Chapter Text
“Ugh, this would be so much easier if there was some sort of, like, Bat-memory eraser or something.” Peter groaned, taking probably more time than he should in Bruce’s office. “All I can think about when I look at him is the little kid watching me from a rooftop, clutching his fancy camera.”
Bruce raised his brow over his paperwork, eyes flicking to the door.
Peter rolled his eyes. “It’s shut tight, and Jason’s showing him the library and gaming room on the opposite side of the hall. We’re fine.”
“You know the dangers of having downstairs talk up here.”
“My point being,” Peter huffed, “that I’m trying to be careful with everything. And also that it’s time to look the kid up again, this time under the proper name. What does the name Tim Drake mean to you?”
Bruce stood, neatly arranging his papers and gesturing Peter out the door. “We’ll discuss this later, Peter; I think we both know Jason wouldn’t want us getting into it all without him, and you should go check on the boys.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
“I’ll come introduce myself to Tim, but the way you make him sound, he might not appreciate me watching over his shoulder as he plays video games.”
Probably true, Peter acknowledged. He grinned, clapping Bruce on the shoulder. “Aw, is that a touch of emotional awareness?”
“I have been known to dabble in it from time to time.”
Peter snorted. “I’m telling Dick you said that.”
Bruce grunted, shutting the study door behind them.
They hadn’t been talking as long as Peter had feared, the younger boys not having moved on from the library yet–though, that was perhaps due more to Jason’s rambling recommendation of the Percy Jackson books than anything else.
Tim turned as soon as they entered, his eyes widening slightly as they locked onto Bruce behind Peter. He glanced at Jason desperately, as if hoping he’d stop talking now that the adult had come in.
“Hello there, boys.” Bruce stopped a few feet away, offering Tim a smile bordering on Brucie, jovial without looking too unserious. “Tim, right? I thought your name sounded familiar. You attended my Christmas gala the season before last, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” Tim affirmed, fiddling with his hands for a short moment before tucking them behind his back. “I greatly appreciated the invitation, and regretted not being able to come back for your new sons’ introductions in the fall.”
“It’s no problem, I’m sure you had plenty to keep you busy during the holiday season. And feel free to call me Bruce; after all, any friend of Jason’s is always welcome here in my home.”
“Um, th-thank you. I apologize for coming over so last-minute, I don’t have to stay long–”
“Nonsense, Tim, we’re happy to have you here. Besides, Alfred always makes plenty of food, so there’s more than enough for one more at the table.” He stepped back toward the door, perhaps noticing Tim’s tiny fidgets. “I hope you boys enjoy the game room; I’ll see you at dinner, alright?”
“Thanks, B. Come on,” Peter waved them toward the hall, “it’s not too far. Do you have a favorite video game, Tim?”
The little boy shrugged. “Not really. I’m okay with whatever. Is Mr. Wa–I mean–” he blushed, glancing around the hall like Bruce was going to jump at him for not using his first name after he’d offered.
“He won’t mind if you call him Mr. Wayne,” Peter assured him. “You’re welcome to call him Bruce, but he won’t get mad or anything if you don’t want to yet.”
“Yeah,” Jason agreed, two new books under his arm that Peter hadn’t seen him squirrel out of the library. “Peter called him Mr. Wayne for months, B isn’t the type to get upset about that type of stuff.”
Tim pursed his lips, looking relieved to not have to answer when Peter opened the door to the game room, setting up the WiiU for Mario Kart.
“It’s a classic,” Jason told him, handing Tim a controller. “And it’s not that complicated; I’d never played before I came here, either, Peter and Dick would teach me.”
Tim cocked his head slightly at Peter. “Did you play a lot, growing up?”
Peter shrugged, hesitating for a moment. “Not a lot. A kid I knew mentioned that he was throwing his out because it didn’t work anymore, and his parents had saved up enough to promise him a new console for Christmas. I’m pretty good with tech, so I convinced him to give it to me, and managed to get it mostly working again.”
He’d told the story to Jason once before, so it wasn’t as hard as the first time; talking about his home world seemed to get both easier and harder with every instance.
They went through a quick tutorial of the controls before picking an easier track to get Tim started with. There was definitely no need to go easy on him; despite his nerves, by the end of the first tournament Tim had climbed his way from last to fifth place.
