Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim had never been in an airport. Well, at least he couldn’t remember being in one. Though his whole life his parents had been traveling, he himself had never traveled. He never got to experience the rush of people trying to get where they wanted to in time, nor the beeping machines and heavy suitcases, nor the many shops which sold stuff at an exaggerated price, nor the many security guards who suspiciously glance at any person who isn’t white or Western-looking.

Tim had never been in an airport.

Until now.

And he loved it. High prices and all. He had bribed a cab driver to follow his parent’s cab and now he was here! He loved it, but he didn’t know how anything worked (mental note: do your research before you go someplace new, he told himself). Which is how he ended up in the security's office with his name being called over the speakers. The woman who was supposed to be looking after him was scrolling through her phone, barely glancing at him. He didn’t mind though; he was used to it.

What he did mind, however, was being stuck in this office rather than boarding the plane with his parents. The guard he had asked probably misunderstood and took him to this place rather than his parents. He didn’t know how dumb the guard had to be to not know what Tim meant when he said, “Do you know which plane my parents are going to?”. All he knew was that the guard sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, shook his head, and led him here while firmly holding his hand.

He was quite angry, Tim noted, but then again, airports might just be the place where 6 year olds frequently got lost. May could attest to that (he had just learnt the word ‘attest’ yesterday!). She was already waiting in the office, sitting on the spinny chair and trying to blow the hair out of her eyes. There was only one spinny chair in the office, and though May was hesitant at first, she shrugged and scooted over to make room for Tim to climb on.

She told him that her older brother used to spin her round and round everyday when he came back from school. So they spun round and round while they waited for their parents. In that short period of time, May told him that her real name was Maryam, but her family insisted that she call herself May in public. She told him that a really nice officer told her that a small problem happened with her parents and that she would have to stay at their “headquarters” for a while. She told him that the last thing she saw before being whisked away (she learnt that phrase from her brother) was someone pulling her mother’s hijab (a headscarf, he learnt).

After that, an officer came to fetch May—Maryam—away. Tim ran a hand through his hair nervously, he hoped that she was okay. He hoped that her mother was okay. He hoped that her brother was okay too, since he sounded like a really nice brother. And just so he got the whole family in, he hoped that her father was okay too. He also hoped that the guard who brought him here would hurry up and take him to his parent’s plane.

Eventually, the guard did come back. But instead of bringing Tim to his parents, he brought his parents to him. Tim frowned, this wasn’t what he had asked.

“Timothy!” his mother shrieked when she saw him. Tim blinked.

His father sighed disappointedly, “We missed the flight. We had to reschedule it at midnight instead.”

Midnight? He glanced at the clock. It was 8:53pm. His parents' flight was originally scheduled to leave at 8:40. Did they miss it because of him? Uh oh.

The drive from the airport to Drake manor was approximately half an hour. Since his parents had time to spare, and also because the guard was looking at them suspiciously, they decided to drop him off themselves. The drive to his house was one of the most stifling experiences of his whole 6 years and 9 months of living. He was so anxious, he felt like he was going to puke.

They finally arrived at the manor. He was sobbing into his pillow long after his parents’ flight left. He lifted his face from the tear-soaked pillow to check the time. It was around 2 in the morning. Two hours after his parents left. Two hours' worth of distance between them and him. He immediately felt his body relax. But his mind was still replaying the same words: Mom slapped me, Dad slapped me, Mom slapped me, Dad slapped me.

They had done other things too. Things which were so painful that he had never experienced before. The visuals of it were blurry and flashy at best, but the pain was still present, long after the hit had struck him. His mind was still stuck on that one scene though. When he tried to explain that he wanted to go with them, because he heard lots of things about Australia, but they didn’t listen. His mother had interrupted him with a striking slap to his face. When he tried to apologize, his father shut him up with another slap. It all went downwards from there.

Tim was fairly sure that there were no marks. He might have to check later, but right now, he was too busy getting over the fact that not only did his parents leave him yet again, but they also left him with a slap each and more pain.

But, Tim thought, I got to see the airport. He smiled as he remembered the glorious scene before he was dragged away. Before the guard could shove him in the office, he'd broken loose and briefly ran, but stopped when he saw it. A place with no time and all of time.

There were clocks depicting almost every region and timezone. Times from all around the world. And little Tim was in front of it. He had gasped in awe. There were people rushing and shoving, but no one stopped to look at the glorious wall of time for more than a few seconds. It was just Tim and Time.

Tim suddenly shifted in his bed and bit down his fingers to keep from crying out in pain at his sore muscles. That snapped him back to reality.

That night was a tough night to forget. Only when he found out that his next-door neighbors were his idols did his brain manage to place that memory somewhere within the depths of his brain to make way for a new one which included the identities of his heroes.

Batman and Robin.

Chapter Text

When Tim opened the door to Wayne manor, he was immediately tackled to the ground. His head was cushioned by a hand, so he didn’t receive any injuries, except for having the wind knocked out of him.

“Guess what, Timbit,” Dick said with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Ow. what?”

“If you don’t guess, I’ll stuff said-thing-you-have-to-guess in your face.”

“Dick!”

“Was that you calling my name or you calling—”

“That was me calling you a dick, Dick.”

Dick threw his head back in laughter but didn’t budge when he squirmed. “C’mon! Guess!”

Tim rolled his eyes in response, but that only got him a flick on the forehead. “Dick, ow! What is it?”

“Do you give up? Are you ready to have it stuffed in your face?”

Tim stopped to think for a bit. “Is it a gift?”

Dick rolled his eyes, “Great guessing, genius.” Then, like the 23-year-old drama queen he is, he giggled. “Holy alliteration!”

Tim groaned. He missed Dick. He really did, but he so did not miss his cringy phase of attaching words after ‘holy’. “Just give me a hint!”

“Okay… it’s too big to be entirely stuffed in your face.”

“Not enough.”

“You really think I’m gonna pass up an opportunity to stuff a shoe in your face?”

“What? No! Dick— wait!” But before he could protest, a foul taste filled his mouth. Just when he thought that he was definitely going to break Batman’s rule and murder the heck out of Dick, he felt a massive weight lift from his body. He pulled the shoe from his mouth and dramatically gasped in as much air as he could into his lungs.

He sat up and glared at Dick. It was hard to look intimidating after you’ve just had your face full of shoe a few seconds ago, so Dick just burst out laughing, annoying Tim even more. His laughter was infectious though, and soon, Tim was on his feet, smiling.

“Your royal highness! May I present to you, your majestic footwear.” Dick placed a pair of new blue converse in front of Tim’s feet, kneeling. Tim’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Stop. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Dick grinned. “My main objective was to embarrass you.”

“Well, there’s that too.”

Dick laughed once again and got up to ruffle Tim’s already messy, uncombed hair. He slipped off his too-washed black converse and slipped on the new ones. He loved his black ones because he had once managed to slip them into his parent’s shopping a year ago and they were the only pair of shoes he had which didn’t scream “rich kid” at everyone. He could have just bought any old converse at any old time like the rest of his clothes, but he was attracted to this specific one. It was the same design as the ones he saw Jason wearing on his first day of school, and he wanted to hold onto his memory in his own way. The shoes reminded him of how stubborn Jason was to commit to societal roles. And since Tim was inexperienced in matters of shopping because he got automated deliveries most of the time, he immediately slipped it in with the shopping. When his parents were distracted, the cashier told him that those shoes were left there a month ago and no one had bothered to pick them up, and since they weren't part of the shop, he could have them.

So, he had taken good care of the shoes, washing them nearly every week. Despite the care, his shoes didn’t grow as his feet did. They were beginning to pinch his toes. He was complaining about it to Nightwing during a stakeout a few weeks ago (cuz complaining is just so awesome and there was nothing to do except sit silently under a billboard anyway). He was touched that Dick had still remembered.

"It fits!" he said delightedly.

"Of course it fits, I measured your size while you were sleeping last night." He walked into the manor.

Tim's eyes widened. "Wait— what?" He hurried to catch up with him. "What do you mean last night? You broke in? Dick? Dick!"

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Dick grimly looked at the data on the bat-computer then the note, then the computer again. "So…" he said slowly, "he's back."

"After several months, yes," Bruce confirmed.

"To be honest, you did do a number on him the last time you saw each other," Tim muttered.

"Where are the girls now?" Dick asked.

"In Central City. Sucking up to the Flashes," Tim grumbled.

Bruce smirked. "They are currently in the hospital with their uncle right now."

"Cool. And… did you manage to find anything else on the address?" Dick asked.

"No, nothing," Tim answered. "The goon who was there was gone too. And since it's the Penguin, we presume that there was more than one kidnapper. They were nowhere to be seen either." Then, Tim gruffly added, "Probably looking for someone else to throw paper balls at instead of properly contacting people." He felt a soft thunk as a wad of scrunched up paper was flicked at his head by Dick. He narrowed his eyes on him.

"In other news," Dick said, pointedly ignoring Tim's glare, "I had one of Gotham's regulars gossip about his boss receiving a duffel bag stuffed with heads in a criminals' conference. Said there was a new guy who now owned all the cartels in Gotham now. Called himself Red Hood. Ring any bells?"

Bruce and Tim froze. “Didn’t Joker have that alias before?” Tim asked.

Dick nodded, “Yeah. He’s still in Arkham, right?”

Bruce grunted in the affirmative.

“And no idea who the knockoff is?”

Tim shook his head.

Dick sighed, "So much for hope."

“Why are you here, Dick?” Tim asked.

Dick shifted his gaze from the screen to him and grinned. “Why? Can’t I see my lovely family whenever I want to?”

Tim snorted.

“Yeah, okay. I came here partly to investigate this “Red Hood” dude, partly to visit since I hadn’t in quite a long time, partly cuz I needed a break, and partly cuz I found those perfectly good blue converses in the sale bucket which looked about your size and impulse-bought it.”

“It’s so nice of you to get me something from a sales bucket.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Well,” Bruce interrupted their banter. “Since you’re partly here to investigate a possible new criminal drug lord, we’ll have to shift our patrol routes to cover last night’s incident and possible places where the Red Hood could be keeping headquarters.”

Dick saluted in the affirmative. Tim shrugged. “I might not be available much ‘cuz my parents are coming home in a week.”

“Nice! Any chance they’d be staying for longer than a week?” Dick asked.

Tim hoped not. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, you already know that Wayne manor is here in case they cut their visit short again,” Bruce reassured.

“Till then, I think we should do something to celebrate,” Dick announced.

Tim frowned. “Celebrate what?”

“Your birthday!”

“My birthday isn’t until July.”

“My birthday!”

“Your birthday passed a couple months ago.”

“Bruce’s birthday!”

“Bruce doesn’t—”

“Just somebody’s birthday, okay? I’m pretty sure there are plenty of people around the world who have their birthday today and I’m not the one to pass up an opportunity to celebrate.”

Tim shrugged, hiding a smile. “Sure. Where do you wanna go?”

“Laser tag?”

“Don’t feel like it.”

Dick pouted. “Fine. Bowling?”

“Nah.”

“Paintball?”

“Still got bruises from last night.”

“You’re no fun. I’m going to the arcade, you can tag along if you want to or just stay here with Bruce, sulking mindlessly.”

Bruce scowled. “I don’t mindlessly sulk.”

“You do, Bruce,” Dick said, shaking his head.

Tim joined in, “You really do.”

Dick flicked his forehead on the way to the stairs. “Let’s go, Timbit!”

“Fuck you.”

“Language!”

“Yes, cap.”

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Tim groaned as he lost the Mario Kart race after winning three games consecutively. Dick whooped and shot his hands up in the air. Tim glared.

“Don’t give me that look, Timbers. It was about time I won.”

Tim sighed. “What flavor of ice cream do you want?”

Dick grinned mischievously.

They left the counter with a whole tub of ice cream which included half the menu, all of it bought with Tim’s pocket money. He didn’t mind though, he had more than enough. Ever since he became Robin, he no longer needed that much money as he did for his night-time trips to take pictures of Batman or Robin. Only occasionally, he slipped out a big chunk to bribe someone or the other or use it for a case, but Bruce covered a lot of it.

His parents regularly filled his account with money. Tim suspected that it was automated. He never exceeded the limit. Although… there was this one time where he had accidentally fallen to the ground from a fire escape while going after Batman and Robin. His camera and his elbow smashed to the ground. Tim dragged himself to the nearest hospital and asked for a doctor. He got the treatment and had to use money to bribe them to not call his parents. It leeched a lot out of his account, and he had just enough left to buy himself a new camera.

His parents got back a couple days later and found his account empty. His father nearly threw the laptop as he marched towards Tim. His mother peppered him with warnings and insults of his uselessness and irresponsibleness. He took the punches and kicks quietly and kept repeating that this wouldn’t last the entire time as his comfort phrase.

“Tim? Hey, Tim.” Someone snapped their fingers in front of his face.

Tim blinked and saw cars rushing past and Dick’s hand on the sleeve of his shirt. “You good?” Dick asked.

“I— yeah. Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair.

His eyebrows scrunched up in worry. “You sure? You looked like you saw a ghost.”

Tim felt like he saw a ghost. His heart was thudding against his chest like the road-drilling machine. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Really? You nearly got yourself run over by traffic.”

“I’m fine, Dick. Really. I just thought I saw this guy from my school, but all in all, I’m fine.”

He looked unsure, but thankfully didn’t press. Tim’s neck grew hot. He didn’t like lying to Dick, or Bruce, or Alfred. In situations like these, however, it was necessary.

--------------------------------

They chattered and laughed, sitting on a park bench and making judgmental comments on all the strangers. See, Tim and Dick had this game where they would look at a stranger and make comments based on how they looked. It wasn’t really rude. Their statements were usually funny, but never mean. A lot of the times, they were sort of compliments, like, “that woman looks like she just got a promotion and decided to blow dry her hair in front of a tornado to see if it was real”. Sometimes, they were neither rude, nor nice, such as, “that guy? Yeah, that guy there. He looks like he would bake fifty muffins cuz his poor little pumpkin got a scratch on the knee and the kiss didn’t make the boo boo go away.”

It was a relatively new game which was accidentally discovered during a fight when Harley was trying to piss Ivy off by making comments like that. Dick and Tim joined in, humming in agreement and coming up with stuff of their own, all while punching each other in the face. Since then, they always played it with each other, sometimes to each other. Most of the time, Harley was present too.

A very specific comment from Dick sent Tim into a fit of giggles which he couldn’t stop. Eventually, Dick caught the Case of the Giggles and the both of them snorted into the ice cream with tears. Tim faced away from Dick, trying to cease his laughter which was honestly starting to hurt his stomach, when he suddenly froze. The older boy noticed, and all the laughter was sucked from the air, because of how rigid Tim looked. “What happened?” Dick asked.

“I— I think… I think I saw Jason,” Tim stammered, frisking his hair. Trying to search the crowd again, his eyes flitted from one person to another, but he couldn’t find anyone. He was so sure.

Dick shifted uncomfortably. “How much sleep are you getting, Timmers?”

Tim whipped around to face him. “You don’t believe me?”

“Tim…” Dick sighed. “Don’t dodge the question.”

“I’m sleeping just fine, thanks.” And he was. Sure, he wasn’t filling up the expected 8 hours, but he slept for a solid 5 last night. That was more than the night before!

“Okay… how much coffee have you been drinking?”

Tim scowled. “Not enough after you and Bruce tattled to Alfred.”

“It was for your own good.”

“I’m still not forgiving you.”

“It was Bruce’s idea.”

“You didn’t talk him out of it.”

Dick smiled faintly. “Fine, I won’t push. But there’s no way you saw… saw someone who has been dead for years.”

Tim gulped. He was just so sure… but the person who might’ve just looked like Jason had a white streak in his hair. Last time he checked, Jason never had a white streak on his fringe. Maybe he really was too sleep deprived. He shook his head and smiled at Dick, who returned it almost immediately.

As they walked to the place where Alfred told them to meet to pick them up, Tim couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. He dismissed it for the moment, wanting to spend time with Dick as much as he could before they went all business at night.

-----------------------------------

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CAN’T GO TO PATROL?”

“Tim, please, quiet down.”

“I’LL QUIET DOWN ONCE I CAN GET MY GEAR BACK, BRUCE-BITCH.”

“Tim, this is for the best. You’re lacking way too much sleep to—”

“YOU SHUT THE HELL UP, DICKHEAD. THIS IS YOUR FAULT.”

“Tim—”

Tim slipped behind Bruce, pushing him to the ground. Bruce let himself fall, releasing the Robin suit which Tim quickly grabbed and clutched it to his chest. “Let me help!” he protested when he saw Dick getting ready to tackle him. “Bruce! You told me that I did a good job last night, that I kept my head the whole time. Do you not trust me now?”

“It’s not that we don’t trust you, Timber,” Dick stepped forward. Tim immediately shot a death glare at him. Dick stepped back and put his hands up in a placating gesture. “It’s just that I think you're pushing yourself too much. So much that you hallucinated seeing Jason on the street.” At the mention of Jason’s name, the three of them winced.

Tim didn’t back down. Dick looked towards his dad to back him up, Bruce just sighed. “Fine,” he said, giving in.

Tim exaggeratedly beamed at him. Dick shrugged and reached out to ruffle Tim’s hair. Tim caught his hand, shooting him another glare. “Don’t think for one second that I’m letting you off freely, you dick.”

Dick shrugged once more and headed to the changing rooms. Tim waited a few more moments before following him in. He needed Robin. Now more than ever. He needed the distraction of the cases and busting criminals at night. It helped him not think about his parents arriving in a few days’ time.

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“Nightwing here, calling for assistance from Batman and Robin.”

“Affirmative.”

“I just need you to come in quietly. I think I found something, but I don’t wanna startle them.”

“Yuppo, bucko.”

“Ew, cringe.”

Tim laughed as he changed the direction he was grappling towards. He whooped as he let himself fall from a typically tall building, waiting at the last moment to fire his gun. But he didn’t get to fire it. Batman swooped in and caught him instead. “B! I wasn’t gonna fall.”

They landed on the rooftop Dick was on, not acknowledging his protest. He rolled his eyes; he knew that Bruce was just doing this to spite him.

“What’s up, N?”

“Shh. Crims meeting.”

They silently squatted on either side of the blue-and-black clad vigilante, observing the scene below. Two men were standing in front of a door to a shabby nightclub which had closed ages ago. They were awake and alert, eyes darting here and there. The three vigilantes were trained enough to understand that they were clearly expecting someone. Crims usually talk and slack off when guarding something for long periods of time, but Tim could see that their uneasiness was what compelled Dick to call them.

They stayed that way for too long. Waiting. For what? They didn’t know. Then finally, “I can’t do this any longer!” the one on the right said.

“Man, calm down and shut your damn mouth,” Lefty snapped.

“You calm down. I have a wife to look after. I’m leaving.” Before he could take more than a few steps, he landed on the ground with a bullet in the head accompanied by a loud bang.

“You mean you have a wife to rape,” a voice said, and its owner stepped out of the shadows of an alley near Lefty.

It took everything Tim had to not gasp out loud when the shot rang. Seeing the killer now and the words he said just made him even more confused. The killer was wearing a brown leather jacket and black pants with a utility belt of sorts which had gun holders strapped to it. The strangest thing about him was that he had a red helmet on which masked his whole head. The only thing that showed any sign of a face were the white lenses for eyes. He could feel Dick tensing beside him, ready to jump into action whenever Bruce gave order. For now, Bruce seemed content to simply observe.

Lefty clutched his gun tightly, but he wasn’t pointing it at the stranger, he had it trained on the ground. “Red Hood,” he said in greeting.

The stranger, now confirmed as Red Hood, nodded and pushed his way through the doors. Tim saw a brief glimpse of the interior. He saw white walls with crumbling plaster, a large table with people seated around it. He saw two of them and recognized them as two of the most notorious cartel leaders in Gotham.

He prepared to jump but was stopped by Dick’s hand on his cape. “N? What?” he hissed.

“We need more information before we go in.”

“What do you mean?”

“He means that we need some other way to find out more about what’s going on in there,” Bruce said.

Robin rolled his eyes. “Like jumping to the other rooftop and using the ventilator window at the side of the building to snoop?”

They blinked.

“Come on. You don’t think I would just leap into danger with no plan and information? I’m not Dickwing.”

“Hey!” Dick protested, but a smile was on his face. Bruce nodded and they melted into the shadows.

Tim leaped from rooftop to rooftop, crouching near the ventilator window just as he had pointed out. Bruce and Dick were probably hovering for an opening elsewhere, in case they needed to make an entrance. He strained to listen but couldn’t hear a thing. He got closer and peeked through but found the place abandoned. Did he imagine seeing the people he saw before? The crumbling plaster walls were there, so were the tables and the chairs, but other than that and an AC unit, the place was empty. How… He quickly ran to the front of the building and found Lefty to be gone too.

He let out a frustrated grunt and kicked the roof ledge. A shout made him start running again. On the rooftop of the abandoned building, Batman and Nightwing were in an intense battle with Red Hood. Hood pressed the gun trigger and a bullet grazed Dick’s shin. Tim sped up and leaped onto the rooftop silently. Red Hood hadn’t noticed him yet, he could use that to his advantage. He pulled out his bo staff and charged one of the ends with electricity. He jabbed it into Hood's bare wrist, electrocuting him. He must have been stronger than he looked because he didn’t collapse, instead he veered around, hitting him square in the jaw. With a grunt, Robin landed on the rooftop floor.

He got up almost immediately and got into a fighting stance, but Red Hood wasn’t fighting anymore. He seemed frozen with shock (at least, he thought it was shock. It was hard to tell with that helmet on). Dick was on the ground, clutching his bloody leg, and Bruce was slowly stirring, winded out but unharmed.

“You…” Red Hood began. He turned to Batman in fury. “You got ANOTHER ONE?” he yelled. Tim winced at the yell but held his defense stance. “So she was right. Wasn’t it enough that you let the other one die?”

Bruce winced and got up. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Your greatest failure,” with that, he threw something on the ground and bolted. It was a grenade. Tim ran to Dick, grabbed his arms and leaped. With the force of his jump and the explosion mixed together, they landed painfully on another rooftop. Painful, but alive. Bruce had made it out too. Tim sighed with relief.

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Dick gasped in pain as Alfred tended to his wound. “Master Dick, if you’re so keen to move your leg while I try to clean it, maybe you should do it yourself.”

“Sorry Alfred.”

Tim rubbed his sore shoulder and went to Bruce who was trying to research the Red Hood. “Find anything?”

“No.” Bruce was giving short answers with no extra details, meaning that he was too ‘in the mode’.

He sighed and said, “I’m gonna go home.”

Bruce nodded. “Alfred will drop you off. No— wait, he is bandaging Dick. I can—”

“It’s fine, B. I can make my own way home. I live next door after all.”

Bruce nodded again then went back to his research. Tim went to the changing rooms. While in the shower, he prepared a mental checklist of things to do before his parents got back next week. Just thinking about his parents made his chest tighten with dread. He sighed and bumped his head lightly against the wall, the water navigating its way through his hair. Just to delay going to Drake manor, he decided to wash it.

Chapter Text

Tim’s parents arrived 3 hours ago. He could barely concentrate on what his teacher was saying, something Biology probably, because he was dreading going home and seeing them. His palms were sweating and he tried wiping them under the desk. Ives wasn’t here today, he was feeling sick (“Definitely not cancer coming back, don’t worry”), so he didn’t have anyone to talk with to distract him. He bounced his foot anxiously, wanting to be done with class, but at the same time, wanting it to be longer.

Inevitably, the bell rang and a mix of relief and dread filled his stomach. Now he was feeling sick. He slowly trudged through the school hallways and automatically made his way to where he usually meets with Alfred only to realize that he had convinced him the previous night to let him get home by himself. He sighed, ruffled his hair, and trudged to the bus stop instead.

The whole ride, Tim was feeling queasy. He didn’t know how mad his parents would be, he just hoped they got back from a successful trip and were in a good mood, though that was rare. He rubbed his eyes and stared out the window. He was just so tired. Running on low sleep, since most of the nights before his parent’s arrival were usually unrestful. It’s not that Tim didn’t want them to come home, it was just that he wanted them to be in a good mood when they were home. He wanted them to be parents. Good parents. Like how Bruce was to Dick and Jason…

Tim dozed off. When he woke up again and looked out the window, he suddenly remembered that he was on the bus. Adrenaline immediately flooded his veins and he resisted the urge to look around wildly. He glanced at the bus' calling screen and saw that he hadn't missed his stop. In fact, he was to get off on the stop after the one on the screen right now. He forced his heart to calm down and his adrenaline to go back.

One thing he had to learn overtime was how to stop freaking and activating his fight or flight mode at every little thing that went wrong. He knew it wasn't normal, he also knew that it only happened because his parents freak at the littlest things which end up with him getting hurt. He knew that, but it didn't mean that he could stop it. This was beyond his control. Which is probably why the website articles he read advised to tell someone so that they could help him calm down with breathing exercises or whatnot. But Tim didn't need anyone. He was smart enough to find out Batman's secret identity, he was smart enough to handle a small adrenaline jump.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he requested for the bus to stop. He got off and took a few breaths to keep relaxed and mentally prepare himself to meet his parents for the first time in two months. He went through the different scenarios that would meet him. If his father was mad, he could greet them, give them a report on school, politely ask if they needed anything, do the thing they needed, then hole himself in his room. If his mother was mad, he could probably enter and give a polite greeting and compliment her and dad, then go and make coffee for all of them while talking about school, then excuse himself and go to his room. If both his parents were mad… Well, he can burn that bridge when he gets to it.

Taking another deep breath, he opened the front door and got in, a polite smile already plastered on his face.

“Timothy!” his father exclaimed. “I was wondering when you’d be back.”

“Guess what we bought for you?” his mother said with a smile.

Tim blinked. “Huh?”

His mother laughed. “What are you surprised about? We did text you the time we would arrive.”

Tim blinked again, then his face broke into a genuine smile. “Yeah… I was just distracted by this project we’re doing in Biology. It’s a big one.”

“Oh, then I guess you should go and get started on it,” his mother suggested.

