Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tim was sad when his parents died in a plane crash. Not devastated, as most children would be upon losing their parents, just sad. The Drakes had been globetrotters, and were rarely home. Timothy barely even knew them. No, Tim wasn't very upset. He was more concerned about what would happen to him now. There was no way that Child Protection Services would just let him live in the Drake Mansion with no one other than the housekeeper, Mrs Mac, who only came on Mondays and Wednesdays.

Presently, Tim was sitting on his bed reading a book. A packed suitcase rested beside him. He was waiting for his case worker to come pick him up.

"Timothy?" There she was. He closed and marked the book. "Are you ready to go?"

Tim nodded, stood, and grabbed his suitcase.

"Follow me." She led the way out of the house to her car. "You're a very lucky boy, Timothy," she told him. "Normally, you would spend at least a little time in the foster system, but someone has already offered to take you in."

Tim looked up at her in surprise. "Who?"

"Bruce Wayne himself. We're headed to his manor now."

Tim sat back in the seat of the car in shock. He knew about Bruce and his two adopted sons, of course. Who didn't? Plus, the Drake Mansion was about five miles away from the grounds of Wayne Manor, and he had been to several parties there over the years on his absent parents' behalf. He had even met the man. But... "Why would Mr Wayne want to take me in?"

The woman shrugged. "Honestly, sweetheart, I'd just be glad that it's happening if I were you. Anything is better for you than getting stuck in foster care."

Tim nodded and turned his head to look out of the window at the willow trees lining his driveway. He figured that it was the last he would be seeing of them for a while. The driveway (four-mile-long road) leading to Wayne Manor was lined with ancient oaks, not the friendly willows. The oaks seemed like dark guardians to Tim; protecting the equally ancient manor house from intruders. They were imposing, to say the least.

The giant front doors were maple; carved with intricate designs. Tim examined a particularly detailed carving of a tree full of bats until Wayne's elderly butler opened the door it was on.

"Ah, Miss Strafford, Master Timothy. Do come in. We've been expecting you." He stood aside to admit them and they obliged him and entered. "I am Alfred Pennyworth. Master Bruce employs me to look after this manor and the people in it," he explained to Tim. "As of today, that includes you."

Tim nodded absently; distracted by the two older boys who came dashing down the stairs. "Alfred!" the older one called, "Is that him?"

The butler's mouth twitched into a tiny smile. "Indeed, Master Richard, it is. Master Timothy, if you wouldn't mind staying with the young masters while I see Miss Strafford to the study. They can show you to your room." He turned to the social worker. "This way, if you please, Miss."

The adults walked off and Tim was left alone with the two boys.
Up close, he could see the way the shadows clung to them. They seemed sharper- that was the only way Tim could describe it- than a normal person, but they were also uncannily beautiful. Though their porcelain-pale skin looked downright unnatural to Tim.
The elder of the two boys had an effortless charm about him that made Tim nervous. That smile was the kind of smile that men and women would die for. It was terrifying. Tim could practically feel that charm, like an undertow, slowly but surely subverting his will until he wanted more than anything to please this beautiful person. He shook his head and snapped out of it.

The younger one was no better. He was less unnaturally beautiful than roughly handsome in an extremely intimidating way. A way that made Tim fearful of defying him.

They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment before Tim gathered his courage to break the silence. "Hi. I'm Tim Drake."

The older boy completely ignored the hand he offered to shake and crushed him in a hug.

"Can't... Breathe!" Tim croaked. He added abnormally strong to the list of things about these people that were... Off.

The younger boy scolded the older one. "Not so hard, Dickie Bird."

Tim gasped for air when he was let go. "Ouch."

"Sorry 'bout that," the younger one apologized. "That's Richard and I'm Jason. As if you didn't already know."

Richard's pouty face broke into a bright grin. "You can call me Dick. It's-"

"Short for Richard," Tim finished.

"Actually," Dick corrected, "I was going to say that it's what everybody calls me."

Tim shrugged. "Heh. Close enough. You know, I kinda figured you guys wouldn't be very happy to have me come barging into your lives."

"Are you kidding?" Jason asked. "Now maybe Perky over here will squash someone else for a change."

Dick's pout came back and he draped himself over his younger brother. "Aw, Jay! But I thought you loved me!"

"Get. Off. Now," Jason growled.

Tim couldn't stifle the tiny laugh that escaped him. Jason glared. "Sorry" he apologized. "It's just that, I've never seen anyone act like you two do before."

Dick's eyes widened and he let go of Jason, who moved a safe distance away. "Never?"

Tim shook his head. "Nope."

"But- but," Dick stammered, "Didn't your parents ever do stuff like that?"

Tim shrugged. "Maybe with each other. Never around me."

Jason interrupted Dick's spluttering. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold it, kid. You mean to tell me that your parents never hugged you?"

Tim thought about it. "I think my mom did once, and the housekeeper did a few times."

Dick grabbed him up and squished him. "Aw, you poor baby." He was going to be sure to hug Timothy every chance he got. This kid needed physical affection, and so long as Dick was around that was what he was going to get.

"Not so hard, Dick," Jason said with concern. When his brother let go he ruffled Tim's hair. Tim batted at his hand and he chuckled. "Get used to it, kid. You're gonna be getting a lot of that around here. Maybe not so much from Bruce, but definitely from us."

Tim sighed. "Fine. I don't really see what the big deal is." He didn't. Yeah, his parents had kind of neglected him a little. So what? He had been perfectly happy for the most part. Though he had to admit that all this was kind of nice. It would be better if Richard didn't hug so hard.

Jason clamped a hand over Dick's mouth to stifle his protests. "Come on, we'll show you to your room."

Tim followed the brothers up the massive, ornate staircase and down a series of hallways to a guest room next to their bedrooms. It was boring and impersonal; empty of all the little details that would make it look lived in. But it was very nice. Nicer than any of the guest rooms in the Drake Mansion. Dick said that they would help Tim decorate it however he wanted. Tim told them that he would just put up some of his photos. He showed them his camera.

Jason took it and inspected it. "Cool. You do photography?"

Tim nodded. "I found that thing years ago in a trash can when I was out walking around Gotham City Park. I fixed it, set up a darkroom in my basement, and taught myself how to use it. It took a while, but I got the hang of it eventually. With the help of some library books."

"Sweet," Jason said and tossed the camera back to him. "Anything else you like to do?"

"Um... I like to read. And exploring the city is fun. A little risky, but I'm good at keeping my head down. I took a year of karate when I was younger, until my parents found out and made me quit. I can't think of anything else."

"What did you do all day?"

"Most days I walked around Gotham. If it was raining really hard or something I would stay inside and read, but most of the time I was out in the city." He walked over to the window and stared at the distant city. "I know my way around pretty well. You'd be surprised what you can find out there when you look."

Dick took the camera from where Tim had set it down on the bed and turned it over in his hands, examining every inch of it. "You know, Bruce would probably get you a new camera if you asked."

