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Tim is very much aware that he obsesses easily.
It’s the fatal combination of his genes, his vast amount of resources (thank you, parents! ) and his endlessly clear schedule; it’s just so easy, then, to fall when the subject is unbearably fascinating. If anyone asks why, he’d probably say that his family is predisposed to addiction. Good thing no one’s there to ask. Tim can just traipse along through his day without anyone minding where he is—the way Tim prefers it, to be honest.
His parents wouldn’t care where he is anyway. They’re always throwing some new gadget at him before disappearing off to another work trip. If they care about where he is at all times—and where he goes when he’s supposed to be sleeping—they would simply ask him.
They haven’t asked him.
They haven’t asked much about him. Not for a long time. His parents probably still think he’s seven when, really, his birthday was three months ago. But Tim can’t begrudge them for this one thing when they provide him with everything else in excess. That's much more than what other people get. He shouldn’t be picky; it’s just how things are in their house.
And Tim is okay with that, somewhat. Whenever he feels down about it, all he needs to do is boot up his computer, and there, at his fingertips, is his one-stop-shop for the emotional equivalent of a hug.
Robinmyheart 22:48 pm
Great chapter! I really love the way you described Gotham! I’m a Gothamite and I wouldn’t be able to describe it half as well as you do. And the fight between Robin and Killer Croc! I can’t wait to see what’s next!
Hot Toddy 09:39 am
Thanks! It's going to be a while before I find time to type the next chapter. I appreciate the comment though!
Tim found Hot Toddy while google-searching ‘Robin.’ He was in neck deep, on page thirty eight of the search, when he found a fanfiction archive with a dedicated section for superheroes. Fictional stories exploring ideas and adventures about his favourite people; Batman and Robin. The word count of these stories is enough to reel him in; they’re comparable in size to published novels. Tim foresees hours upon hours of his future poured into these stories.
The thought almost kicks him out of his seat. Excitement suffocates his yawns, and Tim clicks on the first link he sees.
A Study in Red (and Green and Yellow) by Hot Toddy
A story inspired Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, if Tim had to guess from the title. He grabs a blanket from his bed, settles in his seat, and begins reading.
The next time Tim glances at the clock, it’s four fifty-two in the morning, and Tim doesn't have a single regretful bone in his body.
Robinmyheart 19:05 pm
Another great chapter!! You’re killing me with the suspense! I hope Robin’s okay :( but he’s a wily guy I have all my faith in him. Thanks for uploading!
Robinmyheart 16:32 pm
I can’t believe this oneshot doesn’t have more hits. I loved everything about it!
Robinmyheart 02:58 am
;_; I shouldn’t have started reading this before bed.
Robinmyheart 03:47 am
I’ve seen Robin running around in real life, and the way you’ve described him is just so… spot on!! He’s everything like in this fic and more. Thank you for uploading!
Robinmyheart 10:01 am
My tenth reread and it’s still so so good!!! :’)
Robinmyheart 10:01 am
I can’t believe you ended it on another cliff-hanger! That’s so evil! Scarecrow’s no match for Robin but his toxin is nasty so I hope he’ll be okay!
There are other authors of course. Other authors that can make him cry with a single sentence, laugh with a few words, and make him forget about ever wanting human contact for the next week—no, the next month with a single update notice. Those authors, he tracks down obsessively on the internet, so that he can keep track of their work. They’re also so plentiful, so engaging and vivid, that Tim never notices how silent his house is when his parents are away. It’s the perfect mood-lifter for whenever Tim needs one.
Still, for Tim, nothing will ever compare to Hot Toddy’s works and the emotions they always evoke in such few words.
Hot Toddy is the author he always comes back to. Every read of Hot Toddy’s stories feels like the first time, and after tracking down what little of their online footprints, Tim is convinced that Hot Toddy is a Gothamite like himself. Only a fellow Gothamite could describe the city as accurately and as oddly captivatingly as Hot Toddy does. Tim can already feel himself coughing from the Gotham smog from reading about it.
Imagine if Tim accidentally bumped into Hot Toddy in real life. What would he even say? Who expects their biggest (self-professed) online fan to be this tiny eight year old boy? Starstruck, Tim would probably just gape and run away. It’s a terrifying thought to imagine.
(A terrifyingly amazing thought to imagine.)