“No!” he said quickly. “I can catch up. I’m way ahead in other classes anyways. Besides, how will I get to spend time with you if I’m stuck studying?” Especially since you’re both in a good mood and can finally do something like a normal family, he silently added.

That evening, they talked about his school, their trip, biology, and his future. They briefly touched on the topic of what his parents would be doing when he’s in college, but he quickly changed the topic to Ives and his recovery.

“That poor boy,” his mother said.

“Truly a brave soul,” his father agreed. Tim beamed with happiness that they agreed with something. This was his life, navigating through his parents' emotions. Right now… he didn’t care though, his parents were happy and so was he.

They decided to go out for dinner then catch a late night movie as they already slept while Tim was at school and were feeling refreshed. Tim had a blast. He was chattering a mile a minute while his parents occasionally made a comment here and there and laughed at one point at a joke he said. Tim felt such a wave of happiness on hearing their laughter. He felt as calm as the sea, with no triggers to ruin the night.

On top of all that, his parents had gotten him a souvenir! When they were about to wind down for the night, his mother called him to her room and handed it to him with a polite warning of "Be careful with it". It was a beautifully painted diary with old, yellowed pages and a heavenly inky smell. The cover was leather, but it had a very realistic-looking tree carved into it. The pages were old-looking, but blank, and Tim's heart was full. He beamed at his parents, tears prickling the back of his eyes, and mouthed a thank you which made them beam back. He ran a tender hand over the book and made a silent promise to write in it every night.

He collapsed in bed with good thoughts and a smile on his face. He was worrying so much and preparing for all the bad scenarios, he didn’t even think about the possibility of both of them being in a good mood. He had two gifts in one week now. The blue converse Dick had enthusiastically and lovingly stuffed in his face and the beautiful diary his mother had carefully and politely handed it to him. He hoped that none of this was a dream.

-------------------------------

It wasn't a dream. It was very very real. The diary on his nightstand was proof of that. Tim could've yelled with joy. He quickly got out of bed, did his morning routine, then hurried down the stairs with his uniform on. Today was a Friday and also the last day of school before summer break, which meant that he could have his parents all to himself. As he ran down the last flight of stairs, he silently prayed that they would be in a good mood for most, if not all, of their stay.

Janet Drake was in the kitchen, making breakfast, and Jack Drake was making coffee for three. Tim had a sudden urge to get his old camera and take a picture, but his dad spotted him and beckoned him over. He didn't have to take a picture, not when the real moment was happening right now.

"I heard that there's a photography competition at your school," Jack said.

"Really? I haven't heard of it yet."

"I read it in the newsletter yesterday while waiting for you to arrive. I think you should enter."

Tim took a sip of the coffee and immediately stuck out his burnt tongue and flapped his hand at it. Jack smiled and shook his head. For some reason, that made Tim's insides twinge with fondness. "I'll check it out, dad," he said.

"Good. You don't want to waste all those years of taking pictures, do you?"

Tim smiled, remembering the time before he became Robin. He had begged his parents for a new high tech Wayne industries camera. When he finally received one for his birthday, he used it to sneak out and take pictures of Batman and Robin. When he found out their real identities, the irony of using a Wayne tech camera for taking pictures of Batman was not lost in it. When he mentioned it to Dick later, he was shaking with suppressed laughter.

He was pretty sure he still had that camera, though it was a while since he used it. He occasionally took it out and snapped a few pics, most of which consisted of his times at Wayne manor, and the rest which had him out as Robin. Now, with the competition his dad had mentioned, he considered digging the camera out and signing up. It wouldn't hurt to try, and it would make his parents happy if he won. If he doesn't, they'll probably forget about it.

----------------------------------------

His dad dropped him off at school with his mom in the passenger seat waving goodbye. A fluttery feeling filled his chest and the single thought of “my parents dropped me off themselves” played on repeat in his head. He did appreciate him and Alfred’s talks in the car as he dropped Tim off and picked him up from school, but he would gladly trade that for spending time in the backseat of his parents’ car all while listening to them talk about the highlights of their trip. Turns out, they had discovered quite a significant artifact which hints at being at least 1,500 years old and could lead to a breakthrough. They were just waiting for the rest of the pieces of artifact to be dug up as it was buried quite firmly in the ground. Meanwhile, they decided to come home to Tim since they realized that they had a son waiting to hear the good news. They were right, Tim was waiting for them to come back. Not as happy as they had originally imagined as he remembered the anxiety on the bus, but now that they were here, he was plenty happy. This was looking to be the best visit ever, right after the time they went to the Flying Graysons show when he was three.

He waved goodbye and didn’t leave until he could no longer see the spec of black which was his parents’ car. He smiled a small smile and made his way to class, filled with motivation to do his very best in every single class today. It was just as well for him, because his first lesson, History, announced a surprise pop quiz with 5 minutes to get organized. Because Timothy Jackson Drake was Timothy Jackson Drake, he had organized his notes in such a way that it really only took 5 minutes to cover the whole topic in a quick revision session. He silently thanked Bruce for teaching him quick-compartmentalizing and note-strategy. A few minutes before class, he handed over his test with a winning smile.

The rest of the day went by with Tim extensively and obsessively taking notes and answering questions to the point that his Math teacher had to say “Anyone other than Mr. Drake” everytime she asked a question. When lunchtime arrived, he breathed a huge sigh of relief. Paying attention was hard and energy-draining. Good thing he brought money to buy himself some nice… fish sticks? Tim resisted the urge to throw up at the putrid smell of the school canteen’s fish sticks which were made by the canteen lady herself. She was so proud of her fish sticks that the Principal didn’t have the heart to tell her to stop. Much to the disappointment of the students who tried to sneak away from the line.

Tim shook his head and decided to buy something from the cafe directly opposite to the back gates of the Academy. Just as he was about to exit the gates, he suddenly recalled the rule that students weren’t allowed to leave campus at any time during school unless permission was granted. A lot of the students, and teachers, ignored that rule, but since Tim had vowed to be on his best behavior today for the sake of his parents, he changed his mind and slinked to the library instead. It was okay though, he can make up for his missed lunch at the dinner place his parents had reserved that night.

Trying to hide his grumbling stomach, he purchased a KitKat bar from the vending machine and gulped it quickly before entering the library. Swiping his phone on, he went to messages to check what Bruce, Dick, and Alfred sent him.

Dickhead: im gonna be leaving on Monday since my leg seems ok enough 2 walk on but do u think ur folks wud wanna join us for dinner?
Dickhead: i talked to Alfie and he said that he wud text u abt the betails

Tim shook his head. He would love it if they could all have dinner together, but he’s pretty sure that his parents don’t really like the Waynes hanging out with their only son so much. The only reason he doesn’t hear them complain as much is the fact that his friendship with them could benefit his parents' own company someday, but he knew that they definitely wouldn’t accept the invitation if they could help it.

YellTimber: i dont think so, Dick. We already have reservations 4 dinner. Sorry 2 see u leave so soon tho
Dickhead: its ok timmers. I’ll try 2 c when i can free up my schedule 2 visit next time
YellTimber: bring something edible if ur gonna stuff it in my face again
Dickhead: WHO? ME? Stuff sumth in ur face? Timmy! How could you!
YellTimber: dick.
Dickhead: 😔

Tim smiled and exited the direct messages to see what Alfred said.

Alfred: Master Tim, I’m sure Master Dick has told you already, but I would be very happy to have your parents over for dinner. I have in mind a very special lasagna recipe
YellTimber: that's ok, Alfred. My paretns made a reservation 4 dinner already, but thnx 4 asking!

He went over to Bruce’s chat.

Brucie: will robin be making an appearance tonight?
YellTimber: if sumth important like an alien invasion that's eating everyone's brains happens
YellTimber: if not, then a very hungry boi has a dinner reservation 2night

Bruce replied back almost immediately.

Brucie: don't worry, batman will be making sure to keep the night smooth going
YellTimber: and u say ur not paranoid
Brucie: only about the red hood case

Tim grimaced. The Red Hood case. He thought back to what happened at their last meeting:

“You got ANOTHER ONE?”

It was clear that he meant another Robin. It didn’t take long for him to figure that out.

“So she was right. Wasn’t it enough that you let the other one die?”

Again. This just confirmed that he was talking about the previous Robin. But two questions remained: why did the Red Hood care about Jason? And who did he mean by 'she'?

“Who are you?” B had asked.
“Your greatest failure,” he had replied before running away.

Now that… that just messed up all the logic in his head. Red Hood and Batman obviously had met before, but when he and Dick asked about it, Bruce shook his head saying that he had no clue either. It must have struck a nerve though, because Bruce had been obsessively trying to catch him ever since.

Despite Tim, Barbara, Dick and Bruce’s combined efforts, they couldn’t get a single scrap of information on him. They had only met him once after all. And all the cartels were laying low for the week. Nightwing had managed to corner one member, but he was quickly shot dead before he could even open his mouth. Dick tried to catch the guy who had killed him, but the perpetrator, most likely the Red Hood himself, was long gone.

He sighed and decided to ponder on the problem later. His parents were here! He should enjoy himself before they inevitably flew away again. He spent the rest of the lunch break playing BatBusters, working his way up the leaderboard. Just before the bell rang, he received a very strongly worded text from Babs describing the many ways she can kill him if she ends up being below him in the leaderboard. He quickly texted back a “lol okay” knowing how much it would infuriate her. It was worth it, even if he would have to kick out viruses from his computer for the next week.

-------------------------------------

In contrast to how Tim was feeling yesterday, today was very much the opposite. He eagerly made his way to the place where most kids were picked up by their parents. It was the first time in a long while that he met his dad instead of Alfred in the pick-up zone. Ready to greet his dad and have his hair ruffled, he scanned the place for his parents’ favorite Mercedes.

“Timothy!” he heard someone call his name. He hurried to that direction and his face fell when he saw that his father was not smiling like he expected him to. He saw his mother in the passenger seat as he neared the car. He nervously ran a hand through his hair.

“Hey dad,” he tried in a casual tone.

“Timothy. Hurry up and get in, we just received an email from one of our shareholders. We don’t have time to drop you off at the house, so you’ll have to come with us to the meeting.” Tim quickly slipped in the back seat, automatically assuming his strategy for when he was in the danger of his parents’ anger: staying quiet and trying his hardest to not exist.

“Mr. Salcruz has a son around your age,” Janet explained as they drove. “You may keep each other company in his room as we will be speaking in the living room. Remember to be on your best behavior and do not, I am repeating this, do not mess this up. This meeting could make or break our profit for the month.”

Tim nodded. They were now bickering and arguing back and forth about their next trip and whether the new discovery they made could act as a strategy. Tim zoned out and tried to quell down the rising anxiety in his chest. He desperately prayed that the meeting would go well. Not just for the sake of the meeting, but the sake of him too. That was probably selfish but he couldn’t find himself to care. He was too anxious.

Using the breathing exercises he had once found online when he was younger, he leaned his head back and counted his breaths. By the time he thought that he had calmed down, they arrived at Mr. Salcruz’s mansion. Just like that, his anxiety came back up and it was all Tim could do to keep the adrenaline levels low.

It was going so well… Why now? Why today? Why not after the weekend?

What was Tim’s life coming to?

------------------------------------- =

They lost. Not just the money, but the shareholder himself. Mr. Liam Salcruz had a weary attention span and nothing Jack and Janet Drake said made him gain interest again. They drove home in silence, making Tim’s anxiety and nausea grow even more.

At least Mr. Salcruz’s son, Henry, and Tim hit it off. Turns out that Mr. Salcruz’s attention span extended to his family too. He lost interest in his wife, which led to a divorce. During the rare occasions he remembered he had a son, he just hit him. So Tim told him about his parents too, how they seemed to be mad as the smallest things. They laughed, joked, and bonded through their trauma, swearing about their parents behind their backs. Tim instantly felt guilty after that and suggested they stop and do something else to pass time, and Henry seemed too eager to agree and they spent the rest of the time playing video games.

His father pulled up in their garage, making Tim snap out of his thoughts. He got his backpack and quickly stumbled out of the car. They entered the manor and Jack collapsed on the sofa while Janet looked around for her phone charger.

“What are you doing just standing there, Timothy? Make yourself useful,” Jack snapped.

Tim scrambled to the kitchen to prepare two mugs of coffee for Jack and Janet. Glad to have something to do without his parents in sight, he took his time preparing the hot drinks. He didn’t stall for too long though, he didn’t want his mother yelling at him for how slow he was. He spun the spoon around in the two cups then put the mugs on a tray and took it to the living room.

His hands were shaking throughout the whole trip from the kitchen. He nearly cried when the coffee cups slid slightly, almost spilling the coffee. He quickly handed the cup to his mother, then to his father. As it were though, luck was not on his side that evening, and Tim’s shaking hands accidentally bumped the tray against Jack’s coffee cup, spilling the coffee all over his expensive white shirt.

Tim froze and saw his life flash past his eyes. Just a couple days ago, he was laughing with Dick so hard at a prank they pulled on Bruce, that they were on the ground in tears. He had calmed down enough to open eyes, but one look at Bruce covered in pink sparkly glitter sent him laughing yet again and it was impossible for Dick to not join in. Amidst laughter and giggles, Dick gasped out, “Serves you— right. You— you brooding ol’ bat.”

Now, he was a mix of anxiety and nerves, waiting for the hit to blow. His father closed his eyes, then got up, put the cup down on a table and said, “You're lucky that I took off my jacket as soon as I came home.”

“Not that lucky as it so happens, Jack.” His mother furiously turned to Tim. “Do you know how much that cost, Timothy? Do you? Do you even care? We just lost a significant amount of money, and you lose some more by spilling coffee?”

Tim winced at the venom in her voice and nervously combed his fingers through his hair.

“I told you, Janet. The boy is inattentive.”

The fist Tim was waiting for came and struck hard and fast across his cheek. His eyes started to tear up. No no no no, not now, he desperately begged his tears to stay in.

“How many times have I told you to pay attention, Timothy?” his father yelled. “You don’t listen, do you? In one ear and out the other.” He brought his fist down Tim’s arms which were raised to protect his face. Tim toppled to the ground, his heart thudding against his chest, and his body too scared to get up.

He avoided his father’s gaze, darting his eyes here and there. They landed on his mother, but she was simply watching with no intention of interfering. It was clear from her expression that she had no qualms about what was currently happening.

“Timothy, look at me,” Jack said. He felt rough hands grabbing his arm painfully and forcing him to get up. “What did I tell you before?”

“Huh?” He received another slap across his face.

“What did I tell you about respect?” Jack spat.

That was thick, the sentence itself is hypocritical, Tim wanted to say, but what really came out was, “Listen to what you say?”

“What else?”

“Reply when asked a question.”

“Exactly. Don’t give any of those lame “huh”s and “what”s. You should be listening to what’s being said and reply straight back respectfully.”

“Okay.” That must have been the wrong answer because Janet sighed exasperatedly and Jack’s nostrils flared as he threw Tim against the wall. He banged his head against it and the world went out of focus for a while. The momentary dizziness didn’t seem to stop Tim’s insides quaking with fear and Jack’s angry fist smashing down his back.

The rest of the evening passed by blurrily. Jack must have yelled some more while Janet stood by unhelpfully, occasionally adding a thing Tim did wrong, but Tim didn’t absorb any of it. In fact, when he was in the bathroom, hysterically sobbing with his aching back to the wall, he could barely remember any specific details. When he tried recalling what had happened, only blurry images, muffled and distinct words appeared. He must have zoned out, or dissociated, he didn’t know what it was.

What he did remember, however, was Jack’s comments about how inattentive and unkind Tim was. Through his heaving shoulders, never-ending tears, and hitching sobs, he smirked.

If only they knew what Tim was upto most nights. Inattentive and unkind, my ass, he said to himself. He could have ten men on the ground almost at once with his carefully thought out and strategic plan. And hadn’t he saved so many lives in the past two years?

As for respect, they can have his respect right after they give him some of theirs. Besides, all the “huh”s and “what”s are to be blamed on Jack himself. He wouldn’t have to say that if his father didn’t get his fight or flight response gear up over something as simple as spilling coffee. It was just a coffee spill. Even with losing one of the shareholders, they would still have more than enough money to buy a new shirt due to their new discovery at the dig. It was just a fucking coffee spill.

Tim’s sobs increased with that realization. It was just a fucking coffee spill.

He bit down his fingers and strangled out a guttural scream full of frustration, anger, and sadness. He wanted to punch something. Which was ironic since he was used as a punching bag for his father to punch out his frustrations himself. He just wanted to hit something so bad. Preferably a criminal. Criminals deserved it anyway. They did far worse things than spill coffee on expensive shirts. Criminals like the Joker, who were total dickheads. Just like his parents. They were dickheads too.

Dickheads…

Dick…

He suddenly stopped sobbing. Dick… Bruce… Alfred… They were more his family than Jack and Janet themselves. And right now, he missed them so much. Right now, he just wanted Jack and Janet to be gone. He wanted them to go away on their stupid trip so that he could go back to the Waynes. So that he could go back to fighting criminals and solving cases. So that he could go back to the relaxed atmosphere, the caring smiles, the easy laughter, the hilarious pranks, the light-hearted gestures, the side-hugs, the hair ruffles, and the amazing homemade cooking. He wanted nothing more than to be hiding in one of the many bedrooms’ closets with Dick while chewing the cookies they stole off Alfred’s tray before he put them in the jar and hid them where no bat could ever find. He didn’t want to be here, in his bathroom, crying his eyes red raw, with a throbbing head, back, and face, alone like he always was.

Not for the first time in his life he considered texting Bruce or Dick or Alfred about his situation. He knew that this wasn’t normal.

Dimly, the thought back to the time when he first realized that what his parents did to him was very much illegal. He thought it was okay and he deserved it. Up until 19th of November when an awareness campaign visited the school claiming that it was ‘World Day for the Prevention of Child Abuse’. They basically explained the different types of child abuse, what it looked like, what its effects were, what the laws around it were, and the different organizations and hotlines that helped deal with it.

Needless to say, Tim visited every organization’s website that night and found that he fell under the category of physical, emotional, and neglectful abuse. He also found significant information about himself. Him acting older than his age which earned praise from the people at the galas? A sign of emotional abuse and neglect. The reason why he had to physically stop himself from asking people if they were mad just because they put down something a little too hard or said something a little too loud? A symptom of physical and emotional abuse. Those rapid bursts of adrenaline triggering his fight or flight response during seemingly normal and small situations? A symptom of physical abuse.

He also found out interesting things about his parents’ habits too. Turns out, his mother simply bystanding was a type of abuse too. Leaving him alone for days, weeks, and months on end was neglect. His father making comments on Tim’s character and telling him how useless, stupid, uncaring, and inattentive he was, no matter how much those words were true, still counted as emotional abuse. So did his mother’s clucking of insults and mean comments on Tim’s appearance of how pale he was, or how he was too thin, or how his face was not photogenic at all and required more makeup than her. And no matter how many times Tim told himself that his parents’ hits didn’t leave a mark, it didn’t matter because it still counted as abuse.

So, Timothy Jackson Drake spent several consecutive weeks learning about child abuse and how to cope and deal with it. He made a list of symptoms and signs, then cross-referenced them with what he thought he showed, then came up with ways to hide them. He read through legal documents and discovered emancipation and prepared a whole ass plan on how he would escape Drake manor with its long empty halls, devoid of life, and the fear his parents brought with them after every trip. Doing well in school was not just a way to keep his parents happy, it was so he could apply to a good University far away, receive a scholarship, get a job with the accomplishments he had to further support his university studies, then finally leave this hellhole forever.

That’s when he started to daydream. He had daydreams about living with roommates, going out with friends, meeting someone he liked, getting his bachelor’s or diploma, and having all those adventures. Of course, he knew that he couldn’t achieve all of it, but it couldn’t hurt to dream. Those daydreams were the only thing keeping him afloat. Well, that and Batman and Robin.

After Tim gained insight to his situation, he obsessively went out every night without fail to watch his heroes as a coping mechanism. He mapped out their patrol routes in Gotham and created a system of how to get from place to place in time to catch the Dynamic Duo. He even nicknamed himself ‘Minho’ after reading The Maze Runner. After finding out their identities when he was nine, he not only watched the vigilantes, but he also started watching the Waynes, his next-door neighbors, too. Observing how they behaved in and out of their civilian identities. He marveled at how they still managed to keep their identities a secret since they showed way too many similarities between themselves and their alter egos. Jason especially. His hero.

He smiled when he remembered the first time he briefly met the boy at school. They were in the library and Tim was panicking over the assigned reading of Lord of the Flies when Jason slipped into the chair beside him and asked what he was reading. He held up the book in response. Jason’s eyes lit up and he asked how he found it so far.

“Really long and descriptive,” he squeaked.

Jason laughed and slapped his back in a friendly manner. Tim flinched, but fortunately Jason’s eyes were closed. “That, you’re right, buddy. Hey, what’s your name?” he asked.

“Tim.”

“Well, Tim. I could feel you sweating from all the way over there. You want me to help you understand the plot?”

Tim felt like he could cry. “Yes please,” he said gratefully. They had then spent the rest of the lunch break discussing the characters, plot and meaning behind the novel (it was mostly Jason talking). That was the first and last time they had formally met (galas totally didn’t count as you were obligated to be fake the whole time).

A small pang in his chest bloomed at the thought of his dead idol. It was a welcome distraction from the pain in other parts of his body, however. So he let the pang grow into something bigger. Almost like… fondness. Holding on to that feeling, he got himself up, washed his face, and snuggled into bed.

Not bothering to brush his teeth or change into pajamas, he clutched his copy of Lord of the Flies like it was a comfort toy. With the amount of times Tim hugged it, carefully handled it, and held it when he was distressed, it might as well be considered a comfort toy. He never returned the book after that encounter with Jason. Long after he got his grade of ‘A’ in the class. And that was probably the only school rule he broke his whole life.

His eyes fell to the diary his mother had given him the night before. Tears pricked at the back of his eyes. Despite all the pain they caused him, they were still his parents. Sure they left him, but they left him with tons of money, food, supplies, elite education, and freedom. They wouldn’t do that if they didn’t love him. They wouldn’t have taken him to dinner and a movie last night if they didn’t love him. They wouldn’t be coming back again and again if they didn’t love him. And they wouldn’t have gifted him that diary if they didn’t love him. So if his parents still loved him enough to do all that, shouldn’t Tim give them some credit?

He got up again and picked up the diary from the nightstand. He sighed, rubbed his burning eyes, and picked up a pen from his desk to write. By the time he finished writing down everything he wanted to say, a few hours had passed. He pushed the diary under a loose floorboard under his bed (he got the idea from Harry Potter and purposely loosened the floorboard). Rolling over on his back, he saw that it was 1am in the morning. His parents were long asleep by now.

The continuous and smooth ticking of his alarm clock eased his eyes closed and he fell into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

Tim woke up to his stomach violently demonstrating whale noises. He tried to recall the last time he ate and realized that he hadn't had anything since yesterday morning since he had skipped lunch because of fishsticks and stupid promises, and they’d skipped their dinner reservation due to last night’s events.

Thinking about what happened last night made a wave of nerves mix with the hunger in his stomach.

So he got up and rubbed the sand out of the corners of his eyes which felt puffy and heavy from the crying session the night before. He trudged to the bathroom and stripped down and moved his heavy eyes to look in the mirror. What he saw made him freeze on the spot.

Tim was the walking image of the loading page sign as he tried to compute the information. In the end, he ended up restarting his systems.

Quickly pulling on a bathrobe and a pair of boxers lying on his bedroom floor, he leaped down the stairs to the kitchen. His parents were already there. His mother was scrolling through her phone while his father had his glasses on and was typing something on his laptop. On seeing Tim rush into the room, they stopped what they were doing.

"Timothy, what are you doing?" his mother asked.

Tim didn't answer, making his way to the fridge. Panic was tightening his chest and anger roared in his ears. It was all their fault. Couldn't they have just sent the shirt to the dry-cleaners or something? But no, they had to take out their anger and mistakes on him. It was his parent's fault and Tim hated them for it.

He pushed a pack of frozen peas and found the ice pack he was looking for.

A bruise, or a contusion, develops when a part of the body is hurt and blood spills from the harmed capillaries. Without anywhere to go, the blood becomes trapped beneath the skin, creating a bruise, which is a red or purple mark that is sensitive to touch. So by applying cold pressure to the bruise on his face, just on the corner of his right-side upper cheekbone, would slow the blood flow which would help with the swelling, which would help it heal faster, which would mean that he wouldn't have to wear concealer for as long. Still, it doesn't keep him from letting out a hiss of pain.

Hearing it, his parents are on him in a second. "Are you okay, what happened?" Jack Drake asked.

Tim's face flashed with anger. "See for yourself." He lifted the ice pack to show a reddish patch, slowly starting to become a purple-ish color.

His mother hissed in sympathy. "I'll get you some cream for that. I've heard it works wonders."

"I DON'T NEED YOUR DAMN CREAM!" he suddenly yelled. Blood was roaring in his ears and all he felt was pure anger and hatred towards the two people in front of him, who might as well be strangers. He was done. Through all those times he was roughed around, he left it alone because it didn't leave a big mark. At least not anywhere visible. But now… now they were in for it. He was done. So why was he crying?

Janet Drake shook her head and brushed off Tim's angry tears with a small smile. Tim jerked away angrily. But… he couldn't help but shudder a bit at the tenderness of her touch. Call him crazy and ship him off to Arkham cuz he actually wanted her to do it again. "I'm still going to get you that cream and maybe a couple pain pills. It'll be okay, Timothy, no need to overreact."

"Overreact? Overreact? You left a fucking mark on my face."

"Hey now," his father intervened. "Watch your language and don't blame people who didn't do anything to you."

"That's right, dad. You did this. But that doesn't change the fact that SHE JUST STOOD THERE AND WATCHED!"

He suddenly felt himself be pulled into a hug. What kind of psycho…

"Tim. Calm down. We can deal with this. Okay, sport?" He heard his father chuckle slightly. "It's just a small bruise. Nothing too serious. It'll fade away in a couple weeks."