"I don't need one," Tim said. "That one still works well enough. There's no reason to get a new one until the one I have stops working."

Dick shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Tim looked around at the room and asked Alfred, whom he spotted standing in the entrance, a question. "Would it be possible for me to go back home and get some of my stuff? All I brought is the stuff they let you take into foster care. And my camera." Speaking of his camera, he retrieved it from Dick and set it gently down on the night table.

"Of course, sir." Alfred's voice made the other two boys jump. "Master Bruce would like to see you in the study, Master Timothy."

"Okay," Tim said. He followed the butler through the confusing labyrinth of hallways to the study. Alfred ushered him in, announced him, and left. "What do you need?" Tim asked politely.

Bruce stood and walked over to him, and Tim noticed immediately that he shared most, if not all, of his sons' unnatural qualities. "Timothy-"

"It's Tim. Please."

"Tim," Bruce corrected, "I need to know if you're okay with me adopting you."

Tim blinked. Well. This was sudden. "Uh, sure. I have no problem with it."

Miss Strafford sighed in relief. "Wonderful. We need you to sign the adoption papers, please, Timothy. To make it official."

Tim didn't even bother to correct her, just took the pen and signed his name on the line beneath Bruce's. "There. Was there anything else?"

Miss Strafford took the papers, looked them over, and shook her head. "No. That's everything." She looked up at Bruce, who towered over her. "I need to get back to the office and file this. It'll take awhile to get it processed, but I have no doubts that this will go though without a hitch."

Bruce shook her hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you. Alfred will show you out." As soon as she was gone he turned to Tim. "You're sure you're okay with this?"

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Would I have signed if I wasn't?"

Bruce raised an elegant eyebrow of his own right back. "I don't know. Would you?"

"Probably not. But I might have. Anything is better than ending up in the foster system."

Bruce accepted that statement without any protests or questions.

"Mr Wayne?" Tim asked tentatively.

"Bruce, please."

"Bruce. Why? Why are you taking me in like this? You don't know me. We've talked maybe twice in the past. So why? Why do you care?"

Bruce looked down at Tim and put an hand on his shoulder. "Because I lost my parents when I was your age."

His voice was filled with pain, and Tim couldn't help the little surge of pity that welled up inside him. "I'm sorry," he muttered quietly. He turned his head away.

"It was a long time ago. Come on, Alfred probably has lunch ready by now."

Tim followed. In his head, he filed away the fact that Bruce was obviously still sensitive about the deaths of his parents. As nice as these people had been to him, there was a tiny voice in his head that screamed monster, monster whenever one of them came near. That part of him warned that he needed to be able to take these people down if they proved to be a threat to his safety. Anything that could be used against them was welcome.

So maybe he was a little paranoid. It had come in handy over the years.
Dick and Jason got to the dining room seconds after Bruce and Tim did; laughing and out of breath.

"I win!" Dick said with a huge grin.

"You did not!" protested Jason. "We tied. If anyone won, it was me."

"Nuh huh."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"Boys!" Bruce said.

They stopped and looked down. Tim tried to stifle his amusement at the way they just shut up, but wasn't quite successful. Jason shot him a look and he, too, fell silent.

"Lunch is served," Alfred announced.

They all sat down at the table and Alfred served them their sandwiches. "My apologies, Master Timothy, but I do not yet know what you prefer, so I simply made you a turkey sandwich."

"It's Tim, please," he said. "And I'm not master of anything. Really it's fine. I'm not picky. I can eat whatever."

Alfred gave him a tiny smile. "Very well, Master Tim."

Timothy sighed and gave up. He took a bite of his sandwich and the family watched as his eyes widened. "Wow. Alfred, this is amazing!"

"I am glad that it is to your liking." Alfred's smile widened considerably.

Dick laughed. Jason smirked. Bruce's lips lifted into a faint smile. "He's the best cook ever," they chorused.

After that, there was silence until Dick finished his sandwich. Then he knocked his glass of water over on accident and it spilled all over Jason.

"Why you little @#%&$%@%$%&$#-"

"Jason," Bruce said tiredly. "That's twenty-five dollars in the swear jar."

Tim looked at Jason. "How many languages was that?" he asked curiously.

"Twelve," Dick answered. "He learns them just for the swear words. He can usually get a couple of uses out of them before they get added to the list for the swear jar." He smirked. "The list is about thirteen pages long by now."

Tim shook his head in something akin to amazement. "I only know four languages so far. But I'm working on a fifth."

"Which ones?" Bruce asked, interested.

Tim ticked them off on his fingers. "English, Spanish, Mandarin, French, and I'm working on Arabic."

"I can teach you some Romani," Dick offered.

"Really? That would be great. Thanks."

"Why learn so many languages?" Jason asked. "I'm guessing it isn't for the cuss words."

Tim shrugged. "I don't know. I just like knowing things. And it's not like I had much else to do with my time. Teaching myself languages passed the time on rainy days when I ran out of things I could read. Besides, they may come in handy someday."

Bruce and Alfred exchanged glances.

Jason laughed. "You're gonna fit in around here just fine, kid."

Tim didn't really get it, but he smiled a little anyway.

Dick laughed. "You could say that we're all mad here."

Jason gave his brother a scandalized look. "Tell me you did not just quote Alice in Wonderland."

All too soon, everyone had finished their food and the meal was over. Bruce had to go in to work and Alfred needed to wash the dishes, so Tim was left alone with Dick and Jason, who decided to give him a tour of the Manor. Considering how huge the Manor is, that was going to take a while.

They ignored the areas that didn't ever get used and focused on the important parts, like the pool, the ballroom, and the gym.

And Tim's personal favorite, the library.

"Wow," he breathed. "It's huge!"

Dick nodded, looking smug. "There're books in twenty-six different languages in here. Most of them haven't been touched in centuries."

Jason snorted. "Most of this Manor hasn't been touched in centuries."

Tim looked over at the two of them from his position in front of one of the bookshelves. "Do either of you know why there are bats everywhere?"

Dick froze. "Say what?"

Tim pointed to a carving. "These bats. They're all over the house."

"Bruce thinks they're some sort of family symbol," Jason said, brushing off the question. "I honestly don't know why most of these books are in here. There's a whole section of the library filled with books written in a language that's been dead for a few thousand years. None of us can read them. I don't know why Bruce keeps them around."

Tim wasn't buying his explanation. Especially given the way he changed the subject directly afterward to avoid further questions. He silently vowed to investigate later. It wouldn't hurt to learn his way around. "May I see?" Tim asked, interested.

Jason shrugged. "Why not? Follow me, kid." He walked through the maze of bookcases until he had made his way to a corner reading room. There were more bat motifs here than any other place in the Manor. Tim immediately went to one of the bookshelves and pulled a random book down just to get a look at the language. The book appeared to be some sort of encyclopedia or handbook crossed with a bestiary. He scanned the pages with interest.

