Chapter Text
Timothy has been crying for almost an hour now. Increasingly annoyed, Jack has been starting to eye the whiskey, even though they have to leave the house soon, and painkillers have done nothing to ease Janet’s headache. Pretty soon, she’s going to be reaching for the whiskey herself if her son doesn’t stop.
“Be quiet,” she says for what must be the dozenth time. “Just for a little while, okay, honey? Just until Mommy and Daddy are gone.”
The words have the opposite effect. Timothy wails harder, clutching the bars of his crib. Jack sighs loudly and leaves the room, but Janet hasn’t yet finished packing, and at this rate she never will, not with all this noise.
“If you don’t stop crying-“ She says, and stops. She won’t be around to carry out any punishment she might use as a threat, and there is no way she’s going to let the nanny administer it. But she just. She just needs this to stop.
Suddenly, inspiration hits. Janet bows down until she’s on eye-level with her son, and says, “If you don’t stop crying, Batman is going to come and take you away.”
Timothy’s mouth falls open. “Ba’man?”
Janet nods firmly. “That’s right. Batman comes for misbehaving little boys and takes them away forever. Do you want that?”
Her son, tears slowly drying on his face, shakes his head, and Janet nods again and pats him lightly on the cheek.
“Good,” she says. Finally, there is silence.
*
“Don’t chew with your mouth open.”
“Why not?”
“If you chew with your mouth open, Batman will come and get you.”
*
“Timothy, I’ve told you before, hurry up, Suzie hates it when people are late to her gatherings. And you know who else hates it when people are late? Batman.”
*
“When are you coming back?”
“I’ve told you, we’ll contact you when we know the details.”
“Yeah, but are you coming back this month? Or next month? Can’t you tell me anything?”
“Don’t talk to your mother like that, young man. You’re never to take that tone with her, do you hear me? If I hear you being rude again, I think you can guess who I’m going to tell.”
“Dad, no!”
“Whoa, I didn’t say I was going to, did I? I just said I might. Kids these days.”
*
Dick has gotten into a fight with Bruce, again. If Bruce had just listened to him for one goddamn time, the plan could have worked. But he didn’t, and so it didn’t, and Bruce ended up with bruised ribs and, naturally, still insisted on finishing patrol for the night.
In order to avoid getting into (yet another) shouting match on Gotham’s streets, they’ve split up their usual patrol route. At least, Dick thinks, he’s allowed to go solo. At least Bruce still trusts him that much.
“Stupid Batman,” he mutters under his breath. “Stupid-“ He breaks off as he hears a loud noise that sound suspiciously like an explosion. A small one, but, still, an explosion.
Instantly, he jumps into action, his bad mood forgotten. It’s not hard to follow the noise, seeing as it’s only two blocks away, and within less than a minute, he lands in an alley, where there is a trashcan on fire. That, in itself, is not that unusual for Gotham. What is unusual is that first, the trashcan is the only thing on fire, and second, there aren’t any teenagers or drunk idiots nearby who would be obvious culprits. In fact, the alley is suspiciously empty.
Dick looks around, wary, and tenses when someone emerges from a doorway.
As soon as the person fully steps into the light of the flickering streetlights, he relaxes again, though only a little bit. In Gotham, anyone can turn into a surprise enemy.
Although, Dick has to admit, it doesn’t seem likely that this one will.
“Oh,” says the little kid that’s now staring at him, pale face illuminated by the flames, “it’s you.”
Dick laughs. “Sounding a bit disappointed there, kiddo.”
“I’m not,” the kid says quickly. “It’s an honour to meet you, Robin. I just- is there any chance I could talk to Batman?”
“Batman? Why?” Dick asks, but the boy doesn’t reply. Making sure his voice is gentle, Dick asks, “Would you like to report a crime?”
The kid straightens at that. “Yes! Yes, I would.”
“Alright,” Dick says carefully. “How about you tell me first, and then we’ll go find Batman, okay?”
For a few seconds, there is no sound except the crackling and sizzling of the fire. Eventually, though, the boy nods. “Okay. I’d like to turn myself in. It was me.”
Dick’s mind blanks. “What was?”
The kid points at the trashcan. “That. I did that, and I’m- I’m not sorry.”
There is clearly a lot to unpack here. Dick decides to start with the easiest one. “What’s your name?”
“Tim.” The kid says it like it’s a challenge.
“And where are your parents, Tim?”
“Not here,” Tim says, crossing his arms. “Why are you- wait. You’re going to take me home, aren’t you? You lied to me.”
“Look, Tim,” Dick says, holding up his hands to show he means no harm, “I’m sure your parents are very worried about you. Why don’t you tell me where you live, how does that sound? I promise I won’t tell Batman a thing about this,” he adds, following a sudden bout of inspiration. He adds a wink, to show Tim that they’re on the same side here.
Tim, though, does not seem receptive to this. He only repeats, “You lied to me,” in a voice of utter betrayal. Dick feels bad about this, he does, but he fixed it, didn’t he? He knows Batman can be scary, and he told the kid he won’t tell on him, something that Tim is clearly worried about.
There’s one thing left to try, and it’s a good, old-fashioned bribe. Dick gets down on one knee, to be more on eye-level with the kid, and says, “I’ll tell you what. There’s a diner only two blocks from here. We’ll go there, I’ll buy you ice cream, and we’ll just chat a bit more, alright? There’s no harm in that, is there?”