Tim was wrong. Jack Drake wasn't as much of a psycho for hugging him after literally beating him a few hours ago as he was for actually liking the hug. He squeezed some more tears out of his eyes to clear his vision. He pushed away from the hug and wiped the tears.

"What is it?" Jack asked lightheartedly.

How? How could he be so lighthearted when literally a few hours ago he was screaming his head off? How could his mother just gently apply cream to his bruise and hand him a pill and glass of water to help with the pain? How could his father bring freshly toasted bread and spread butter and jam on it for Tim to eat then go back upstairs and get his clothes? He still hated his parents, but he couldn't hold on to it for long. Soon, he was sobbing into Jack's shoulder, the very man who banged his head against the wall and told him that he was basically useless.

Tim was so confused right now. Not to mention frustrated. What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to feel? All he wanted was for his parents to come home and spend time with. All he wanted was to be in a normal family and do normal stuff. But every time Jack and Janet came home, Tim did everything he could to keep them happy and stay, but one small mistake such as dropping a phone would send them off in a screaming match then shift to hitting him. After that, Tim wished they would just hurry up and leave. It was the same cycle, over and over.

"It's okay, Tim. I'm not mad now. You can quit worrying."

"All you have to do is listen and be respectful."

"You know that I don't think sometimes either. You know that my anger just happens."

"That's why you should avoid triggering him."

"But it's okay, son. It's okay."

Tears squeezed out of his eyes. God, his parents sounded so gentle right now. He felt sick and longing at the same time. It was true that Jack had a hard time controlling his emotions. He once mentioned his father hitting him. That had messed him up. It wasn't really his fault, Tim had understood. It was his father's father. And it might've been his father too. And on and on the cycle went. He sorely hoped he wouldn't end up being a part of the cycle.

But it wasn't really his parents' fault though, was it? They just weren't good at parenting sometimes. Even Bruce was bad at parenting. Just look at what happened with Dick. Parents are humans after all.

Tim sniffed and blew his nose on the tissue Janet got him.

"We're leaving on Sunday," she said.

"The people there found a pair of bones along with that clay pot, we have to go analyze, carbon-date, you know, all that fun archaeology stuff," his father explained.

Tim nodded solemnly. He understood that. He understood how important it was. He understood that this dig could shoot the average profit up by at least a couple ten thousands, including the missing shareholder. He understood that their work was important. He had been understanding it since he was five.

At this point, he was more relieved than sad that they would be leaving.

----------------------------------

They decided to attend Fiona Wilcox's summer party at the last minute the next day. Tim groaned when his mother entered his room, rummaging through his closet for a good suit. He had spent most of the day yesterday in his room, looking through the Red Hood case files and the recent Arkham breakout. He only came out to eat, and once, to grimly sit in the room with his parents when they called him to join in on their conversation. He barely said a word.

She laid the clothes out gently on his bed then pinched him on the cheek affectionately, telling him to get ready quickly. Tim rubbed his eyes in frustration. Just a day ago his parents were hysterically mad, now they were back to normal and didn't seem to acknowledge that anything had happened yesterday, despite his bruise staring at their face the whole time. It seemed that everyone except Tim had moved on.

He ran his fingers through his hair in front of the mirror. The bruise on his face was dark purply-black now. He decided to wash his face before grabbing the concealer stick. Gently, he applied it on his face with the precision of a surgeon. After finishing, he admired his handiwork before slapping his forehead when he remembered that he had to put on his suit first.

He quickly got ready, then redid his concealer and other makeup (it wasn’t a secret among the higher-ups that everyone, including the men wore makeup). He tiredly trudged down the stairs while doing his tie. His father noticed him fiddling with the cursed piece of cloth and called him over.

He clucked his tongue, "You should know how to do a tie by now, Timothy. You know that I'm not always going to be there for you to do it."

Tim nodded, too tired to argue that he barely went to any formal parties or galas since they weren't around to accept the invite anyway.

"I'm sure there are tutorials on the internet for you to follow along with," Jack finished.

Tim nodded again and reflexively lifted his arms for his mother to spray cologne on. Soon, they were ready.

They arrived at the party in an hour. During that hour, Tim scrolled through his phone to keep busy from his parents' bickering. They walked on the red carpet, smiling and waving for the cameras. Tim resisted the urge to sigh tiredly when they stepped into the hallway which led to the ballroom.

There was a table buffet and Tim was about to make a beeline to it when his mother cleared her throat and approached an elderly lady who was making her way to them. They politely exchanged greetings, shook hands, laughed about the weather, then walked away. Tim was about to leave again when another guest approached them. This one asked Tim about school. Jack laughed and answered, boasting about Tim's consistent A's. Tim, who was already getting bored, politely smiled and nodded.

They split off, but Tim was stopped by two more guests asking about his school and his parents. He suddenly spotted a familiar Latino figure and politely excused himself and made his way towards him.

Henry spotted Tim walking towards him and his bored face slightly lit up. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," Tim replied.

"Nice concealer."

Tim cringed. "That noticeable?"

"Only if you're as close as I am and are actually looking for it. Other than that, nada."

Tim sighed with relief. They idly stood there, occasionally waving back to people who waved to them. "This is so not the type of parties I'm supposed to be attending," Tim stated quietly.

Henry grinned. "I'm bolting out of here in a few minutes. Hell if my dad found out, but I just can't with this place. Wanna join?"

Tim thought back to last night then shook his head.

"Suit yourself," Henry said as he moved away.

Tim sagged, disappointed that he was now going to be completely alone, with no good company, nodding and smiling to old people's remarks about how much he's growing, laughing through gritted teeth as men with huge egos exchanged small talk with him, and— and Bruce!

Tim lit up when he spotted Bruce amidst a crowd of women, half of whom were married. He made his way to him, emphasizing his body language that he had eyes set only on Bruce so that people coming towards him would get the cue that he did not want to meet them. It worked and he reached Bruce with no distractions. Unfortunately, the gaggle of girls (who all seemed to be in one big friendship group), did not get the hint that Tim wanted to get to him. In fact, they barely seemed to notice Tim at all.

Bruce was explaining about a trip he went to in Australia where he had to escape from a shark on the beach. Tim nearly rolled his eyes. Bruce was, in fact, working with Wally to bring down King Shark together on a mission. He used a trip to Australia as an excuse to cover the time he missed as Brucie Wayne.

"That's a cool story, Mr. Wayne. But we all know Australia doesn't exist," Tim joked when Bruce had gotten to the end of his shark-o-manic story.

Tim saw his eyes visibly light up. "Timothy Jackson Drake," he stated. "Nice to see you here."

Tim smiled, signaling that as a cue in upper class-language for present unwanted company to clear off. As the group of women were indeed upper class, they muttered goodbyes and batted their eyelashes while leaving.

"How's it going, B?" Tim asked in his normal voice, abandoning the one he usually used for formal events such as these which clearly stated "nerdy rich future CEO kid".

"Tim. I think you saved my life," Bruce replied.

Tim snorted, then covered it up as a cough. Bruce raised his eyebrows in amusement.

"Let's get you some water at the buffet table," Bruce said, leading him there.

They both grabbed plates and Bruce filled Tim's up. "Gee, you didn't really have to. I can put food on a plate myself," Tim teased.

Bruce smirked. "I'm going to make sure you finish that. Alfred told me that you were starting to skip meals again."

Tim's face flushed. His own father barely noticed when Tim didn't eat as much as he should during meal times. He usually preferred to eat alone in his room. He had no problem finishing his food at Wayne manor with Bruce and Alfred, and sometimes Dick, though. He didn't have any qualms about eating here either. There was just something about his parents watching what he was eating that unnerved him.

They grabbed a table near the window. Bruce didn't pick up his fork until Tim shoved a mini hot-dog in his mouth. Satisfied that he was getting nourished, he started on his own plate. It made Tim feel warm inside.

"So," he said in a low voice, "is there any progress with Red Hood or Joker?"

Bruce sighed and whispered, "Not yet. There have been several mentions and rumors of the Red Hood being in some places, but no actual sightings. I'm starting to think that he's the cause of those rumors himself. And of course Joker only broke out yesterday from Arkham. I would think that he's in hiding."

"Most probably." Tim straightened up.

"Hnn."

"Oops, I think your Batman slipped out."

"Very funny."

"I can even see the pointy ears on your head."

--------------------------------

Tim left the gala, feeling happier than when he arrived. He had found his parents and they were now pulling up in the driveway.

Tim was smiling at Bruce's confused response to a meme Dick had sent the group chat with him and the bats, when his mother suddenly yelled, "WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM?"

Tim nearly dropped his phone as he stumbled out of the car in surprise. "What?"

His face was grabbed by Janet, who was painfully squeezing it while her nails dug into his skin. "We go to parties like that for a reason, and that's not eating with friends. We socialize. We network. Are you getting this, Timothy?" She pushed him backwards and angrily let go.

He could feel the rough gravel under his skinned palms and smell the car's petrol fumes. Tim's heart was in his throat now, his chest was thumping with fear and adrenaline tensed up his whole body. What did he do wrong now?

"I was looking for you everywhere," Janet snapped. "Ms Wilcox herself was asking about you. I could have discussed the possibility of her becoming.one of the shareholders if you were there." She grabbed Tim's hair and forced him to face her. "Did you know what she did? She said she was bored and went to get a drink." With each emphasized word, she twisted and shook his head with his hair back and forth. "All because you got yourself an attitude after yelling at your parents who were only trying to help you." She finished, letting go of his hair.

Tim bumped onto the ground. He turned to look at his father, but he was following Janet inside. So he brushed himself off and followed them both in. Why was his life like this?

------------------------------

Tim's parents left. Their flight was booked at 9-something and he was in the empty Batcave in his Robin costume, looking up files on the Batcomputer, after sniffling uselessly in his room.

He couldn't concentrate though. His mind kept wandering to the fight between him and Janet. Their visit home had started so freaking well. Then a coffee spill happened and everything went downhill from there.

He bumped his head against the computer. Then again. And again. And—

"Damn kid, if you were going to get yourself a concussion, I wouldn't have bothered coming here," said a voice.

Tim immediately got up. Who the hell had entered the Cave without triggering any alarms?

The owner of the voice stepped out of the shadows. "Red Hood," Tim snarled.

Chapter Text

"Hey Tim," he said in all his brown leather jacket and red helmet glory. "I was here first." The sentence tugged something inside his brain.

The Red Hood was here and he knew who Tim was. He knew who Bruce was, maybe Dick too. And Tim was alone in the Cave with him. With his bo staff too far away.

"Red Hood," Tim said carefully. "You've been cleaning up Gotham well. Unfortunately, using a rather… messy method."

"Which is the messy method?" He pulled out a gun and twirled it around his finger. "Oh you mean using this little ol' thing?" He aimed the gun towards Tim and pressed the trigger.

The shot must have been to scare him because Tim easily dodged it. "Precisely," he said.

"How would you know, Pretender?" He began walking closer to him. Tim stood his ground. "You have a father." Tim flinched. "You went to a private school. I had to live on the streets of Gotham. Scrounging for food and warm places to sleep."

The sentence tugged at the back of his head again. Tim decided to listen to it.

"I bet Bruce told you that killing is wrong, huh? That he would help you. Protect you. That you'll both be ridding Gotham's streets off criminals?"

He knew his identity. Batman's identity. Another one… Then, Tim understood. "Jason?" he whispered.

The man stopped in front of Tim and took off his helmet to reveal… a mask and the biggest shit-eating grin he had ever seen. Tim resisted the urge to snort. If Hood's words didn't tell him that he was Jason Todd, the fact that he had a mask under his mask sure did.

"Guess you are smart after all."

"Was there any doubt from the beginning?"

"Is that why Bruce took you in? Cuz he thought he could use your detective skills?"

Tim shook his head. "Please. Give me some credit. I figured out who Bruce was a long time ago. I figured out who you were too. And Dick."

"Dick… he was clever enough to leave," Jason mused. "Unfortunately, you are not." He was fast. Faster than Tim. Which is why he couldn't have blocked the punch to his face.

He hissed in pain as he touched his cheek. Jason had hit him in the exact place Jack did a couple nights ago. The bruise was a proper purple-black now, the punch wiped away the concealer (not that it was hard. His sweat from seeing Red Hood in the cave had done most of the wiping).

"Did Brucie give that shiner to you? Or did he let some other jerk handle it?" Tim groggily got up, but was quickly punched back down again. This time, thankfully, he was punched on his other jaw. "Did he promise to protect you like he did me?"

He was kicked in the stomach.

"If he did, he won't keep it."

Another punch to the face. Tim could feel a liquid running from his nose.

"He'll show you kindness, only for you to be abandoned." Jason grabbed his shirt and pulled him up to his face. "Because that's what he did to me."

"No!" Tim protested, but Jason grabbed his arm and twisted it, dislocating his shoulder. Tim screamed in pain. He felt another punch to his gut and he collapsed.

He didn't have a weapon to defend himself, and Jason was too damn fast anyway. He was starting to feel helpless when Dick's words floated into his head: My words are my weapons, Tim. The context was that Tim had asked how Dick managed to get so much info in such a short period of time. Later, he discovered that Dick used his pretty boy Grayson persona to flirt for information, but the words still held some truth.

Jason had become a beast, his punches and kicks kept flying everywhere on Tim. It was like something had possessed the former Robin. He had to use his words. He had to say something, anything, to snap him out of his frenzy. "You were my hero, you asshole!" he screamed. "I forced my way into being Robin." Real nice, Tim. Swearing at the man who is going to murder is the perfect thing. But the punches stopped nonetheless.

Tim knew he had to continue now. He was so close to the weaponry, yet so far… "You can call me a pretender all you like, cuz that's about the only thing you're right about. I figured out your identities then went to Bruce and threatened to spill it if I didn't become Robin. I would've gone and become Robin anyway, even if Bruce refused." He gasped in pain. His small pause didn't prompt the older boy to continue his game of Punch-The-Tim-And-Win-A-Scream. He took that as a good sign to continue.

"I became Robin but I could never be good enough." The sentence made tears prickle at the back of his eyes. No matter how much he tried to convince himself, it would always be true. "I could never live up to your legacy. Always in your shadow. Living upto giants." He chuckled humorlessly. "But Bruce needed me."

The last sentence must have been a wrong move because Jason growled, kicked Tim painfully in the chest which sent him wheezing, then straddled him and pulled out his gun. He pressed it to Tim's dislocated shoulder. Tim yelped. "Of course he needs you. He needs someone only to take the punches. He—"

"HE WAS ABOUT TO KILL HIMSELF, YOU SELFISH IDIOT!" Tim burst out and slightly shifted. "I saw him. He didn't even try to block Croc's or Bane's or anyone's punches. He just let himself be hit like the angsty suicidal idiot he is. Either that or he beat everyone else, even normal criminals with no powers, to near-death. I… I had to call the GCPD to keep them alive."

Jason's grip on the gun loosened. His posture slightly sagged. It was enough for Tim to twist his good arm out of his grip, grab his gun, hit his head and scramble away to fetch his staff. But Tim wasn't done with his words.

"He loves you, Jason." His voice cracked. "More than you know. He even kept your old Robin uniform. Never let me touch it. Nearly chewed my arm off when I did. It's right there," he indicated with a tilt of his head. "On your right."

Jason slowly turned to the glass case holding his tattered costume.

Just then, the Cave was filled with the roar of the Batmobile and Nightwing's bike. Tim sighed in relief. Jason himself had triggered the panic button on Tim's shoulder with his gun. All Tim had to do was shift ever so slightly for the button to detect the gun.

Batman and Nightwing leapt from their vehicles and ran towards Tim. They stopped short when they saw Jason quietly staring at his costume in the glass case. "Jason?" Dick tentatively whispered.

Jason slowly turned around to face him. Bruce's jaw tightened. Dick swore under his breath. Jason sighed and looked down, then took off the domino mask on his face.

All the air seemed to be sucked from the atmosphere. "No," Dick hissed. "No fucking way."

"Hey Dickwing," Jason said feebly. "Glad to see you out of your mullet."

Bruce stormed towards him and Jason took a small step back. Tim thought that he was about to capture him, but he had a wrong capture in his mind. Bruce captured Jason in a hug. "How…?" he muttered hoarsely.

"Long story," Jason chuckled, patting his back lightly.

Dick was magnetically attracted to hugs, so of course he wrapped his arms around them both. Tim's face split into a grin. He didn't even mind the sharp pain that shot through his head when he did.

The last thing he saw right before he passed out was the sight of a broken family of bats hugging each other after the return of the missing peace. Not bad advice, Dick, Tim thought as his head hit the ground.

Chapter Text

He heard voices whispering. His first thought was Ow, cuz his shoulder really hurt. His second thought was that his parents were fighting. That was weird, didn’t my parents leave a few hours ago?

The voices stopped whispering. One spoke up, “Are you awake, Timmers?”

Oh. That wasn’t his dad.

The voice laughed. “No, it’s me, your resident Dickhead.”

“Did I say that out loud?” he asked croakily. He shifted then gasped when a burst of pain shot up his arm.

Another voice swore, “Told you the anesthetic wasn’t enough.”

He was tense with pain, then a few moments later, a wave of numbness filled his body and he relaxed. That was nice.

He heard someone chuckle.

Oh, he was talking out loud again. “What happened,” he asked. Like a lever pulled, all the memories came flooding back again. He snapped his eyes open. “Hood!” he said frantically and pushed the covers on top of him away. “He was here! He was—”

“It’s okay, Tim. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Tim looked around wildly. He was in the Cave’s medbay, an IV was attached to his right arm while his other arm was in a sling. Four faces were looking at him with worry. He recognized Alfred instantly. He saw Bruce analyzing him and Dick was looking him over tentatively. That left… “Jason,” he breathed out. Then he sighed with relief and laid back down. “Not Hood, Jason.”

He glanced at the former Robin and saw that his face was scrunched up with guilt. He regretted saying those words. His father always did tell him that he couldn’t control his mouth. He was right of course, Tim couldn’t control his tongue. Especially when half his consciousness wasn’t fully functioning.

“Hey,” he said to him.

Jason gave a feeble smile. “Hey. How’re you feeling?”

“Shitty. But I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with dislocated shoulders before.”

“Well, Master Tim. Knowing you and your sleeping habits, I suppose you’ll not be going back to sleep any time soon,” Alfred said.

Tim blushed. “Yeah.”

“You can have a cup of coffee. Just this once. Not too strong though.”

“Thanks Alfred,” he called out.

Alfred nodded. Then, before anyone could even process what was happening, he had his arms wrapped around Jason. “Welcome back, my boy,” he muttered. Tim saw Jason’s eyes tear up as he hugged the old man back. All the Robins had insults and grudges against Bruce, but Alfred? Alfred was the one person no one could hate. And Tim was sure that, had Alfred walked in on him and Jason’s fight, Jason would have stopped immediately. Because Alfred was like a mom. A good mom.

The two broke away from the hug and Alfred made his way out of the medbay, wiping at his eyes.

“I suppose you finished the tests?” Tim asked, grinning slyly at Bruce.

“Yup,” Jason replied. “Turns out I have Jason Todd’s DNA in me. Crazy huh?”

“Oh Jason…” Dick began.

“Dickhead, I swear to God, if you start another one of your long rants about me or hug me one more time, I will blow your head to smithereens.”

That didn’t seem to faze Dick, but he did back away.

“How long was I out?” Tim asked.

“A full day,” Bruce replied.

“So I missed out on the teary reunion?” He pouted.

Jason laughed. “Be thankful, Replacement. I forgot how clingy Dick could be at times.”

Tim cringed at Jason’s name for him.

“Hey,” Dick shrugged. “When your little brother who you haven’t properly treated comes back from the dead, it’s bound to make you feel more protective.”

Jason shook his head mockingly. Tim was happy that Jason was back, but he suddenly realized what that meant for him. If Jason was back… surely that meant that Tim wasn’t needed anymore, right? Panic seized his chest. He would have to go back to the empty manor again. With his parents only coming back once in a blue moon to beat him up. The lonely Drake mansion with gloomy halls and dark passageways. He had to leave Robin and go back to just watching the news from his bedroom. From messy breakfasts, lunches, and dinners to him reheating and eating whatever Mrs. Mac left for him in the freezer. From jokes and pranks to his voice being hoarse because of having no one to talk to for weeks.

“Do you think you’re well enough to go up the stairs for dinner, Tim?” Bruce’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

Tim took a few discrete breaths to calm himself the fuck down, then he nodded.

He was quiet through the whole trip up the stairs to the manor while being supported by Dick and Jason (when Dick suggested piggybacking him he had some very strong opinions and words which sent Jason cackling). He was quiet the whole time when Dick was catching up Jason on the people they knew while Alfred set the table. He was quiet when they started eating. Bruce noticed and asked, “Everything alright, Tim?”

Tim looked up, pasta still in his mouth (he was so relieved that it was his left arm that was dislocated and not his right, otherwise he didn’t know how he would be eating). Bruce waved for him to finish chewing then he said, “Yeah, why?” He cringed when he heard his high and clearly fake voice.

“You do seem a bit down,” Dick nodded.

Tim gulped.

“I’m sorry,” Jason said quietly.

“Huh?” Tim turned to him.

“I’m sorry for… for hurting you. I just— the Lazarus Pit—”

“I know, Jason,” Tim interrupted. “And it’s not that, I accept the apology.”

“Really?” Jason perked up.

“No.” Jason sagged. “But,” Tim continued, “you can make it up.”

“Anything,” he promised.

Dick coughed. “Jason, maybe you should get to know Tim before you make any promises to him.”

Tim smirked.

“I still get teased at the police station any time I go in,” he grumbled.

Jason raised an eyebrow humorously. “Okay… you do seem down though, Tim.”

Tim sighed. “Am I still going to be Robin?” he asked Bruce quietly.

Dick snorted. “You really think we’re going to let you off just like that?”

Bruce nodded. “Dick’s right. You’re part of this family, Tim, even though you have your own parents. Jason coming back isn’t gonna change that.”

Tim slightly flinched at the mention of his parents. Jack’s fist and Janet’s nails were still fresh in his mind.

He looked to Jason for his permission. Jason shrugged. “From what I heard, you blackmailed your way in, you can blackmail your way out. The question is, are you going to?”

Tim grinned. “Time will tell.”

---------------------------------------

They had finished dinner and Jason was yelling at Bruce in the Cave. “THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN THE JOKER’S ESCAPED?”

“Jason—”

“YOU DIDN’T KILL HIM?”

“Jason—”

“BRUCE! HE KILLED ME.”

“Jason! I know. And I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you. I—”

“Bruce. I forgive you for not saving me. I understand. But what I don’t understand, is why that fuck is still alive.”

“You know I don’t kill.”

“So what? You capture him, beat him up a bit, then send him to Arkham? Then he escapes and goes on to kill other people? That’s it?”

Bruce didn’t reply.

“Unbelievable,” Jason spat.

“Ja—”

“Forget it, Dick. Don’t follow me.” He left the Cave.

Tim waited a few moments and followed Jason up to the manor. He went straight to the roof, where pre-Red Hood Jason used to go sometimes when he was sad or upset. Tim used to get up on his own roof and watch him. He silently cheered when he found him dangling his legs from the roof’s ledge. He sat down beside him.

“You should go in,” Jason said. “I’m not myself right now and I don’t know if the Pit’s green is gonna come back.”

Tim shrugged, then regretted it as his shoulder protested in pain. “I’m fine, you’re not.”

“I’m not the one with a busted shoulder.”

“That you caused.”

Jason winced.

“I’m not above using that as a way to get what I want. I blackmailed the Batman, remember?”

Jason chuckled. “I guess not.”

"Dick and Bruce are good people. Bruce can be a shit sometimes but… he does love you," Tim said quietly.

"Then why is the Joker still alive?"

Tim thought for a bit, then he tried to fish out his phone. It was in his left pocket, so he struggled to take it out. Jason smoothly reached in and pulled his phone out. Tim accepted it with a nod and pulled up a security feed he had saved. Now Tim made sure that he doesn't have a single trace of anything containing his nighttime activities other than wallpapers and a couple news screenshots. But this video was an exception.

The video took place in a dark tunnel. Joker was hopping around and cackling. Suddenly, a dark shadow zoomed in and started beating up the clown. Then, the figure held him up against the wall, and the camera clearly captured his face. The face full of anguish, guilt, sadness, and anger, all clearly shown right there in his features. Bruce was so overcome with emotion that the only word he was even capable of saying was "Jason."

Then an explosion rocked the tunnel and the feed was wiped out.

Tim closed the video and reinstalled all the codes to keep it hidden again. The two stared at the distant skyline of Gotham. A few moments passed and Tim whispered, "Double decker architect, you're incorrect."

Jason gasped a laugh and Tim turned to look at him only to see him quickly try to wipe his tears.

"You're right," Tim said. "He didn't kill him. But he nearly did."

Jason didn't reply, so Tim turned back to the view. They stayed that way until Jason broke the silence. "That's your house, isn't it?" He pointed to the one closest to Wayne manor.

Tim nodded.

"I always wondered who was on top of the roof there sometimes when I came here. I always promised to find out, but got distracted."

"Do you…" Tim hesitantly began. "Do you remember the first time we met?"

Jason frowned. "My memory's still a bit fuzzy."

"I— we were in the library and I was trying to figure out what William Golding was trying to say. You saw me and stopped by to explain the plot and characters. I knew who you were that time, so I completely freaked out." He gave a weak chuckle.

He turned to him to see if that triggered any memory, but Jason was still frowning. So Tim moved his eyes back to the dark Gotham skyline.

"I still have the book," he said, then left, leaving him alone on the roof.

----------------------------

Tim was sent straight to bed later when he nearly collapsed on Dick. He tried to explain that it was fatigue more than pain, but being the melodramatic bats they were, he was sent to bed. He didn't mind too much though. After being manhandled and left to pathetically cry in his room at Drake manor, he was overjoyed to sink into the guest room bed which became his over the years of staying at Wayne manor. He fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

Tim woke up to sunlight in his eyes and the sound of muffled music outside of his door. Then the music abruptly cut off. Tim moaned and rubbed his eyes, picking the sand out the corners. His shoulder was throbbing dully and he gasped when he tried to get up. His head was throbbing now too, not as much as his shoulder though. He considered calling Bruce or Dick, but ruled it out. He didn't need to bother them about something which could be solved with a couple ibuprofen or panadol.

