Chapter Text
Chapter Four: Home with Batman
While Tim slept on Lucius Fox's couch under Bruce Wayne's suit jacket, the two adults hacked into his tablet and quickly located his digital scrapbook. Lucius was more concerned about the fact that Tim had been basically abandoned by his parents, but Bruce was very calmly freaking out about Tim's suspicion that Nightwing was Dick Grayson. It wasn't even really a suspicion. Somehow the precocious little ten-year-old knew his eldest son's vigilante identity. It wasn't a leap to think that Tim also knew that he was Batman and Jason was now Robin. In fact, Tim's initial reaction to him about proved that to Bruce.
There were hundreds of pictures in the tablet's gallery and most of them were of Batman, Robin, and Nightwing. They were impossible shots that implied that the photographer had been on rooftops mere yards from the vigilantes, in the most dangerous parts of Gotham City during the middle of the night. Thankfully there weren't any pictures of Dick as Robin, or Lucius might have burst a blood vessel in the process of having a coronary over what the boy had been up to while left without parental supervision. It was bad enough that Tim was only ten now. He would have been eight when Dick created Nightwing. Still, there were plenty of scans of grainy security camera footage showing the first Robin flying by the Dark Knight's side, as well as a digital copy of the story of Dick's parents' tragic deaths. And to Bruce's amazement, the oldest photograph was of a tiny, four year old Tim Drake seated on twelve-year-old Dick Grayson's knee before the backdrop of Haley's Circus. The picture had been taken mere hours before Dick's parents were murdered. Bruce hadn't even known the Drakes were there that day.
"Who do you think he's told?" Bruce asked as he rubbed at his pounding headache.
"I think he's told you," Lucius snapped. "He sits alone all day at the camp because the older kids completely ignore him, and his parents surely aren't around to listen to his fantastical stories. He acts like he hasn't a friend in the world and that an adult acknowledging that he exists in a novel experience. So yes, I think the one person he's told is you."
Lucius was clearly still focused on Tim's parents' negligence and not the fact that a nine-year-old had figured out Batman's true identity. Bruce frowned. That was important, but… a nine-year-old had figured out Batman's identity. That was earth-shattering.
"Oh, get over yourself," Lucius said angrily. "You determined yourself that's he's exceptionally gifted, and it appears that a lucky set of circumstances led to his discovery. I doubt anyone else has Tim's unique experiences combined with his capacity for deductive reasoning. Your blasted secret is safe."
"For now," Bruce said unhappily. "Has your department finished the memory eraser prototype yet?"
"Absolutely not," Lucius said, and probably fancied his growl to be as intimidating as Batman's. Hardly.
"What am I supposed to do?"
"Explain to him how important it is that he not tell anyone what he knows, destroy his parents for the way they neglect him, and keep an eye on him until he's old enough to work for WE."
"That middle directive sounded rather bloodthirsty," Bruce pointed out.
"Would you have left Richard home alone for a month while you were on the other side of the world?"
"Of course not," Bruce replied quickly. "He'd have burned the place down within the first day." His joke was met with a deadly glare. "All right, all right. I know what you mean, old man. His parents are despicable. What am I supposed to do about a ten-year-old knowing my secret?"
Bruce Wayne was likely saved from an early death at the hands of his livid CEO by the arrival of the social worker.
xXx
It was after ten o'clock at night when Lucius Fox and the social worker finally left the Wayne Enterprises Building. Even with the long summer days, the sun had already set and Jason was probably at home watching the minutes tick away and worrying that patrol would be canceled. Bruce didn't like to keep his fourteen-year-old up much past midnight, even if Jason was handling the lack of sleep rather well.
Bruce hated canceling patrol, but part of him wondered if he should consider it given the revelations of the past few hours. Jason wouldn't be happy, but occasionally, the billionaire did have to pretend he was the responsible party in his house.
"Grab your backpack," Bruce instructed, purposefully not making eye contact with the ten-year-old who'd started the evening as his most loyal fan, but now looked at him as if Bruce had betrayed him in the worst sort of way. From the kid's point of view, Bruce could kind of understand how he felt. Tim had gotten into an elite summer camp at the premiere R&D firm in the city, where he knew that his idol worked, and then managed to be in the right place at the right time to meet his hero face-to-face, only to have said hero put the gears in motion to have Tim removed from his parents' custody.
Tim silently obeyed, his little shoulders hunched as he slipped his arms through the straps of the bag. He cradled his camera forlornly, as if every ounce of the joy he'd gotten out of stalking Batman and Robin had been squeezed out of it.
There was no point pretending to be Brucie Wayne anymore - Tim knew his true identity and very few people were still at the office this late. So Bruce slipped into his preferred silence, awkward as it was with the kid's hurt bleeding off of him like a bad smell, and had Tim walk in front of him to the private elevator.