Tim considers this. Eventually, he gives a stiff nod. Dick smiles at him. “Excellent. I’ll just put out that fire real quick, and then we can be on our way.”
He does what he said, dutifully extinguishing the flames until all that’s left is a smouldering pile of plastic. Oh, well. Someone will be around in the morning to take care of it.
Dick turns out, ready to properly impress the kid with his grapple gun – only to stop dead, turning his head in every direction, searching for someone who, frankly, is not there anymore.
He calls out the kid’s name, but it’s too late, like he’d suspected it would be. No one answers. Tim is gone.
Later, when they’re in the Cave and Bruce, either having forgotten about their earlier argument or choosing to ignore it, asks how the rest of patrol went, Dick thinks about mentioning the kid he met. In the end, though, he doesn’t. It wasn’t a big deal, all things considered. Nothing really happened. Just a strange conversation, nothing more. By the next morning, he’s already forgotten all about it.
*
3 years later
“Sorry for missing your birthday, kiddo,” his dad says. The connection must be bad, because his voice comes out tinny and the line is cracking with static.
Tim puts the phone a bit further away from his ear and says, “No problem, Dad.”
“We’ll celebrate when we’re back, scout’s honour,” his dad says. In the background, Tim can hear his mom say: “You were never a boy scout, Jack.”
His dad, mock-offended, says, “Only because I was busy with soccer practice. Do you know how much of my time that took up? Tim, are you on the soccer team yet?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Jack sounds disappointed, and Tim’s stomach sinks.
“I’ll try out, though,” he hastens to add. “They’ll hold try-outs when school starts again. I’ll do my best to get in.”
“You do that,” his dad says, while his mom, a bit clearer now as she must get closer to the phone, tells him, “There’s no point in doing your best if you can’t get in. Either make sure that you do get accepted, or don’t try out at all.”
“Yes, Mom,” Tim says, but he gets drowned out by his dad telling his mom an anecdote about his own team try-outs back in the day. Halfway through the story, the phone call abruptly ends. Connectivity issues, Tim tells himself, because the alternative is that they hung up on him without even saying goodbye, and he doesn’t want to think about that. They didn’t tell him happy birthday, either, but that’s fine. He knows they’re busy. He’ll see them next month, probably, and they’ll celebrate when they return, and he’ll feel bad that he ever doubted them in the first place.
For now, he should be happy with what he has. And what he has is more than enough. He has a camera, he has two functioning legs, he’s got the bus schedule and a map of Gotham safely stored in his backpack, and, most importantly, he has time, due to his parents cancelling their trip home last-minute. Tim is going out tonight to watch Batman and Robin, and that’s better than any birthday present his parents could have gotten him, anyway.
It's a warm night in July, and a rare cloudless one, too. Even the ever-present smog has cleared for once, at least a little bit. Tim thinks he can see a few stars, maybe, if he squints. He stares at the sky the entire time it takes him to get to the bus station which, because the infrastructure in Gotham is terrible and Bristol is even worse, takes a while. He walks past the Wayne estate, smiling to himself when he sees that the lights are already out. Mr Wayne and Jason will be changing into Batman and Robin by now, and soon, they’ll be out on the streets.
By the time he’s climbed the roof of one of the less savoury buildings in Crime Alley, the moon is right above him. Tim frowns a little at that. Batman operates in the shadows, everyone knows that. He hopes this won’t hinder him.
It’s been a long time since Tim was first out here. The memory makes him cringe in embarrassment these days. He’d just turned seven, he hadn’t seen his parents in weeks, and everything had just felt like so much, suddenly. But, really, none of that excuses what he’d done next. In retrospect, Tim can’t believe he really thought setting something this small on fire would have been enough to get Batman’s attention. A trashcan, really? It should have been a car, maybe, or even a house. (An abandoned one, of course. Tim isn’t a monster.)
It's entirely clear to him now why Robin refused to let him speak to Batman. It’s like with his mom and dad. They’re busy people, with their company and their digs and their social life, and nobody could ever just call them, they have to talk to a secretary first, and then that secretary decides if the matter is worth their attention. Tim himself has been turned away at least half the times he’s called, so really, he should not have been surprised that Robin turned him away, too. It’d been ridiculous to expect otherwise, especially for something as small as this.
He checks his watch. Batman should be going past this building any minute now. Tim gets his camera, waits – and waits.
Nothing.
He frowns. Batman must have gotten held up. Nothing to worry over, but it’s a little annoying. If he had picked one of the first streets of tonight’s patrol route, he would have seen them by now, but he specifically wanted it to be this one. This is a particularly bad part of town, even for Crime Alley standards. Some action is bound to happen here tonight.
There’s nothing to do but wait. Tim pours himself a cup of tea from the thermos he brought, checks his watch one more time, and looks up at the stars again.
Of course, he thinks, back when he’d first been here, he’d still been, like, ninety per cent sure that Batman would take one look at him and swallow him whole, like his mom had said he would. At seven, Tim had just been old enough to still believe that.
That’s another thing he’s learned. Batman doesn’t eat children, of course he doesn’t. Sometimes, he adopts them, even. This, even seven-year-old Tim had known, and it had been the ten per cent that had convinced him to light a fire that night.
These days, he’s ninety-nine per cent certain that Batman wouldn’t harm kids, ever.