“Not bad, Timmy.” Jason held out his hand for a fist bump. “You’re a quick learner. Guess that was a given, though, with where you are in school.” He passed a not-quite-subtle glance Peter’s way.
Peter frowned, speedrunning through connecting the dots at the implication. He blinked rapidly when it hit him, as if his brain had to reset to accommodate the information.
Gotham Academy had separate sections for elementary, middle and high school. Jason was in his first year of middle school. Tim, two years younger than Jason, should not have been in middle school.
Tim glanced at them, before shrugging humbly. “I like analyzing patterns, I guess, seeing what the characters will do next. It’s interesting.”
“You’ll get plenty of practice the next times you come over,” Jason said.
“The . . . next times?”
“Of course.” Jason grinned. “It’s not often I find someone at that school that I tolerate, so I’ve got to take advantage of the occasion. I mean, if you want to, of course.”
“I–y-yeah.” Tim stuttered, his hand tapping nervously over the forward and back button. “If-if you’re sure. I’d like that, if you were sure.”
“Super sure,” Jason promised.
They were interrupted halfway through a Battle round–the two younger boys ruthlessly ganging up on Peter–by Bruce knocking gently on the doorframe that dinner was ready, Alfred finishing setting the table. Peter wondered if Bruce noted the way that Tim tensed at the knock, quickly returning his controller to its spot and jumping to his feet to follow them. Maybe one could attribute it to excitement for Alfred’s roast, but he doubted such an assumption would be good enough for The World’s Greatest Detective.
Peter patiently waited until the initial dinner politeness had faded–thanks and compliments for the food, asking for platters to be passed around, another quietly earnest thank you from Tim to Bruce for letting him stay for dinner–to continue Jason’s earlier implication.
“By the way Tim, how old are you?”
Tim swallowed his bite of potato. “I’m nine years old.”
“Big year, almost to double digits. And you’re in sixth grade with Jason, right?”
“Yes–” Tim hesitated, Peter getting the feeling he was narrowly avoiding saying ‘yes, sir.’ “I completed the placement test over the winter break, and started in Gotham Academy’s middle school this January.”
“That’s very impressive, Tim,” Bruce praised. “You should be proud. Do you have a favorite subject in school?”
Peter silently congratulated Bruce; the subtle topic switch made Tim relax slightly as he described a project they were about to start in science he was excited for, and a technique he’d heard about he hoped his photography teacher would expand on.
He didn’t say specifically, but it was clear he didn’t have any classes with Jason; even before they knew about their little stalker, Jason would have taken note of such a small, smart new kid in his classes.
Bruce excused himself after dinner, reminding Tim that he was welcome to stay longer, and to let Alfred know when he needed a ride. Unsurprisingly, Tim thanked them once more for their hospitality but said he had to get back home to take care of a few things and get his homework done.
“I’ll see you at school,” Jason said, scribbling his phone number down on a note shoving it towards Tim so that the kid had to grab it or let it fall to the floor. “We can meet up in the library again, okay?”
“O-okay.” Tim waved as he left, his fingers curling slightly in a way that once again reminded Peter of his age, that no matter how many grades he skipped he was still nine years old.
Bruce was back at the table when they returned to the dining room, looking more like Batman ready for a debrief. He gestured for them to sit, waiting until they did to speak.
“I’d like to hear your thoughts on what you observed in this preliminary period.”
Coming from someone else, it would have been a pretentious way of asking “did you
have fun with your new friend?” If only it was so simple.
“He gives the vibes of a damp Victorian dog turned human.”
Bruce sighed. “Anything more specific to report, Jason?”
Jason rolled his eyes, as if annoyed that Bruce hadn’t gotten the image immediately.
“He’s all quiet and insecure, and it doesn’t seem like he has any other friends. He’s nervous around you and presumably other adults, though was really excited to meet Peter, and at the thought of meeting Dick.”
“I might be off, here,” Peter started, “but it seemed more like he thought he was supposed to be proud of skipping two grades than actually being proud or happy about it. Like someone had told him it’d look good on a resume or a college application.”