Alfred alighted from the Bentley when he spotted his employer through the backlit glass doors that made up the elaborate entrance to Wayne Enterprises headquarter's lavish lobby. To the unknowing, Alfred's expression would have looked completely benign, but Bruce knew his butler too well to not see the mixture of curiosity, concern, and patient long-suffering at the potential of yet another rambunctious boy terrorizing the mansion.
"What's this one's heartbreaking story?" Alfred asked after he'd closed the door behind Bruce and returned to the driver's seat. Bruce met the man's eyes through the rearview window. Tim pulled his sneakers up onto the fine Italian leather of the car's interior and hugged his knees pitifully. Bruce let him be.
"Someone gave him an expensive digital camera and he's been using it to stalk Batman and Robin across the city," Bruce said. "At night, in places like the Bowery and Crime Alley."
"Oh dear," said Alfred. "And Batman didn't notice until now?"
Bruce wanted to say, "Of course not, I knew all along, silly man!" but that would mean he'd knowingly let a child endanger himself, which apparently some people thought was worse than Batman's identity being compromised. He couldn't even justify his slip by claiming that no one in their right mind would suspect an upper middle-class child of being so fool-hardy, because Bruce himself was the one who continuously preached to his Robins that they should expect the unexpected. So in the end, Bruce merely grumbled unintelligibly and tried to change the subject. "But it turns out that Timmy was able to sneak out all of those nights because his parents have gotten into the habit of leaving him home alone for months at a time while they tour the world's archaeology sites. And since I am such an upstanding, concerned citizen of Gotham who is already licensed as a foster parent, he's coming home with us until his parents return from Egypt in ten days."
Alfred's brow furrowed and he looked just as angry as Lucius had been. Poor Alfred didn't even know the worst of it yet, though. "Does young Timothy have a last name?"
"Drake," Bruce replied. Alfred's harder-than-necessary braking at the red light was the only indication he gave that he was flabbergasted by that information. A deep frown joined his furrowed brows and Bruce suspected that the older man was berating himself for not noticing that their neighbor was being so unforgivably neglected. How would Alfred have known? A dense line of trees and plenty of acreage separated the two estates and the Drakes were gone often enough that there was no reason to casually stop by for a neighborly visit. Alfred was too busy for that, anyway.
"I'm very sorry to hear of the troubles you've suffered, dear boy," Alfred said. He probably couldn't see Tim's tiny form in the corner of the backseat, but his eyes met Bruce's again through the center mirror.
"I was fine," Tim mumbled, hugging his knees all the tighter.
Alfred's expression remained troubled, especially when he had to bring up the same touchy subject that had made him hesitant to condone Bruce's fostering of Dick Grayson. "It's admirable to care for one's neighbors, sir, but--"
"He knows," Bruce interrupted, deciding to rip the metaphorical bandage off quickly and brutally. "The whole stalking Batman and Robin thing…"
"It wasn't stalking," Tim said angrily. The terrible look he was giving his knees was likely meant for Bruce, but the kid was either too polite or too scared to actually direct it toward its intended target. "I just… nevermind."
"We'll talk about your reasons later, kid," Bruce promised. "For now, staying with me is win-win. You will have someone taking care of you properly, and I will make sure you don't tell anyone my secret."
"I'm not going to tell!" Tim finally looked up at Bruce and the pain in the boy's face tugged at Bruce's frayed heartstrings. "I haven't told anyone and I won't. I know how important the secret is. I'm not stupid. I don't want Batman to stop being Batman."
"He's not stupid," Bruce agreed, looking up at Alfred. "I tested him."
"When?" Tim asked, suspiciously.
"The game we played in Lucius' office," Bruce explained distractedly. "If we keep him, I'd like to have him tested officially. He was a 140 on the practice test."
"That was an IQ test?" Tim asked. He looked a little less betrayed and a tad more curious now. "Is 140 a good score?"
"It's higher than most ever score," Alfred stated. "How did you deduce Batman's alter-ego, young man?"
"I'm curious, too," Bruce admitted.
Tim shrugged as if it should be obvious to anyone who paid attention. "Robin could do things that I've only ever seen one other person do before. They were stunts that Dick Grayson performed on… that night."
"You enjoyed the trapeze show?" Bruce asked. He calculated that Tim would have been about four, and the little boy had probably loved the colorful costumes and the "flying" that the aerialists did.
"Until the end," Tim said. "Sometimes I still have nightmares about them falling." He shook his head as if to banish the memory. "Dick was so nice to me before the show. I got to take a picture with him. I still have it. When the accident happened, I felt so bad for him. I was really happy for him when he got to live with you, Mr. Wayne, that maybe we could have been friends, but that never worked out." Tim rubbed the protruding lens of his camera as if it evoked a fond memory. Bruce had seen the pictures that Tim had captured of Nightwing, and how they had special places of honor in his digital scrapbook.
