough to smile.
And later, once he’s in the sitting room of the Manor with old X-Men cartoon reruns on the television, snuggled down in Dick’s lap with fresh pjs, a belly full of Mister Alfred’s soup, and already riding the train to sleep with fever-reducers and a thick blanket to keep him warm, his eyes go from Dick’s easy smile and affectionate eyes, to the absent hand Jay has on his ankle while he works through more of the problems on his Artic Academy paperwork, to B working quietly on a tablet while he sips at his coffee and occasionally looks up to make sure his boy are all right, Tim thinks how nice it would be…
To be part of their family.