“He seemed confident in what he was talking about,” Bruce said. “I’m inclined to believe he genuinely earned his spot in the sixth grade, and not that his parents bought his way up.”
“But it’s Gotham Academy,” Jason insisted. “Those kids are sharks, and Timmy’s the little vulnerable fish swimming around a head and a half shorter than everyone else. Smart or no, he should still be around kids his own age.”
“Don’t underestimate him too much–this is the same kid that’s been running around rooftops on his own for who knows how long,” Peter reminded. “Speaking of: should I try to talk to him on patrol again?”
Bruce shook his head. “We don’t need to call his attention to us again too soon; we also don’t need anyone else seeing Batman and Spiderman talking to a young boy, and to risk inviting others’ attention onto him. We keep an eye on him, both during the day and at night. Jason can ensure he’s being kept safe at school, we’ll be here after school, and will make sure no harm comes to him at night. Until we know more, that’s all we can do.”
Peter nodded in acknowledgement, but wasn’t ready to let them be done quite yet. “You said we’d talk about what you knew about the Drakes later. Have you met them before? You said Tim had been at one of your galas last year.”
“Yes. As Alfred told you, the Drakes are technically our next-door neighbors. Jack and Janet are archaeologists for Drake Industries, relatively new money in the city. Like many other wealthy families, they’re more than a little preoccupied with their public image, and I would guess they’ve tried to raise Tim to carry the same values.”
“Do you think they forced him to skip those grades?” Jason asked. “So that they could brag to their friends how smart their kid is?”
“It’s possible, yes. But that’s why you’ll be there to look out for him, right Jaylad?”
Jason nodded decisively, mumbling something under his breath that would have had Alfred bringing out the swear jar.
“Good. Thank you for looking out for him, boys. Let’s go get ready; Peter, I expect you to keep me updated on him throughout the night–”
“To keep us updated! Like hell am I missing out on comms tonight.”
Bruce smiled, letting Batman reporting face slip a bit. “Yes. Keep us updated.”
/*/*/*/*/
There weren’t many similar gaming or relaxing afternoons in the following days. Maybe they should have seen coming that, with presumably strict rich parents, Tim got visibly anxious in the following days if they tried to get him to play games or even have a snack before starting whatever homework he had that day. They managed to–mostly–convince him that Alfred wouldn’t mind if they snacked while they did homework, though if Alfred was in the kitchen Tim would still look up every few moments, as if to make sure it was still okay to have peanut butter so close to his assignments.
At first, it had seemed like Tim’s anxiety or lack of knowledge when it came to common kid things sometimes irritated or frustrated Jason; the brief notion had been swiftly cut down when Jason had come into his room one night after Tim had gone home.
“Hey, Jay.” Peter had tried not to frown at the way his little brother’s face pinched. It had been a bit of a long day of daytime patrolling, and he made sure to keep his wince inside as Jason knocked a bit into his bruised ribs. “What’s up?”
Jason shrugged, fiddling with the tip of the blanket. “Has Bruce been looking into Tim’s parents more?”
“I’m not sure,” Peter’d admitted. “I can ask him again in the morning. Why? Did Tim say something about them?”
“Not really. Bruce came in while we were taking a break from homework, though. He forgot to knock before starting to ask us something, and Tim instantly got so quiet. He pulled his book closer to him, held his pencil tighter, stuff like that.”
Peter had nodded in sympathy, remembering their conversation after Tim’s first time coming over. Tim’s parents probably wouldn’t have been too pleased with him taking a break from his homework to have fun.
“Did Bruce see his reaction? I doubt he’ll forget to knock again, if he did.”
“Probably, I guess. It just–” he’d hesitated, his lower lip shaking slightly. Ignoring the twinge in his ribs, Peter had wrapped an arm around Jason, pulling the younger boy close. “It just kinda reminded me of Dad. Of Willis. When he’d be tired, or drunk, or whatever, and decide I was playing too loudly, or too in the way, or whatever justification he’d had.”
Peter had tensed. He’d had yet to hear a good story about Willis Todd. “Are you saying you think Tim’s parents hurt him?”
Jason had shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe they just yell and stuff. Bruce says that as much as it sucks, CPS isn’t going to pull Tim from his parents just cause they’re strict or have high expectations.”
