Chapter Text
Tim woke up in a soft bed. In an unfamiliar room.
What the fuck–?
He instinctively leaped from the covers, body already preparing to fight. Only to be hit by the memories of the previous day’s events like a truck. Being left at the airport. Dashing out of the airport in a panic. The rain. Ms. Heloise.
Well shit.
Tim took a steadying breath.
Look at your surroundings. What can you use? Where are the exits?
Exits: the white door in front of him, which was closed, and the window across the room from him by an empty desk. He tried the door. It was unlocked. Clearly, this was a guest room.
Huh.
Useful items: his suitcase was lying on the floor. He knew that he’d put in his emergency collapsible bo-staff, hidden in the side compartment pocket, concealed by a false zipper. He could turn pretty much everything else into a weapon should it come down to it.
Okay. Good.
Time to see what he was dealing with, then. He carefully opened the bedroom door, stepping out into the hallway with practiced ease. Then wandered toward the kitchen, where the blonde woman he’d met the night before was already making coffee.
Tim walked to the table, hovering in uncertainty. Was he allowed to sit?
“Oh,” Ms. Heloise said, clearly surprised. “You’re up earlier than I expected. You were out like a light last night, you know.”
“I don’t remember much after you said you were going to take me here, to be honest,” the boy replied, sheepishly brushing fingers through the mess of untamed bed head his black waves had become overnight. He fidgeted with the drawstring of his grey sweat pants, apprehensively awaiting a response.
The woman laughed a little, an oddly fond look overtaking her face for reasons Tim did not understand.
“That makes sense. You were nearly asleep in the car by the time we got here. Speaking of… You didn’t eat anything last night. You hungry?”
She still hasn’t said anything about me… Does she even know who I am?
Depending on who was asked, the Waynes could be said to be famous or infamous. Not to mention Tim being the heir and the only surviving Drake. It was a little unsettling that the lady had yet to comment on that. Maybe because he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Tim sighed. “Eh.”
Unfortunately for him, his stomach rumbled with its demand, immediately giving him away.
“That’s a yes if I’ve ever heard one,” Ms. Heloise commented, turning back to the stove. “You okay with eggs?”
“As long as they’re not scrambled. Or sunnyside up…”
The blonde nodded, subconsciously fixing the buttons of her white labcoat-esque jacket. She must be some kind of medical professional. Or something of the sort.
“You wanna call your dad?”
“...Yeah. I can do it. I have a phone for a reason.”
“Alright.”
“Maybe he’ll remember I exist this time,” Tim joked. Though based on the complicated series of body language shifts he spotted in the almost-motherly woman cooking at the stove, he wasn’t sure it landed.
“I was just kidding,” Tim muttered uncertainly. He didn’t want to fight with someone kind enough to shelter and feed a stupid kid she didn’t know like himself.
“I certainly hope it actually ends up being one.”
Tim then realized he’d neglected to even grab his phone. Shit.
“Do you… uh… know where my phone is?” the boy questioned, brushing the fringe of his messy bangs.
“It’s on the charger on the coffee table, dear.”
Tim walked over to the coffee table in the living room, which had only been a few feet behind him. “Thank you.”
Ms. Heloise smiled at him softly. “Of course.”
Time to rip the band-aid off.
Tim proceeded to pull out a chair back at the table, turning on his phone. He unlocked it pretty quickly, ignoring the notifications to open his contacts. There was Bruce’s. It was time to make the call.
Ring… Ring… Ring—
“Tim?” Bruce’s surprised tone filtered into his ear.
“Hey.” Tim tried to keep the anxious tremble out of his voice. He wasn't sure if he’d succeeded.
“Why are you calling me from your room…?” The man’s voice had slipped into “detective mode,” much more Batman than Bruce now.
“I’m not…? That’s why I’m calling you. It was really late last night when I finally got a place to stay, but…”
“But…?”
“You guys uhhhh… left me in the airport.” Again, the boy left unsaid. No need to invoke more anger or disappointment than this would already.
“WHAT?!”
I am so fucked.
Ms. Heloise placed a plate in front of him. There were two over-medium eggs, strawberries, and toast.
Once Bruce hung up on him, he sighed, burying his face in his hands. “He’s gonna kill me.”
He got a sympathetic pat on his shoulder. “I’m sure he’s just worried.”