After standing there for about five minutes Dick grabbed his arm and started dragging him out of the library.

"Hey!" Tim yelped.

"You can take the book with you," Dick told him, "But I'm bored. Lets go to the gym."

Tim sighed and stopped struggling. "Fine." He was planning on just sitting down and looking through the book, but Jason had other ideas.

"You said you took karate," Jason said. "Wanna spar?"

Tim set the book down on the bench. "Only for a year, and I wasn't all that great. I learned more just walking around Gotham than I ever did in that class."

"Show me what you learned," Jason commanded him.

Almost against his will, Tim stood and walked over to where Jason was standing. Jason dropped into a defensive stance and Tim moved into a defensive position of his own. He let Jason strike first. Just a simple right hook that was easily avoided. Tim kicked out and Jason caught his foot and tossed him. He got up and they started over. And over. And over.

After a couple of times Tim began to notice something about the way Jason moved. His motions were unnaturally quick and smooth and graceful. He hid it well, but it was there. Tim figured that that was part of the reason he was losing, so he adjusted his own movements accordingly in an attempt to counter. It didn't really work, but it helped.

As soon as Jason noticed what he was doing, he called it quits. Tim wasn't going to argue. He was sore from hitting the mats so many times. He sat back down on the bench and picked up the book again, but was distracted by Dick playing around on some gymnastics equipment. Watching, Tim noticed that he moved the same way that Jason did. And he wasn't nearly as good at hiding it.

The closer Tim looked at the two boys, the more he noticed that was off, or just plain wrong. They were stronger, faster, and much more graceful than any normal mortal should be, and they were clearly holding back. There was an entrancing quality to their voices that made Tim sleepy and relaxed.

Tim wished he had a notebook to write this stuff down in. Maybe he could find one somewhere. In the meantime, he went back to looking through that book.

That night, when he probably should have been asleep, Tim heard movement. First in Dick and Jason's rooms, and then in the hallway. He made a split second decision and threw on jeans and a grey hoodie. Without thinking, he grabbed his camera and stuck it in the pocket of his hoodie.

He slipped soundlessly out of his room and followed the brothers into the parlor. Then he lost them. But he was up already, so he decided to head out to the city and walk around for a while.

The walk into Gotham took almost half an hour, and Timothy used that time to sort out what he thought of the people he supposed were his new family. They were nice enough, but they were hiding things from him, and he was determined to find out what.

For about an hour after that he wandered Gotham's alleyways without seeing anything new or interesting. Just the familiar city, cradling him, embracing him. His city. Most people would have been scared, or at least a bit jumpy, but Tim had long ago found that he was just as comfortable walking through Gotham City in the dark as he was strolling along its streets in daytime.

Then Tim spotted him. A man dressed in a black and blue costume running across rooftops. He followed as stealthily as possible, and the man led him to another, older man dressed as a bat.

"Quiet night," remarked the man in black and blue.

"Too quiet," growled the bat. "I don't like it."

The man in black and blue snorted. "Of course you don't. You're Batman. You don't like anything except beating up thugs."

"Stay focused, Nightwing," Batman ordered.

"Sir, yes sir." Nightwing threw a salute and grinned.

Tim shrank further back into the shadows, away from these people. That man, Nightwing, had fangs! "They're vampires," Tim whispered. Suddenly, he had never been so glad to go unseen in his life.

Another man, this one in a red helmet, walked up to them. "Does anyone else feel like this is the calm before the storm?"

Batman nodded. "It's too quiet."

Nightwing thought about it and nodded as well. "It almost feels like we're being watched."

Tim cowered as Batman swept his gaze across the rooftops, but he passed over him and fixated on a point in the opposite direction. "It's a trap," he warned.

They got into a defensive triangle as thugs surged into the open around them and charged. Tim watched in awe as they worked together to systematically knock out every last one. Batman and the vampire in the red helmet mostly used their fists, but occasionally one of them would issue an order and the nearby goons seemed forced to obey it. Nightwing danced around, dodging potentially lethal blows. He laughed and smiled and suddenly the thugs that had just a second before been intent on taking his life were tripping over themselves to tie each other up.

All three of them moved with an uncanny, fluid swiftness. Tim frowned as he watched, wondering why it seemed so familiar.

That trap failed miserably, but it served to show Tim just how skilled those vigilantes are. Nightwing was clearly an acrobat, and the one in the red helmet had a little of his skill, but red helmet and Batman both had very grounded fighting styles that relied more on brute force than Nightwing's graceful dodges and strikes did.

"Red Hood, three o'clock!" Batman ordered.

The one in the red helmet pulled out a gun and shot a thug attempting to sneak up on him between the eyes. Tim clamped a hand over his mouth to stop any sound from escaping. Then the man groaned and Red Hood stalked over to tie him up.

"Rubber bullets," thought Tim. "So these people really don't kill."

They conversed in low tones for a moment before each choosing a thug. Tim turned away when they bit; unable to watch as they drank and feeling vaguely sick. When he turned back, they were gone.
He headed back to the Manor, turning the events of the night over in his head. Hoping that if he thought about it long enough he would figure out what about those people was bugging him.

Alfred woke him promptly at eight the next morning by opening the curtains. "Rise and shine, Master Tim."

Tim groaned, but got out of bed without further complaint. After all, it was his own fault he was so tired. Normally, he was very much a morning person, but he had already been up once that morning, some time around three am.

Tim grabbed a set of clothes from his still packed suitcase and headed to the bathroom to shower.

When he stumbled downstairs not quite fifteen minutes later everyone else was already up and looking even more exhausted than he was as they sat around the table and picked at their food. Alfred had a cup of strong coffee and a plate of pancakes waiting for him. Tim didn't bother adding any cream or sugar, he just gulped the coffee down, needing the caffeine. Then he attacked the pancakes.

Jason looked at him like he was crazy for having so much enthusiasm that early in the morning. Tim ignored him and finished his food. After that, there was nothing left to do but wait patiently for everyone else to wake up.

When Bruce was finally coherent, about half an hour later, he turned to Tim and asked him a question. "Tim, what are you used to doing for school?"

Timothy snapped out of his daze and looked up. "Hmm? Come again?"

"What did you do for school?" Bruce repeated patiently. "Dick and Jason have been homeschooled since they came here. Dick for his whole life. But if you'd like to do something else, that's fine."

"I went to a private school when I was younger, but I've been doing online school for several years now. If it's okay with you, I'll just keep doing that. Going to a normal school would be kind of awkward, since I've skipped so many grades." He blushed in embarrassment and stared fiddling with his fork.

"What grade are you in, Master Tim?" Alfred asked.

"I'm almost done with eighth," Tim admitted.

Jason's gaze snapped up. "You're sure you're only ten?!"

Tim nodded.

Bruce smiled at him. "That'll work fine, Tim. I'll get you a computer on my way home from work."