He raised his head slightly and licked his dry lips. He spotted a glass of water and a pill on the nightstand. Alfred, he thought to himself, I don't tell you how much I love you nearly as much.

Ignoring the increase of the throbbing, he quickly swallowed the pill with water and laid back down, waiting for it to kick in. He thought back to the rooftop with him and Jason. He had explained how he had to claw his way from the grave, how he got dumped into the Lazarus Pit, how he was trained by the League of Assassins, how Talia showed him his file in order to anger him. It was clear that Jason had been through a lot and he told Tim that his memory was still not fully restored. And yet… he stopped at the mention of how much Bruce cared. Even all the layers of trauma, bitterness, and anger couldn't fully bury Jason's bond with Bruce.

Tim knew it was selfish, but he couldn't help but compare that bond to the one with his own father. He never felt right about thinking of Bruce as a dad. He vaguely felt uncomfortable when he regarded him as a father figure. He already had a dad.

Tim sighed exasperatedly with the guilt that came with the thought. His father was mostly the one who hurt him. He caused most of the physical abuse. His mother was the main emotional abuser. Both of them were the perpetrators of neglect though. Tim had started categorizing the types of abuse ever since the time he learnt about it at school. He considered going to the school counselor too, but what was the use? He had the list of symptoms, he had the list of triggers, he had the list of solutions, he didn't need to lie on a couch and spill all his problems to a therapist vigorously writing it all down.

His situation wasn't even that serious. Not as serious as Jason's had been with Willis. Or Henry's. He had good moments with his parents. The good ones always had a higher ratio. The many movie tickets, dinner reservations, and places like the carnival and the circus proved it. They even took interest in his hobbies. They bought him the special edition Wayne tech industries camera for his birthday.

He thought back to the best memory he had with his family. He was 8 or 9 at the time and his parents broke the news that they were leaving Gotham after two days. Little Tim, in a moment of impulse, had asked, "Do you love me, mom?"

His mother put her phone down and squatted down to Tim's level. "Of course, Timothy. Why would you think any different?"

Tim had shifted uncomfortably before replying, "It's just— it's just that you and dad hit me sometimes and yell at me then go away."

"Oh, honey. That doesn't mean we don't love you." She put her hands on Tim's shoulders. "Listen to me, okay? I love you. Dad loves you. We both love you. And we won't ever stop. Okay?"

Tim nodded, satisfied. "Okay!"

They then spent the rest of the day outside in the garden. His dad had bought some exquisite flowers for his mom. He forgot what the flowers were as the whole garden had been redone by the gardener now, but he still remembered planting it with his parents. He remembered the dirt under his fingers, the toy shovel he used to dig more holes for his mom to put the flowers in, "helping" his dad water the flowers by holding the handle of the heavy watering can while his dad poured the water. He couldn't remember what they talked about, but he clearly remembered the feeling he felt at the time. The warm, fuzziness all over his body and the feeling of being full and content with emotions.

He smiled as he recalled that feeling now. Rolling over from his bed, he stretched as much as he could, happy that the painkiller Alfred left for him was working. Then he made his way downstairs.

Tim peeped into the kitchen first. They usually ate in the kitchen as the dining room seemed too long. Sure enough, they were there. Bruce and Dick were bickering about playing music early in the morning while Jason was helping Alfred make French Toast. It was a perfect picture. And Tim was a perfect photographer. So he dug out his phone and silently clicked.

He had never seen Bruce, Dick, and Alfred so happy. It made his heart swell up at the sight of Alfred laughing at something Jason said. He thought back to the time he accidently walked in on Alfred in the kitchen during his first few weeks as Robin. He quickly hid behind the doorway. The old butler had a small cupcake with a single candle on top of it being the only source of light in the dark room. His shoulders were heaving with sobs as he muttered the same words over and over, "Jason. Jason, my boy, Jason."

It broke Tim's heart to see the usual cool, confident, sassy butler cry alone like that. Dick was in Bludhaven and Bruce was out beating up any criminals he could find. Tim was sent back early as it was a school night and Bruce didn't want him out too late. It was past midnight and Alfred was alone in the manor, mourning Jason's death on his birthday. It felt right to see him now with Jason beside him, laughing together.

He entered the kitchen. "Tim!" Dick called out.

"'Sup gamers," he said hoarsely. His voice wasn't the best. It would clear up after a few hours though.

Dick snorted at his reply.

"'Sup Imposter, how're you feeling?" Jason asked.

Tim was just about to tell him the places he could shove his Among Us language when a heavenly stack of French Toasts was set down on the table.

"Feel free to dig in without me," Alfred said as he undid his apron. And they did.

"How are you feeling, Timber?" Dick asked before stuffing his face.

"Better," he croaked.

They ate breakfast, then sat down to listen to Jason's full story. Then they briefed Jason on how he may have come back from the dead. The conversation then shifted to the League of Assassins as Bruce theorized that they must have taken up the Superboy Prime distraction to "train" Jason. Tim joked about adding security cameras to cemeteries in case someone else decided to come back. From there, the conversation went back to the warehouse.

"We have to get that clown," Jason said. Tim thought he saw a flash of green in his eyes.

"Agreed," Bruce affirmed.

"We haven't really got any information since he broke out, but we haven't checked all the security cams yet," Dick explained.

"Let's get to it then," Bruce said. He sounded determined. Walking with fresh vigor. Now that Jason was back, Tim supposed that his need to capture the Joker would rise even more. Jason just came back, and it wouldn't do at all for him to leave again.

They gathered in the cave and Bruce pulled out as many files as he could, digital and hardcopy. While assigning each other to look through them, Jason decided to take up small talk with Tim. "Your parents are still alive, right?"

"Right," Tim said shortly.

"Do they know about…?"

"No."

"How are you—"

"They're archaeologists who own a really big company. They travel a lot. Which is good for me cuz I get to leave home as much as I want."

"Sounds like heaven."

Tim smirked, knowingly. "You don't know half of it."

Jason yawned and slapped Tim on the shoulder. Tim flinched but hid it with a glare towards him.

"Well," Jason said, blatantly ignoring him. "Have fun ruffling through files, peeps. I've got crime lord duties to attend to."

"When will—" Jason interrupted before Dick could finish his sentence.

"I'll see you on patrol though. Tim? Take care of my pile of files, will you?"

Tim tried to punch him, but Jason dodged and left the Cave, waving. Bruce, Dick and Tim stared at the spot he left through for a long time before turning back to their investigation.

------------------------------

Tim, now Robin, was creeping through the rooftops, looking for something, anything that would lead them to Joker. So far, he’d only found a couple muggings and what was going to become a case of rape if not for his timely intervention. Needless to say, he felt immensely better after breaking the guy’s nose.

Bruce didn’t want him in the cape so soon, but Tim purposely swept his feet under him, knocking the big guy to the ground to prove his point rather than talking. After that, and Dick’s teasing laughter, he grudgingly agreed. Tim cheered as he flung away the sling holding his arm. He was out for nearly two days, plenty of time to recover. That didn’t seem to convince the others though, even now Tim could see the subtle glint of Nightwing’s blue on the other rooftop.

He raised “the finger” to his right to signal that he knew he was there. In return, he received a small rock to his head. He stuck his tongue out.

“Keep doing that and you’ll freeze that way forever,” said a new mechanical voice.

“Oh no, N. I think we got caught by the resident teenage crime lord,” Tim said in mock desperation.

“Hey Hood,” Nightwing flipped onto the rooftop they were on. “What’s cooking?”

“Meth,” came the mechanical answer. “Over there.”

They looked to where he was pointing and saw two people in front of a warehouse.

“Those are my men, undercover. They're gonna be signaling when it's the best time to go in. You two stay out of sight, let me handle it. In fact, stay here. I'll be back in a few minutes."

With that, Red Hood disappeared, leaving Dick and Tim alone on the roof. The two sat silently, trying to come up with backstories for the two men Hood claimed to be his. Tim was just about to suggest a very scandalous love story for how the two met Hood when gunshots interrupted. On instinct, the two leaped from their spots and threw the doors open, ignoring the surprised guards' protests.

Inside, Red Hood had his gun trained on a figure in the corner, having disarmed and shot most of the men inside (to severely injure, not kill. Tim didn't know whether this was intentional, but he was really getting worried about the pools of blood all over the floor). The figure moved forward and revealed himself as Scarecrow.

"So," he said in his raspy, quiet voice. "You're working with the bats now."

Red Hood snarled, "Says who?" Then he turned to Robin and Nightwing and said, "The fuck are you doing here?"

It took a moment for them to register his words because of the shock in seeing the bloody, maybe alive, bodies on the floor. "We heard gunshots," Dick answered.

"We've been waiting to meet you, Hood," Tim smirked. "Didn't expect you to be working with Scared-crow over here. Oh well," he shrugged, "two birds and one stone and all."

It was only for a second, but Tim caught the silent invisible look Scarecrow and Red Hood shared before attacking. He understood what was happening, even if Dick needed to take a few moments. With Scarecrow posing as an ally to the Red Hood, they can more closely track his movements and plans. Plus, the meth distribution and the bags of green powder must mean a new experiment of Scarecrow's and they needed to know what it was before he decided to release it into the city.

Scarecrow struck towards Dick with his scythe while Jason shot at Tim. The shot wasn't aimed to hit, but graze. Since Tim was, well, Robin, he dodged the shot and whipped out his staff, lashing at Jason. He grabbed the staff while Tim was still holding onto it and brought him closer to himself. "Listen up, Replacement," he hissed. Blocking a kick Tim threw towards him for the sake of show, he pulled his hair and brought the helmet, where his mouth should be, to his ear. "I'm not in the best space right now. I can feel the green clawing up, so I want you to pretend to be flung around and hurt then get out of here and signal B. I'll try to help N as much as I can, but I don't know if I can hold up for long."

Tim gave a slight nod before he was pushed away. He let himself be flung to the wall, hissing in pain as his back collided. If Jason hadn't held back, he knew that he would be out cold. Just like he was instructed, he got up, grabbing his staff while dodging Hood's gun, and ran out to immediately contact Bruce.

"B!" he gasped, running. "Found Scarecrow. And meth. And some new green fear substance. Forwarding location. Nightwing's alone."

Bruce grunted in the affirmative. Two minutes barely passed when Batman showed up in the building Tim was carefully watching in case Dick or Jason needed help. Dick was holding his own quite well against Scarecrow's full blows and Hood's half-assed, yet carefully strategized ones. Taking Bruce's arrival as a signal, Tim leaped through the window as well.

"You're outnumbered," Bruce growled.

"Finally," Dick muttered, punching Hood for a final time and appearing at Bruce's side. Tim was only 97% sure that the punch was purely for spite.

"I don't think I count the runt as a full one," Jason sneered. Tim glared. That… was too far.

"Even if I'm a half, you're still outnumbered," he countered.

"You're wrong," Crane, Scarecrow, rasped. "I think you're outnumbered."

They all scrambled, but Tim wasn't fast enough because of his busted shoulder which he had hurt again when he was flung to the wall. Crane threw a pouch of dust which exploded where the bats were standing a second ago. Bruce and Dick were safely out of range, but Tim accidently inhaled some before he could scramble away too.

He could taste the sick, gagging taste of the green powder. His hands started shaking so much that he dropped his staff and took a step back. Droplets of water started squeezing their way out of his eyes and more gathered on his neck and back. Something pulled at the back of his throat and he barely swallowed the vomit down. He regretted it immediately. His throat and eyes were burning now too. He couldn’t see properly. His head felt heavy.

Dimly, he registered hands shaking him and he flinched. He didn't like that. His mother used to do that to him whenever she got mad when he was younger.

Okay. Tim had to calm down and evaluate. Facts. What were the facts?

One, his mother couldn’t possibly be shaking him because she was with his dad out of the country, plus he wasn’t 5 years old anymore.

Two, his vision was blurry, his body felt too heavy, his shoulder was obtusely aching, his throat was burning and he felt like he was going to—

He retched. Hopefully not on someone. That would be embarrassing.

Okay, so that was out of the way.

Fact number three, he was leaping away from something before the symptoms started to show up. What…? Oh, right! He was Robin! He was trying to dodge the explosive fear powder. He must have inhaled some of it. Huh. He wasn’t really scared. Just heavy and sick. Maybe if he opened his eyes now he could find Nightwing, Batman and Red Hood in front of him and—

Chapter Text

On the bright side, Tim now knew what Crane’s new fear-toxin-meth-explosive-powder did. He was floating in darkness, his breath coming out in short bursts until something seemed to viciously pull him towards a random direction. He was pulled and pulled until he landed on a floor. He opened his eyes and saw his reflection in the mirror. Then suddenly, it hit him.

He was 6 years old, and he had tried to sneak in with his parents to their plane. He got caught and was driven home by them. When he tried to explain that he just wanted to be with his parents and their adventures, his mother slapped him. He was so surprised that he toppled to the floor.

Tim got up. “I— I’m sorry. I just— I’m—” he heard the sharp sound before he felt the sting on his cheek. The same cheek. Doubled in pain.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffed, starting to cry.

“Oh look, now he’s crying. He made us miss our flight, and now he’s crying,” Janet huffed.

Jack grabbed him painfully by his arm and pulled him up, only to push his head against the wall. A sharp ache spread across Tim’s head, and he truly started sobbing. He clutched his little head, shaking it to clear off the pain. It didn’t, it stayed.

Then, Tim’s surroundings—no, his memory—shifted. Tim was once again hurtling through a dark abyss, until he stopped once more.

He was in the spare room next to his father’s study. There was screaming and shouting. He was 7 when he first heard his parents fight. Jack was yelling about something to do with money. Maybe it’s taxes, Tim thought.

Then suddenly, a loud bang cut through his thoughts, and he reflexively clamped his mouth shut. He recognized that bang very well. It was his father’s fist landing hard on a solid surface type of bang. It was one of the scariest noises Tim knew. It was deathly quiet, and Tim silently pleaded for his mother to just not speak. For her to just be quiet and take whatever Jack says, like he does. For her to just let it go. But Janet wasn’t the type to let anything go. She snapped at him back. A sound, as if a hand against flesh echoed around the whole area. He didn’t know who struck who, but tears started flowing from his eyes. He hated this. God, he hated this so much. Why couldn’t she just shut up? The silence was then interrupted by quiet murmurs. It was mostly his mother’s. She seemed to be saying something angrily. Tim sighed in relief. So, Jack wasn’t the one who hit her. His mother was the one who slapped his father.

Tim froze. His mother was the one who slapped his father. Just like that, the tears started flowing again.

Tim was suddenly lurched away once more. This time, he was spinning round and round. Nausea piled in his stomach, shutting his eyes closed.

He opened them again and he woke up under a tree. What memory was this? He looked around and saw the flowers he had planted together with his parents, as a family. Then he understood. He was alone at home, maybe 8 or 9. It had been a week since his parents left him alone for the first time without a nanny. Sure, there was Mrs. Mac, and she stayed with Tim every weekend in the day, even though it wasn’t covered in her bill. But this time, she was sick, and Tim had to stay alone.

He was reading a book, Matilda, when he dozed off outside. He woke up and looked around wildly. There was no one there. The flowers they had planted around a week ago were up and pretty, gently swaying in the wind. That’s when he fully realized—fully processed—the fact: there was no one there.

Tim was all alone.

The realization was nothing compared to the crushing sense of loneliness and depression that dropped itself on Tim’s shoulders. He stared at the beautiful, lovely flowers, a line of saltwater tracing down his cheeks, as he cried silently with no noise.

Tim was pulled away again. He was getting tired of that. He wondered when he would stop. The fear and sadness from the three memories was more than enough. His chest felt so tight that he could barely breathe. He gasped, trying to take in more air until he felt his legs and arms spread away from his chest. Tim could have danced for joy at being able to breathe better now.

He was catapulted into the next memory. He was 11, maybe 12, it was around his birthday, and Jack and Janet were mad. This was the age when his parents had started ganging up against him. Before, the other used to show sympathy when one was angry. Now, he had messed up so bad by getting a D on his English assignment, that Jack picked up a belt. Tim had tried to explain that he had completely forgotten about it when they announced that they would be coming home for his birthday, but they didn’t listen to his excuses.

When Jack unbuckled and ripped out his belt, Tim started shouting. “No! Please! No! You promised! You promised you wouldn’t hurt me with that, you did! Pl—”

He was interrupted as the leather snapped on his back. He sobbed, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I promise I won’t—” He screamed in pain when he was struck once again on his thigh.

“Jack.” His mother warningly touched her husband’s shoulder to stop him. Not before another blow had lashed onto his shoulder though. That was the only time Tim was hit with a belt. His father later called him and hugged him, wiping his tears and kissing his forehead. Tim hated it, he hated it with every fiber of his being, but his body betrayed him and stayed limp, taking in the touch. His father put some moisturizer on the parts where he hit Tim, his thigh, back, and shoulder. All of it probably because of guilt.

Tim supposed that that’s why he didn’t like people touching his shoulder and back without warning. No one really has any reason to touch his thigh, so he hasn’t flinched from that, but he knows that he would. Almost every touch without warning flashed him back to that memory, but he was getting better. He ignored it enough that the number of flinches reduced. But now that the memory resurfaced in even sharper detail…

He also stopped saying anything at all when his parents got angry. He just silently and obligingly goes through everything his parents tell him to do, not giving a single reply even if they ask him a question. That has gotten him into deeper trouble many times, but it was better than apologizing and begging and being ignored.

He was pulled away again, and he desperately wished that what he just went through was the last memory. But, as fate has it, it wasn’t.

He was pushed back and toppled down the steps in front of his house. When he looked up from the gravel which scraped his hands and knees, he saw the front door being slammed shut. Right in his face. He picked himself up and brushed the dirt off his 13-year-old body. 13, a year before he became Robin.

Tim ran a hand through his hair and climbed the steps as calmly as he could and knocked on the door. “Mom? Dad?” he called out. No one answered.

He pushed his back against the door, taking deep breaths to calm himself. Remember the breathing exercises you saw online? he reminded himself, the same one you saw Robin doing when he nearly got shot a few weeks ago and Batman helped him? He slowed his breathing, sucking in a breath, counting, then blowing it out again. He did that twice then turned back to the door.

He was about to knock again (the doorbell might make them even more angry), when he heard a scuffle in the bushes. His barely calmed-down heart jumped at the noise. He stilled for a solid moment before realizing that a branch had fallen from the overhanging tree. The information still did nothing to calm Tim down. The noise sent a chain reaction, and soon Tim was hyperventilating, remembering how angry his parents had been. He didn’t even do anything. He just asked if he could go to the camping excursion his class was taking when Jack stood up, grabbed his arm and dragged him to the door. He muttered about ungrateful kids and a failed dig and threw Tim out the door from his own home.

Tim pounded on the hard wood, screaming for his parents to let him in and sobbing about how scared he was. The door finally opened, and he stepped through.

Then the door disappeared and so did everything else. All Tim saw now was a pristine, clear white.

Peace, he realized. This was peace.

No thoughts.

No fear.

No racing heartbeat.

No tears.

Just peace.

Everything was clear.

He somehow knew that this would go on for days. If Tim opened his eyes, he knew that the world won’t seem so bad. He would open his eyes… after a bit. It wasn’t everyday he got to experience this. Especially considering the things he went through, including the memories and his time as Robin.

Okay, maybe not his time as Robin because that was still special, no matter what. But he did deserve this.

…

…

…

He felt a tug.

No, he thought desperately. Please no. I don’t want to leave. Not when I feel so peaceful. Not when I feel so…

Happy.

Tim woke up. A horrible pain like he had been smashed with a hammer which had a needle attached throbbed in his left bicep.

--------------------------------------

The Replacement had been gassed (or powdered) with Scare-bitchface-McCrow’s new fear toxin. Jason froze, watching the kid land awkwardly on his back, narrowly missing his dislocated shoulder (which he caused, Jason painfully remembered). The green tinged the edges of his vision and he turned to Crane, only to find the spot empty. The Pit beckoned him to follow the straw man when he heard retching.

He snapped his head to the kid only to see him swallowing whatever was coming up. Gross, kid, he thought.

The green thankfully receded, being caught unawares by the grossness. Batman and Nightwing were only touched by the toxin, and they were beginning to stir. Hood strided over to Replacement and panicked. He looked even worse up close. Sweat was breaking out, his hands were shaking so violently that Jason worried they would melt, tears began flowing non-stop from around the domino mask, and short raspy breaths were blown in and out.

Jason grabbed the kid’s shoulders and shook him slightly, trying to ground him. It didn’t do anything, so he shook him harder, that made him stop lolling his head and straighten up. He looked around carefully then shook his head exasperatedly. Maybe he couldn’t see?

Dick and Bruce saw the two and teleported to Tim’s side, shuffling Jason away. It was just as well, because the kid puked on the floor. A sigh of relief escaped from Jason’s mouth as he thanked the Lord that he had moved out of the way.

Suddenly, Tim went limp and would have hit his head if Bruce hadn’t caught him.

“What happened?” Dick asked, the white lenses of his mask wide.

Bruce—Batman—didn’t answer. He pressed a button to call the Batmobile and brushed the hair from Tim’s eyes. Tim leaned into the touch. Jason narrowed his eyes, his suspicions kept getting worse and worse.

The kid stopped leaning and gasped, as if struck. Jason steeled himself for the screams that would inevitably come after receiving fear toxin. But no screams came. Jason didn’t know whether to be relieved that the Pit wasn’t triggered by the screams, or afraid because the lack of screaming meant this fear toxin was an entirely new thing which would make it harder to find a cure.

Tim curled into himself. Just when a beeping sound signaled the Batmobile’s arrival, Tim whimpered. Like a kid. Like a scared 5-year-old. His lip wobbled too. Usually, things like this would compel Jason to take his phone out and record the scene to use as blackmail later, but Tim just looked so small, bony and pale curled up and whimpering like that.

B slid his hands under Tim’s knees and back and lifted him up, bridal style. That’s when the kid screeched out, “I— I’m sorry. I just— I’m—” he got cut off. Tears started dripping down and he sniffled, “I’m sorry.” They hurried to the car.

The entrance was long since abandoned by Jason’s men. They were good at listening to orders like that. Maybe Jason won’t use their heads to stuff in a duffle bag if they keep it up.

The kid kept crying until he was placed in the backseat of the car, which is when he went limp again. Bruce climbed into the driver’s seat while Jason and Dick sat with Tim in the back, with his head cradled on Dick’s lap. Dick gently pulled his and Tim’s mask off. Jason removed his helmet but kept his own domino on.

He was quiet the whole ride out of the neighborhood, his tears only stopping once before flowing again. His teeth were gritted, and he was shifting uncomfortably, then his body slackened again.

“He keeps going limp, B,” Dick said worryingly. Bruce didn’t reply, only pressing his lips tightly together as they zoomed through the city. They came across one of the tunnels that led to the Cave, and Alfred’s voice filled the car.

“Coming back so soon, Master Bruce?”

“Alfred!” Bruce said, panic clearly hidden in his voice. “Tim’s been hit with some new form of fear toxin, he isn’t responding to any of us. Call Wally.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dick leaned towards Jason and whispered, “Wally’s the new flash. Barry’s—” He didn’t have to finish. Jason looked down at Tim who had tears silently streaming down his nose and cheeks. There were no sobs, no hitching, no heaving shoulders like last time. Just sad, pathetic tears. It twisted Jason’s heart. Then, his limbs went floppy once more.

They arrived at the Cave and Dick carried Tim to the emergency medical bed set up by Alfred. Wally was there, surprisingly staring at Jason. There was no time for explanations, so Bruce just said, “Fear toxin inhalation. Collect samples and run to STAR labs where we kept our last experiment.”

Wally must have changed from the last time Jason met him, because without a word he zoomed out then back again with two cotton buds and swabbed Tim’s nostrils then zoomed out again. Dick muttered something about giving Wally a heart attack with new surprises, but Jason didn’t push.

Then, Tim started begging, “No! Please! No! You promised! You promised you wouldn’t hurt me with that, you did! Plea—” He was interrupted by a scream so raw and full of pain, that Jason’s head filled with emotions of horror which thankfully kept the Pit and its whispers away.

Wally, who had run in mid-way through Tim’s screaming, started flashing through the whole cave, getting what was clearly a memorized list of things Bruce needed. Bruce’s jaw was tense as he measured out whatever Wally brought him into a single test tube.

Dick stroked his head and Jason saw him leaning into the touch again, all while pleading, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Since he was responding positively to touch, Jason pushed his arm out to rest it on whatever part of Tim was near him, which happened to be his lap, when Tim flinched and screamed again. Jason immediately recoiled, clutching the hand to his hammering chest.

Alfred and Dick tried to strap Tim down when he jerked and screamed once more. Then, he stopped sobbing and pleading, going limp. Dick’s posture was tense, like a spring, as he reluctantly buckled Tim’s arm to the bed.

He heard Wally yell, “Come on!” when Tim gasped once more. He jerked once, then started moving, straining against the leather bindings. Dick carded his fingers through his hair and Jason turned away, deciding to look at what Wally and Bruce were up to.

He saw the two whispering and arguing about the liquid in the test tube before Bruce looked Wally in the eye and dumped the tiny spoonful of powder he was holding in the tube. Wally gave him an unamused look.

“Mom? Dad?” Tim weakly called out. Bruce seemed to freeze, then he got over it and started shaking the test tube in such a fast span that Jason thought he had hallucinated the pause. Tim seemed to be doing a breathing exercise. The one he used to do often. Cringing, he remembered the kid screaming, admitting that he was his idol when he attacked him.

Even through the breathing exercises, Jason could see that it wasn’t working. There had to be someone helping him to keep going for it to work. “Please!” Tim yelled, his voice hoarse. “Let me in! Mom, dad, help! Please. I’m scared. I’m sorry. Please.”