“He did this last time, too,” Tim muttered to himself miserably. “And he promised it wouldn’t happen again. And it was because of my brothers again.”
The blonde woman’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean your brothers caused this? And again?”
“Nothing,” the boy snapped. And then sighed. “Sorry… I… It’s fine.”
It happened before, which means it can happen again.
Ms. Heloise sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, but gave no reply that would indicate her thoughts on his situation.
She probably hates you now. Like everyone else.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to— do that,” the teen apologized, guilt starting to churn in his stomach.
“It’s alright, hon,” Ms. Heloise said kindly. “I understand. Your situation is… not ideal, at best.”
Why did she say ‘best’ like that…?
“It’s okay,” Tim assured her with a sigh. “I’m used to it.”
The older of the two looked skeptical. (And concerned, unbeknownst to Tim). However, she said nothing about his previous statement. Which probably meant he was in the clear. For now.
“I don’t want to leave you alone,” Ms. Heloise remarked as she packed a bag. Presumably for her work. “So I’m just going to take you in. It’ll be fine, since the studio knows me. I trust you’ll behave?”
“Yeah,” the boy replied, rolling his eyes. “Duh. I know how to sit still and not touch anything. I wasn’t raised in a barn.”
The woman laughed, shaking her head. “Good. Since you’ll see my office anyway, I’ll just tell you what I do. I’m a studio on-call nurse. My job is basically to attend to minor injuries of actors should they occur, take vitals for psychiatry appointments, and the like.”
So Tim was on the right track with the medical professional guess. At least he knew that his detective skills had yet to fail him.
“Is it… Well, not fun but rewarding, I guess?”
The nurse beamed, visibly delighted at his curiosity (which normally turned off everyone else at home). “Yes. It really is.”
“That’s nice,” the teen responded sincerely.
Ms. Heloise eventually led Tim to her car and drove them to the Warner Bros. Studio Lot. The boy was sitting in the nurse’s personal office, scrolling through Pinterest because he had nothing better to do.
The office wasn’t much, but it was clear that there was a love of labor in the decor. The photos of her family, the diplomas, and even the few potted plants around the room. Somehow, the woman’s office felt more lived in than Tim’s childhood home, which, by contrast, was more like a museum than even a regular mansion estate. It made a part of him long for the days when he still actively lived at Wayne Manor, before he had brothers constantly trying to murder him, which had rendered living anywhere but his apartment unsafe. He shoved that selfish longing down. Bruce’s sons needed the manor more. Not to mention that he was only ever in the Bat Cave anytime he was over anyway, since he was, and probably always would be to the man, Robin. Even if it wasn’t in name anymore, he was still Bruce’s Robin in spirit, rather than his son. Even though Bruce was Tim’s dad.
The teen is drawn from his musings by Ms. Heloise’s office door swinging open, revealing a little toon with floppy ears and a red nose, wearing a blue sweater and red hat.
That’s… curious.
Tim knew that there were toons on the Lot. It was Warner Brothers, after all. That was kind of their thing. He just hadn’t ever thought he’d meet one in person.
“Do you have games on your phone?” a remarkably deep yet young Scouse-accented voice asked excitedly. That was… not at all what the boy had expected the little toon to sound like.
To each their own, I suppose.
“I do,” Tim replied, looking towards the little boy. “Or one anyway. Project Sekai is kind of a guilty pleasure thing, though.”
“Whot’s a Project Sekai?” the younger kid questioned, the beans of eyes they had narrowing slightly as their nose wrinkled. He tilted his head sideways, like a puppy.
This kid does look like a puppy. Kinda.
“A rhythm game I play.”
How am I supposed to explain this to a kid? The former Robin didn’t know. I doubt he’s heard of Hatsune Miku, and the game is at least a little based on an obscure canceled cartoon.
“That sounds faboo!” the little toon grinned. “Can I watch you play?”
I guess that gives me something else to do.
“Sure, Kid,” Tim answered, closing Pinterest out in favor of opening the app icon with Miku’s face on it. “I don’t know how interested you’d be in the story aspect of it, but I can play a few songs.”
“Okay!”
“What’s your name, Kiddo?” the older boy asked, quirking a small smile. “I’m Tim.”
“I’m Wakko.”