Tim smiled back in relief. "Thank you, but you don't have to. I have my laptop."

"May I see it?" Bruce asked.

"It's back home at the Mansion," Tim admitted.

"Tell you what, Alfred will take you back to your house to gather the rest of your stuff. When I get home from work I'll take a look at your laptop and decide whether or not to get you a new one."

"Why bother buying a new one if the old one still works?" Tim asked.

Dick shot him a look that said don't bother arguing.

"Because I like getting things for people. What else am I supposed to do with all my money?"

Tim shrugged and stopped talking. He knew a lost cause when he saw one.

Bruce looked at his watch and quickly stood up. "I've got to get to work. Try not to burn the Manor down while I'm gone, boys."

Jason rolled his eyes. "If we haven't yet..."

"Well pardon me for not trusting you two to stay out of trouble."

"He's got a point, Jay," Dick told him.

"Oh, shut up," Jason muttered. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

Dick just grinned.

Bruce left and Tim passed the time by looking through that book some more while he waited for Alfred to finish with the dishes. He had offered to help, but the elderly butler had shooed him out of the kitchen with the dish rag. So he looked through the book and tried to match the pictures up with the words. It wasn't going well.

"Are you ready, Master Tim?"

"Coming, Alfred!" he called and headed for the garage.

Alfred was waiting with one of the smaller cars. He got in shortly after Tim did and started the car and then the drive to Tim's house. And it truly was Tim's house, now that his parents were gone. The lawyer had informed him that his parents had left him everything in their will, and that included the mansion and its contents. The money went into a trust fund until he turned sixteen, and the board of directors would manage the company until he was of age to do so himself, but everything else was his now. He resolved to look for a notebook while he was there.

Once in his room, he gathered every thing he wanted to take back with him and packed it into a couple of small boxes. Then while Alfred was taking those out to the car he went to the Mansion's small library in search of a particular book.

"Come on, where is it?" Tim muttered. He brushed his fingertips lightly across the spines of the books, searching. "Ah ha!" He pulled out the small volume and read the cover with a smile. Henderson's Guide to Decoding Language. This was the book he had turned to when whatever language he was learning at the time had gotten confusing. He hoped it would work for whatever language that book from the Wayne library was written in. He stuck the guide in his backpack. "Now to find a notebook."

As it turned out, there were no blank- or even partially blank- notebooks in the entire Drake house. At all. Anywhere. Tim wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. He said as much to Alfred.

"Seriously, how hard is it to keep one plain, blank notebook somewhere in a house this big? Surely Mrs Mac used notebooks. You'd think she would have left one lying around somewhere."

An amused smile spread across Alfred's lips as he listened to Timothy rant. "Would you like me to pick up a couple of notebooks for you when I go to get groceries later?"

"No, it's okay, Alfred. I'll get one the next time I go out."

Alfred raised an eyebrow at him.

"What? I like walking around Gotham. I've been doing it for years."

"An interesting pastime, Master Tim." His tone lacked the expected disapproval, but it held something else Tim couldn't identify. Maybe worry?

"I love being out there. We live up on a literal and figurative hill, but down there, it's a whole other world." Tim looked through the trees at the distant skyline. "It took a while, but I earned the respect of the people who live in that world. They accepted me, Alfred. I'll never let go of that." He shook his head and got into the car.

Tim was sitting at a table in the kitchen, finishing catching up on his schoolwork, when Dick walked in. He hugged him from behind and peered at his work from over his shoulder.

"Timothy!" he greeted, "Wha'cha doing?"

Tim rolled his eyes and squirmed, unused to being touched. "Diiiiiick, let gooooo!" He drew out the vowel sounds for emphasis.

Dick hugged him tighter. "Nuh uh."

"Ribs... Cracking..." Tim gasped.

Alfred intervened. "Master Richard, perhaps you could help me with something? I seem to have made entirely too much cookie dough."

The arms that were squeezing the life out of Tim vanished and Dick was standing next to the butler so quickly that it looked to Tim as though he had teleported. Yet another thing to add to his mental list of strange things about these people.

Tim gave Alfred his most sincere grateful smile and fled the room. He dropped off his computer in his room, changed clothes, and snuck out of the house.

The walk to Gotham was shorter in the daylight, when he didn't have to worry about tripping over roots and sticks, or walking into a tree. In about twenty minutes he was walking through the door of a run-down art supply store.

"Hi, Mr Garzones!" he called.

A big man with tanned skin and an even bigger smile lumbered out of the back room and clapped Timothy on the back. "Tim! It's good to see again, boy!" he said.

"Nice to see you too. Sorry I haven't stopped by. This past week has been chaos."

Mr Garzones nodded understandingly. "What can I do for you today, hmm?"

"You can tell me how your family is doing. And I need to buy a journal."

"They are all fine. Andre misses you."

"Tell him I'll visit soon. I just haven't gotten the chance, what with dealing with all the lawyers, and social services."

"Ah. Your parents. How are you holding up? Where are you staying now?" Mr Garzones eyed him suspiciously. "You are not living out on the streets are you, Tim Drake?"

"I'm fine, sir." Tim grinned at him sheepishly. "Actually, it's Tim Wayne now."

Mr Garzones broke into an even wider grin than before. "Good for you, Timothy! Didn't I tell you would find a family one of these days?"

Tim looked startled for a second before a smile spread across his face. "Yeah, I guess I did finally get a family."

Mr Garzones gave him a sage look, then asked, "Now, what was it you needed?"

"An unlined notebook," Tim said.

The man walked through his shop in search of the requested item. Not finding it, he stomped grumbling into the backroom and came out carrying a box. He dumped the box out onto the counter beside the rusty, old-fashioned cash register and out spilled a plethora of leather-bound sketchbooks. "Take your pick. I'm afraid these are the only notebooks I have in stock."

"They'll do," Tim said simply. He picked out two, a black and a red one, and paid the friendly man with a twenty dollar bill. "Keep the change. And tell the kids 'hi' for me."

Mr Garzones chuckled and waved. Tim waved back as he left the shop and nearly ran smack into Dick.

Dick frowned at him. "What are you doing here, Timmy? I've been looking all over. We were worried."

"Visiting an old friend." Tim held up the sketchbooks. "And buying something I needed."

Dick snatched the sketchbooks and flipped through them; looking relieved when they were just sketchbooks. "Why come all the way out here just for a couple of notebooks? This is the bad part of town."

"No, Dick, this is the poor part of town. Big difference. There's less illegal activity here than there is on, say, third street. Third street has the most casinos in the city, and almost two-thirds of them are nothing more than a front for various illegal operations."

Dick was startled. "How on earth do you know that?"

"I look. I listen." Tim gestured around him at the run-down buildings, and the children dressed in ratty clothes. Some of the adults waved to him, and he cheerfully waved back. "These people are my friends, almost my family. This place is more my home than any old mansion or manor will ever be," His voice turned hard and he gave the older boy a look, "And I'll defend them to my final breath. So don't ever let me hear you insult them again."