"Anyway, there was a news segment last year with old footage of Batman and Robin and I recognized the move that Robin did as one of Dick's. It all made sense after that."
"It was very astute of you to make the connection," Alfred said. He seemed a bit less angry, though Bruce was sure that he was simply having an easier time disguising it now that Tim was coming out of his shell a little bit. Alfred loved children just as much as he loved to complain about the way they made messes everywhere.
"I'm not going to tell anyone," Tim restated, his lower lip sticking out even as he looked challengingly at Bruce.
"You told me," Bruce countered.
"I figured you already knew," Tim retorted unhappily. "And it was clear that Mr. Fox knows, too."
"Did you ever consider that knowing who I am could put you and your family in danger, Timmy?" Bruce asked.
"How? And don't call me Timmy."
"Bad people will try to hurt anyone they think is associated with me. If you know who I am, they'll think it's because I told you myself. Which means that I trust you."
"Nobody minds me," Tim said matter-of-factly.
"That's going to change," Alfred said with a hint of his earlier anger. Tim curled into himself, mistaking Alfred's ire as directed at him, instead of the people who treated the child so poorly that he thought he didn't matter in the least. It was too late to comment on it, however, as they were pulling into the garage of the manor. An unhappy teenager waited for them near the door to the hall that would lead to the kitchen.
"B!" Jason Todd Wayne rushed his adoptive father. "It's not fair to make me finish my homework before patrol if you're not even going to be here to check it."
"Shhh," Bruce hushed him. He absently straightened the teen's collar out of habit. "We have company."
"Oh." Jason flushed slightly but since he wasn't reading angry vibes off of the older man for nearly spilling their secret, he cautiously peeked past Bruce to see the ten-year-old sliding out of the car. "A kid?"
"Timothy Drake," Bruce introduced, holding his hand out toward the boy who watched father and son with a mixture of hope and trepidation on his face. "He's going to stay with us while his parents are out of town."
"For how long?" Jason questioned. His sour tone indicated that he was worried that Tim's stay would interfere with their patrols.
"Indefinitely," Bruce replied in a low voice. He leaned down, under the guise of kissing the top of the teen's head, to whisper, "Be nice. Tim claims that his second favorite superhero is Robin."
Jason still didn't look thrilled about their company, but he stowed away his scowl temporarily. "Hi, I'm Jason," he said, holding out his hand to the smaller boy. Tim tentatively shook it.
"Tim," he said. Bruce could almost see the invisible strings holding back Tim's inner fanboy snap, just as they had when Tim had first met Bruce, and then the child was chattering excitedly up at the older boy. "It's so very good to meet you. I've always wanted to, but you're very busy keeping Gotham safe and making sure Batman stays in line. I wish I was as strong and quick as you, like that time you knocked out two muggers at the same time and then--"
Jason shot Bruce a look that read, "Is this kid for real?" Bruce shrugged and reached down for Tim's hand. The kid had refused to let Batman lead him like this from the office, still bitter over Batman's perceived betrayal, but now that he was distracted by recounting all of the amazing things he'd seen Jason do as Robin, the boy allowed the contact. He didn't stop his gushing adoration as they walked from the garage and into the manor, then down the hall to the bright kitchen. By the time the boys were climbing onto barstools, Jason was grinning widely at the smaller boy. Bruce figured he'd have plenty of time to sweat the teen's ego back down to a manageable size during their morning training session.
"Master Timothy," interjected Alfred when the boy paused to gulp down some air. The boy snapped his mouth shut and dipped his head in embarrassment at realizing he'd monopolized the conversation. "I'm sure Master Jason would love to relive more of his exploits as Robin, but it's late and he has work to do."
"Oh, right," said Tim, his cheeks still pink. "I'm sorry."
"Nonsense, child." Alfred patted the boy's back. "If you please, do you prefer white or chocolate milk before bed?"
Tim blinked in confusion at the question. Jason nudged him. "Pick chocolate." Tim nodded, trusting the older boy's judgment.
"A good choice," Alfred replied, offering Tim a warm smile which the child returned shyly.
"Go get ready," Bruce instructed, tapping on the top of Jason's head. His son eagerly jumped off of his barstool and darted out of the kitchen. Alfred set the warmed mug of chocolate milk in front of Tim. Tim took a small sip and grinned in gratitude. Bruce rubbed his hand down the child's back to get his attention. "Jason and I will return in a few hours. You are going to brush your teeth and go to bed. You will stay in bed for the entire night - absolutely no sneaking out to take pictures. Alfred's word is law. Do you have any questions?"
"I don't have a toothbrush," said Tim sadly.
"I'm sure we have a spare or ten in this drafty old mansion," Alfred assured him. "I'll take you to your house in the morning to collect more of your things." Tim sobered at the reminder that his dream of getting to spend time with Batman and Robin was tainted with the rage that his idols felt towards his parents.
to be continued...