And maybe, just maybe, Tim was a little weak to cute kids. Or maybe he was just that desperate for a little sibling that didn’t make attempts on his life.
“You wanna pick a song, Wakko?” he asked, smiling softly at the younger boy.
Wakko, for his part, beamed, which caused his tongue to stick out a bit. “Sure! What songs do you have?”
“Well…” Tim scrolled through the list of the In-Static show songs, along with all of the J-Pop Vocaloid songs that had been released in the years after the show had gotten canceled.
“I like this one!” Wakko declared when he’d scrolled a good way down the list.
“Alright,” the older (human) boy confirmed, clicking on the song. “ ‘Medicine’ it is.”
Tim played the song on hard mode, as he’d been playing all of the songs on and off for around a few months. When he wasn’t buried in pointless paperwork and the blur of patrols. The teen was surprised to find that he was enjoying tapping, holding, and flicking through the rhythm of the song now that he didn’t have to hide it. Having company to encourage him made it more fun, even.
“You did it!” Wakko, bless his heart, cheered when Tim let go on the last note.
“Full combo!” the screen read.
“Huh.” There was a surprise. Usually, his combo streaks got ruined by accidentally getting a good instead of a great or perfect. “And I scored a B on it.”
“How come they didn’t give you an A?” the little toon asked, confusedly tilting his head again.
Tim laughed. “The highest is actually an S ranking, but the game’s a bit picky about how it scores its players.”
“Well that’s just no fun.”
“To be fair, I did play this one on hard mode.” Tim shrugged. “You wanna do something else? I’m kinda stuck here until B– er, my guardian gets here to pick me up.”
“Really?” Wakko’s bean eyes were wider than the older of the two would’ve thought they could get.
“Yeah… I kinda live on the East Coast, sooo…”
“Where?” the toon asked, flabbergasted.
“Gotham.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” Tim agreed, sighing. “Oh.”
"Why do you live there if there's so much crime?"
"...Because I was born there...?"
They quickly moved on after that.
“Can I show you the Lot, at least?” Wakko gave him puppy dog eyes. Which didn’t have its desired effect, but the former Robin found he didn’t mind the idea.
“Sure,” the boy answered, placing his now powered-off phone in his jeans pocket. “Just… Let me ask Ms. Heloise if that’s okay, first, yeah?”
Wakko gave him a thumbs-up. Tim then proceeded to wander out of the office, looking for the blonde woman. She was pretty easy to track down. He found her in the hall of offices.
“Ms. Heloise…?”
The nurse hummed, turning toward him. “Yes, dear?”
“I uhhh… kinda made a friend,” the boy explained, though it came out more like a question. “They were asking if they were allowed to show me the Lot.”
Ms. Heloise quirked a little smile, huffing out a sigh. “Who is it?”
“Wakko.”
“As in Warner?” she quirked a brow.
“The one and only,” the little toon chirped, appearing out of thin air. Apparently. “HELLLLOOO Nurse!”
Ms. Heloise just sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose in fond exasperation. “I suppose that would be okay. Just make sure you get back here by five.”
Tim nodded seriously. “Yes, ma’am.”
The blonde chuckled in response. “You don’t have to be so formal, you know.”
The human teen blushed a little in embarrassment, tugging the ends of his light yellow sweater. “Sorry. Habit.”
“Have fun,” the nurse smiled, a little too knowing for Tim’s liking. “And make sure to call or text me if you need something!”
“Will do.” Tim waved goodbye as he was abruptly dragged down the hall by the little toon.
Where the hell did that strength come from? Had he not had the training he did, the former Robin probably would have yelped at the sudden motion. Cartoon logic. Duh.
Not even five minutes later, Wakko brought them to a screeching halt, in front of a water tower. Huh.
“Oookayyy…” Tim had certainly clocked that the other people (mainly fellow human beings) on the Lot had… something against the toon boy, but he wasn’t sure what this had to do with anything. “What’s with the water tower?”
“It’s my home!” Wakko proclaimed proudly, sticking his tongue out as he grinned again.
How the fuck is a water tower a house…? Wouldn’t that be dangerous?!
“Oh… I see.”
“I would’a introduced you to my big bro and baby sister,” the toon said, looking a little sheepish, “but they’re kinda busy today.”