Dick took a step back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be insulting. I just wanted to know why you didn't just go to a nicer store."

Tim sighed. "Like I said, Mr Garzones is my friend. I've been buying stuff from him since my parents first started giving me an allowance. Some weeks I'm the only customer he sees. Why should I go somewhere else? Besides, I don't think he could keep his shop open without me."

Dick looked thoughtful. "If you wanted, Bruce could help with that."

Tim snorted. "I'd like to see him try. Marco Garzones considers it a matter of pride, that he can keep that little store running without any assistance."

Dick nodded. "Makes sense, actually. Running that shop without any help shows that he can survive on his own."

Tim nodded. "A lot of the people here are like that, but it's still a pretty close-knit community. Took me years to get them to accept me."

A little girl ran over and tugged on his pant leg. "Mr Tim, Mr Tim!"

He knelt down. "Hey Vickie. What is it?"

She held out her open hand. "I found a ring!"

It looked like an old piece of costume jewelry, with a cracked, glass diamond and a worn, brass band, but the child seemed very proud of her find.

Tim smiled at her. "That's Mrs Rios's ring. She's been looking everywhere for it. If you give it back, I bet she'll give you a treat. I smelled cookies when I walked by her apartment earlier."

The little girl ran off to give the ring back and Tim stood up.
Dick played witness to several more casual exchanges before they left the city. Some in that neighborhood, and others scattered throughout the rest of Gotham. It amazed him how well Tim knew some of these people. From muggers to store owners to the occasional gang member, Tim had friends everywhere.

When they made it back to Wayne Manor, Jason and Bruce came running. Alfred had to hold them back with a glare until he could get Dick and Tim into the living room. Then he left and all heck broke lose.
Tim sat there, looking nonplused as Bruce chewed him out for leaving their sight. Jason was mildly impressed by how well he was taking this. Then Bruce pushed too far and Tim snapped. He didn't yell or hit him, though he looked like he wanted to, he just got up and left.

Bruce stood there gaping.

Dick started to go after Tim, but Jason stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. "Let me."

Dick nodded, wished him "Good luck," and stood by to let him pass.

Tim was sitting in a window seat at the end of the hallway containing their bedrooms. Jason hesitated, then walked over and touched his arm.

He jumped. Jason's touch was cool. Not just like it would be if his hands were cold, but inherently chilly, like his body temperature was lower than that of a normal person. Tim added this fact to his mental list of strange things about them and turned his attention back to the view.

Jason chuckled and sat down beside him.

"You know Bruce is only mad because you worried him, right?"

Tim shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'm not going to spend my whole life cooped in this manor."

"No one's expecting you to, kid." Jason rested a hand on Tim's shoulder to get his attention. The action was awkward, but it did the trick. "But don't you think that maybe, just maybe, you should hear the reason why we were so worried before you go writing us off as unreasonable?"

"Okay," Tim looked from Jason's hand to his face, "Enlighten me."

Jason looked out the window. "Keep in mind, this happened a long time ago. Otherwise, Bruce wouldn't let any of us out of his sight." He took a steadying breath. "I was just out, walking around, not really doing anything when some people, members of some crazed cult, snatched me. When no one could find me for weeks I was declared dead. Bruce went half crazy from grief. Thing is, though, I wasn't dead. I was being held prisoner -never did find out where- and when someone did finally saved me I was basically insane. They took care of me until I was better, then sent me home. But I was so mad that Bruce had just given up... Well, the next couple of years were not pretty. But my point, kid, is that when you just disappeared without telling any of us where you were going or when you would be back, Bruce panicked. It was too much like what happened to me, and believe me, the last thing we need is a repeat of that incident." Jason stood and Tim looked up at him. "We don't expect you to stay where we can see you at all times, though I bet Bruce would love it if you did. Just, next time, kid, leave a note."

Jason walked off, and Tim turned back to the window, watching the beginning of a brilliant sunset. Silently, he promised to do as Jason had asked and leave a note the next time he went out.

Out of curiosity, Tim spent that night following Red Hood. It amazed him how good the vampire was at what he did. He seemed to notice everything around him. Everything, that is, except for Tim. Not that Tim particularly minded being able to trail these people unseen. It was a wonderful tactical advantage. He slipped away and returned to the manor house when Hood stopped to feed on a mugger he had knocked unconscious.

The next morning after breakfast, Tim took one of his notebooks and a pencil and set out to explore the manor. As he explored, he wrote down a steadily growing list of strange things about Wayne Manor in order from strangest to most easily explainable. At the top of that list for most of the day were three things: The bat motifs everywhere, the broken, blood-stained piano in an abandoned music room in the east wing, and the languages of some of the books in the library. Then he stumbled upon something in an old sitting room that blew all three of those things away.

His first clue that there was something strange about the room and its contents was the lack of dust. Most of that part of the house was covered in a layer of dust several inches thick, but that room and the hallway leading to it were clean. That was more than enough to get Tim to investigate.

He opened the door cautiously and poked his head inside. Nothing happened, so he stepped in and took a quick look around.

In one corner, covered in sheets, were a multitude of rectangular objects. Tim pulled the sheet off of one, and discovered that it was a painting. A portrait, to be exact. A portrait of Richard Grayson. If Tim hadn't seen the date in the corner, he would have suspected that the portrait was painted just weeks before. But he did, and it said that the picture was nearly three-hundred years old.

In a flurry, Tim ripped the sheets off of the other paintings and checked the dates. 1654, 1333, 1982, 2005. They spanned centuries; millenia. And all of them were of the same three people: Bruce, Dick, and Jason. And, after a bit of searching, he found a few with Alfred in them.

Tim sat back, cross-legged, on the floor in shock; trying to make sense of this discovery. If he could believe what he saw, if he could believe that it was really them in those paintings and that those dates were really when they'd been painted... Were these people immortal or something?

He looked up to find Dick in the doorway, looking stricken. "Care to explain?" he asked. His voice shook a little.

Dick was at his side in an instant. Since he was no longer bothering to hide the way he moved, it looked to Tim like he had teleported. But as he crouched, slowly in an attempt not to spook Tim any further, something clicked in Tim's mind.

"Nightwing," He muttered. "So that means..."

Dick's face held a bizarre mixture of pride and panic. "Oh no. Baby Bird, what are we going to do with you?"

"Give me an explanation before the panic attack I'm holding off sets in," Tim responded briskly.

Dick looked conflicted for a moment, then it cleared up and he gathered Tim in his arms. "Think you can hold it off for just a little longer? Bruce can explain better than I can. After all, it's his curse."

Tim felt himself lift off the ground and wondered just how strong they really were. Tim was small for his age, but not that small. Dick wasn't even straining. "I think so." His breathing sped up despite his attempts to keep it calm. "Hurry."