Regretfully, he’s also realised that Batman doesn’t just randomly take in every kid he meets, either. There must be something special about the ones he does adopt, Tim knows. He’s spent hours studying this. Dick Grayson had been an orphan, just like Bruce Wayne. Jason Todd, too, had been orphaned. So, that’s apparently one requirement. There is, maybe, also the aspect of family wealth. Neither the Graysons nor the Todds had been wealthy. They had left their sons without any means to support themselves. Mr Wayne, meanwhile, had had every means. So that’s another requirement.
As neither an orphan nor poor, Tim obviously does not qualify, he realises this now.
It's alright, really. He’s made his peace with the fact that he won’t ever interact with his heroes. It’s better if he doesn’t, anyway. The first and last time he tried, Dick Grayson lied to his face and tried to rat him out to his parents. Tim doesn’t intend to find out if Jason Todd would be more sympathetic.
And besides – there’s still, well.
There’s still just a little bit of fear left from the hundreds of times his parents used Batman as a threat. As long as he is up here on a roof, watching Batman and Robin from a distance, it’s perfectly fine. But just the thought of actually talking to Batman, of Batman seeing him, approaching him, makes a shiver run down his spine. At seven, Tim had been desperate enough to take his chances. At ten, Tim has learned his lesson.
So, roof. Tim is fine with roof.
Another twenty minutes pass without anything happening. Then, finally, a noise – except that it’s not coming from the street down below. It’s coming from behind him.
Tim freezes. He slowly turns around, not sure what he’s expecting. A criminal, definitely. Hopefully not one of the scary ones. A tiny part of him hopes that it’s just someone going out for a smoke.
When he sees who’s standing there, only a few metres away from him, leaning against a wall, he realises that is, in fact, someone out for a smoke. Except that the person who’s just lit their cigarette isn’t just anyone.
It's Robin.
Robin hasn’t spotted him yet, but the roof isn’t very big. If Tim moves, he’s going to draw attention to himself. What, then? Should he just stand here and wait until Robin leaves? Except, well. This is such a great angle, and Tim’s already holding his camera. It’d be a shame to miss it.
The second the tell-tale clicking sound of a camera going off has sounded through the night, Robin is on him, holding his wrist and taking the camera away from him, the cigarette abandoned on the ground.
“What are you doing?” he demands. “Looking to sell a picture of Robin smoking to the papers? Who hired you?”
“Nobody,” Tim says quickly. “It’s just me.”
As soon as Robin hears him speak, he releases Tim, although he doesn’t step away, either. Beneath the domino mask, Tim can see him frowning. “How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
Robin snorts. “Want to try that again?”
Tim slumps. “Ten.”
To his outrage, Robin snorts again. “Seriously, how old?”
“I told you, I’m ten,” Tim snaps, getting somewhat annoyed now. “And I’m not going to sell the pictures to anyone, so you can stop interrogating me.”
“Huh,” Robin says. “Alright, shorty, I believe you. Still, it’s a little past your bedtime. Do you live in this building?”
“Yes,” Tim says quickly. “I came out here because I couldn’t sleep,” he adds, warming up to the lie now, “but I’m cold, so I’m going back to bed now. Bye!” He shoves the thermos into his backpack, grabs the camera from Robin, and runs down the fire escape, entering through the first door he sees, which turns out to lead into a hallway.
For a few seconds he just stands there, heart hammering, trying to listen for any strange noises that might indicate Robin following him. But nothing comes. He stays here for ten more minutes, just to be safe, before leaving the building and going to the next bus stop. His night’s been cut short, but he can’t be mad, because he got a great photo of Robin smoking, and also, in the brief conversation they did have, Jason didn’t lie to him, which is more than could be said for the previous Robin.
Briefly, Tim considers that, technically, he’s the one who lied. But, he thinks, it’s okay, because there was no way he could have told the truth. Lying is okay if there’s no other option. And besides, after tonight, he’s never ever going to speak to Robin again, so it’s fine. Completely fine.
*
By time school starts again in early September, Tim’s parents have been back to Gotham twice, once for a weekend, once for merely twelve hours. They never did get to celebrate his birthday, but that’s okay. The good thing about birthdays is that they happen every year. Maybe next year will be the one.
At least this means, though, that there is nobody to remind him to try out for the soccer team. Tim already has karate training two times a week after school, and krav maga on Saturdays, and he neither has time for soccer, nor is he particularly interested. He does okay in PE, but he’s not a very good team player.
So instead of joining yet another sports club, he continues on as he always has, with school, martial arts, and night-time photography to keep him company and fill the empty hours. He’s always sad when summer break ends, because he’s got much less time to go out into the city at night, but he still tries to go once a week at least. If Jason can manage being Robin on top of school, Tim can manage this, too.
It's the second week after the break when the school closes early, an alarm shrilling through the hallways. Nobody knows what’s going on, an Arkham breakout maybe – they’re supposed to have a different alarm for every emergency, but that got so confusing that the school stuck to having just a universal one for everything –, and Tim’s class is directed by the teacher to go the gym.
Tim waits until they bypass another class in the corridor, which was bound to happen and which always makes for more chaos, to slip away.
He’s going to come back! But his teacher hasn’t taken attendance yet today, and so it will take her a while to figure out who’s missing, especially because Tim called in sick with a cold yesterday.