“That’s alright,” the human boy assured the toon, squeezing the toon’s gloved hand that he was holding. “I’m sure I’ll be back for other family business stuff, anyway.”
Especially since Bruce still refuses to take his damn company back. Which leaves me stuck as the teenage CEO.
“So. Y’know. Potential for future visits.”
Wakko’s eyes lit up with excitement, like lights on a tree. And with something else: hope. “Faboo!” the boy cheered, using his free hand to pump a fist. “You know how to climb, right?”
“Yeah.” Tim definitely had seen the ladder when they’d stopped. “I can climb up.”
Wakko gave another thumbs up, letting go of the human’s hand in favor of scampering up the wobbly-looking metal ladder.
“Are you sure this is safe?” The older boy was more afraid that the younger would fall.
“Of course!” the toon drawled.
“If you say so.” Tim started to climb the rickety yellow metal ladder, carefully stepping onto each successive rung, until he made it to a balcony that matched in color.
“Home, sweet water tower.”
“Something like that...”
Wakko pulled the large logo-shaped door open, beckoning him inside. “Come on in!”
And a home it was. Somehow.
“How…?” Tim didn’t really know how to feel. “How did you… do all of this?”
The toon blinked in confusion at the human’s reaction. “What do you mean?” Another puppy-dog head tilt.
“I just…” How was he going to explain this without incriminating the parents he still loved (and were also beyond the grave, but details)? “It’s just… this water tower somehow has more life than the manor I lived in as a kid…”
“Wait…. Actually?”
Tim sighed. “Yeah. My parents weren’t home a lot. And I’m pretty sure the artifacts they’d dig up in other countries mattered more to them than I ever did.”
Wakko’s expression fell momentarily, before a glint of determination sparked behind those curiously black eyes again. “Well, they’re missing out if you ask me!”
Now it was the former Robin’s turn to blink. Because what?
“You really think so…?” Tim asked, trying to keep himself from crying over something so stupid.
“Yup.” The toon boy nodded vigorously, which caused the red cap on his head to bob a little bit, too. “It sounds like you lived somewhere sad.”
“It was basically a museum,” the teen vigilante admitted wistfully. “I’d always wanted siblings when I was little, so I didn’t have to be alone, but…”
I’d never wish my childhood on anyone.
“I can be your little sibling,” the younger boy suggested, a lightbulb popping up above his red hat. “And so can my siblings! … I think.”
“You’d… want me around…? Even if we couldn’t see each other much?”
“Well, yeah,” Wakko frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Oh. Tim was going to cry if this little kid didn’t stop right now.
“Well, I live in Gotham, for one.” The boy knew there were a multitude of other reasons, but might as well start with the most basic one. “And I’m also the CEO of WE, so I’d be gone a lot even if I could live here. I wouldn’t want to abandon you or your other siblings.”
“We could always call, y’know,” the little toon pointed out, tugging one of his ears seemingly as a fidget. “We have phones for a reason.”
“What if I become too much?” Tim couldn’t help but ask.
“You do know we’re the Warners, right?” Wakko winked. “I think we’d be too much, if anything.”
“You could never,” the former Robin said firmly.
“Then you’re not too much, either,” the toon boy argued.
“Don’t… Don’t say things like that,” Tim laughed, wiping at his tearing-up eyes. “You’re gonna make me cry.”
“Too bad.” Wakko stuck his tongue out at him. “You’re family now.”
Oh.
That really did the teen vigilante in. Now he was nearly sobbing, and it was over something that Jason would probably laugh at him for. And Bruce would be… himself about it.
“Okay…” He hiccuped, trying to put a stop to the waterworks.
“Why are you sad?”
“I’m not,” Tim countered, though not unkindly. “I’m just… I– It’s complicated.”
“Oh. Well, that just means you needed this, right?” Wakko looked so earnest as he asked that.
He’s not entirely wrong.
Tim laughed, something wet and breathless. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Why am I opening up to someone I just met? And a kid. He’s a kid living in a fucking water tower. The latter part still didn’t sit right with the older boy.
“You want me ta give you the tour?” the little toon questioned, tugging on one of the sleeves of his baby blue sweater, eyes shining with unadulterated hope that had Tim caving immediately.
“Sure,” the teen said, smiling softly. “Lead the way.”
Some time later….