"Shhh, Baby Bird. You'll be fine. No one in this house will ever bite you without your permission. Okay?"

Tim took a deep breath to fight the growing panic and nodded firmly. "Okay."

"Hold on tight."

The hallways blurred and stretched around them as Dick took off running. Tim closed his eyes to keep from getting dizzy. He noticed that Dick's touch was almost as cool as Jason's. But he was relieved to find that Dick did, in fact, have a heartbeat. He listened intently to its faint throb until they paused in the parlor where Tim had lost track of Dick and Jason the previous two nights.

Dick turned the hands of a broken grandfather clock to read ten-forty-eight and it slid aside to reveal a long staircase.

Tim squeezed his eyes shut again and clung tightly to Dick as he took the steps two at a time. Finally, they stopped, and Dick set him down gently.

Tim opened his eyes and took a shaky breath. His control was slipping, and he knew it. "Now may I have an explanation?"

Bruce looked down at the boy he was beginning to care for and wondered if he would lose him that night. "Where to start?" he mused.

"The beginning, please," Tim requested. He let Dick lift him into the computer chair when Bruce vacated it.

"The beginning it is. The first thing you have to know is that we- myself, Dick, and Jason- are under the effects of a curse that makes us basically immortal. We don't age unless we want to, sickness cannot harm us, and there are other benefits that I'll explain in detail later. Some of them you have doubtlessly already noticed. But the drawback is that we have to drink blood if we want to retain our sanity."

Tim nodded.

"I was the first one to get the curse. It was a couple of thousand years ago. I don't remember what I did," he shook his head, "But whatever it was, it got me on the bad side of the local hedge-witch. She turned out to be much more powerful than anyone had thought. The very next time we saw each other, she cast her spell.
I was hated and feared when people saw what I had become, so I wandered for a very long time. Then, when America was discovered, I used a tiny portion of the fortune I had been working on building up to buy passage on a boat. I wandered all over this continent until shortly after the revolution. Then I found this hill and built this manor on it."

He was amazed at how much of history this man must have witnessed. Tim wondered if the accounts he had read were even close to accurate. He snapped his attention back to Bruce's story.

"After a time, a city, Gotham City, began to grow nearby. Long story short, I used my money to buy up much of the fledgling city and I helped it to expand and develop. And when crime became a major problem, I donned a cape and a cowl and started my crusade to clean up Gotham's streets. Then the circus came to town. Dick's family were aerialists, trapeze artists, and Dick was the star of their act. They were in the middle of their performance when the wires snapped. Dick's family died, but he survived, just barely. As a consequence, however, he was paralyzed from the chest down. I came to him and offered to heal him-"

Dick picked up the story. "-To let me walk again. Fly again. Even more precious than that, he offered me a new home. The circus had left town shortly after the incident, but I had been left behind. What use did they have for a broken acrobat? All I had to do was accept the curse. I let him bite me gladly, and he gave me everything he promised and more. I have never regretted that decision. I even joined Bruce's war on crime as a sidekick or partner of sorts. A century or two passed, and then we met Jason."

Jason cut Richard off and took it from there. "I was just another street kid. Nothing special. Some rich person on a horse didn't see me in time and his mount lamed me. Bruce found me lying on the side of the street and he offered me the same thing he had offered Dick: A new life. And a new family, since my own was long dead. I accepted. The way I saw it, that was the only chance I was ever going to have to get off of the streets. I'd be darned if I was going to pass it up. He took me back here to his manor house and bit me. Shortly after I arrived, Dick decided that he had outgrown his role as Batman's junior partner, Robin, and he passed it down to me; becoming Nightwing in the process. Then the stuff I told you about yesterday happened- though over a much longer span of time- and I took on the persona of Red Hood. Eventually, I reconciled with Bruce and Dick and came home. Three or four centuries have passed since then, and now here we are again. Same situation as with me an' Dick, only this time you're the one faced with the choice. And it's a harder choice for you than it was for either of us."

There was silence for a few moments to give Tim time to soak it in, then Bruce posed the question. "Will you accept our curse, Timothy?"

Tim's brow furrowed as he thought. "It's not much of a choice, is it? I doubt you'll let me stay if I say no."

Dick looked upset. "Of course we'd let you stay! We care about you!"

"Why? Why offer at all?"

Jason spoke slowly. "It's like Dickie said: We care about you. We like you and we want to keep you around. We're basically immortal, Tim. If we didn't at least offer, we would have to watch you age and die knowing that we could have done something about it. This way, even if you say no, we tried. We won't force the curse on anyone. I'm not even sure it's possible." Tim bit his lip and looked down, but Jason grabbed his chin and dragged his gaze back up. "No one is going to pressure you into making a choice you don't want to make." He glared at Dick. "This needs to be your decision and no-one-else's. Understand?"

Tim nodded. "I understand." It was a big decision, and he was feeling more than just a bit overwhelmed. "May I have some time to think about it?"

Bruce nodded. "Of course."

"Thank you," Tim said gratefully.

Dick grabbed his arm started dragging him somewhere. "Come on, Timmy! There's so much that I want to show you!"

"Not so hard, Dickie. You might hurt him," Jason said, concerned.

Bruce chuckled. "Try to stay out of trouble, boys. Don't collapse the cave."

Jason rolled his eyes. "If we haven't yet..."

Richard's tour of the cave was just as enthusiastic as his tour of the Manor had been, though considerably more thorough. He and Jason showed Tim the various vehicles ("A Batmobile? Seriously?" "Take it up with B. That thing has been around almost as long as I have."), gadgets that Tim's fingers itched to take apart and examine, a well stocked but seldom used medical area, a trophy room (area, whatever) filled with such things as a giant penny and an animatronic dinosaur, and Jason's personal favorite: The training area.

"Hey, 'Wing, wanna spar?" Jason tossed a wooden practice staff Dick's way.

Dick caught it reflexively. "But Jay, what about Timmy?"

"I'd like to watch," Tim said. "If that's okay with you."

Jason shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

Tim sat on a wooden bench off to the side of the mats and started in awe as the two brothers moved fluidly around each other. The strikes and blocks and dodges seemed like a beautiful dance of deadly grace. It was rare that either of them actually landed a blow, but when they did it was spectacular. They went on like that for a long time and showed no signs of tiring.

After a while, Timothy let his mind wander. He cycled through thoughts of the past few days, then turned to the future. A realization about the near future made him gasp. "How could I forget that?"

Dick was kneeling in front of him in a moment. "Little brother? Are you okay?"

Tim shook his head. "I'm fine, I suppose, given the circumstances. It's just that I just remembered that my birthday is three days away. I'll turn eleven and my parents won't be here for it." He looked down. "They usually made an effort to come home for my birthday. Not that they always made it, but still. It's different this time."
Dick wrapped his arms around him in a surprisingly gentle embrace as Tim finally allowed himself to cry.