Jason narrowed his eyes, that was… probably not ideal.

The 15-year-old gasped again. This time, it was more of a surprised gasp than a painful gasp. His body relaxed, not limply like before, but more as if he had finally settled down. Jason thought he could even see a hint of a smile. This was probably not worrying, what was really worrying was that his heartbeat started to slow down, according to the beeping heart monitor. And it did not stop slowing down.

“B!” Dick called out warningly, fear audibly expressed in his voice. Bruce hastily poured the contents into a syringe with a needle and gave it to Wally who zoomed over, lightning-fast and stabbed it into Tim’s left bicep. Maybe they should have told him about the dislocated shoulder first? There was no time anyway.

They all waited with baited breath. Two minutes passed and Jason felt like he was going to kill himself with the suspense. The good news was that Tim’s heartbeat was going at its normal pace, the bad news was that he hadn’t woken up or even shifted yet. Wally’s mutterings of “It should work immediately. We didn’t put all that hard work for nothing” was the only thing that was keeping Jason from throwing himself off the cliff in the cave. If Wally and Bruce said that the effects should kick in soon, he believed it. Even if it seemed hopeless.

Tim looked so peaceful, lying like that. Bruce unstrapped him wordlessly, since the thrashing had ceased. He looked like a real kid without any of those worry lines. Like a proper 15-year-old. A kid. A kid he tried to kill. A kid he abused.

And yet… if Jason’s hunches were right (they usually were, but in this case, Jason hoped they weren’t), Tim wasn’t really who he claimed to be. Just like him and Dick, Tim, along with black hair and blue eyes, had—

“Um,” Wally said hesitantly. Everyone turned to look at him. “I… have to go. I think Bart and Max are in trouble. Speed force communicating and all.”

Bruce nodded, an acknowledgement of thanks.

“Thanks, KF,” Dick slapped his back.

“When will you stop calling me that?”

Dick grinned. It wasn’t his usual grin, but under the circumstances, Jason supposes it must hurt to even fake one. “By the way,” he said quickly. “Jason’s back from the dead and is a crime lord.”

Jason waved.

Wally widened his eyes then just shook his head exasperatedly, muttering, “You bats and your secrets.” He lightly hit Dick’s head then ran off after saying, “You owe me an explanation, Dickhead. SorryJasonCan’tStayButGladYou’reBack!”

They waited two more minutes after that, never leaving Tim’s sight, when he opened his eyes. Tim immediately curled in on his left arm. He raised his head and opened his mouth to scream, but only a small yelp filled with pain managed to get out.

It was like a bomb had been set off. They all immediately crowded in, asking various questions and spewing various assurances. But all Tim could manage in reply was another small, painful whine. Alfred pushed them all back, so that the kid could breathe. The old butler sat him up and audibly started breathing loudly. Tim followed him, matching his counts then he dropped his head. The hand clutching his bicep was shaking. Alfred gently wrapped his arms around the shivering body. Tim tensed at first, but then relaxed into Alfred’s magical, warm touch.

“It hurts,” he rasped through gritted teeth, jaw clenched tight as he tried not to make a sound. The two words twisted everyone’s faces into sympathetic looks, and Jason was not ashamed to admit that he was one of them.

“I know, my boy,” Alfred slowly patted his back. “I know.”

Tim’s shoulders started shaking with sobs. Then he suddenly snapped his head up, away from Alfred’s grasp and turned to Bruce. “New fear toxin,” he croaked. “Sends you to the worst memories. Dunno if there’s a limit, but it stops after a while and you feel…” he paused, a look of longing passing his eyes, “...peace. Find people who look to be in complete euphoria.” He shuddered then tried to compose himself.

Jason was angry that Tim was resisting rest and was instead trying to relay a fucking report to fucking Batman about victims of the new toxin as if he wasn’t one of them. But deep down inside, he knew that he would be doing the same thing too. It was in the Robin line, saving others before yourself.

He then leaned back into Alfred again, subconsciously, Jason was sure. Alfred was only too happy to have Tim’s head against his chest as he curled one hand around his resting head and the other around his back. Jason saw Dick’s fingers twitch, knowing that his brother wanted to all but throw himself on Tim too. But he resisted, it wouldn’t do good to have multiple people on you after experiencing the worst moments of your life all in one setting.

“Bad memories,” Tim whispered.

“Not anymore, my boy,” Alfred reassured back.

It was funny, Jason thought, he had come all this way to make him feel hell, but clearly he had already gone through it.

“Let’s get you to bed, Master Tim.”

There was no response. The atmosphere tightened.

“Master Tim?” Alfred lifted Tim’s head to find that his eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly hanging open. He checked his pulse, since the heart rate clip was snapped back when Tim woke up. “Asleep,” Alfred reported.

The tension in the air decreased. “I’ll take him upstairs,” Bruce said.

Jason silently watched as the little baby bird was carried to the manor.

Chapter Text

He was semi-conscious when he felt a hand close to his face. It wasn't touching him, it was just there, hovering. Rather than pushing it away, he turned his head so the hand was cupping his face. He gave a small hum of contentment. The thumb of the hand started stroking his cheek. He gave another content hum. Suddenly, he was 3-years-old again. His mother was stroking his face, waking him up. His father gently kissed his forehead and slowly combed his fingers through his hair, saying that it was time to go to the circus. Toddler Tim had then immediately woken up, excited.

This Tim, however, felt too tired and too content with the hand stroking him. Worried that it would move, he stayed still, soaking in the touch. Then, just as it had appeared the hand moved away again. Tim didn't like that. A small whine worked its way up his throat, but the hand didn't come back. So he shifted to the side, curling in, and trying to fill the empty air, where the hand was on his face, with a pillow.

---------------------------------

Tim woke up. He hated waking up.

“God, I’m gonna IV caffeine straight into my bloodstream,” he murmured. A disappointed cough sounded to his right. “Joking,” he slurred.

He opened his eyes then immediately put a hand over them. Too bright. It was too bright. He heard a hiss command someone to dim the lights. He waited till the count of 10, just to be safe, then moved the arm. Four expectant faces were staring at him back. He sighed, “This is the second time I’ve been knocked out and I’m going to kill myself if it happens again in the next month.”

No one said anything. Tim groaned and rubbed his eyes, pushing himself up from his bed. Someone had stripped his Robin costume, replacing it with a black hoodie. He flexed his left arm and rolled his shoulder, it didn’t seem to hurt.

“Painkillers,” Alfred explained. Ah, that made sense.

“How long was I out?” he asked.

“A day,” Bruce answered. “You kept waking up though. Because of nightmares and for water.”

Tim nodded. He wasn’t too worried about the nightmares. He knew for a fact that everyone in this room had it. Plus, he couldn’t remember much from them anyway. He licked his lips and a glass of water materialized under his nose. He graciously took it and gulped the whole thing in one setting. "Did you find any victims?"

"No. Turns out that it was still in the testing process. You were the first and only one," Jason replied.

Tim breathed a sigh of relief.

“How’re you feeling?” Dick asked. Tim saw him itching to get near, but he just wasn’t in the mood right now.

“Better.” He suppressed a shudder as a flash of his experience with the fear toxin shot through his head.

Alfred cleared his throat. “I have made dinner, Master Tim. Would you like to eat here or—”

“Here please,” he said quickly, really not in the mood to interact.

Alfred nodded. Taking that as a cue, the other started to shuffle out too, shooting worried glances.

Tim ate his food of tomato soup and a small bread roll as slow as possible. The food was amazing as always, of course, but it was hard for Tim to swallow despite his stomach complaining for more underneath.

Halfway through the meal, he pushed the tray away, not being able to eat anymore. At least his stomach stopped demonstrating the art of digging construction noises. Tim leaned back on his bed again. His bed. The one in Wayne manor. The one devoid of tears and restless nights like his other bed in Drake estate.

Tim closed his eyes, trying to keep the remnants of the fear toxin memories away. The toxin made his vivid, blurry memories sharper, more focused, more… real. It would not do good to think about it now. Because of the recent Arkham breakout, rogues like Scarecrow and Joker are out and about. He had to concentrate on that, and only that. His parents weren’t here, so he needn’t worry. He was with the Waynes. He was safe. He closed his eyes for a bit before deciding to get up.

He glanced at the alarm clock beside his bed, it said 5:30. Huh, that was weird. Wasn’t it 12 something just a minute ago? He looked for the tray with the soup and found it to be cleared away. He must have fallen asleep. He got himself up from the fluffy soft pillows and gripped the edges of the bed, steeling himself and willing to stand up. He took a few more deep breaths then stood up. The world spun for a while and there was a small ache at the back of his head, but that was largely due to the fact that Tim hadn’t eaten properly for quite a while. His arm seemed okay though, and he wasn’t even on painkillers. With luck, he might be able to go to patrol tonight.

Tim padded down the stairs and slipped straight into the Cave where he knew everyone would be. Their faces lit up as they saw Tim walking towards them.

“I suppose you’re feeling well, Master Tim?” Alfred was the first one to ask.

“Peachy,” Tim replied.

“I will get the leftover lunch for you.”

“You’re the best Alfred.”

He received a smile in return.

Bruce, Dick, and Jason were creating a new file for the new fear toxin. “Just in time, Timbit,” Dick said. “We just finished putting in the chemical properties and how to build the cure.”

“We could use your input on side-effects and symptoms,” Bruce said.

Tim nodded. He caught them up on the nausea, burning, aching, shaking, and temporary blindness. “After all those delightful little things, you’re just… kinda floating I guess?”

“What do you mean?” Bruce frowned.

“Like, it’s all dark… as if you’re swimming in your own consciousness.”

“Interesting.”

“What if you don’t have a conscience?” Jason pointed out.

“Bruce would know, wouldn’t he?” Dick grinned.

“Amusing,” Bruce huffed.

“You go from one traumatic memory to another,” Tim continued. “Floating in the limbo between memories before you get shifted.”

“Which explains why you were going limp,” Dick said.

“What… what else did I do?” he asked quietly, ruffling his hair.

Their faces went dark. Bruce volunteered a response, “Shaking, crying, muttering, screaming. I think just going through the motions you went through in the memories themselves.”

“What about when I was in euphoria?”

“Your heartbeat was getting slower and slower before you were given the cure. If Scarecrow wanted to sell it, he wouldn’t have made it so that the victims would die. That’s why it was still in the testing process.”

Tim didn’t reply. On one hand, it was horrible, what he saw, but on the other… It was probably a good thing he got hit. If he hadn’t, they would never have found a cure or known squat about the toxin. Tim shuddered.

Alfred entered and put down a plate with a sandwich on the table beside the Batcomputer. He gave him a weak smile. He left the others to finish his meal. This time, it went all the way down his throat. Bruce was obsessing over the files, which prompted Dick and Jason to spar, no weapons.

Tim watched from the sidelines. Occasionally adding a snarky comment. He mentioned Dick’s hairline which distracted him enough for Jason to flip him to the ground. “Not fair,” Dick complained. Jason smirked.

They returned from the showers when Tim and Bruce just finished an argument about whether he was well enough for patrol. Bruce won. Tim greeted the two boys with gruff nods as Bruce briefed them about tonight’s new patrol route.

Tim scratched his cheek, carefully navigating the part where his bruise was concealed by makeup. He was surprised that it stayed on the whole time. He only applied it before last time’s patrol. He made a mental note to look up the makeup brand to use more often later. He caught Jason’s eye.

“Timmy, how did your parents’ visit go?” Jason asked nonchalantly.

“It went quite well, thanks,” Tim replied smoothly. “We had a lot of fun.”

“It’s sad that they didn’t stay longer, huh?”

Tim shrugged. “They found something exciting in Greenland.”

Jason walked up to him, getting close. Tim took a step back. What was he doing? “How did you get the bruise?”

“Which bruise?”

“The one under your concealer.”

This got everyone’s attention. “Where?” Dick asked.

Tim shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair. Jason bore his eyes into Tim’s. “Show them, Tim.”

“I don’t—”

“Show them,” Jason pushed.

Tim scowled. He wiped the makeup off with the sleeve of his black hoodie, staining it crimson. He knew the bruise must be a yellow-green color. “This is just the one you gave me, Jason.”

Jason winced with guilt but didn’t let go. “This looks older than that. Maybe 3 or 4 days.”

Bruce was suspicious now. “Tim? What are you hiding?”

Tim sighed and looked down. He had a lie in order for this. He could easily weasel his way out by saying that he snuck out for patrol, then he would be let off with a temporary ban on Alfred’s cookies or maybe benched for a little bit for not alerting Bruce for his own protection. He would have gotten away, if not for Jason saying, “Did your father give you that?”

Tim froze. What? Adrenaline started pumping through his veins, but for some reason he couldn’t move. Why couldn’t he move?

“Jason, what?” Dick asked, dumbfounded.

Bruce was staring at Tim, analyzing his body language. He forced himself to stay calm, pushing down his beating heartbeat, trying to de-trigger his fight or flight response. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said calmly.

“Cut the shit, Tim. I was abused myself, I know the signs,” Jason snapped.

Tim winced at his tone. “I’m not—”

“You flinch whenever I talk about your father or mother, meaning that you were hit recently. Ergo the bruise. You jump at the sudden movements like when I patted your back and shoulder. While you were sleeping, I put my hand near you, to see whether you were touch-starved and you leaned into it, practically crying when I moved it away. And the biggest tell?” Jason took another step forward. “Your toxin nightmares. When you were screaming at your mom and dad to help you, let you in. And I bet that nightmare before that, when you were pleading about someone hurting you with something, it was a memory of one of your parents. Wasn’t it?”

Tim, overwhelmed by Jason’s carefully thought out rant, was mute with surprise and fear. Blood rushed in his ears and he couldn’t seem to grasp a single thought from the thousand worried ones racing through his mind.

Jason turned to the others. “I don’t know him as well as you do, but has he ever shown signs of abuse? Flinched at sudden movements? At unexpected touches? Avoided talking about his parents? Did he seem upset or relieved when they left?” Jason was on a roll, and it was clear that he wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. No matter how hard Tim silently begged him telepathically to shut the hell up.

Dick’s eyes widened. “There were some sore muscles which I blamed on patrol, but half of the time you were barely touched.” He seemed to realize something as he went on. “And… and when your parents left, you weren’t as down as I expected. You always avoid talking about how their visit went.”

“Bruce?” Jason turned to the older man.

Bruce had his eyes trained on Tim and his facial expressions. Even the slightest twitch or tick would give him away. “I… I never checked the security cameras. I valued his privacy,” Bruce replied slowly.

Tim was frozen again. He didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t know what to do or say. All he knew was that he was scared. He never thought that his secret would be out. He had hidden it carefully for so long after all, what was two more years when he would become a full adult? But now that it was happening… he didn’t know what to do to defuse the situation.

His eyes darted from Dick to Bruce to Alfred. He suddenly felt hands on his shoulder and before he could register that it was Jason, he flinched back. The room froze.

Then Jason quietly said, “I’m not revealing this to mess up your life, Tim. God knows it’s already messed up. I know you think you can handle it, but you can’t. Trust me. I know. I also know that Bruce, Dick, and Alfred are good people and they really do want to help. You were the one who told me that after all.”

Instead of being reassured, panicked fury rised inside Tim, scattering all logic and destroying the filter between his brain and tongue. “I don’t know what you’re on, Jason, but it’s clear you’ve flipped. I don’t know if the Pit’s talking or it’s you, but I’m not ab—” his breath got caught in his throat. He couldn’t say it out loud. He couldn’t physically say it out loud.

Silent tears started flowing and he closed his mouth, which only caused his lip to wobble. He looked to Bruce, whose analytical, concerned look had transformed to fury. Without a word, he stood up and walked out of the Cave. Alfred patted his head, making sure to project his movements, before following Bruce, no doubt trying to make him see reason before doing anything rash.

He was now left alone with Dick and Jason. Three Robins in a Cave. Now discovered that all of them had parental issues. How did it all go so wrong? Just a few minutes ago he was arguing with Bruce on leaving for patrol and laughing with the former Robins. Now he was cornered, with the plan he thought for himself for the future being torn to shreds.

“Hey, Tim?” He felt Dick’s hand run up his back. He flinched. Violently. It wasn’t a flinch he could control. Why would it? The only times he felt a hand on his back when he wasn’t aware, it was to strike it. He could still feel the hollow ghost of a fist smashing down his spine and the dull, sharp pain spreading through the rest of his back from the last time. So yes, he flinched. And he immediately regretted it.

Dick snapped back as if struck. Tim felt his neck and face grow hot. “Sorry,” he whispered.

Dick looked wounded. Jason looked pained.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, this time a little louder. His stupid back started aching for some reason. But it was a light ache. It meant nothing. Nothing compared to how Dick and Jason looked now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. It was stupid. It was way too stupid.” His voice rose. “I don’t usually do that. Trust me. It’s just that I was caught unaware and—” and he was upsetting them even more. With every word he spoke, Jason and Dick seemed to sag. Tim started to panic.

“Tim…”

“It’s just a flinch, damn it! It means nothing!” His breathing sped up. He could feel the thumping in his chest. Why was he scared? He was safe. He was with the Waynes. He was safe. So why the hell was he scared? “It means nothing! I’m not— I’m—”

“Tim! Stop!” Jason said in a panic.

Tim stuffed his fist into his mouth, and more stupid, stupid tears started running down his cheeks and tickling his nose.

“Tim no…” Jason whined. “I didn’t mean it that way.” He put his hand on top of Tim’s and Tim jerked away, shaking his head, tears still leaking through his closed eyes.

He moved back. Scuffling until the wall met his back. The same back which had caused him to flinch. Betrayal, Tim thought dimly, sliding down and clutching his hair tight. He couldn’t shut his mouth. He never could. He was stupid. He was so stupid. Didn’t his father tell him so?

What does your father know? asked the voice in his head. Of course, his father was wrong.

Wait… was he though…? His parents knew him more than anyone. They were his parents. They would know everything about him.

He could hear his muffled choked sobs echoing through the Cave. The Cave. The beautiful, beautiful cave. Once holding so many fond memories. Now it was tainted with this one. He didn’t want this to be a bad memory and ruin the times at the Cave. He didn’t want this to be a bad memory. He didn’t want this to be a bad memory.

“It won’t, Tim. It won’t,” said Dick’s voice. It was near, but not near enough to ring any serious alarm bells.

Huh. He didn’t realize he had said that out loud. His mind was in too much of a whirl. And his stupid mouth said stuff without thinking. Just like his mother said. He was a no-brained stupid little shit.

He heard a choking noise to his left, where Jason would be, and a sharp inhale to his right, where Dick would be sitting.

He bit down on his fingers. Hard. It helped. It always helped. It kept him from saying something stupid. The pain gave him something to concentrate on.

“Don’t do that,” Dick gasped, pulling his hand from his mouth. And Tim gave in. What was he supposed to do now?

“What?” he heard Jason say.

Right. His stupid mouth. “What am I supposed to do now?” he croaked.

“What do you mean?” Jason asked.

Tim still had his eyes closed and head down, his hair dangling limply in front of his forehead. “It was a perfect routine,” he said. “My parents would leave for those blissful few weeks, I would be happy in the manor. Happy in the Cave. Happy patrolling. Happy doing something good. Even if no one knew about it. Then there was that short time when they came back, and everything went to hell. But it was short. It never lasted. They went away. They went away, Dick, Jason. They went away.”

“Tim—”

“They went away,” he insisted. “They’re good people. Please. Please don’t give them in.” He started begging instead. He doesn’t want that routine to be messed up. “I just have to wait until I’m 18. Then I’ll leave. I’m smart enough to get a scholarship to Ivy or something. I’ll be able to leave. Just two more years. Please, Dick, Jason. Just two more years.”

“Is that your plan?” Jason asked quietly.

Tim nodded.

“And when the time comes, will you do it?”

“What do you mean?”

“He means,” Dick spoke. “When the time comes to out your parents, do you think you can?”

Tim frowned. “Of course I can. Dick, they’re horrible parents. I know that. Of course I’ll tell the police.”

“Why not now?” Jason asked, angrily.

Tim flinched.

Jason paled. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“No, it’s okay. I can’t give them up now though.”

“Why not?” Dick’s tone was a bit more gentle.

“I… I need them.” He swallowed. Though there was nothing to swallow due to his dry throat. He wasn’t about to admit that he was incapable of leaving them as of now. “I still have school. I need them to sign excursions and stuff. I need them to supervise and sign my University application and scholarship application. I need them for stuff.”

Jason sighed exasperatedly and Dick looked thoughtful.

“Tim…” Dick finally said, gently than ever. Way more gentle than Tim was used to. Way more gentle than he deserved for whining and sending them into this mess. He felt his hand on his shoulder. Don’t flinch, don’t flinch, don’t flinch. “When are your parents coming back?”

“Uh… a few weeks? Maybe?”

He nodded. Why did Dick want to know that? Was he going to call CPS? He didn't want CPS, he didn't need the CPS. It was a waste of time. What's two more years? He could put up with it.

His racing thoughts matched his racing heartbeat. He was panicking, he realized. Too many things at once.

“Do you want a kiss?” Jason suddenly asked.

“Huh?”

Jason grinned and fished a plastic bag full of wrapped chocolates from his jacket pocket. “Do you want a kiss?” he repeated. “Busted a couple kids exchanging money and passing plastic bags around. Turns out, they just wanted to meet Red Hood. Got three packs of this in exchange for three signed autographs.

Tim’s racing brain took a few moments to process the words. He unwrapped the chocolate clumsily, forcing himself to stay relaxed and telling his body that he was safe here. The sweetness of the chocolate dissolved in his mouth, grounding him.

“I like chocolate too,” Dick said, holding his hand out to Jason.

Jason narrowed his eyes then slowly placed one on his palm. Dick rolled his eyes and popped it in his mouth.

“You mind if we get close to you?” he asked.

Tim shook his head. They slowly shuffled to either side of him and leaned against the wall.

“You mind if we hug you?”

Tim tensed up. You’re safe, he scolded himself. You won’t get hurt, you’re safe. “Sure,” he said.

But they noticed. “It’s okay, kid,” Jason said.

He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. Relaxed. His breathing slowed. His vision was no longer blurry. His heart was still racing, but not as fast. It was just his nose that was filled with snot. He wiped his nose and tears with his sleeve.

“I’ll get you a tissue,” Dick said and he got up, slowly. It was just him and Jason now. They didn’t say anything. Just chewing on the pack of chocolates.

“I didn’t even know they made these anymore,” Tim said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah. Apparently, Gold city, a few miles from Central, had bought a lot of its stock.”

“Cool.”

Dick returned with a box of Kleenex, Tim grabbed one and blew his nose and cleared away the tears. Dick was still acting stiff. So, Tim decided to break his tension too. “Did you know that the stuff in your nose when you cry is the same as the stuff your tears are made of?”

Dick chuckled, “Oh really?”

Tim nodded. His shoulders were much less tense than before. But then Bruce and Alfred’s footsteps enter the Cave and he tensed up again. Bruce looked a little less angry, but angry nonetheless. Doubt creeped into his mind. Bruce wouldn’t hit him, would he?

Of course he wouldn’t, said the more rational part of his head. He never hits kids, he doesn’t have a reason to.

But his parents didn’t have a reason to hit him either, did they? And it was because of them he was such a mess.

Bruce doesn’t hit kids, came the simple insistent response.

“Tim,” Bruce said, stopping in front of him. He crouched to his level. “Where are your parents right now?”

“Greenland,” he said quietly. “They don’t have a signal.”

He closed his eyes. Tim squirmed. “Okay. Okay. How do you usually reach out to them?”

“Please don’t call them,” he begged, tears resuming. He was desperate damn it. “Please.”

“Tim. This is serious.” He sighed. “You’re Robin, right?”

“Are you going to take Robin away from me?” he asked. Oh God, just please don’t let that be true. He wouldn’t know how to cope.

“I… no. I’m just asking. You are Robin, correct?”

Tim nodded.

“And the whole point is to save people, right? Save kids. Save people who live in a bad place.” Bruce tried to reason.

Tim understood that, it’s just Bruce who wasn’t understanding him. “Please don’t call them.”

Bruce sighed. “I won’t call them, Tim.”

“Please don’t call CPS. Or Gordon. Or anyone in the GCPD.”

“Tim…”

“Bruce, please,” he burst out. “It isn’t even that serious. Not like others who actually need help. I’ve only been belted once—” he stopped himself and covered his mouth with his hands. Why did he say that? Why didn’t his brain filter out the words before it sent it to his tongue? Why?

A dark look passed Bruce’s face, and that’s when Tim knew that he was screwed. His breath came out in short gasps, he felt his heart speeding up and the world began to swim in front of his eyes. All indicators of an anxiety attack. What was the breathing exercise again?

“Bruce,” he heard Dick say. His voice sounded distant. “Maybe handle this later?”

Tim buried his head in his hands.

“Tim?” a voice called for him. “Tim. It’s okay, buddy. It’s okay, I’m here. Just breathe, alright? Take in a big breath and I’ll count for 4, okay? Suck in the air for just 4 seconds, I’ll count.”

Tim obeyed, concentrating on filling his lungs while listening to the count. He knew this exercise, he had done it before. He didn’t know why he couldn’t do it now.

“Good, now we hold for 8.”

As the numbers counted to 8, Tim closed his eyes, focusing on how his lungs held in the air, and how his mouth and nose blocked it from escaping.

“Now we let go for 7 seconds.”

He tried breathing out slowly but rushed the last little bit out when the count ended.

They repeated it twice and Tim felt more grounded. He opened his eyes and saw that Bruce was several feet away from him, watching with worried eyes. “Please don’t call the CPS,” he tried again.

“We’ll talk about that later, Timbers,” Jason said. “Right now, you must feel exhausted.” Jason must be a mind reader because he did feel tired, despite having slept for… what? Two days? Three? Still, he let himself be led up to his room, and a hand started stroking his hair, long after he fell asleep.