“And this is our room!” Wakko gestured to the doorway in front of them on the balcony inside the tower, above the makeshift living room/kitchen area.
“This is… surprisingly cozy looking, actually,” Tim commented, looking at the beds and the warm lamp on the nightstand between two of the beds in the middle by the far wall.
“We’ve made do with what we had.”
Which is to say, probably nothing. If the teen had to guess, anyway.
“Do you… like it here?”
“I guess…?” the toon boy shrugged. “Yakko and Dot make it feel more like a home, at least.”
“I guess that’s a fair statement.”
“Now we can go see the movie sets!” Wakko took his hand once again, dragging Tim all the way out the vault-like metal door and down the ladder.
“Whoa– can we slow down a little–?”
They spent the next four hours bouncing from set building to set building. It was actually kind of fun. The little toon had interesting commentary about the buildings and stages themselves, and even the occasional movie history tid-bit that he’d sourced from his older brother that Tim had yet to meet.
I almost feel sad that it’s over, the teen mused, heart twisting a little as they wandered back into Ms. Heloise’s office.
“Can I give you my phone number?” the former Robin inquired, pulling out his phone from his pocket.
“Sure! Let’s phone swap!” Wakko handed Tim their phone, which had a bit of a cracked screen. It was already opened to contacts, as if the toon had known he was going to ask. The teen typed up a new contact, putting in his name, phone number, and also leaving a note of his personal social account usernames.
Just in case, really. It was a username that not even Babs knew existed, since his public-facing accounts were presumed to be his work and personal accounts separately.
“Here you go!” the little toon stated cheerfully, giving his phone back to him. Tim, of course, handed the phone back to Wakko once he’d saved the contact. Interestingly, the little toon also handed him their hat.
What…?
“I’m not sure I understand,” Tim started, treading as carefully as possible. Maybe it was a toon culture thing. He didn’t want to offend them. “Why are you giving me your hat…? I thought it was special to you.”
Wakko nodded in agreement. “It is. But… I like you. And you’re family now. So…” The little toon blushed shyly. “I wanted to show you by letting you hold my hat. I don’t let anyone but my sibs touch it…”
Oh. Oh. Tim knew exactly what this meant.
“You’re gonna make me cry!” the teen laughed, a little choked up by the sentimentality. “Stop making me feel things. I swear. It’s inconvenient.”
Wakko stuck their tongue out. “Too bad. You’re stuck with me– er us now!”
So he was. And Tim wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Time to go, Tim,” Ms. Heloise reminded him, packing up her bag.
“Coming,” the human boy replied, leaning in to hug Wakko.
“Bye, Miss Nurse!” the toon called, waving once they were free from the embrace.
The nurse chuckled at the toon’s antics fondly. “Bye, Wakko. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll text you,” Tim promised the toon solemnly.
“And I expect a video call when you get back to Gotham, too,” Wakko added expectantly.
“Of course,” the human teen nodded seriously. “Hopefully, we’ll be able to see each other again. At some point.”
Ms. Heloise drove him back to her apartment, where they spent the rest of the night watching a crappy sitcom trying to be a cop show (which Tim had solved not even halfway into the episodes. They both made commentary on it too, and pointed out all of the inaccuracies of). They had Chinese take-out at Tim’s suggestion. And Tim finally got confirmation from Bruce that the man would be coming to pick him up the next day.
- -
Bruce finally picked the teen up a day and a half after he’d initially been left. Tim had expected the man to be pissed. Thankfully, the man was only irritated, which was manageable. The former Robin had dealt with a grieving alcoholic Bruce, so this was nothing. He did get another long-ass lecture about situational awareness, the ultimate irony given that he was one of the main brains of the Bats’ vigilante operations, which was entirely unwarranted. Of course, Bruce wouldn’t hear anything he tried to say, so the boy didn’t even bother.
Everything about the situation was entirely unfair and could have been avoided had proper precautions been taken by his mentor (and brothers). But it was fine. He was used to it, after all. If Bruce and the rest of the Bats (including Jason, though the young man wouldn’t ever admit that) wanted to assume that he was clueless? So be it. It was better to be underestimated.
When you are young, they assume you know nothing. This, of course, was the opposite for the teenage detective and CEO.
If he got more family out of this detour? That was Tim’s business and Tim’s business alone.