Jason sat down beside them and started rubbing circles on Tim's back. "Hey, kid, sorry about your parents and all, but don't you think they wouldn't have wanted you to let their death ruin your birthday? From the sound of things, your special day was important to them. They would have wanted you to be happy, not spend it crying over them."

Tim sniffed and straightened up. "You're right. Mom would have scolded me for crying, and Dad would probably have cracked some stupid joke to cheer me up. Thanks, Dick, Jason."

Jason shrugged. "What are brothers for?"

"So, Timmy," Dick asked with a grin, "What do you want for your birthday?"

"I don't really care, to be honest. I don't need presents or anything like that to be happy. I'm not really big on stuff."

"We've noticed," Jason said dryly. "Ask for something anyway. That way I won't have to find something completely stupid to give you, like a watch."

"Umm," Tim hummed. "How about photography equipment? I left all my stuff, besides my camera of course, in the basement of the mansion. Most of it is falling apart anyway."

"That works." Jason slapped him on the back and stood up. "Just warning you, Dick will probably get you a teddy bear or something. He's very upset about the fact that you don't have any toys."

Tim blinked, then shook his head. "Whatever."

Dick glanced at the clock on the back wall and picked Tim up. "Race you upstairs for supper, Jay!" He took off running; Timothy clinging tightly to his neck.

Jason dashed after them. "Hey, no head starts!"

Tim spent that night following Batman, just to see if he could. It was more difficult and much more dangerous than following Nightwing. (Though maybe just a little less dangerous than following Red Hood.) He was pleasantly surprised by the fact that Bruce didn't notice him at all. Bruce notices everything. Except, apparently, Tim when he's being sneaky.

Tailing Batman was also more interesting than tailing Nightwing or Red Hood. For one thing, 'Wing and Hood mostly dealt with petty street crime, like muggings. Bats went after the crazies.
One of those crazies is a plant-woman named Poison Ivy. She calls the plants her children and can actually control them. Most of her plants are mutated, and a lot of them give off dangerous pollens and spores and pheromones. She didn't exactly scare Tim, but she definitely made him uneasy.

Tim watched from behind a bush as the two of them, the bat and the plant, fought it out. Ivy's precious flowers were shooting puffs of pollen at Batman until Ivy spotted Tim. She seemed... Amused, that someone could shadow the big, scary Bat without his knowing it. Tim thought that that's probably why she didn't just crush him with her vines or something like that. Instead, a tiny, blue flower sprouted in front of him. When it bloomed he had to hold back a sneeze, because the pollen made his nose itch. Then he ignored it and concentrated on watching the fight.

It took Batman roughly an hour to subdue Poison Ivy and all her plants completely. He had to call in Red Hood for backup, and by the time they got things under control, the moon had set. Timothy took off for the Manor. He needed to be sure to arrive back first, to avoid suspicion. He made it, just barely, and fell into bed and passed out the second he finished changing into pajamas.

Tim woke up at eight feeling very sick. Not the "I'm gonna throw up" kind of sick, the "I ache all over and am too weak to move" kind of sick. Alfred opened the curtains in an attempt to get him up, but Tim just turned his head with a groan. That was about as much movement as he could manage at the time.

Alfred frowned and walked over to the bed. Gently, he set a hand on Timothy's forehead and immediately recoiled. "My word, you're burning up!" He ran, well, hurried, to fetch a thermometer. Looking at the readout, his face melted into a mask of absolute horror at how high Tim's temperature was. "Master Bruce!" the elderly butler called as he once again hurried out of the room. This time he abandoned all dignity and flat out ran. "Master Bruce, come quickly!"

Tim's fever-fogged brain barely registered it when Bruce strode into the room and placed a cold hand on his head. He barked some instructions to Alfred, and then to Jason and Dick, who were standing in the doorway looking sleepy. They scurried off.

Bruce cupped Tim's face in his hands. His searching gaze took in flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. "I don't understand. You were fine yesterday. How did you get so sick?"

"Ivy," Tim croaked.

Bruce's eyes widened. "But how-? Please tell me you weren't following me last night."

Tim made an affirmative noise.

"Did you breathe in any of the pollen?" Bruce's tone was frantic.
Tim nodded.

Bruce grabbed Tim up and took off at top speed for the cave; calling for Jason, Dick, and Alfred. He got him settled as comfortably as possible in the medical area and started hooking him up to various monitors and an IV.

Tim thought that that was an oxygen mask that the man gently placed on his face, but he couldn't really tell. He was too disoriented. His vision was starting to fade in and out.

"Hang on, Tim," Bruce practically begged. "Please. We'll find a cure, just please don't leave us."

Alfred set a hand on Bruce's slumped shoulder. "Sir, shouldn't we be taking young Master Timothy to the hospital?"

Bruce shook his head. "Ivy dosed him with something. We can find the cure faster than a hospital could. Tim can't afford to wait."

Dick clears his throat. "How on earth did he come into contact with Poison Ivy?"

Bruce put his face in his hands. "He followed me. Last night, when I fought her. He was following me. If I had only seen and sent him home... This is-"

"Not. Your. Fault," Jason said firmly. "It wouldn't have mattered if you'd told him to leave, he still would have stuck around. Besides, you gotta hand it to him, the kid's got skill if he can shadow you without getting caught."

"Masters, need I remind you that the sooner you get to work on some sort of cure or antidote, the more likely it is that you'll save young Master Timothy." It wasn't a question.

Bruce took a syringe and drew some blood from Tim's arm. Tim whimpered and shifted away as much as he could. Bruce petted the boy's hair then took the blood sample over to the lab area. "Lets get started."

Tim's world went completely dark then, and for some reason he just couldn't bring himself to mind.

He woke up a couple of days later in his bed. His eyes blinked open, but the world around him remained dark. He frowned. "...Dick?"

Arms wrapped around him in an enthusiastic hug. "Timmy! You scared us!" Dick's tone turned scolding after the initial greeting. "We almost lost you, little brother. What were you thinking?!"

"Is Jason here too?"

"Yeah. He's right behind me. Can't you see him?" Richard sounded confused.

Tim shook his head. "...I- I can't see anything," he whispered.

The bed shifted and a pair of strong hands found their way to Timothy's shoulders. "Look at me, Tim." Oh. Those hands belonged to Jason. "Turn your head toward my voice and open your eyes." There was a long silence, then Jason sighed. "As best I can tell, there's nothing wrong with your eyes. The fever probably cooked the vision center in your brain. Sorry, kid."

Tim nodded and turned away.

"He could always-" Dick began.

"What did I say about not pressuring anyone to accept the curse?" Jason snapped.

Dick shut up and left the room.

"Jason?" Tim whispered. "Could the curse... Would it...?"

Jason hugged him close with a sigh. "Yeah, Tim, it would fix your vision. The question you've gotta ask yourself is: Would it be worth it? You can deal with living without sight. Don't argue with me, yes you can. But could you deal with living as one of us? I won't lie to you, kid, there are some serious downsides to this curse. Needing to drink blood, the never aging can be a pain, it's definitely not all fun and games. And yeah, it has its perks, but you need to ask yourself: Is it worth it? Or would regret your decision until the end of time?" Jason got up and left.