(He forwarded an email to the administration from his dad’s account, whose password he figured out ages ago. He wasn’t actually sick, but he figures that because he had a cold last year and came in to give his maths exam anyway, he’s owed this.)
So, yeah, Tim is definitely planning to return to his class at some point. But for now, he wants to figure out what’s actually going on, since nobody is telling them.
He goes to the administration office first, which is empty, since the mass-evacuation includes staff. Good. Tim’s phone doesn’t have reception in school, and it would take way too long to hack the school from one of the computers in the library, but doing it from their own computer is simple enough.
He's only just logged in when there’s a pointed cough. Shit, Tim thinks, but it’s too late to cover his tracks. If this is a disgruntled school official, it’s going to be hard getting out of this.
Except that when he looks up, it’s Jason. Not Robin, but Jason Todd, wearing his Gotham Academy uniform and a scowl to boot. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you outside?”
“I’m hacking the school,” Tim tells him. “Did you know that there’s a protocol for situations like this? While evacuation is ongoing, the administrator has to register the reason for it, unless it’s, like, a life or death situation. I’m just checking what they put down.”
“Uh-huh,” Jason says. “Still, I think you should probably leave now. Might be dangerous here.”
“Probably not,” Tim says absently as he opens the right file. “Last year, the alarm rang, like, twenty-six times. That’s one every week of the school year. I think the only serious one was- oh, here we go. See, I told you.” He angles the screen so that Jason can take a look, too.
“Possibly magic-related crocodile infestation in the sewers,” Jason reads out loud. “Huh, alright. Not that serious.”
“I told you,” Tim repeats. He logs out, shuts down the computer, and gets off the chair. “We can go now,” he tells Jason graciously.
When Jason only stares at him for a second, Tim abruptly remembers that they are, technically, strangers to each other. Whether Jason recognises him or not (probably not, he thinks, since their encounter was seven weeks ago, at night, in a completely different setting), he definitely thinks that Tim doesn’t know who he is. Tim takes the weird staring-second to think about what information Timothy Drake, grade five, future heir to Drake Industries, would reasonably have about Jason Todd, newly adopted son of Bruce Wayne.
Name, yes, school, yes, grade, maybe, family, yes, details of personal life, no. Alright. He can work with that.
“I’m Tim, by the way,” he says, holding out his hand in a formal manner.
“Jason,” Jason says, shaking it and shaking his head, too, like he’s dismissing whatever thought had been keeping him occupied just now. “Let’s go, then. I think everybody is down at the gym.”
“What were you doing up here?” Tim asks while they navigate Gotham Academy’s many hallways, which by now are mostly vacated. “Why aren’t you outside?”
It's curiosity that’s making him ask, coupled with the smug knowledge that he’s allowed to pose the question at all, since Timothy Drake doesn’t know much about Jason Todd and would reasonably be wondering why he’s not with his class.
Jason shrugs. “I was in the bathroom when the alarm started. When I got back to my classroom, everyone was gone, so I went up to the office, to see if there was anyone here who could help me find my class.”
It’s a good story, Tim thinks. It makes sense, and the casual way with which Jason told it is completely believable, as well. He also thinks that this probably doesn’t count as Robin lying to him, since Jason is not dressed as Robin right now.
They walk in silence for a while, until they reach the first floor. The gym is just outside, only a two-minute walk away now.
“You weren’t scared,” Jason suddenly says, holding the massive front doors open for Tim.
“Excuse me?”
“You didn’t know about the crocodile thing when you walked up there.”
“Probability dictates-“
“Yeah, but I joined this school last year. I might not have been here long enough to know every alarm, but I was here for at least half of those you mentioned. And I know for a fact that there were a few serious ones there, too. There was, what, a twenty per cent chance that this was serious, is that right?”
Tim nods, surprised.
“And you still you weren’t scared? Not even a little bit?”
This time, Tim is the one who shrugs. “I grew up in Gotham. And you weren’t scared, either.”
“Yeah, but I’m-“ Jason stops. “Older,” he says, after a split-second pause that Tim thinks he would have missed if he hadn’t been listening so intently. “And bigger.” Jason smirks. “Much bigger. Scarier, too, I bet. If those crocodiles infested the school, they wouldn’t dare touch me, but you know who’d be a great mid-morning snack for them? You.”
“Hey!”
“It’s not my fault you’re bite-sized!”
“If crocodiles do infest the school,” Tim says firmly, “I’d deal with it. I can take care of myself.”
Jason’s smile is rueful when he says, “Not waiting for Batman and Robin to protect you?”
Tim hesitates, easy banter giving way to something else, a fear that’d been instilled in him since he could think. He knows Batman would protect him, it’s literally his job. But he’d much rather know in theory than find out in reality if Batman’s protection of Gotham extends to a kid like him.
“Not really,” he tells Jason. “Not if I can do it without anyone’s help.”
To his surprise, Jason claps him on the shoulder. “That’s good thinking, Timmy. Never rely on a guy dressed like a bat to save you, you hear me? Robin though – I think it’s safe to say that you can trust Robin.” He winks.
Before Tim can think of a witty reply, they arrive at the gym, where Jason’s teacher, undoubtedly frantic about losing the Wayne heir, corners him immediately, and Tim is able to slip away unnoticed.
*
Two months into the school year, Tim’s caught up with enough of his work that for an entire glorious week, he’s able to go out every single night. He watches Batman and Robin arrest dozens of criminals, he takes photos of all of it, and, perhaps most importantly, he takes photos of what happens after, too. At the end of patrol, Batman will tell Robin what a good job he did, or he’ll ruffle his hair, or he’ll even take him out for three am milkshakes.