Although, from what Hot Toddy mentioned about themselves in replies to other commenters—all of which Tim has read, that’s how deep he has fallen—Hot Toddy doesn’t have much time to spare online. They write with pen and paper, type it up using the computers in the local library, update it, and go. That explains why their update schedule is so sporadic. Sometimes, Hot Toddy mentions running out of pen and paper, and how acquiring those things is half the struggle.
Tim wonders what Hot Toddy’s living situation is like. Do they live in the shoddier parts of the city? What are they like? How old are they? He’s a fellow Gothamite with (his parent’s) disposable income—he can help!
But that in itself presents another problem. Tim has no guarantee that Hot Toddy isn’t some strange creep on the internet, and neither can Hot Toddy do the same. They haven’t even talked outside of comments between their stories. He doesn’t even know if Hot Toddy is a boy, girl or even enby! He’s just a random stranger to Hot Toddy. Without establishing friendly contact, why would Hot Toddy ever accept anything from him?
Without establishing any kind of contact outside of fic comments, why would Hot Toddy even want to talk to him?
He’s getting ahead of himself. His dreams are running away from him and becoming too unrealistic. Tim’s just an eight year old hiding behind a computer screen. He’s not even old enough to sign up. Heck, he’s not old enough to be on the website. He should respect the distance and anonymity that the internet gives him and stray far, far away from getting closer.
At the end of the day, reading has to be enough for him. It’s the only thing Tim can give Hot Toddy right now. Tim hopes that it is enough for Hot Toddy to keep on writing, because Tim can't imagine spending his days without reading his favourite stories.
Then Hot Toddy stops updating for a year, and Tim worries enough that he finally types out a private message. He leaves a couple ‘Reread again! Hope you’re still writing’ reviews and waits for some form of activity to surface.
After a second of debate, he even dedicates a whole afternoon to saving copies of Hot Toddy’s fics scattered around five different websites.
In that year, a whole lot of things happens. His parents gives him a camera which jump-starts his photography hobby. Their workload increases. Dick Grayson moves to Bludhaven and Robin becomes Nightwing. Batman adopts a new Robin. Bruce Wayne adopts a new son; Jason Wayne-Todd.
Briefly, Tim wonders if Jason and Hot Toddy could be the same person, but he dismisses it. It’s just his wishful thinking without a shred of proof other than the similarities in their names.
He keeps checking the websites, keeps hoping that there’s some sort of activity on the multiple archives Hot Toddy has posted, only to find himself disappointed. Their stories never update. Hot Toddy disappears from their stories, and soon, their stories disappear from the net.
Life moves on, even though Tim can’t do the same.
It’s foolish, the way it’s feels like Hot Toddy’s carved a hole in his chest. They’re strangers and nothing more; Tim has no business feeling so hollow and vacant now that Hot Toddy’s off the net. He can only hope for the best with Hot Toddy. Gotham is a dangerous city, after all. It's horrible to think that they had an encounter which left them hurt.
Wherever they are, Tim hopes they are safe.
This must be what heartbreak feels like.
It’s possible that Tim has the only copies of Hot Toddy’s fanfictions—the only copies of the stories that were so crucial to his childhood. He has them triple encrypted on his cloud so that he can access anywhere he is. Now that he’s older, the flaws of Hot Toddy’s works are obvious; Hot Toddy was probably very young when they wrote them despite his bountiful amount of talent and potential. But it’s still comfort food. It still feels like the first time reading it.
After all these years, Tim is still captivated.
Tim is aware, idly, that Jason started asking him stuff at some point, but Tim’s already neck deep in Hot Toddy’s epicfic, and he’s not resurfacing until he’s reached the point where it’s discontinued and he ends up staring at the wall in emptiness for the next forty minutes.
Maybe Jason won’t notice that he’s not listening if Tim hums every five minutes or so.
“So you agree that I’m the better driver and I’m allowed to borrow Redbird after dinner?” Jason asks. “Thanks, Tim. Honestly never thought this day would come.”
“What?” Tim says, snapping back into attention. “Wait. Heck no! I never agreed to this.”
Jason gives him a look that says, ‘yeah, duh.’ “Welcome back to reality, Timbo.”
“Ugh,” Tim says. “I regret it already.”
“Did you hear what I said before?”
Stretching his legs on the couch, he asks, “About?”
“The group chat, Tim. Didn’t you read the group chat?”