Peter believed it, especially with how thin the Gotham foster system was already stretched, how unreliable and unsafe it already was.
“He’s got us now,” was all he’d been able to say. “And he’s lucky to have you looking out for him.”
Though it might not happen as often as they liked, patches of Tim’s personality and interests still managed to shine through, whether it was Jason getting Tim to start rambling about the attack patterns in Super Smash Bros, or Peter learning that Tim had always wanted to learn to skateboard but his parents had said it was uncouth.
The more they learned, the more Peter started to see himself in little Timothy Drake. Too smart for their own good, without many friends–they even had some of the same interests.
Even with the stress of trying to get the little scholar out of his shell and out of his head, the days were definitely the fun part compared to nighttime patrols.
In addition to tracking down a drug shipment that Gordon said had gone missing–they all suspected a couple of guys on the police force, just needed more evidence and to actually find the dang things–responding to gun shots from blocks away, and staking out some of Scarecrow’s old haunts to see if anyone knew where he was lurking around now, they also had to worry not about the fact that they had a stalker, but that he was their tiny nine year old neighbor running around in some of the worst parts of the city. Just because Tim hadn’t gotten hurt following them before didn’t mean it wasn’t all Peter could imagine now, and he kept as much of his attention as possible on listening for the quiet running footsteps or the quick shutter of a camera lens.
Though he mostly tried to keep to Batman’s warning and not draw too much attention to Tim by talking to him all the time, he couldn’t resist checking in at least a couple of times when a patrol hit a slow spot.
He glanced behind and below him at the fire escape of a nearby building, where a little shadowed face peeked out from between the bars, a camera clutched carefully in his hands.
“Wanna come with?” He asked Batman, who had finished zip-tying the unconscious would-be assailant. “You know how cool he thinks you are, too.”
Batman grunted, flicking his eyes to the roof above Tim’s head before grappling in that direction; Peter grinned, swinging directly to the wall next to Tim.
He landed in a sideways crouch on the wall, Tim whipping his head around with a gasp. He immediately held his camera up, flashing it in Peter’s face, Peter suspected before he quite knew he was doing it.
“Geez, trying to blind a guy, Alvin? Is that the real reason a criminal hasn’t gotten you by now, because you flashbang them first?”
“Sorry, Mr. Spiderman!” Tim quickly tucked his camera away, the red in his cheeks deepening in a mad blush.
Peter shook his head; the kid was slowly getting better at not calling them Mr–except for Bruce, of course–but if he got startled or especially nervous around them it would slip out in their vigilante lives, too.
“Batman’s waiting for us up top if you want to show us tonight’s pictures,” he offered, holding out a hand in offer.
They might not get to do it often, but Peter loved hearing about Tim’s photography when he could. He planned on telling him soon, as Peter, that he’d dabbled a bit in photography himself–before he’d let Spiderman take over his life, at least. He’d have to have Tim give him some tips sometime.
“Really?” Tim asked, as he always did. “Don’t you guys have something you need to do?”
Peter shrugged. “We’ve wrapped up our cases for the night. If there’s something urgent we need to help with, we’ll go, but we’d be happy to hang out tonight while we have the chance.”
It hurt, how hesitant Tim still was to accept sometimes, how wavering he still was to accept that someone might genuinely want to hear about his interests or hobbies.
Peter tried to let his smile show through his mask when Tim finally nodded, grabbing onto Peter’s hand and letting him swing them up to the roof where Batman was waiting.
They settled in the shadows of the rooftop together after a minute, Peter nodding along to Tim’s explanation of how he’d gotten each shot, the effects he’d chosen; he could feel Batman’s lingering disapproval as Tim spoke, especially at the parts where Tim described being a bit too close to the action, but they both knew that trying to keep Tim safe out here had a better chance of working than getting him to stop entirely, especially while they were doing this annoying dance with their identities.
He smiled at the thought of Tim stubbornly refusing to stop, of continuing to double down as Alvin Draper, of refusing to give them much information about himself–it reminded him a bit too much of himself, honestly, for better or worse.
Peter could accept the similarities, though; at least he knew he could be there to keep Tim from repeating too many of Peter’s reckless mistakes.