Tim watches this, too, and he yearns. In moments like these, he doesn’t understand how his parents could ever use Batman to scare him as a child. Who would be scared of a man who asks his son if he wants to get a Batburger before going home?
By the end of the week, Tim is so tired that he thinks he could fall asleep standing, and he still feels like that on Monday morning, when the first Autumn storm of the year is brewing on the horizon. He considers calling in sick, but he can’t take too many sick days before the school gets suspicious, and it's only eight or so hours, anyway. He’ll go to his lessons, have a good long sleep tonight, and be right as rain tomorrow.
Speaking of rain.
It’s drizzling a little when he leaves the house, but the walk to the bus stop is long, and by the time he’s walking past the Wayne estate, the light drizzle has turned into heavy rain. Tim pulls his coat tighter around himself and hopes that the bus won’t be held up by the weather.
Suddenly, there’s the sound of a car honk nearby, once, twice. A car has pulled up next to him, black and sleek, and the window slides down before Tim can make up his mind to run or call for help.
Instead of a paedophile, it’s Mr Pennyworth, his old, kind face frowning. “Dreadful weather we’re having today. May I offer you a ride?”
“That’s alright,” Tim says, shaking his head. “I’ll just take the bus.”
“I’m afraid I’ve got somebody here with me who insists,” Mr Pennyworth says, and then a second window rolls down, this one in the back, and Jason sticks his head out.
“Come on, get in! We’re going the same way, it’d be crazy to leave you out here.”
Faced with this much well-meaning insistence, all Tim can offer up in protest is a weak, “I don’t want to get your seats wet.”
“I can assure you that those seats have seen much worse,” Mr Pennyworth tells him as he gets out and opens a door, even if that means he, too, is now standing in the pouring rain.
Tim thinks that, actually, this is a valid argument. Objectively speaking, water is much better than blood, and also Mr Pennyworth is getting wet now, too, all because Tim can’t make up his mind.
He gets in.
“Is your chauffeur indisposed, Master Drake?” Mr Pennyworth asks when they’re on the road again, this time with an additional passenger.
“We don’t have one,” Tim says. “My parents like to keep the staff to a minimum, and I don’t mind taking the bus.”
“During a storm?” Jason asks sceptically. As if to highlight his words, there’s a lightning strike just as he's finished speaking, followed by thunder. “Couldn’t they drive you at least?”
Tim knows where this is going, and he’s going to put a stop to it before it can escalate. “They’re busy with work. Drake Industries employs hundreds of people, and taking time off isn’t always as easy as they’d like. It’s no trouble taking the bus if it means five hundred people receive their paycheck. Anything else would be selfish.”
It is, almost word for word, what his mom has told him countless times when he was younger and hadn’t yet learned which things are acceptable to ask of his parents, and which aren’t.
“Well,” Jason says after a pause (Tim has no idea how much time actually passed, since the warmth of the car and the soothing rumble of the engine have him fight not to fall asleep), “you know what else would be selfish? Not giving a ride to our next-door neighbour when we literally go the same way every day.”
Tim’s tired mind is having trouble processing this. “What?”
“I believe Master Jason is offering to make today’s situation a regular occurrence,” Mr Pennyworth says, eyes fixed on the road as he switches lanes. “I’m inclined to agree with him.”
That’s enough to snap Tim out of his fatigue. “You really don’t have to.”
“We really do,” Jason argues. “Actually, we should have done this much earlier, as soon as I realised that you live next-door. I told Dick about the kid who was hacking the school during an evac, and when I told him your name, he asked if I meant Timothy Montgomery or Timothy Hendrix or Timothy Drake, and I said I had no idea, but I told him what you look like, and he remembered you from a few galas. He says to tell you hi.”
“Um,” Tim says dumbly. “Hi?”
“So it’s settled then,” Jason says, leaning back in his seat in obvious satisfaction. “Give me your number, I’ll text you tomorrow when we’re outside your house. Hey, are you okay? You look tired.”
“Late night,” Tim mutters while he enters his number into Jason’s phone.
Jason frowns, but doesn’t get the chance to question him further, because at this moment Alfred pulls up outside the school gates. Tim thanks them both for the ride, gets out and immediately attaches himself to a group of classmates whose parents dropped them off at the same time, all to avoid further interaction with his unexpected benefactor. His classmates look bemused, but easily include him in their conversation, and Tim has long since congratulated himself on his quick thinking by the time the end of the school day comes around, and he steps outside his classroom to find Jason waiting for him.
“Thought we’d go meet Alfred together,” he says, falling into step besides Tim. “Wouldn’t want you to get lost and end up at the bus stop instead.”
“You seriously don’t have to do this,” Tim says. “I don’t need-“ His words get cut off when he almost walks into a set of glass doors, held back only because of Jason’s quick reflexes. He blinks. Were those doors there that whole time?
“Christ,” Jason says, “I’m starting to think your night wasn’t just late, but that it stood you up altogether. Did you sleep at all?”
“I kept nodding off during English Lit.”
Jason’s look of open-mouthed shock would be funny if Tim wasn’t feeling dead on his feet right now. “You- what- during- why?”