Chapter Text

If Tim's life was a cake recipe, he would be at the part where everything added is being mixed together to form a sludgy batter now. Or at least close to that part. Right now, the whisking machine must be taking a break because all the bats were not-so-subtly tiptoeing around his little… issue. Tim would enter a room and 7 times out of 10, the conversation would halt. The other 3 times it would rapidly change to some random topic. It was annoying at first, but later the change of topics kept getting even more outrageous. Like once, he came out of the showers after patrol (he was let out largely due to the fact he exaggerated just how much Robin was a coping mechanism… it was mostly true), and found Dick panicking and describing the time he snuck out for patrol during his early weeks of Robin and followed a mugger inside a strip club. Needless to say, it was a pleasant surprise for Tim, a horrific one for Bruce, and a humorous one for Jason.

Moreover, any conversation which even slightly touched the topic of parents was immediately shut down with gritted teeth and frantic glances at Tim who tried to ignore them. Even Alfred had cleared his throat and made an excuse to vacuum the bathroom when it came up. It had become Tim trying to reassure them rather than them trying to reassure Tim. He thought Jason would understand since Willis wasn't the best father either, but he was the most obnoxious of them all. Looking guilty every minute, disappearing for hours when Tim tried to bring up his attack or the reveal. It took a few solid hours of thinking to make peace with the fact that Jason was the one who revealed his secret, but he couldn't stay mad at him for long. He was Jason after all. His Robin.

Tim tried to find out what Bruce was doing when he was freaking out with Dick and Jason, but he and Alfred were tight-lipped about it. He didn't think even the older boys knew. Which is why he was in Bruce’s study hacking his laptop.

Bruce was in the Cave with Dick, and they were updating the file on Freeze's recapture. After coming back from patrol, Tim went straight to the manor, ignoring everyone's eyes on his retreating back. Jason had gone to check on his crime lord stuff (him and Bruce were both delaying The Talk about that), but he must be back by now. All the better for Tim. He could be a secondary distraction, because Tim definitely needed it. Hacking into Batman's laptop was no small thing.

"And what do you think you're doing, young man?" came a voice from the cursed laptop.

"Babs. Fuck off," Tim said as he went through the third firewall (how many firewalls could one laptop have?). He readjusted the wire connecting his laptop to Bruce's.

Barbara sighed, "Tim… I heard about what happened and—"

"I said fuck off, Barbara."

"Fine," she snapped. Tim decided he would feel guilty later. "But I want to know why I'm getting an alert that a certain someone is trying to get to Big, Old and Gruff's laptop."

Tim sighed, "He did something behind my back and I want to know just what it is he did."

"He goes behind everyone's back and does mysterious things."

"Not for this, Babs!" he yelled. "Not for this. This is my life and I want to know if someone's messing it up."

There was a moment of quiet where Tim managed to break the third firewall only to have a virus entering his laptop. He sighed frustratingly and attached his virus-battling USB. Talk about paranoia.

"Tim… No, don't cut me off, listen." He clicked the button to remove her access to Bruce's laptop anyway and went back to battling the virus. Of course that wouldn't stop Babs, she was the Oracle after all. "Jerk. Listen," she came back on. "Before you enter the old man's laptop, think for a sec. Do you really want to know?"

Tim paused. He watched as his anti-virus started deleting the virus' code. Babs was right. Did he want to know? Knowing meant that there was no going back. Knowing meant that he wouldn't be able to go back to those happy moments of pranking Bruce and stealing cookies. Knowing meant that he would have to face his parent's consequences. But… knowing also meant that he had a chance at fixing the mess before his parents even come back. Sure things between him and the bats wouldn't be the same, but he could work around that. Tim was flexible.

"Yes," he replied to Babs' question and started typing away.

"Okay," came her quiet voice and the laptop suddenly opened to Bruce's email. "Just remember: my systems were rebooting and I didn't receive any alerts."

"Thanks, Barbara," he smiled. "And… sorry for snapping at you."

"Whatever, Tim. Although…" she paused, "you should know that my dad has dealt with these sorts of things before. And if things go as far as that, I'll help you out as much as I can."

"I know, but they're not gonna go that far. I'll make sure of it."

He could feel her exasperation. "Don't forget, birdboy. Bruce— he cares about you. We all do. We just want what's best."

"Sure."

"Stay safe," with that, she switched herself offline.

Tim clicked on the 'Sent' section of emails. He skimmed through the hundreds sent. Man, how can someone send this many emails within a span of three days? He used the search bar to search up his surname, Drake. Immediately, an email thread appeared. Tim's eyes widened.

--------------------------------

Before Tim could stop himself, he threw a birdarang at Bruce. Bruce, being Batman, caught it, but that wasn’t the objective. The real objective was to show just how furious Tim was to be throwing a dangerous object at him. And if that didn’t work, Tim screaming “BRUCE!” at the very top of his lungs definitely would.

They turned to face him. Alfred wasn’t here, probably vacuuming the bathroom. “Tell me,” he huffed, coming to a stop right in front of the big guy, the top of his head reaching his shoulders. “Why the fuck did you email fucking Linda from Child Services about me?”

“What?” Jason raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What?”

Tim flipped open his laptop and read the email he had Bcc-ed to himself, “Dear Linda, It has been a long time since we last met. I was hoping we could meet someday as I have recently discovered a child under the name Timothy Drake who has shown signs of domestic abuse.” He glared at Bruce with as much venom as he could. Bruce took a step back, his face impassive.

“What did she say?” Dick quietly urged.

Tim turned back to his laptop. “Dear Bruce, it’s nice to hear from you, unfortunately under dire circumstances. I will be available on the 30th of June at 3:15 pm if you would like to pay an official visit to my office.” He shut the laptop. “Like fuck you will,” he spat.

Bruce didn’t say anything which enraged him even more.

Flames of fury clouded his vision. The tower of anger was supported by hidden desperation underneath. “Why?” was all he could manage to say.

Bruce shook his stupid head. “Tim—”

He held up a hand to stop him. "I want to go back to my manor tonight," he said.

"Why?" Bruce frowned.

Tim shot him another glare. "I just need some time alone."

"You can have your alone time here, Timmy," Dick said. "We don't want you to be abandoned in that dark, gray house."

"That dark gray house is my home, Dick," he snapped. "I just need to think. To be completely alone." And away from the frequent tense atmospheres which seem to be present only when I'm there, he added silently.

"Tim," Bruce said. His voice was calm. The fucking bastard. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone after what you just told us."

"Bruce, kindly, I don’t give a shit."

"Look, Replacement," Jason stepped up. “I know it’s thick coming from me, but why don’t we just talk?”

Tim refused to step down. "I want to go home."

"Your home is here, Tim," Dick argued.

Tim shook his head. "I want to go."

"Tim—" Bruce began, but Tim interrupted.

"Stop! Just stop, Bruce. Please." He sighed. “This is a mess,” he muttered, clutching his hair. “This is such a big mess.” He looked up. Not to get it wrong, he loved Bruce and Dick, and Jason too, but lately, being with them just seemed… hard. He loved spending time with them with his whole heart, but he just wanted to stop now. He wanted a break. He wanted to go to his room at Drake manor and just go through the pictures he had taken all those years ago and reminisce with those good and simple times. He wanted… he just wanted a lot of things.

"What do you want me to do, Tim?" Bruce asked, gently. "I can’t just ignore one of my— one of my own being abused by the people who are supposed to love them. I can’t ignore that. So what do you want me to do?"

Tim thought for a moment. Then, he said, "I want to go back to before. When things were simple, and we would go patrolling as Robin and Batman, the dynamic duo, not the hostile-sensitive-overprotective duo. When you guys wouldn't freeze at every small thing. When you wouldn't leave your sentences hanging. I want to go back to the way it was."

“But it can’t,” Bruce said quietly.

Tim rubbed his eyes. “I know.”

Jason cleared his throat. “Again, thick coming from me, but I think we need to talk about this.”

Tim sighed for about the fifth time today. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay.”

“So…” came Dick’s hesitant voice, “are you going back to Drake manor?”

“Yes.”

"I'd much rather you don't go to Drake manor alone,” Bruce protested.

"It's my home," he said furiously with gritted teeth.

"I don't call freezing in a big gloomy house a 'home'." Jason rolled his eyes.

"We have heaters. And it’s summer," he said crossly.

"Tim, you've been neglected your whole life and I don't know if you know this, but neglect is a type of child abuse," Bruce said firmly.

"It's not neglect if I choose to go there."

Bruce sighed.

"I just—" Tim ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I just want to go home."

Bruce sighed again.

"I think it would do him good," a voice interrupted. Tim looked up to see Alfred walking towards them with a tray of cookies. "Just one night to gather his thoughts after such a big event shaking his life." Alfred looked at Tim and offered him a smile. He returned it with a weak, but hopeful one.

Bruce looked like he became ten years older. “Fine. But I drive you there. And only this once.”

Tim nodded. Just this once.

-----------------------------------------

Tim and Bruce didn’t talk the whole drive there. He turned his head to look out the window, making sure that Bruce noticed him ignoring him. He recalled the many times Bruce used to drive him to his house. The times before everything all went to shit. The times when Tim was the snarky Robin who was too clever for his own good. The times when he animatedly described the highlights of the nights or school to Bruce, glad that there was someone who listened to him without any obstacles. The times when Dick started taking on the role of big brother, guilty because he didn’t do it with Jason, but Tim didn’t mind. He liked pretending to have a big brother.

And now… Now Tim got out of the car, grabbed his bag with his personal belongings and walked to the door of the dark, gloomy house. His home. Without looking back at Bruce, he opened the door, and got in. Slamming the door behind him, he sighed and put his back to the wood, sliding down in the dark and clenching his curls. He was here to gather his thoughts. That was it. Nothing more. He was not going to get a panic attack, he was not going to cry, he was not going to call Dick or Jason in the early morning to come and pick him up. He was not going to do any of that, no matter how much he wanted to.

He dragged himself up and slinked to his room. He opened the door and made a beeline to the loose floorboard under his bed. Prying it open, he grabbed the photo album which carried the best of his Batman and Robin pictures. There was the occasional Batgirl too. Unfortunately, he didn’t take as many of hers before her paralyzation.

He flipped the pages, smiling as he walked down the memory lane. He stopped at a picture of himself on a fire escape with Robin above him on the rooftop, talking to Batman on his comm. It was Dick’s Robin and he had taken it when he was 8. Man, he was tiny back then. Practically minuscule. No wonder no one noticed him prowling along the dark. The picture was a hard one to take, but so worth it. He had to put the camera at such a position that it caught himself and Robin who was standing on the ledge. He had done it though, in the end he did it.

Closing the album, he put it back and reached in to take out the diary his mother had gifted him. His entries weren’t regular, unfortunately, but he decided to write down everything he could remember in it. Organize his thoughts. Grabbing a spare pencil with the chewed off end from his desk, he sat cross-legged and started scribbling.

It had been 4 in the morning when he had come back to his home, after finishing scribbling in the diary, it was 5:45 and Tim’s hand was cramping. He flipped over the many pages he had managed to fill. His handwriting went from neat to frantic, when he stopped bothering after a couple pages.

He wrote about the gala he went to with his parents which ended with his mother furious at him for not staying with her the whole time. He wrote about Jason’s attack, about how he came back from the dead, about the Pit. He wrote about getting gassed by Scarecrow and the memories he had to live through again, his hand shaking and his body shuddering as he forced himself to continue. He wrote about Jason revealing his secret, about how jumpy and hesitant they were acting, about how Bruce could be so ignorant as to go behind his back and do something he had begged him not to do. And he wrote about how he wanted everything to go back to the way it was.

Tim threw the pencil back on his desk and placed the diary back under the bed. He tilted his head back, resting it on the edge of his bed. That was… strangely therapeutic. He stayed that way for a while, with his eyes closed and his empty head.

Then he opened his eyes and checked the clock. It was 8 am. He must have fallen asleep. Anyways, it was time to create a new plan. He reached into his bag and pulled out the laptop. Plugging the charger in, he typed in his password.

His original plan was to get through school, apply for Universities far away from Gotham, block his parents out, and stay there with his new life. Now that it was ruined, he could create a new plan. Maybe this time he could make it so that he could fit his Robin activities in?

Half an hour later, Tim was deep into the internet, reading about Booster Gold’s new book. He had no idea how he got there. The novel was apparently about a collection of real life stories starring Booster Gold and featuring other superheroes like Superman. Knowing the guy, he was probably exaggerating his role in a true Lockhart fashion. Still, the guy had his uses. Apparently, part of the profit from the book went to helping kids with abusive homes. Tim scrolled through several comments about how “great” the kids’ lives were after being “rescued”. Most of the comments were probably clickbait, but it planted an idea in his head.

What if… what if Tim let Bruce help him?

Thankfully, a notification from his phone stopped him from going in that direction.

Dickhead: Hey Timtam. How’re u doing?
Dickhead: Look, I was just texting 2 let u know b4 Jason does it
Dickhead: But he’s gonna create a grp 4 us Robins. And he’s mad that i havent yet added him 2 our grp with B and A so he’s not adding me
Dickhead: Cud u add me instead?

Sure enough, Tim received another notification that he was added to a new group.

Iluvrooty-tooty-point-n-shootys: Sup replacement 😈
Iluvrooty-tooty-point-n-shootys: U feeling better yet?
YellTimber: Jason… what the hell?
YellTimber: I didnt think of u as a person who used emojis
Iluvrooty-tooty-point-n-shootys: Yeah well, i didnt think of u as a person who didnt use grammar and punctuation while texting so here v r

YellTimber added Dickhead to the group

Dickhead: Thanks Timmy
Iluvrooty-tooty-point-n-shootys: 🤮 its dickhead
Dickhead: Honeatly fuck u.
Dickhead: also, that’s a ridiculosly long username. I dont like it
Iluvrooty-tooty-point-n-shootys: Suck it up princess. Also u cant even spell ridiculous or honestly properly
Dickhead: we’re texting. We dont have 2
Dickhead: Anyways, Timmy. We were wondering if u wud wanna join us 4 a trip 2 the arcade
Dickhead: Jason used 2 be the best at mario kart, but i wanna know if u can beat him. Cuz u see, i bet that u wud
YellTimber: Ur bet’s correct, i can beat anyone
Iluvrooty-tooty-point-n-shootys: Bring it on half pint

Tim smiled and quickly packed his bag again. He brushed his teeth, combed his hair (but gave up), then ran down the stairs, only stopping to grab a cereal bar from the pantry before opening the door.

He could think about the plan later. Right now, he had a dead boy to beat in a game of Mario Kart.

-----------------------------------------

“You’re not going to let me win just for the sake of guilt, are you?” he asked Jason, just to make sure.

“Hey,” Jason said, offended. “When it comes to someone beating me at a game of Mario Kart after several consecutive wins before my death, I ain’t just handing out wins for a charity case.”

Tim frowned. “You’re a charity case.”

“Shhh,” he felt Jason’s hand on his mouth, “It’s okay.”

Tim rolled his eyes and twisted Jason’s arm. Jason easily broke out of his grip.

“I’m recording this,” Dick said, coming back from the counter with a cup of arcade coins.

Jason cracked his knuckles as they both sat down on the seats. Dick counted them down and the game began. Tim didn’t believe that Jason could beat him at the game until he found out why he held so many consecutive wins. Jason, being a street kid, was not above using dirty play to survive. He poked Tim with his elbow, causing him to steer off the path. “Oops,” he grinned. “Guess my arms are too big.”

Throughout the race, he kept poking Tim with his elbow, or stretching his arms, or randomly yelling, causing him to lose concentration. Jason wasn’t above playing dirty, he thought to himself, well, neither am I.

So as soon as the next race began, Tim sneezed on Jason. Jason screeched and veered his steering wheel off the course. He glared at Tim, who sniffed and wiped a hand over his nose, hiding his smirk as he drove with the other hand. Jason was about to poke Tim again when Tim took a sharp turn, using his elbow to hit Jason’s hard. Jason veered off course again while Tim managed to stay on the course, winning.

Dick was shaking with laughter behind him. “You— you clearly don’t know Tim,” he gasped. “You play dirty, he plays dirtier.”

Jason narrowed his eyes at Tim and Tim narrowed his back. They spent game after game, trying to out-dirty each other than win. By the end of it, both Jason and Tim had lost their winning streaks, much to Dick’s amusement. It made Tim question who the real winner was.

----------------------------------------

It was his first fight alongside Jason. Red Hood had managed to occupy every single cartel and gang in Crime Alley except Black Mask’s. He and Robin teamed up, announcing a somewhat temporary truce between the bats to take down Black Mask’s men. There were around ten of them who were loading a truck. Tim had spotted it and called Dick and Jason for help since Bruce was all the way on the other side of Gotham.

Jason arrived within two minutes of sending the signal and quickly shot the guns off the men who were going to shoot Tim. They worked together. Jason pulled out his gun, but Tim knocked it away with his bo staff. “Not on my watch,” he said as he punched another man down.

“Spoilsport.”

They almost managed to knock them all down when more came their way. “Nightwing…” Tim said urgently.

“Calm thy thighs, child. I’m trying,” came his voice from the comms.

Tim looked up to see that Jason was about to lose his head to a bold criminal who was brandishing a knife. He warily registered one goon behind him. The one in front of him grabbed his neck, cutting off his air supply.

He had to act fast, and act fast he did. In a matter of seconds, he rolled the bo staff he had dropped with his leg, flipped it up, and threw it at the guy about to stab Jason while simultaneously stomping Goon #1, the one choking him, on his foot. Then he smashed his head backward, straight into Goon #2, who was behind him, on his nose.

Not stopping for a second, he kicked Goon #1, in the neck, then spun around to Goon #2 and smashed his fist against his nose again, knocking both of them out. The bo staff he had thrown had knocked out Goon #3, who, without Tim's interference, would have been declared the second murderer of Jason Todd.

Within a span of six seconds, Tim had knocked down three men and saved Jason's life. The life in question was staring at him in shock. Tim smirked.

Dick stumbled onto the street, out of breath, and threw his escrima sticks at two men who were electrocuted. He took one look at the bodies on the floor then sighed, "Why did you call for assistance if you didn't need it?"

"That was before I saw Robin over here knock three goons out while saving my life in a span of— what? Five seconds?" Jason spluttered.

"Seven," Tim corrected.

Dick visibly swelled up with pride. "That's my li'l bro."

Jason shook his head mockingly.

"What I don't get," Bruce said angrily, stepping out of the shadows, "is how you can defeat three people in just seconds, but barely dodge your father's punch which are comparatively slower than the men you just faced."

The moment of pride and happiness was immediately sucked out of Tim. He paled. "You saw—"

"Yes, I saw."

He marched over to Bruce angrily. "You violated my privacy!"

Bruce didn’t reply.

Tim shot his grapple gun and left. Why couldn’t Bruce just let it go for one fucking day. He muted his comm from the main channel.

“What are you doing, Tim-the-angsty-teen-Drake?" Oracle asked.

"Slight patrol change. I'm going to take over Nightwing's route."

"While knowing that his route from 11:45 doesn't coincide with B's?"

"Really? Must be a coincidence."

"Uh-huh. What's really going on, Tim?"

He stopped grappling, standing on a rooftop and looking down at a dingy street with a bar which was closed. "He saw," his voice broke and he fingered his hands through his hair.

"Saw what, Timmy?"

"He saw me and—" he wiped the tears which were making their way through the mask. Taking a shaky breath, he steadied his voice. "He saw my father hitting me."

He heard Barbara's short, and angry whisper of "That bastard doesn't know when to stop, does he?"

Tim bit down his lip, trying to keep the sobs from escaping. It was just one thing after the other. Bruce violating his privacy didn't hurt as much as knowing that he saw Tim get beat up. That was way worse. That was almost torture, knowing that the person who you think of as a second father seeing you get bullied and hit by your first father. It was embarrassing. It was humiliating. It was scary. It was so scary.

Despite Tim's effort of keeping a sob in, one escaped anyway.

"Shit, Tim," he heard Barbara say. But the sobs won't stop now. She probably thinks that he's some poor loser who needs pity.

"I don't think that, Tim."

"Did I say that out loud?" he asked weakly.

"Yeah… look, Tim, I'm going to have a chat with the big guy. Knowing him though, he probably won't listen. But Dick is a really good talker, and Jason can probably pitch in too, add in the guilt factor. K?"

Tim nodded, then he remembered that she couldn't see him, so he said "Okay," instead.

"Good, now wipe those tears and blow the snot from your nose. You're Robin right now, remember? Go do your Robin-ly duties."

He laughed shakily. "Yes, ma'am."

Babs was right. Tim wasn't Tim right now. He was Robin. The Boy Wonder. The kid who was meant to be a hope for the city. A beacon of light beside Batman's darkness. A fighter of crime.

He swooped down and punched a woman who had grabbed another woman's purse and was running. For now, being Robin was just what he needed.

------------------------------

Bruce was mad. He just saw his young partner (which he may or may not think of as a son) be beat up by his own blood father. And he took the beating without defending himself in the slightest. So yes, he had the right to be mad.

He tied up the men with Dick and Jason (he still couldn't believe that he was back) and they grappled to the rooftops. He could tell that they wanted to talk to him about what just happened.

Barbara's voice came from the comms, "Hello? Did I get the right number? Is this the man who violated a kid's privacy?"

"Oracle," Bruce said in greeting.

"I think you two need to give Big Billy Bat Gruff a talk," she said, ignoring him. "I've cleared the cameras and other devices on 13th street a couple blocks ahead, just enter the alley and have your little chat while I add in the occasional snide comment."

"Noted," Dick acknowledged.

"I'm relying on you to make him see sense, Dickwing."

"Don't worry. I've become an expert over the years."

Bruce resisted the urge to snort, Jason did not.

"What?" Dick turned to Jason. "I have!"

"I didn't say anything," Jason sneered.

"You implied."

"Whatever, Eugene."

They followed Barbara's directions and swooped in the alley. It was empty.

"I don't get it," Bruce began. "Why can't I look out for Tim and determine just how serious it is?"

Jason sighed exasperatedly and took off his helmet. "You haven't changed much, old man."

Bruce shook his head. Tim had just spilled coffee. It wasn't even that big of a deal. But Jack and Janet, they used it as an opportunity to let out their frustration of losing a shareholder on him. It was painful, to say the very least, watching Tim be pushed around by Jack. Watch him punch the young boy, bang his head against the wall, kick him while he was down, strike his back, slap him, and punch him all over again.

"He didn't even dodge the blows," Bruce said, almost to himself. "The most infuriating thing was that he kept getting hit, but he didn't even protest or say anything to defend himself. He stayed silent the whole time."

"Oh Tim-Tam," Dick whispered. Jason winced.

"If it had been Croc or Ivy or Crane, he would have them down in minutes. Weaponless or not. All while making puns and shooting back replies."

"But he isn't Croc, Bruce. It's his father. His dad. And she is his mom, not someone like Ivy who isn't even related to him in any way," Dick said.

Bruce closed his eyes, he could still hear Tim's soft yelps and pines. "I just want to help."

"We all do, Bruce," Dick said. "Just not this way."

"Look. He doesn't need sympathy," Jason interjected. "He also doesn't need people going behind his back and trying to "fix" things for him and watching him go through his private trauma."

"Jason's right," Dick nodded. "What he needs is trust."

"I do trust him."

"I know that. But he doesn't. He did before, but after the stunts you just pulled, he doesn't think you trust him. Ergo, he doesn't trust you."

"Bruce," Jason said. "That boy is way stronger than you know. He took out three freaking men in a few seconds all while making sure I didn't get stabbed. He's smart too. Using the right words to keep me from killing him," Jason winced, "and he's calculating. He had a whole ass plan ready for when he turns 18 to escape."

Bruce arched an eyebrow.

"It's true," Dick said. "The only thing he was missing was support. He's been through this alone his whole life. It's up to us to show him that he's not alone. He needs two things right now: trust and support."

Bruce sighed then smiled. "How did you two get so much better at this than me?" His voice was filled with pride.

"Oh, you know," Jason shrugged. "We learn from mistakes."

"Good job, you guys," Barbara said through the comms. "I knew you were the right people for the job. Now, Nightwing, Robin took over your patrol route so you're taking his."

"Got it, thanks O."

Jason put his helmet back on and they went back to stalking in the night. Bruce was proud of his sons. He had desperately failed as a parent, but Dick and Jason, the amazing people as they are, were clever enough to learn and evolve from his mistakes. He was proud to call him his sons. And now… now he had one more son to save, even if he didn't consider himself as his just yet.

-----------------------------

Tim so badly wanted to consider Bruce as his father. Watching the security feed which Bruce had easily hacked (cuz it always pained him when he installed the codes to glitch it), he felt the urge even more so. But he already had a father. Not the best one, but still.

He mindlessly rewinded the feed on his laptop, going back months before something caught his eye. It was about a year ago, when one day, Tim had woken up to see his house empty. He knew that his parents' flight was at 3 in the morning, but he had at least expected them to wake him up before they left. They didn't and Tim, in a fit of anger, marched to the batcave and spent so much time on Penguin's breakout, that he managed to find his location and a shipment of illegal trade guns. Bruce's compliment was just enough to distract him from his frustration with his parents for not even saying goodbye before they left.

As it so happened, he was wrong.

Janet entered his room, just an hour before they left for the airport. He was sleeping soundly, and she wedged herself beside him on his bed. He immediately wrapped his arms around her, his copy of Lord of the Flies, falling from his grasp. Just then, Jack entered his room. "Shh," Janet warned.

Jack silently walked over and brushed the hair out of his eyes. "He looks peaceful, doesn't he?" he asked.

Janet smiled and nodded, patting his head. Then she detached herself from his grip and followed Jack outside.

Tim's eyes brimmed with tears, and he stopped the feed, closing it altogether. What was this? One minute they're yelling at him and the next they're stroking his hair? Tim shook his head; it was too mind-boggling to think about it. Either his parents were good, or they were not. It should be as simple as that, but clearly it was not.

"Tim?" he heard Bruce's voice outside the bedroom door.

Tim quickly wiped his eyes, "Come in."

Bruce entered his room, an apology on his tongue, "Look, you're right. I'm sorry I hacked your security feed and emailed Child Protection Services behind your back. I should've talked to you first, asked you, explained it to you first."