Tim sat there on the bed for a while, thinking. Was it worth it? Jason had a point. He could probably learn to live without the use of his eyes. But he didn't want to. He wanted to be able to take pictures and read. He didn't want to stumble around in the dark for the rest of his life. Well, after a while he'd probably stop stumbling, but that was beside the point.

The door opened and closed and someone pressed a ragged, plush toy into his arms.

"Dick?"

His older brother guided his hands over every inch of the battered stuffed animal. "Her name is Zitka, after one of the real elephants from the circus where I used to live. She was mine when I was your age. I didn't have time to get you a proper birthday present, what with you being sick and all-"

Tim hugged the toy tightly to his chest and buried his nose in it. It smelled like Dick, and that was oddly comforting to him. "It's perfect."

Dick hugged him, and Jason came in with Bruce.

Bruce told Tim the same thing Jason had. Minus the bits about the curse. Tim just nodded and accepted it.

When he started yawning they all got up to leave, but Tim groped around and caught Dick by the arm. "Stay for a bit?"

Richard sat back down. "Sure, Timmy. Whatever makes you happy."

He waited until it was just he and his brother to ask his question. "Dick, what do you want me to do?"

"What do I want you to-? Oh. Jason's right, little brother. I can't make that decision for you."

"I'm not asking you to," Tim said patiently, "But this is a big decision and I need some sort of input to properly make it."

"You're sure you want to hear what I have to say?"

"Please, Dick. It would help a lot."

"Well... To be blunt, I want you to do it. Especially now that we've almost lost you once. I think Bruce secretly does too, not that he'd ever say it. We don't want to lose you. You're our little brother. Bruce has adopted you. I don't know how you managed it, but you've only been here for such a short time and you're already part of the family." He chuckled. "We're not normally so open and trusting."

Tim raised an eyebrow.

"To be fair, we don't tell anybody about the curse until we know for sure that they won't betray us. Did that help?"

"Some. I need more information about what this curse of yours does before I can choose."

"It does a lot of things. It sharpens our senses. I can hear your heartbeat from outside of the room. It also takes any talents you have, like B's talent for detective work or Jason's talent for intimidation, and magnifies it. B calls the way the shadows cling to us the mark of the curse, but I think it's because even the shadows recognize that we belong in the darkness, not the light anymore. Sunlight doesn't hurt us the way it does vampires in stories, but we burn more easily than a normal human would. We're stronger and faster than normal humans, too, but you already knew that. It makes us a little bit smarter. Oh, and we each have one special ability. There is an unwritten rule against using them on members of the family that are in the loop, though. B can command almost anything of almost anyone. Jason never misses. Ever. If he aims at it, he hits it. That goes for guessing games and stuff too. He always wins and it's annoying."

Tim giggled. "What can you do?"

"I'm just good at being charming. I can convince people that my way is the right way without ever opening my mouth."

"Thank you for telling me all of that. I need a little bit to think about it, but now I can finally make a decision." Tim yawned and lay down.

Dick smiled and left.

Alfred woke Timothy up for supper and, reluctantly, helped him downstairs to the Cave so that he could be with the rest of the family. He spent the time it took to eat his turkey sandwich, a task that proved to be a lot more difficult without his eyes, contemplating how to tell them that he had made his choice.

Bruce solved that little conundrum by bringing it up himself. "Tim... Dick seems to think that you may have reached a decision..." He trailed off, then cleared his throat. "Ahem. I hate to push you-"

"It's fine. He's right, I have made a decision." The cave fell silent. Even the bats. Everyone froze in their positions. Tim talked on. "I've examined this situation from every possible angle, and there's only one way for this to end with everyone even relatively happy. With or without my sight, there has only ever been one right answer to your proposition." If Tim thought that they needed to breathe, he would have been concerned. "And that is yes. Yes, Bruce, I would like to join you. Please."

"You're sure? Absolutely sure?" Dick asked. "There is no turning back." He sounded nervous.

"I've made my choice, I'm not going to back out."

Jason guided him to a spot a short distance away from his chair. "You know this is going to hurt, right? We can't enthrall you, can't put you in a daze to take the pain away, if you can't see us."

Tim shrugged. "I'll live."

Jason chuckled. "That's the general idea."

Bruce stepped up and put steadying hands on Tim's small shoulders. Tim let out a shuddering breath- almost a sigh- as one of those hands shifted to the back of his neck and tilted his head. There was no point in resisting. He had asked for this, after all. Instead, he closed his sightless eyes and waited.

Bruce took a step back. "Tim... I- I can't-"

Tim's voice was gentle, soft, and patient. "Yes you can."

"You're scared," Bruce said.

Tim smiled wryly. "Well, yes, but that doesn't matter. I made a choice, Bruce. Help me follow through."

"But-"

"Bruce, just bite me already."

Bruce stepped forward again and sank his fangs into Timothy's so trustingly exposed neck. Tim bit his lip to stop his little mewl of pain. It was clear that the Waynes felt guilty about this, there was no need to make it any worse. He knew they probably heard it anyway, judging from the choked, sad noise Dick made, but at least he tried.

Bruce's fangs in his neck felt like white-hot spikes driven clear to the bone. Timothy grew progressively weaker as the blood drained out of his body. An iron band tightened around his chest and his whole body ached. His head swam.

There was a moment of panic when he finally reached the point where he could not safely lose anymore blood, but then something snapped and the cold set in. Frigid, bone-chilling cold. The kind to make teeth chatter and limbs ache. It felt as though there was ice water running through his veins.

This too passed, and then... Nothing. He felt almost normal. Gone was the weakness Ivy's pollen had left behind. He opened his eyes.
Bruce withdrew his fangs and pulled Tim into a tight embrace, repeating sincere apologies in his ear for the pain.

Tim didn't feel any need for apologies. He could see again! Granted, he had only been blind for a very short period of time, but it had felt like ages. He gazed around the Cave with an expression of pure bliss and wonder on his face. Everything was sharper and clearer than it ever had been before. The shadowed areas that had once been too dark for him to see now looked as bright as the area in front of the computers. It was great!

Bruce's embrace was getting stifling. Tim wriggled and ducked his way out of it, only to be accosted by Dick.

"Timmy! Little Brother!" Dick sounded so happy.

Jason ruffled his hair. "You alright, kid?"

Tim smiled up at the taller boy. "I'm fine. Good. Great, even. I can see!"

Jason started to respond, then choked when Dick pulled him in for a group hug. "Let me go!"

"Nuh uh," Dick said joyfully.

Alfred returned, unnoticed by the three boys, and set a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "A happy ending, Master Bruce."

Bruce smiled. "No, old friend, a happy beginning."