Letting Jason hold the glass doors open so he can pass through like a normal person instead of attempting to walk through matter, Tim says, “We’re reading A Wrinkle in Time. But I already looked it up on Wikipedia, so.” He yawns.
The storm has passed when they walk outside, but there is an entirely different storm brewing on Jason’s face as he evidently tries to process this. “But – reading is fun. – Hold up, kiddo. Alfred’s waiting over there.” To Tim’s utter mortification, he uses the straps of Tim’s backpack to pull him back from where he’d been using Jason’s distraction to subtly slink away to the bus stop.
The first thing Jason does once they’re in the car is say, accusation clear in his voice, “Tim fell asleep in class today.”
Tim whips his head around so fast that the seatbelt strains against his chest. “Did you just tell on me?”
Alfred, coming to a stop at a red light, says serenely, “Would you perhaps like to come home with us, Master Tim, to use your afternoon to catch up on sleep?”
“Um,” Tim says, “um, no, thank you. That’s okay.”
Jason starts protesting, but Tim leans his head against the window, watching the rain start up again. He'll just close his eyes for a moment, he thinks. Just one second, and then he’ll tell Jason why, exactly, it’d be super weird if he came to the Wayne estate to sleep when his own house is literally only a mile away. One second.
*
“Jason, have you seen my- who’s that?”
“That, sir, is Timothy Drake, heir to Drake Industries and, I believe, your next-door neighbour.”
“And what is he doing on my couch?”
“Master Jason, realising the little distance between our respective houses, offered him a ride to and from school. A permanent offer. Following this, we-“
“Bruce, he fell asleep. What were we supposed to do, throw him out of a moving car?”
“I see. So, instead, you chose to let him sleep, then carried him inside a house he’s never been to before and will not recognise upon waking up, with mostly unfamiliar faces surrounding him?”
“Yes?”
“Jay, do you realise that most people would call that kidnapping?”
“Well, you’re not one to ta- oh, hey, I think he’s waking up.”
*
Tim wakes up to three faces peering down at him. He recognises Robin – wait, no, Jason, his mind supplies –, and Mr Pennyworth, and…
He flinches back into the cushions (cushions?) before he can stop himself, feeling the blood drain from his face. He has no idea where he is, or how he got here, but it must be pretty bad if Batman is here. Has Batman found out that Tim got a ride home instead of taking the bus like usual? Is he here to give Tim a lesson?
Then Batman asks, “How are you feeling, chum?”, and Tim’s mind blanks, goes offline and reboots, all in the blink of an eye.
Oh, right, he thinks. This isn’t Batman, it’s Mr Wayne, and he’s here because this, by the looks of it, is his house. Which leaves the question of why Tim is in his house.
“I’m okay,” he says, sitting up. “What happened?”
“You fell asleep, so we brought you here,” Jason supplies helpfully. “You can stay for dinner, right, Alfred?”
Tim doesn’t get the chance to think of an excuse because Alfred is already doing it for him. “I’m sure we’ve kept Master Tim long enough already. No doubt his parents are expecting him.”
“They are,” Tim hastens to say. “They must be wondering where I am.”
“In that case,” Mr Wayne says smoothly, “why don’t I call them? I believe I’ve got their contact information here somewhere….Alfred, we have the Drakes’ number, right?”
Alfred nods his confirmation, but Tim isn’t listening, his tired mind suddenly wide awake and alert. There is, right now, almost nothing that would be worse than Mr Wayne trying to call his mom and dad, for so many reasons. “That’s not necessary! It’s not a long walk to my house. I’ll just tell them myself when I’m home.”
Mr Wayne raises his arm, and Tim flinches again, but it turns out that he only did it to wrap an arm around Jason’s shoulder. “If that’s what you want,” he says, his face betraying nothing of what he’s thinking. “But there is no need to walk. Alfred will drive you.”
Tim, heart still racing, is, abruptly and yet ultimately, done. This day has been an emotional rollercoaster, and he thinks that if he has to accept yet another ride from one of the Waynes today, he’s going to lose it.
Pushing himself up off the couch, he straightens up and says formally, “I prefer to walk, but thank you for offering, and thanks for earlier, too. I’m sure my parents will be pleased to hear that you helped me out.”
Looking bemused, Mr Wayne says, “No problem. Are you sure you don’t want-“
“I’m sure,” Tim interrupts. “I really have to go now, though, I don’t want my parents to worry. Bye, Mr Wayne – Mr Pennyworth – I’ll see you around, Jason.”
Later, when he’s back in his empty house, he thinks how nice his lie was, how much better it is than real life. It would be nice to know that his parents really were worried about him coming home late, to know that they’ve kept dinner warm for him, that they called him, even, to see where he is and what’s keeping him.
He thinks it’s what Mr Wayne would have done, had Jason gone missing.
*
The rides to school become a daily occurrence, if only because Jason and Mr Pennyworth keep showing up at his house and it would be rude to let them make the drive for nothing. At least Tim was able to put his foot down when it comes to the ride back – he may have exaggerated the number of times he has karate practice, but it is true, at least, that when he does, he takes the bus into a sports centre in Gotham instead of going straight home.
Still, though, he now starts every morning with being in the same car with Robin. On the one hand, this is exciting, and sometimes, Tim has to force himself not to beam at Jason. On the other hand, this means he now has to lie to Robin, like, a lot.