Unfortunately, he hasn’t been reading the group chat, he’s been having a nice time reading fics. Speaking of, Tim goes back to reading and he hears Jason sighing in the back. Even though Jason’s leaning on the kitchen isle, behind the couch, Tim can imagine the sulky look he’s throwing at him.
“Seriously,” Jason says. “Focus, please. Steph’s coming in like an hour or so, and we still can’t find her wallet.”
“Yeah, in like an hour or so,” Tim says, eyes still on his phone. “Plenty of time to find her wallet by then.”
“Not if we want to be early for this booking we’re not.”
“We will. The booking’s in, like, two hours,” Tim says. “Steph probably left her wallet in her car or something. She always does that, then she always messages the group chat before she actually checks it. She’ll find it soon enough.”
“No, she hasn’t,” Jason says, exasperated. “She said she’s checke—”
Jason’s interrupted by the ding of his phone. From the seething silence that follows suit, Tim already knows he’s right.
He doesn’t stop himself from grinning. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
Grudgingly, Jason says, “It wasn’t in her car though.”
“But she found it right?”
“Shut up, Tim.”
“I was right. I knew it.”
“You were right,” Jason mutters. “You’re also goddamn infuriating.”
“But you agree that I’m right, and you can’t take it back,” Tim says. “Now stop engaging with me for, like, twenty minutes. I’m trying to read.”
There’s a wary silence in the back, wary because it tells Tim that Jason’s gone into stealth mode. Stealth-mode Jason, other than a uniform consisting solely of black, means that Tim spares twenty percent of his concentration trying to listen out for him. After two seconds of hearing nothing, Tim resettles himself on the couch.
Then, a voice right behind him says, “Holy shit. Are you reading fanfiction about us?”
Tim yelps, quickly swiping out of the application. “Nope—”
“You were,” Jason accuses, squinting at him. “I saw the word Batman and quotation marks. And that’s definitely not set out like an opinion piece.”
Tim holds the phone against his chest. “Welp, really? Didn’t notice that at all.”
“Tim.”
“Is that Stephanie I hear knocking on the door? I think you better go check—”
“Tim.”
“Yes, Jason?” Tim asks. “My most dashing, generously considerate friend.”
“You have two choices,” Jason says. “We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. What’s it going to be?”
Tim thinks on his choices. “Is there a friendly way?” Tim asks hopefully.
Jason dives for the phone.
“Jason!”
Tim scrambles back holding the phone as farther away as his short limbs possibly could, but it’s too no avail. By sheer bulk and dexterity, and probably all the times he had to wrestle his own phone away from Dick Octopus-Limbs Grayson, Jason yanks the phone from Tim’s hand and sits on top of him. The ultimate position reserved only for victors of combat, as Damian likes to call it.
“Jason, you’re crushing me,” Tim says. “I am,” he wheezes, “a delicate lily flower.”
“Your cuddle pile includes Kon and Cassie. Try again.”
“I’m turning into a pancake, Jason! A pancake!”
“You ass is already flat, Tim. Nothing different from normal.”
Tim flails his legs. “How dare you!”
“Please lay still. You’re not being a very considerate chair right now, gremlin,” Jason says, tapping away on Tim’s phone. “Ooh, facial recognition.” He aims the phone at Tim’s face. “Cheese.”
"Devil.”
“Hacker voice, I’m in,” Jason says, then he cackles at his own joke, like the big, heavy, dork he is. “I can’t wait for this! You give me so much shit for reading romance novels when all this time you’ve been hiding away your sordid, explicit SuperBat fics—”
“Super—what? ” Tim asks. “ Who? ”
“Different show, Tim. Get with the program,” Jason says. “Don’t act like you’re new to this.”
Tim groans in frustration. “Alright, fine . But I would never read about Bruce and Clark like that!”
“Uh huh.”
“I only read Robin fics!”
“You read fics about yourself? Weird, but okay.”
“Other Robins, Jay! Not me!”
“Sure thing, baby bird.”
“Ugh, you know what? I’m not even ashamed about it. It was great and it practically made my childhood,” Tim says. “I mean, the fics are not even up on the net anymore, but I like the nostalgia of them! Every read’s like the first time—uh, Jason.” Tim strains his neck trying to look at him. “Jason? You’re quiet all of a sudden.”
Jason doesn’t seem to hear him, staring intently at his phone.
“Jason?”
“Hmm,” Jason says suddenly. “What? Sorry? You were talking?”