Tim smiled. "Dick and Jason help you rehearse that one?"

Bruce blinked. He let go of the door handle and crossed his arms with a small smile. "Barbara."

Tim gave a weak laugh. "That's an apology alright."

"Do you accept it? That's the question."

Tim thought for a bit. There was no question that Tim would almost always forgive Bruce, the pause was just to see him squirm. And he was rewarded with Bruce's guilty expression. "Sure," he said.

His face relaxed. "Thank you. And really, I'm sorry."

Tim waved it away. "It's okay Bruce, just… just…" He didn't know what to say.

Bruce walked up to his bed and sat in front of him. "It's okay chum," he said with his arms open. Tim leaned into the hug. It felt nice. "It's okay."

Chapter Text

Batman had to take an emergency trip. Nightwing got a tip on Blockbuster and had to leave for Bludhaven. And Jason… Jason was Jason-ing around the manor. Tim was going through the Arkham breakout files again when Jason invited him to go Jason-ing with him. Tim refused at first, but dragging a person by the leg is a very strong motivator. So now Jason was Jason-ing while Tim was Tim-ing around the manor.

“Hey…” Jason said as he peeked from the chandelier. They were testing all the ways tiny Dick could have gotten up without noticing. So far, they only found one. “Tell me how you found our secret ID’s again.”

Tim peeked through the door to check for Alfred before replying, “I saw Dick do one of his quadruple flips. There were only like three people who could do it so I quickly found out that Dick Grayson was Robin and Bruce Wayne was Batman.”

Jason flipped off from the chandelier, nearly giving Tim a heart attack as the lights flickered and the whole thing swayed violently from side to side. “I think you’re too big for that.”

Jason stuck out his tongue in reply. “What if… what if Robin had become the fourth person to do the flip and he was just hiding it and your guess about Dildo was wrong?”

Tim still had eyes on the swaying chandelier. “Your death and the second Robin’s death would have then confirmed my theory.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Besides, Bruce Wayne is the only one in Gotham to be rich enough to afford all those fancy gadgets and unlimited amount of suits and have wards that fit the descriptions of Nightwing and Robin.”

“Okay, smart dumbass. How did you figure out Superman’s identity?”

Tim smirked. “I was doodling glasses on Superman and saw that it matched Clark Kent’s picture at the bottom of the page.”

Jason raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah okay, that was a lie. I found out from Bats, but I can’t believe no one has done that yet. Honestly.”

“I guess he just has one of those faces which look considerably different with glasses on.”

“I guess.”

The chandelier stopped swaying. “Hey,” Jason said, checking his watch. “It’s an hour before patrol. What do you say we leave early?”

Tim shrugged. “Sure.”

-----------------------------------

“Back to stench the place, N?” Jason teased when they saw Dick enter the Cave with his Nightwing suit on.

“Hopeless end, Jay. The tip was faulty.” He waved at Tim. “Hey Timbers.”

Tim waved back. They had all just arrived from patrol and were about to go to the showers when a familiar roaring noise filled the Cave. “B’s back,” Tim announced.

Sure enough, the Batmobile halted to a stop and Batman slipped out. When he flipped the cowl back he looked like he aged 20 years, and his face was lined with exhaustion and frustration.

“Failed mission?” Nightwing asked, leaning forward on the rails separating the parking space from the Cave.

“Quite the opposite, Dick,” Bruce sighed. A kid, who looked to be around 10, jumped from the Batmobile to stand next to Bruce.

“And who is this pint-sized fuck?” Jason asked. Dick looked dazed, and Tim was just very very confused.

“Did you adopt another one, Master Bruce?” Alfred asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No… I…” Bruce sighed again and rubbed his face. “This…” he indicated towards the kid, “is my son.”

“The blood son,” the kid scoffed.

What. The. Hell.

“You’re joking,” Dick whispered, straightening up.

Bruce just sighed again.

“Who did you fuck this time?” Jason frowned.

“I thought you would recognize me, Todd. After all, we were both taught by my mother in the League of Assassins.”

Tim’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean—”

“Talia Al Ghul,” the kid scoffed again. “My name is Damian. Damian Al Ghul. I suppose you can add Wayne at the end now. And I am the heir to the Demon’s head, Ra’s Al Ghul, and the true heir to the bat.”

There was a moment of silence in the Cave, finally broken by Alfred. “Well, Master Damian. It’s clear that we all have several questions lined up. Would you like to eat anything before we get them answered?”

Damian eyed him. “Who are you?”

“I am Alfred Pennyworth, the butler to the bat.”

“So a servant, then?”

The statement brought hisses and snaps of surprise and anger from the three older boys. “Watch your tongue, demon brat,” Jason hissed. “Or even daddy won’t be able to find you.”

“Jason…” Bruce warned, then he turned to Damian. “We do not consider anyone here as servants. Everyone here is part of a family and you shall treat them as such.”

“Surely you do not consider those heathens as family? They aren’t even related to you!” Damian whined. Or well, if you call a very formal, slightly bothered tone a whine. Considering how little Damian acted like a child, that’s probably as close to a whine he could get as possible.

“Feisty kid,” Dick said wryly. “Must take it from the father.”

“Bruce,” Tim protested. “Please say the brat isn’t gonna stay with us. He might be your son, but his grandfather is Ra’s Al Ghul. You know, the guy who is rumored to have the head of a demon?”

Damian eyed him up and down. Tim resisted the urge to squirm. As small as the kid was, his body language screamed bloody murder. “That’s thick coming from you, Drake, seeing as you already have a home. What? Mommy and daddy not treating you right?”

Tim glared at him. The little shit glared back.

“Hey,” Dick stepped up. “Low blow. Not cool.”

“Don’t worry Dickiebird,” Jason said, unholstering his gun. “My blows are usually high enough to hit the head.”

“Jason…” Bruce warned.

“Do it then,” the brat smirked. “We’ll see who the true successor of the bat is.”

Jason scoffed. “You can have the bat. I’m killing you for the fun of it, and for insulting Alfred and Tim.”

“No one’s killing anyone,” Dick stepped between them. “Why don’t we just sit down and hear the full story?”

They all turned to Bruce. Bruce looked to Alfred in return. The old butler coughed. “I’ll set up dinner and a new bedroom then.”

Tim sagged. He was really staying here then. “How do we know you are the blood son of Bruce?” Damian raised an eyebrow at Tim's question. “I think we should do some tests.”

“Don’t bother,” Bruce grumbled. “I already have.” He handed an ipad to Tim. Jason and Dick immediately crowded around it.

Jason whistled. “Would ya look at that. Bruce did fuck someone.”

“I didn’t fuck anyone.”

“I call BBS. As in Bruce’s Bull-shit.”

“I’ll brief you on everything in the manor. Go shower.”

---------------------------------------

They stared at him in shock.

“Okay,” Dick held a hand up. “To sum it up, Talia got a piece of your DNA and combined it with hers and made… Damian, who she then continued to teach him how to kill and be an assassin?”

“Yes,” Bruce replied.

Jason leaned back on the chair. He was the only one who was eating while Bruce told the story. “So you didn’t fuck anyone.”

Bruce sighed. “No.”

“Tt.” Damian rolled his eyes.

Tim shot him a glare. “What now?” he asked.

“Now…” Damian answered instead. “Now I become Robin, standing beside my father as I rightfully should.”

Jason snorted and started coughing on a lettuce leaf. Tim thumped his back. “Thanks Timmy,” Jason wheezed. “Okay, look here brat.” He snapped his fingers at Damian. “Robin belongs to Tim. He earned it. Unlike the rest of us, he took a billion pictures of Batman, stalking him as a creepy kid stalker, then blackmailed the man, giving him a few more gray hairs, claiming that the emotionally constipated shit needed a less emotionally constipated younger shit to make sure he didn’t off himself.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Jay.”

“You’re welcome, Timberina.”

Damian turned to his father (Oh God, the man was a father who had a child. This concept didn’t seem as alarming when Dick and Jason were adopted). “Surely now that I am here, I get to fight by your side.”

Bruce looked at his son. Tim couldn’t figure out what he was thinking, his face was impassive. “You need training.”

“I’ve been trained by—”

“Assassins. Who kill. Without needing any reason. You need training to learn how to pull your punches. Besides, Jason’s right. Tim is Robin. You cannot be Robin.”

“Okay!” Dick interrupted. “Maybe there’s a better way to handle this than telling a kid who’s gotten everything he wanted his whole life that he can’t have what he wants right now?”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ll talk about this later. Alfred will show you your bed.”

Damian’s face faltered for a brief second to what may just be sadness, before he corrected himself. “Yes, Father.”

“Homeboy just became a priest,” Jason sneered.

“Go to bed, Jay.”

------------------------------------------

Two days passed and Tim kept his distance from the demon spawn. Jason had come up with a list of demon and devil related names for him. It amused Tim, but provoked Damian, which amused Tim even more. Tim and Damian became hostile to each other and wasted no time in putting each other down at any given chance. Whether it be an insult, a fist fight, or a battle of wits.

Tim considered throwing the connection Damian made between Ivy and Harley’s past attacks, but ruled against it. He couldn’t just throw away important stuff just because Damian was the one who solved it. But he changed the whole format of the report just to make himself feel slightly better.

Tonight, he's getting ready for patrol. Red Hood had to leave early without explaining the reason, and Nightwing and Batman decided to answer the bat-signal as Tim needed to finalize the new patrol route which they change every three months (the tradition started after Tim became Robin).

He was just about to leave on his bike when he noticed Damian sitting on top of it, one leg on top of the other and his arms folded.

"Damian," Tim huffed. "Get off."

Damian obliged, but not before letting out one of his trademark "tt"s.

Tim decided that tonight was not the night and he swung a leg over his bike. Before he could start the ignition, Damian said, "Why did Father choose you to be Robin? You are clearly inadequate, Drake."

"We'll talk about that later, I don't have time to be late for patrol."

"Is it because he took pity on you?"

That stopped Tim.

“Is it because your own father doesn’t love you?”

“Shut up.”

“Tt, Mother did warn that Father was sentimental, but I did not expect him to take in a pathetic neglect case and make him a Robin.”

“Damian, just shut. Up.”

“All because he felt pity for a child like you.”

Tim was glad that Damian punched him, because then he could say that the kick which sent the brat flying was self-defense. They were fighting now, punches, kicks, the whole lot. Tim grappled up to the dinosaur to gain the upper hand. Damian scrambled up behind him. He had to admit, the kid was fast, and good. But he was a kid. A spoiled ten-year-old who had never seen the real world. So he pulled him up from the dinosaur’s teeth before the jaw closed.

“Okay. Clearly you’re distressed and jealous,” Tim said, squatting on top of the head in front of him. “Why don’t we just talk about why you’re being such a jerk?”

“You’re not his real son,” Damian had his head down, so Tim couldn’t see his face. “You’re not even properly adopted. I shall take my rightful place by my father’s side.”

Even Batman wouldn’t have noticed the subtle change in his shoulders. Heck, Tim didn’t even notice then. It was only later when he was replaying the scene in his head did he understand that it was the shoulders that gave it away. At the time, however, it was only a brief feeling that Tim got. A brief feeling which caused the alarm bells to ring in his head and adrenaline to course through his body for him to grab his grapple gun. The feeling was always, always present right before Jack or Janet hit him.

He felt the small fist move across his jaw and he quickly fired his grapple gun. Though the dinosaur was big, it wasn’t big enough for the grapple to fully hold Tim. But it did decrease the momentum of his fall so that Tim was able to swing clear of the glass case holding Jason’s Robin costume and land on the ground after his head hit the metal rails and everything blacked out.

Chapter Text

They were bickering. That was the first thing Tim heard. Bickering.

“Oh how nice it is to wake up to the sound of bickering in the morning!” he announced as he opened his eyes, then quickly shut it again. The light was too bright.

Silence. “It’s 2 in the morning,” a gruff voice said. Then a whole group of voices followed.

“Tim—”

“How are you—”

“You took quite a fall—”

“Maybe you should—”

Tim groaned and sat up. His back and head were aching in a dull way and a subdued wave of nausea filled his stomach. Anesthetic, my old friend, he thought.

A voice—probably Alfred’s—was shushing the other voices. Tim tried to open his eyes again and blinked away the bright spots. “Didchu get da kid?” he slurred. A familiar “tt” to his right made itself known. “Fuckin’ brat tried ta off me.”

“He’s my rival. I had to replace him. It’s how it’s done in the League of Assassins!” Damian yelled.

“You’re not in the League anymore, Jack.”

Tim looked at Jason dazedly. “Jack?”

“And you say I helped you understand the plot of the Lord of the Flies?”

Tim shrugged. “Touché.”

“This is the real world, Damian,” Bruce said angrily. “People don’t try to kill each other.”

“Well… they do, but more subtly,” Jason said.

“Not helping Jay…” Dick warned.

“Okay, maybe not everyone tries to murder each other.”

“I have the right to be Robin!” Damian yelled. “I am the blood son. Not a loser named Timothy.”

“DON’T—” Tim stopped himself. He took a deep breath, trying to calm down. He wasn’t completely in his head right now. No point in just spitting whatever comes to mind. “Please, don’t ever call me Timothy,” he growled.

“Why?” Damian challenged.

Tim sighed. What did he have to lose lying to him? No matter what he said, it would all appear as a threat or an insult to the heir of the Demon’s head. “My parents call me that,” he said quietly.

There was a brief moment of silence, then Damian scoffed. “And?”

Tim didn’t reply. He didn’t know how to reply. His head was in a daze and his memories were in a jumble.

“Damian,” Dick said quietly, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Can I talk to you privately?”

Damian let himself be led out of the Cave by Dick. Tim watched them leave, not for the last time wishing that things went back to the way it was.

----------------------------------

Damian was the grandson of Ra's Al Ghul and the son of Talia Al Ghul and the rightful heir of the Bat—his father—he didn't need emotions. Emotions were for children. And Damian was not a child. If only the idiot Grayson would understand that.

“Okay. First things first, you attack me, I electrocute you. Capiche? You might not see it, but that doesn’t mean you’re not going to feel it,” Grayson explained as he opened the door to a study. The room was empty.

“Tt. I'm not worried about you. You’ve passed your Robin days. Outgrown it.”

“I hope you’re not calling me old, squirt,” Grayson chuckled. Damian rolled his eyes. “Okay. So let me summarize what I think you want.”

“I thought I made myself clear. I—”

“Sh. Let me talk first. And then it’s your turn, okay?”

Damian didn’t reply. He had nothing to hear. He was wasting his time.

“You were raised by the League of Assassins your whole life until now. You were trained to be an assassin, and knowing Ra’s, the training was probably not child-friendly.”

“I am not a child.”

“I said that you’ll have your turn to talk later.” He cleared his throat. “Then, when you finally managed to “pass your test”, Talia took you to see Bruce and proceeded to give him a heart attack and age him 10 years older than he originally was.”

Damian looked confused. Father didn’t get any heart attack, neither did he age upon seeing him.

Grayson sighed. “It’s a joke. Anyways, he brought you here to Wayne manor and to us. From what you’ve been told by the League, you have very wrong perceptions of how things run here. For one thing, you think it’s okay to kill one of our own to take his place. Which is why Timmy is stuck in the medbay with a mild concussion.”

“I did not mean for him to have a concussion.”

“No, you meant for him to die.” He slid his finger across his neck, in a slice-throat motion.

Damian fumed, “Are you done?”

Grayson held up a finger. “Not yet. Because now that you’re here, you have some new rules to follow. Rules which are different from the League, because we are not assassins, Damian, we’re bats.” Grayson went behind the bigger desk in the middle of the room and fished out a notepad and a pen. He wrote as he counted the rules out loud. “Rule number one, no killing each other.”

Damian tutted.

“Rule number two, no maiming each other.”

“I didn’t maim him.”

“I’m still adding that rule before you can. Rule number three, you treat everyone in this family with respect.” He looked up, his eyes hardened. “Especially Alfred.”

“The butler?”

Grayson laughed. “Just wait until you settle down. Then we’ll see who the real butler is. Those are the main rules I can think of for now. Here.” He handed the paper to him.

Damian glared at the almost child-like scribbles the man had written down. “What if I don’t follow them?”

“Everyone here follows them unless they can’t help it. The only times the rules were broken was when we’re being mind-controlled, fear-gassed, dunked in Lazarus pits and whatnot. But other than that, we follow these rules. If you don’t,” he brought his face close to Damian, smirking, “you’re not part of the family.”

“Tt.” Damian read the rules again. The rules in the League were a lot different from this. Grayson was right, this family was different, and strange.

Dick sighed, “Okay, look. You will still be part of the family, but it'll be hard for everyone, including Bruce, to accept it sooner. Least of all yourself."

Damian didn't reply.

"You can ask your questions now.”

Damian scowled. “Why don’t I have the right to be by my father’s side?”

Grayson sighed. “You do, Damian. In fact, you might just be the only person who wants to.” He thought for a moment, then said, “Well, maybe not Tim.”

“Why can’t I be Robin, then?”

“Being by Bruce’s side doesn’t necessarily mean being Robin. I’m still by Bruce’s side.” He grimaced. “Sorta. Besides, you can’t just take Robin from Tim. He actually earned it, unlike me and Jason who just got picked by him off the streets. That’s why I admire him so much.” He chuckled. “And to find out our identities at that young age, respect.”

Another question pushed its way through the several others Damian had. “Why— why doesn’t Drake like being called by his first full name.”

The cheery expression from his face fell a little. He leaned on his arms against the desk. “He told you. His parents used to call him that.”

“So he doesn’t like being called by his name because his parents named him?”

Grayson gave a weak smile. “He’s had—having—a rough time with them. They abuse him. Hurt him. Emotionally and physically. They leave him alone for long periods of time. That has serious repercussions on someone’s state of mind. Like getting flashbacks and being triggered by objects or places which are seemingly random.”

“That’s nothing,” Damian scoffed. “I’ve been left alone in deserts, forests, and other places for weeks. I’ve been fighting and training for hours on end till my body drops from exhaustion, and then I still finish the fight. I’ve lost more blood than anyone and Drake has yet to spill a drop from his parents.”

Grayson gave a sad smile. “No wonder you’re like this. I feel sorry for you, Damian.”

“I don’t need your sympathy.”

“I’m giving it regardless.” He straightened up and stretched. “Do you want a hug?”

“Stay away.”

“Fair enough.”

“I still don’t understand.” He clutched the paper tightly.

“What don’t you understand, Damian?”

“Why is Drake being given special attention for no reason.”

The older boy put his hands on his shoulders. “What we’re giving him isn’t exactly special attention. It’s called love. We’re trying to make him understand that we love him, because the type of love he received was being hit with a leather belt.” He looked thoughtful, then he said, “You know… I think we need to give you some of that love too. If you stop being such a brat, it might make things easier.”

“I don’t need love.”

Grayson laughed and shook his head, leaving the room. “Like father, like son,” he muttered.

-------------------------------------

Tim had finished translating Jason's emoji filled patrol report into proper words. He frustratingly spent a huge chunk of time scratching his head at what the fuck Jason's "🤩" emoji had to do with finding a small patch of cuddle pollen near Gotham harbor. But he was finally done and regretting giving Jason the idea in the first place.

Tim made his way down to the Cave. This summer break was turning out to be a failure. So far, all he'd encountered was pain, suffering, and attitude. Said attitude was in front of the batcomputer, frowning at something. Tim sighed and looked to the ceiling, making a silent prayer that this interaction wouldn't turn into another fight. Bruce was doing company stuff, Dick was doing cop stuff, and Jason was doing crime lord stuff. None of the adults except Alfred were here. Dick's talk must have gone really well for them to leave Damian alone with him in the manor.

He walked down the steps and went over to see what the demon child was doing on the computer. He was looking through a security feed, more specifically, Tim's security feed. Tim sighed. Like father, like son.

"Drake," Damian said in greeting. "Your protection walls are weak."

"Yeah well, I was too out of it to put up better ones," Tim snapped.

Damian rewinded and paused at the moment when Tim had spilled coffee. They watched it together silently. Tim winced when he saw his past self's head bang against the wall. A faint ache started at the back of Tim's head. He thought back to his actual memories of the night. He couldn't remember any specific details except fists and hands hitting him and shoving him. He could hear the words being spoken to him, but they weren't complete and coherent sentences. They were just words. He couldn't even remember seeing anything except blurred faces and movements. The only thing he does properly remember was the pain. Not just the physical pain, but how scared and hurt he felt at the time. And how useless he felt for not defending himself like he would if he'd been Robin.

He blinked and realized that the video on the screen was paused and Damian was staring at him curiously. "What?"

"I called your name, you didn't respond."

Tim shrugged. "Just… just thinking. About all the triggers, the flashbacks, and other stuff. That they're real. Maybe not as bad as others' but still there. I think that's what Bruce, Dick, and Jason wanted me to know."

Damian didn't reply. He went back to the frozen picture of Tim on the floor, with his parents in front of him. "I've been through worse," Damian then said. His tone wasn't arrogant. It was curious, testing, and confused.

"Yeah no shit. You were with the League of Assassins," Tim snorted.

Damian closed the feed and the two simply stared at the blank screen with a yellow bat logo. Tim looked at the younger boy. He had been through worse. The League didn't go easy on kids just because they were kids. Jason couldn't remember anything from his pre-Lazarus Pit days except small bits and pieces. He definitely didn't remember meeting Damian even though he said that they had met a couple times for sparring (Damian claimed that both times were ties). Now the kid had left the League and was with them. He expected to be by Bruce's side. Assumed it. Tried to kill him for it. All for the title of Robin.

Tim had been Robin for a few years now. He'd fought at Batman's side against a number of enemies. He even gained some of his own. Lately though, everything was changing. His home life and vigilante life were forced into each other. New people were showing up and old were coming back. His routine was broken. But he wasn't ready to give up the vigilante life. No, he still needed Robin. Or at least a part of it.

"You can have Robin," he told Damian.

Damian blinked at him in surprise. "If you're playing a trick, it's not going to work."

"It's not a trick. You can be Robin. Things have been changing too much anyway. The previous Robin came back from the dead, you arrived claiming to be Bruce's blood son."

"Because I am."

"I'm not handing the mantle of Robin to you just because you have Bruce's DNA, nor because you attacked me."

Damian looked at him quizzically.

"There have been too many changes to ignore or fix, and I have to change too, to keep up with it. So yeah, you can be Robin. But on one condition."

Damian arched an eyebrow. "What is it?"

Tim grinned. "You help me find a new gig."

------------------------------

Tim excitedly held the paper up. "What about this one?"

Damian wrinkled his nose. "I can barely make it out. Can you even draw, Drake?"

Tim frowned and looked at his sketch. He thought it was good. He even drew extra lines to make it seem more realistic. "It's better than the others," he defended. Glancing at the pile of previous sketches made by him, Damian seemed to agree.

Tim tried to peek at Damian's sketches, but he covered it up and glared at him. Tim sighed. "You're including the tech gloves right? And don't forget the utility belt."

"Keep talking and I might incorporate a self-destruct bomb at the back."

Tim snickered and grabbed another sheet of paper. He wasn't always the best at hand art. Now digital was a whole other thing. He was at least decent at that. But he didn't want to move to that stage without having the basic design of his new suit. He doodled a tiny Damian with devil horns shrieking behind Batman to pass the time.

"Done." Damian held the sheet of paper up. Tim blinked. It was good. And he didn't just mean the costume, he meant the sketch itself.

"That's… not bad, demon brat," he said, quickly crumpling his own sketches.

He scanned the sketch to his laptop. With a few taps on his keyboard, the sketch was uploaded to his photo editing and design app. Tim then started on adjusting the settings and such. He heard Damian clear his throat beside him. Tim ignored it. He cleared his throat again. Without moving his eyes from the laptop, he said, "Do you want me to cut your throat or are you gonna stop coughing?"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you being nice to me?"

Tim shifted uncomfortably, not removing his eyes from the screen. "You and I have a lot in common. And you're a kid. You just have to learn how to adjust."

"Did Grayson tell you that?"

Tim turned to him, grinning. "Yeah."

Damian watched in silence as Tim picked out colors and added and enhanced details on his new suit. Tim was trying out two combinations of red, struggling to choose, until he ditched them both and chose a third shade of red. He turned to look at Damian, but saw that the boy was long gone, leaving the sketch of Tim in his soon-to-be-worn suit. Now that he looked closely at it, the drawing was an actual good one. It had Tim's hair, facial features, body figure, everything in perfect detail. He was touched, and vowed to inform Dick of his talent so that he could compliment him instead. No way was Tim gonna bow down so low as compliment the brat after everything. Being not-mean was enough.

Tim marched into the living room with a laptop and an HDMI wire. He ignored the conversations turning down and everyone’s eyes on him as he connected the wire to the TV and his laptop. “Now, you may be wondering why I gathered you all here,” he said, steepling his fingers and turning to all of them.

“We didn’t. You just walked into the room and started talking,” Bruce pointed out.

Tim shot him a glare. “It’s meant to be dramatic,” he snapped.

“Maybe leave the theatrics to Jason?” Dick snickered.

“I am a theater kid,” Jason mused.

“I still remember the time you auditioned for Alice in the school play,” Alfred recalled fondly.

“And I ended up with fucking Johnny Depp’s role.”

“There was no Johnny Depp in Alice in Wonderland,” Tim said.

“He played Mad Hatter in the movie. The only reason that I ended up as the Hatter was cuz I was a boy.”

“Stop lying, Jason. Mr. Philips told me it was because he always thought of you as either the Hatter or the Queen of Hearts, but Alex had auditioned for the Queen,” Dick laughed.

“Okay, as much as I’d love to continue this conversation, can we please pay attention to the screen now?” Tim waved. “Thank you. As you can see by the title of the powerpoint, I’m here to talk about a big change which is going to take place soon.” He clicked onto the next slide. “Damian already knows what it is, in fact, he actually helped me with it. I’ll be inviting him to speak at the end.”

He looked at the boy who was rolling his eyes. Tim cleared his throat and continued, “So you know how there have been multiple big changes, right? Starting with Jason’s return—”

“Hold the applause,” Jason bowed.