For some reason, Jason has started to ask about his parents. Just little remarks or questions, like asking if they made Tim homecooked lunch today, or if they’re going to parent-teacher night next week, or saying how weird it is that Jason’s never seen their car in the driveway. Tim comes up with answers to all of them (he buys lunch at school, his parents get updates on his performance in school every month via email and don’t need an additional meeting about it, they have a garage), and most of it is the truth, but it still grates on him.
Besides, there are the times when he really does have to lie.
“Want to go to my house after school later?” Jason asks once Alfred has dropped them both off in front of the school gates. “We can play video games.”
“Um,” Tim says, conflicted.
“Come on, it’ll be great! Bruce is even home today, so he can call your parents and ask if you can stay for dinner. They won’t say no if he’s the one asking.”
Tim, because he sucks and has yet not been able to rid himself off the reflex, pales at the mention of Mr Wayne.
He knows Mr Wayne only beats people up at night and in costume, but he’s also really big, and last week, it was him driving them to school and not Mr Pennyworth because he had an early meeting and was going into town anyway, and when he waved them goodbye, his muscles strained his suit so much that a button popped.
Tim only weighs sixty pounds. Karate lessons or not, there is no way he’d be able to defend himself against that.
“I’m busy,” he says quickly. “My parents are home early today, and we’re going to the cinema.”
“Oh,” Jason says, disappointed. “Which movie?”
Damn, Tim thinks. This is why he usually thinks more carefully about his lies beforehand. Improvisation only works when there are no follow-up questions. “I’m not sure yet, I think we’re going to decide when we’re there.”
“Well, you better tell me all about it tomorrow,” Jason says. “I’ve been meaning to drag Bruce to the movies with me, anyway.”
“Absolutely,” Tim promises, and spends his afternoon googling the plots of every single movie that’s in the cinema right now.
So, those are the downsides to his new morning routine. But while he does feel bad about all the stories he’s forced to make up about his family life, he can’t deny that it’s kind of nice to have someone to talk to every day. One time, Mr Pennyworth even made him a packed lunch, and although Tim ended up having an allergic reaction to the sandwich spread and had to go to the nurse, it was still the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
Well, the best thing that’s ever happened to him during the day. His nights are still very much occupied with stalking Batman and Robin.
The nights have been getting colder, but Tim has used his credit card to buy himself a new, sturdier coat, and he’s bundled up in it now, perched on the roof with his camera as he waits for Batman and Robin to show. It’s Christmas next week. School ended today, which means that he can now spend every single night out here. It’s the best present ever, and he sorely needs it, because this morning, his parents’ secretary emailed to inform him that they changed their flights to February.
The last time Tim saw them was in August. It's the longest they’ve ever been away from Gotham, and if he thinks about it too much, he’s going to cry, which he’s way too old to do. It’s much better to just be out here, doing what he loves and pushing every thought of his parents to the back of his mind.
He's lucky tonight: Batman and Robin come right on time, and he gets to watch them stop a robbery. Tim takes pictures until his fingers are numb, lowering the camera when finally, Batman claps Robin on the shoulder and tells him good job. Tim’s too far away to hear Robin’s reply, but he can see him beaming.
He watches them split up – it’s freezing tonight, and they probably want to be done soon, so splitting up their patrol route makes sense. Tim packs up his stuff. He thinks he’s going to call it a night. He’ll be back tomorrow, anyway.
“It’s you again.”
“Robin,” Tim says nonsensically, as Robin lands on the roof, coming to a stop right in front of him.
“Want to explain what you’re doing out here in the middle of the night?” Robin snaps, anger radiating off him in waves. “You’re supposed to be-“
“Robin,” Tim interrupts, more firmly this time. “Long time no see.”
That makes Robin shut up as he stares at Tim, face red beneath the domino mask. It takes him a second before he says: “I was really hoping I wouldn’t see you up here again.”
They’ve narrowly avoided what surely would have turned into a disaster, Tim thinks, relieved. Had Jason let slip that he knows Tim beyond their brief rooftop encounter all those months ago, there would have been no coming back from that.
“I told you,” he says, “I come out here when I can’t sleep.”
“You also told me you live in this building,” Robin points out, and for a second Tim thinks he’s close to blowing his cover again, but then he adds, “but I looked at the list of residents, and there was no mention of a child living here.”
“Maybe the list isn’t up to date,” Tim says, even as his mind is already trying to come up with a way to get out of this.
Robin snorts. “Really?”
Sometimes, Tim thinks, the best cover story is rooted in truth. “Alright,” he says, allowing himself to slump a little, “so I don’t really live here. But I wasn’t lying about the rest. I really do come out here when I can’t sleep.” Can’t, won’t, it’s the same thing, basically.
“And how do your parents feel about that?”
This time, Tim doesn’t even have to fake the dejection in his voice. “They don’t know. Please don’t tell them.”
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t.”
This is it, Tim thinks, this is what’s going to make or break this moment. “They can be a lot,” he says, “and I don’t want to worry them.” Both technically true, but missing the crucial information that even if Robin would try to talk to his parents right this minute, he wouldn’t find them. They’re in Namibia. But Robin doesn’t know that, and if Tim has any say in the matter, he never will.
Robin, undoubtedly sympathetic to the difficult nature of parental figures, says, “Fine. But I can’t just let you go out here again.”