“…Jason, you okay there? Is something wrong?” Tim asks, because Jason’s outspoken, bold, and brash, and silent is a worrying look on him. “Do you…” Tim swallows. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“It’s nothing,” Jason croaks. “It’s just,” Jason says as he scrolls down, “it’s all by one person.”
“Hey,” Tim says. “That's a piece of my childhood over there. Hot Toddy was a great writer, okay? They were fairly young, it’s pretty obvious now, since their stuff is riddled with plot holes and mistakes.”
“Riddled with plot holes and mistakes? ” Jason asks, offended.
“But it has heart. So much heart,” Tim says. “Oh man, it still haunts me to this day. I’ll never know if Robin escaped Scarecrow or if Batman came to save him. I mean, Scarecrow’s no match for Robin, but his toxin’s nasty, so I hope Robin will get out of it alright.”
Jason blinks at Tim’s statement. Then he stares at Tim and leans back. “No fucking way,” Jason mutters under his breath, completely astounded. “There’s no fucking way.”
“You’re getting quiet again.”
“This is unbelievable!” Jason says, pointing his phone at him. “Unbelievable! What the hell are the odds of this shit happening!”
Tim tries to wiggle away. “A little help would be appreciated, Jay.”
“But that’s them,” Jason slaps Tim’s chest excitedly with every point, “You sounded exactly like them!”
“Mercy,” Tim says weakly.
“You’re Robinmyheart!”
“Yes…?” Tim says. “I mean, that’s a weird way to put it, but yes? I have your heart? We’re dating?”
“No!” Jason says, although he changes position so that he straddles Tim with his wonderfully muscled thighs.
Tim's getting so many mixed messages right now.
"No!” Jason says again, clutching Tim’s shirt. “You don’t get it.”
“I really don’t.”
“Your username was Robinmyheart, ” Jason says, excitedly. “You used to comment on all of my fics! Sometimes even more than three times on the same fic! Man, you bloated up my email!”
Then Jason pulls him into a deep kiss, warm and sweet, licking into his mouth like it is lined with thick honey. All thoughts of ‘you’re welcome’ and ‘man, you’re weird today ’ dissolve under a wave of heat, and little Timmy is this close to waking up from the attention.
They break apart panting, mouths wet and lips puffy. Tim is confused and hot all over, so it takes a while until his brain finally catches up with him.
“Oh my god,” Tim says, flushing redder than before. “Oh my god, I’m such an idiot—”
Jason sneaks a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth before grinning, wide and toothy. “Hell yeah, you are.”
“Jason Todd. Hot Toddy ,” Tim says. “Hot Toddy!”
“I had to give up writing about Robin when I took up the mantle,” Jason says. “Bruce wouldn’t let me continue. Didn’t want anything that could jeopardise my identity. Writing by hand and the library computers was such a pain in the neck, but it was worth it seeing your comments.”
“Hot Toddy,” Tim whispers, still dumbstruck.
“Is that all you’re going to say now?” Jason asks fondly. “Now that you got the real deal on top of you?”
That is a very good question. Tim will tuck the fact in the back of his brain to unpack for another time.
Because he will need to unpack that, at some point. His mind is still reeling from the odds. Out of all the people on the internet and it’s Jason—the same Jason who was his other childhood hero, Robin.
Tim still can't believe it. Gotham is such a small world, it’s ridiculous—
“We have thirty minutes until Steph arrives,” Jason reminds him. “Tell your mind to zip it, please.”
Tim nods. “Cool, cool, consider my mind zipped. Although,” Tim says, halting Jason’s kiss with a finger on his lips. “Do you still have the drafts of your old fics, by any chance?”
He can feel the puff of air against his finger as Jason sighs. “Seriously, Tim?” Jason asks. “Right now? Thirty minutes. ”
“Just curious,” Tim assures him. “I’m not saying your chances of a blow job would significantly increase if you say yes. But. They might.”
“I have the drafts, the overarching plans, and all the spinoffs I wanted to write for it in storage somewhere,” Jason says. “Robin completely wrecks Scarecrow and gets his redemption arc. There? You happy?”
It’s like music to his ears, a choir of angels singing from above. It’s the culmination of years of longing and wanting and wondering all condensed down to a single, concentrated point.
It is, quite honestly, the hottest thing Jason has said to him all morning.
Tim shudders. “Oh yeah,” he breathes out, leaning closer. “I’m definitely happy.”