“After tonight, you’ll never see me again,” Tim promises. And because Robin looks unconvinced, and he really, really needs this to work out, he says the one thing that weeks upon weeks of daily rides to school and daily discussions about how he’s getting home later have convinced him will always work. He says, “Listen, if it’s not too much trouble, could you maybe help me get home?”
He's won. Jason, straightening up and taking out his grapple gun, nods. “Never too much trouble to help someone out. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get home safe.”
Is this taking advantage, Tim wonders, clinging to Robin while they fly from roof to roof. It’s not, he decides eventually, when he’s already lying in bed. Jason offered a million times, and Tim merely took him up on it. Sure, Robin doesn’t realise that Tim knows who he is, but an offer is an offer, and also, it was all worth it for the exhilarating rush of happiness he felt when they were flying through Gotham at night. That, Tim thinks, would be worth anything.
*
Christmas passes in a blur of loneliness, another one for the collection. Tim attempts to make hot chocolate and burns the pot so badly that he has to throw it away afterwards. His parents call a record-breaking four times over the holidays; he thinks they feel bad for leaving him alone. Not that they need to, he knows how busy they are.
He spends the entire January doing three things: stalking Batman and Robin, doing his best that Batman and Robin don’t spot him so he doesn’t have to break his promise, and bracing himself for the inevitable news that his parents have postponed their flight again.
But to his surprise, by the time February comes, there has been no talk of cancellation, and finally, on February 3rd, his parents return to Gotham.
“And I’m going to show them the art project that I made, and my dad promised to take me to a soccer game, and my mom measured me this morning and I’ve grown a whole inch since last summer,” he tells Jason the morning after their return, unable to keep the pride from his voice. He was able to hold back while they were in the car, not wanting to talk Mr Pennyworth’s ear off, but now that they’re entering the school’s main building, he has to tell someone or he’ll explode.
He’s about to launch into a story about the nice restaurant his parents took him to yesterday after they got home from the airport, when he sees the weird look Jason is giving him. “What?”
“How long were your parents on that trip exactly?” Jason asks.
“Not long,” Tim says immediately. “I’m just happy that they’re back. By the way, you don’t have to give me a ride tomorrow! My dad promised to drive me.” He’s off before Jason can ask any more questions.
His dad really did promise to drive him, and he does so every day for the following week. Tim sees Jason in the hallways a couple of times, but their grades eat lunch during different periods, so it’s not that often. Tim finds that he misses their morning talks, even if he never quite got over the sensation that he’s inconveniencing both Jason and Mr Pennyworth somehow, but having his dad drive him is good, too.
And then on Friday, two days before his parents are scheduled to fly out again, Jack wanders into the kitchen where Tim is eating a bowl of cereal, rubs the back of his neck and awkwardly says, “Just got a phone call from Georgie. He said that-“
“You have to leave,” Tim says, heart sinking. “When?”
“Your mom is already packing. Our flight isn’t until this afternoon, but we have a business lunch first with- it doesn’t matter, I know kids don’t care about that kind of stuff. But, hey, I guess you’re looking forward to being on your own again, eh? Got this whole big house all to yourself, bet you can’t wait for your parents to get out of here.” His dad laughs. “Like, what’s that movie called? Home Alone. Living the dream.”
Tim forces himself to laugh, too, because it’s expected. He doesn’t point out that Home Alone ends with the kid realising he misses his family, and he doesn’t remind his dad that he was going to give him a ride and that by now, he’s already missed the bus. It’s fine. It’s all fine. He can walk. If he leaves right now and walks really fast, he might still be able to make it just in time.
Except that when he’s outside, there’s a heavy snowfall, winter rebelling one last time against the oncoming spring, and it’s hard bracing himself against the harsh wind. Tim readjusts his hood, takes a moment to mourn the fact that he forgot his hat, and keeps walking. He’s going to miss the first bell, but he should make it to second period at least.
The snowfall is so heavy by now that he can barely see the road. Just once, a car drives past him, close enough for him to recognise it as his dad’s BMW. For one blissful second, he thinks that his dad remembered, that he’s picking him up after all, but then the car drives on, and he realises that it must be his parents on their way to the business lunch.
Some indeterminate time later, every step feels like a chore, and he’s just started to think that maybe he should just turn around, when he sees headlights. A car approaching, another one, coming from the opposite direction. Tim steps out of the way, or at least to what he thinks is out of the way, but the car doesn’t drive past, instead coming to a stop.
“Dad?” Tim asks, but his teeth are chattering so much that he’s not sure his dad understands him, until-
“Not quite.” Strong arms left him up, brush snow off his face and coat.
“Oh,” Tim mutters, only to be answered by a laugh.
“Sounding a bit disappointed there, kiddo,” the person says. That sentence nudges something in Tim’s memory, sluggish though his mind feels right now. “Dick,” he mutters, and the arms around him tighten briefly.
“That’s right. I’m just going to get you into the backseat and then we’ll be off, okay?”
“No!” Tim shouts, or at least attempts to. His fingers feel numb, but he still tries to push himself outside of Dick Grayson’s grip. “You can’t! You promised.”
“Promised what?” Dick asks as he gently drops him inside the car, doing up the seatbelt for him.
Tim has never been this cold in his life, and it’s hard to think, but this is important. “You told me,” he mutters even as he’s falling asleep, “you promised I could talk to Batman. You lied to me.” His lips have gone so numb that he can barely understand himself, but as his eyes close for the final time, he’s way past the point of caring.