“—the discovery of Damian—”

“Tt.”

“—and… and my secret. Anyways, I’ve been thinking… Since time has been evolving, people should evolve too, right? So drama queens and brats, I present to you—” he clicked to the next slide and the curtain transition uncovered the new suit Damian had sketched and the added other details and colors, “—the new me.”

The room was silent and in shock. Jason was the first one to speak, “Tim… you’re… you’re leaving Robin? Or are you just changing the costume?”

Tim’s face flushed. He was still uncertain about the decision. If Bruce, Dick, and the others disagreed, he would readily take Robin back. “It’s not a completely confirmed decision, but… yeah. I’m leaving Robin to Damian.”

“Is this because he attacked you?” Dick asked.

“No. That was just a small instigator.”

“What are you going to name yourself, Master Tim?” Alfred asked. His face was neutral, as if not sure whether he was meant to be happy or not.

“I… am still working on that.”

“You can call yourself Red Wing!” Dick leaped up excitedly.

“Like fuck he will,” Jason yelled in horror. “Please say you’re not gonna call yourself that,” he pleaded.

“It does fit the costume design… especially considering that I do have red wings,” he mused.

Jason grimaced.

“But I still want to be associated with my Robin days. Or at least show how close I am to Batman.”

Jason breathed out an exaggerated sigh of relief and flung back to the couch.

“What if you still name yourself Robin then?” Alfred suggested.

Tim frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You can still keep the name and add a word or a prefix or a suffix to it. Like how Master Bruce took the word ‘bat’ and ingeniously added ‘man’ after it.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Alfred.”

“Red Robin,” Damian said quietly. Everyone turned to him.

“I…” Jason cleared his throat. “I don’t hate that.”

Tim nodded. He looked to Bruce, it was him he wanted to hear from the most. Batman needed a Robin, and Tim had forced himself to become one. But now he was leaving, without any warning, and he wanted to know how Bruce felt so he could act accordingly.

Slowly, Bruce’s impassive face stretched into a smile. “It’s your choice, Tim,” he said gently. “And I’m proud that you listened to it.”

Tim hadn’t even realized that he was holding his breath. Nor did he realize that there was a tightening in his chest. But man, did he feel good after hearing that. He grinned.

“Would you look at that, Jaylad,” Dick grinned.

“I know, Dickiebird,” Jason laughed.

“Our little brother’s all grown up.”

Tim couldn’t stop the blush crawling up his face. “Oh shush.” But he agreed with them. Tim was growing up, changing. He was turning to be his own person, but still being connected to his roots. Red Robin. He liked it.

“Red Robin…” Jason said thoughtfully. “The reds. We’re the middle kids, hey Tim?”

Tim shook his head with a smile and turned to his laptop, typing his new vigilante name in big letters at the top of the costume.

“If you send the design to me, Master Tim, I’ll get it to Fifi.”

“This Fifi better not befoul my design,” Damian muttered.

“Wait,” Jason held up a hand. “Your design?”

“Oh yeah,” Tim said, closing his laptop. “Did I not mention that? Damian drew the whole thing on paper. I just edited it digitally.” He dug around the pockets of his hoodie. “Here.” He handed the paper to Jason. The sketch was passed around until it ended up with Bruce who frowned at it. Tim could see the kid tense up a little at that.

“It’s good,” Bruce said shortly. Damian relaxed, though he didn’t outright show it.

“Good?” Dick asked, confused. “Bruce, the kid has a talent.”

“Demonangelo,” Jason sniggered.

“Well done, Master Damian,” Alfred addressed Damian. “I hope you will further your talents by making use of the sketch pencils gifted to Master Dick which remain untouched to this day.”

Dick flushed. “I lost interest after a while.”

“You barely touched them,” Alfred chastised.

Tim saw a hint of a smile on the brat’s lips.

---------------------------------------

Tim waved goodnight to the others after patrol, and he passed by Damian who was on comms for now. He made his way upstairs but noticed the kid following him. He was about to ask what he wanted now, when the little gremlin wrapped his arms around him, then quickly let go. “Grayson explained that is something normal people do when they are grateful,” he said, emphasizing the ‘normal’ bit, then padded away.

Tim smiled and shook his head. You find miracles every day, he thought.

Chapter Text

"Like hell AM I GOING WITH YOU," Jason yelled. Tim winced, but no one noticed him. They all had eyes on Jason.

The night was going so well. Tim got to take Red Robin out for his first run, while Damian finally learned to pull his punches and put on his new Robin uniform. He partnered with Dick, Damian was with Bruce, and Jason was ever the lone wolf, roaming around Crime Alley. Red Robin and Nightwing had managed to bust Harley and Ivy (all while playing the little game they created, much to Ivy's fuming), but they got a panicked call from Babs saying that Robin had killed someone. Turns out, he had managed to corner a Joker goon while Bruce was busy dealing with a gang shootout. When Batman managed to knock out everyone, he found Robin dragging the dead body of the man with his face painted white and his throat painted red.

From there, everything went to pieces. Bruce and Damian met up on a far off roof which happened to be near Dick and Tim's patrol route. So the two had obviously gone to investigate. They forgot to switch off from the main channel and Jason heard all about it and approached the rooftop. His arrival only fomented the argument further, snowballing it to a fight.

The high Tim was on while gliding through the night in his new uniform disappeared when the first sign of a fight alerted the warning bells in his head. Bruce and Jason's voices were low and calm, which is what alerted Tim to the possibility of the encounter spiraling into a big fight. Damian tutted that he was doing everyone a favor by getting rid of the man. That's when Bruce started yelling.

Dick, Tim, Alfred, and Babs listened as they fought about killing then changed to Jason's death which infuriated Damian which led to the topic of the League of Assassins. Jason threw a punch towards Bruce, and Dick stepped in.

"Hood, calm down. We don't have to go that far."

"Let go, Wing. This isn't your fight."

"We can continue this somewhere else."

"Like hell AM I GOING WITH YOU."

"That's the Pit talking, Jay."

"Oh yeah? Then why does it all feel real? If it was the Pit talking, I would have blasted my guns down all your throats by now."

"Tt."

"What? Too good for this conversation?"

"Yes."

"Robin, stay out of this."

"I thought we got into this mess because of me."

"Not helping, Robin."

And off they went, yelling again. Tim flashed back to the fear gas memory of when he was seven, of his parents fighting. His breath quivered, but softly. They were fighting. The Waynes were fighting. The past was never gonna leave him after all. But this fight seemed all wrong. Not only was it the fact that it was the Waynes who were fighting, it was that the whole situation looked like it was going to rocket into something else. Something bigger. Something bloodier.

…Unless Tim stopped it. He could prevent this. He could keep the past from repeating. He could do something about this rather than just standing there and crying like he did in the fear gas memory. But what…?

He thought back to Dick and Bruce's fights. They seem to happen so often. Especially after Jason died. But when Tim came, not only did Bruce start to get out of his intense grief, his and Dick's relationship seemed to improve too. He did notice the unusual number of times the two were in an argument but stopped when Tim entered the room. Or when they showed signs of a fight but glanced at Tim and stopped. He also noticed that Jason visited the manor more often only when he knew Tim was definitely gonna be there. He didn't sleep there, but once, when Tim was staying up the whole night, adding last minute touches to his suit, Jason had wordlessly stayed in, keeping an eye on him the whole night. Dick hadn't been to the Blud for quite a while. Only popping there for occasional visits and police shifts he couldn't get out of. And Damian… well, he was an exception.

If Tim was the one who they got over their differences for, surely it could happen again. They were there for him so many times, and now he could be helping them in return. Paying it back in a secret way. He needed a big enough instigator though. And something subtle too, so they won't think of him as a weirdo for "accidentally" tripping and falling off the building. Something like the fear gas incident. Or close enough…

Tim knew panic attacks. Thankfully, he didn't get them as often, but he knew them. He studied them. He observed them and how it affected him and other people. He even learnt how to induce it, if the time ever came (because he is the kind of goof who goes around watching YouTube tutorials and taking notes "just in case").

He started with breathing, purposely making sure that he wasn't getting enough air to his lungs. Then, he let the stone dam in his mind break, which let his emotions and the nagging fear toxin memories wash over him. Tim flashed back to the spare room beside the one his parents were in in one of the memories. The angry yells and snapping tones perfectly matched the ones on the roof. Then, he heard the sharp noise of a hand slapping against skin. His mother hitting his father. Jason punching Bruce. Wait.

Oh no.

Oh no. This was a big mistake. What was he thinking? That's just it, isn't it? He wasn't thinking at all. His mother's voice of "Think before you do anything, Timothy. Think." rang inside his head.

Fear knotted in his chest, tightening and constricting his breathing. His hands trembled and he clutched his hair. His vision swum as if on a rocky boat. Tensed muscles did not go well with nausea. And Tim must be going mad because he couldn't breathe and he was going to die because of his idiot choices. He tried to curl up, but his suit was too tight. It was getting hard to breathe.

Hands. Hands touched him. He could hear someone's voice through the blood and fuzziness rushing through his ears. "Tim? Tim? I want you to do something for me, bud. Okay? I want you to breathe and tell me what are five things you can see. Okay? Just five things you can see."

Five things? See? He could barely understand what was happening. The only clear things were the sound of fighting and him feeling utterly helpless. He couldn’t do anything. He was helpless. He couldn’t feel anything except a cornucopia of panic.

“Tim? Just twist your head here, that’s right. That’s good. What can you see? Just tell me.”

I don’t know, he wanted to scream.

“Tim. Report. What do you see?”

See… what… he couldn’t…

His mind flashed back to the feeling of need he had after he woke up from the fear toxin. The need to tell Batman. The need to report and… and help. He could help.

Right. "There are— there are streets. Dark and gloomy. Uh, streetlamps?"

"Yup. That's it. Good, go on."

"Buildings. Cars."

"One more."

Tim looked up. "Clouds."

"Good job. What are four things you can touch? Just four."

Tim gulped. "Touch… I— stone."

"What else?"

He moved his arms around, but they felt slightly detached. "More stone. Uh, plastic. And metal. A billboard. And… cloth— my gloves."

"Nice. What are three things you can hear?"

Tim strained his ears. "A car screech. A flickering sound of a broken billboard screen. Breathing."

"Nice work. Can you find two things you can smell?"

"Smoke. Dust."

"And finally, one thing you can taste."

"Dryness. My tongue?"

Bruce smiled at him. "Welcome back, Tim."

-----------------------------------

Patrol was cut short, and they returned home. Tim was marched straight to bed after showers by Alfred. He drank a glass of milk and lied down, only to realize that Alfred had drugged it. Tim stared up at the ceiling, willing for his body to get up and grab his laptop, but he couldn’t. Alfred was good. So Tim gave up and meddled in the feeling he had when he was leaping through the rooftops in his new uniform. The wings by his sides gliding him smoothly through the air. And the secret coffee capsules he kept in the straps on his arms. He blushed again when he remembered Harley’s compliment. All in all, it was a good night. Except for the last bit. Before he could mull over that, his eyes were closed, and his brain was switched off…

Tim woke up, having rebooted his systems after falling asleep. He jumped off the bed and looked around. Everything was the same. His brown, ornate single-sized bed, the large, boisterous windows with the soft blue curtains, the messy room with socks and pants all over the place, the sturdy desk with a bunch of papers, files, and pens. Everything was the same. So… why did he feel at edge? Why was he getting the feeling that something was wrong?

Tim ran downstairs and saw Bruce, Damian, and Jason already at the breakfast table (or a lunch table, since it was actually noon). “Where’s Dick?” he asked, anxiety rising.

“Asleep,” Bruce grunted. That did nothing for the looming sense of dread.

“I’ll wake him up,” Tim volunteered. He heard an affirmative grunt and ran back up the stairs and into Dick’s room. He’d rarely been in his room. The few times he did, he was surprised at how unlike Dick Grayson it was. He was expecting it to be decorated like the whole circus, but there was a lone poster above the bed of the Flying Graysons which was the only thing that stated that this was his room.

Now Tim knew why. Dick rarely stayed at the manor for long periods of time. But ever since Tim’s secret got out, he was here more often. Which is why Tim tripped over and fell into a pair of underwear as soon as he burst open the door. Tim pulled himself up, desperately hoping that it was clean. He scanned his eyes and saw a hump of bedsheets half dangling from the bed. So Dick was okay, yet he still felt anxious. What was happening?

“Dick,” he whispered, nudging him. He got no reply. “Dick!” he said a bit louder. When the older boy didn’t reply, Tim used all his strength to wring the bedsheet he was clutching like a koala, off him. Immediately, he felt a fist connect with his jaw.

“Oh my go— Tim! I’m so sorry! But on the other hand, you know it’s dangerous to startle a vigilante while they’re sleeping right?”

Tim rubbed his jaw. “You wouldn’t wake up when I called your name.” Dick helped him and tilted his head to get a better view. “I don’t think the punch was strong enough to bruise, Dick.”

He let go. “What’s the matter? Why do you look like someone’s out to kill you?”

Tim sighed. “I don’t know… Did something happen on patrol?”

Dick folded his arms. “Yeah, you got a panic attack.”

Tim waved it away. “Did something else happen?”

“Damian killed someone?” he offered.

Tim shook his head. “That isn’t it.”

“Wanna tell me what happened?”

Tim sat on the bed, bouncing along the mattress. “I just— I just feel like something bad is gonna happen. And usually, the feeling’s true.”

Dick sat down beside him. “I think you’re not completely recovered from the panic attack, Tim. Do you know why you got it?”

No way was he going to admit that he induced the attack himself. It was going to bring up a lot of questions and even more fussing. “I… think it was the fighting? I mean, one of the memories I saw when I was fear gassed—”

“Powdered. We’re calling it fear-powder.”

“Right… fear-powdered was a memory of my parents fighting. I think when Jason punched Bruce, it reminded me of my mom hitting….” he trailed off and gulped. Okay, maybe he should’ve just lied instead. Lying was so much easier. Why did he even say that? What was Dick supposed to do with that information? He was going to tell Bruce, then Bruce was going to fuss and do something which would make Tim feel even worse. If only he had learned to think before he spoke.

“Hey, Tim?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you still feel like we’re fighting?”

Tim gulped. “Yeah?”

Dick looked up at the ceiling and laughed. “I think I know what’s going on.”

“What?” Tim scowled.

“You were asleep when it happened. Alfred made everyone talk it out and maybe it got a bit violent, but then we remembered your panic attack and just gave up trying to be angry. The Pit still had a hold on Jason, but he managed to keep control. From there, it only went upwards.” Dick put a hand on his shoulder, making sure to project his movements. “I think you were still worried that this family was going to be torn apart. It’s not, Tim. It’s not going to disperse, even if everything seems fragile right now.”

Dick was right. He was worried that the past was going to repeat itself. The anxiety in his stomach went down considerably. “What about the dead Joker goon?”

Dick grimaced. “He’s uh, still dead. But we came to a solution that Jason’s gonna use rubber bullets and Damian’s gonna have to train a bit more and be supervised every minute of patrol.”

“He’s not gonna like that.”

“I think he even threw a tantrum. Like a child.”

Tim looked at him in disbelief.

“No lie.”

------------------------------------

The sense of doom in his stomach had eased considerably, but it was still there. And Tim didn’t know what to do to get rid of it. Dick told the others about their talk, and he decided that this would be the perfect time to take a break. They decided to watch a movie, so Tim decided to play along.

“What should we watch?” Dick asked.

“Something kid-friendly,” Tim said, sending a sly glance towards Damian.

“I am not a child, Drake.”

“Disney it is,” Dick declared, clicking onto the app.

“We are not watching The Lion King,” Jason growled. “That shit’s overdone.”

“I am not indulging in watching cartoons like a child,” Damian berated.

“You are a child,” Tim countered.

“What about Bambi?” Dick suggested.

“No,” Tim and Jason shot back.

“Can I go?” Bruce complained.

“No,” Dick, Jason, and Tim snapped.

“If I suffer, you suffer with me, Father,” Damian agreed.

“Oooh!” Dick exclaimed. “Lilo & Stitch!”

“Oh hey, isn’t Damian in that one?” Jason snarked.

“The little gremlin, yeah. They even look the same,” Tim snorted.

“It’s decided then.” Dick clicked on it. They spent the afternoon, laughing and teasing Damian who tried to murder everyone in the room, par Bruce and Alfred, at least twice throughout the duration of the film. It was nearly enough to cure Tim’s anxiety. Until he received a text from his parents.

Jack Drake: Hello Tim. Hope you’re not having too much fun without us. We’re coming back in a week’s time, and as always, we’ll bring ourselves from the airport. Expect us to reach home at 9 at night.

And then Tim really did have a panic attack.

Chapter Text

Tim did what he always did when he didn’t want to think about something, he threw himself into work. Call him a workaholic, but he’ll be working too hard to hear you. The Waynes seemed to be as worried as he was.

Tim had tracked Scarecrow to his new location and was pummeling him to the ground until Jason stopped him and pulled him back. They hid in the shadows, watching as the GCPD took a very broken Scarecrow away. Tim did not regret the small feeling of satisfaction he got when he broke Scarecrow’s jaw and nose. Jason was concerned. “Hey, Red?”

Tim didn’t reply, just watching as the ambulance hoisted the rogue in.

“I know you’re feeling on edge with your parents coming to town, and… I just want you to know that it’s going to be okay. Just call us if they do anything, or if you’re feeling unsafe, or if you just feel like it.”

“Thanks,” Tim replied shortly, then took off into the night.

Next it was Dick who approached him when he was scouring through Clyaface’s notes. “Tim… I know you must be feeling anxious and scared with your parents coming home, but I want to let you know that we’re going to be right next door if you need anything.”

Tim grunted in acknowledgement, not looking up from his laptop. Dick sighed and left. Two hours later, they were suiting up to go catch Clayface. Tim handed one of the special gadgets they use for him to Damian.

“Your parents… did they ever try to kill you?”

Tim snorted. “It’s not that serious.”

“But they do hurt you, right?”

“Just click this tiny button and you’ll have five seconds before it blows.”

“Tt. Try not to get yourself hurt too bad.”

“Just move along, demon brat.”

A couple nights later, Tim was finishing typing up his report of Bane’s capture when Alfred brought him a cup of coffee. Tim took it gratefully and took a sip, burning his tongue. “I do hope you call us when you get in trouble, Master Tim,” Alfred said. “We care about you.”

Tim’s insides squirmed, but he ignored it, turning to his computer instead. “Thanks, Alfred,” he said, dismissing the conversation.

Finally, it was Bruce’s turn. Tim was squinting at the pin-up board with newspaper clippings, sticky notes, pictures, and pieces of paper all containing Joker, when the big guy approached him. “How are you going, Tim?” he asked.

“Good.”

Bruce paused for a bit, then asked, “Do you want a hug?”

Tim turned to face him. “Why?”

“You seem a bit on edge.”

“I’m fine,” he said, turning back to the board. The clown was hard to pin down this time.

“I’m sure you are. You’ve been doing a good job so far.”

Tim smiled, hiding it from Bruce.

“At the rate you're putting criminals behind bars, you’re taking up the title of ‘World’s Greatest Detective’.”

“Thanks Bruce,” he said quietly, still smiling.

“Take care, chum.” Bruce ruffled his hair and left.

------------------------------

It was safe to say that Tim was scared. He sat on the edge of one of the living room sofas, his leg bouncing. He ran a hand through his hair enough times for an older man's hairline to recede. He groaned in frustration and checked his phone. It was 9:02 now, two whole minutes after they said that they would be here. Tim had ordered some Indian for them to eat once they came home.

He sighed, how many times did he nervously wait on this very couch? How many times did he wish that they would be in a good mood? How many times did he go through the mental checklist of what he would do if his parents were mad? Tim combed his hair with his fingers. Was Bruce right? Should he just give them up? He suddenly remembered the diary in his bedroom and disapproved of the idea. There were only a couple years left anyway. Then he can get emancipated and ditch this hell hole. He could expand Red Robin to another country now that Batman had a new Robin who was apparently his blood son.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Tim's heart nearly leaped out of his mouth along with whatever was left in his stomach. Keyword: nearly. He opened the door, a smile plastered on his face. "Hi Mom. Hi Dad."

"Hello Timothy," his mother greeted. His father grunted in reply.

"How was your trip?"

"Oh, it's too early to say," Janet sighed, putting her suitcase down. "There was some issue with the carbon dating and the bones didn't match the clay pot, no matter how much we resubmitted it. So in the end we had to give it up to the disastrous British museum to avoid another Piltdown Man hoax."

"We're still taking credit for the discovery of the clay pot though," Jack said, checking himself in the hallway mirror. "Because I know that is legitimate."

"That sounds…" Tim trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"Confusing," Janet answered for him.

"Yeah. Should I make coffee?"

"Seeing as we spent so much time sleeping on the plane and feeling jet-lagged, I think that would be nice."

"Don't spill it this time," Jack joked.

"Right," Tim said with gritted teeth, moving to the kitchen and switching on the machine. His parents were tired right now. Their fuses would be short, but their energy would be low too, so they won't be hitting him any time soon. Tim sighed. Was it right wanting them to hit him just so he would have an excuse to go back to Wayne manor?

Speaking of… Tim looked up at the camera he knew he had in his kitchen. It wasn't blinking red, meaning no one had hacked it. Tim had reinforced his home's security to blink red if it was compromised, alerting him. Why did he want the camera to be blinking red right now?

He poured the coffee into two separate cups; he was too nervous to eat or drink anything now anyway. He skipped the tray and handed the cups to his parents in the dining room and started setting up the food.

"Thank you, Timothy," his mother said as he put a serving of rice onto her plate. "You seem a bit down today."

"Hm, what's the matter?" Jack asked.

"Uh…" he hurried to think of an excuse. "Um, I just… wanted to get a new SIM, but the shop closed down and I missed this really cool picture of the sunset."

"Oh, come here, let me show you something." He squatted beside her chair. "I see so many places, so I decided to capture the sunsets for all of them into one album on my phone. I know the pictures aren't as good as the ones you take on your camera, but…" She pulled out a picture of a cloudy, orange scenery on her phone. "This one's in London, you can see the Eye. This one's in Peru. Oh this one was so hard to get while sitting in the car. Dubai has so many tall buildings, but the museum is swell." She went on to show him many different sunsets from the places they visited. Tim looked at all of them in awe, they really were beautiful.

"I wish I was there to see them," he involuntarily whispered.

Janet smiled. "Maybe after you finish schooling you can take a gap year and come with us? Wouldn't that be lovely, Jack?"

"I can show you the work we do," Jack nodded. "You better keep up with your studies though."

Tim nodded, he was ashamed to admit that he felt a small ray of hope at that. He ate in silence, barely paying attention to his parents' conversation.

"How is your summer break going, Timothy?" Jack asked.

"It's… it's lonely," he said, truthfully.

"Haven't you been visiting the Waynes though?" Janet said quizzically.

"Yeah, I guess so." But they're not my real family.

"Hm, what have you been doing with them?" Jack asked.

"Oh, you know, just hanging. Watching movies, going out." Revealing secrets, fighting crime.

"Sounds fun," Janet exclaimed.

"I suppose it is."

"Well, we're going to stay here for a while. We were thinking of taking a break, so we can spend more time as a family!" she said excitedly.

Tim dropped his spoon. Dread crawled through his insides, not leaving a single gap. "How— how long?"

"Until further notice," Jack said with a smile.

Tim gulped; he suddenly couldn't force himself to eat anymore. He pushed away the plate.

"Must be exciting, huh? I have a list of parties we can attend. We can even rent a couple rooms in New York and Iowa." Janet chattered. "What do you say, Timothy?"

He only had one thing to say. "Will I— will I still get to see the Waynes?"

The room went pin-drop silent. Uh-oh. He couldn't shut his stupid mouth, could he?

"What did you say?" his mother asked in shock.

His father got up and marched over to Tim who instinctively raised his arms to protect his face. "You like the Waynes so much, huh?" He grabbed Tim's wrist, squeezing it tight. "No care for your parents who do so much for you?" He dragged Tim out of the chair. "Who provide for you." He kept his steely grip on him. "Who make sure you get the best education, house, and money." He continued dragging him. Tim suddenly felt his limbs go watery, he couldn't use his training to wrestle out of his grip. "And yet you go after that sick jerk. WHO IS YOUR FATHER? HIM OR ME?"

Tim tried to snatch his arm away, but he couldn't. He saw the front door ahead. His breathing sped up as one of the memories from his fear-gas encounter flashed through his mind. No no no no no.

"If you like the Waynes so much…" Jack typed in the code to open the door. "THEN GO STAY WITH THEM!" He flung Tim out the door.

He hit the ground, skinning his palms on the smooth gravel, much like when he was 13 in the fear-gas memory. The door closed in front of him and Tim was alone.

His breathing was doing a 110 in a 60 and his eyes itched, like they were about to tear up. No way was he going to the Waynes now. That would only call for more trouble. Besides, it was a mile from here. No, the only sensible thing for Tim to do now was to wait. His phone was in the house, charging, so he had nothing to distract himself except memories. And he was not gonna walk down that road.

Using the grounding technique Bruce taught him when he induced that panic attack, Tim stumbled through his garden, trying to keep his tears in. It was clear that waiting was a painful option. What was he going to do? What was he going to do?

Panic and dread didn't seem to let go, no matter how much Tim tried to breathe. This was bad, this was so bad. He found a bush and promptly threw up in it. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he shuffled over until he reached the tree which led to his room. Tim climbed it, using the rough bark to keep himself from spindling off to having a panic attack.

Tim climbed and climbed until he reached the familiar branch in front of his window. He wasn't as small as he used to be, but the branch seemed sturdy enough to hold his weight. He crawled along it and got to his window. He curled his fingers around the edge and pulled, but it didn't budge. No. He tried pulling it again, but it still didn't move. This can't be happening. No matter how much Tim pulled and pleaded, it wouldn't budge. This is so bad, this cannot be happening, no no no!

Tim closed his eyes. Okay, Tim. No sense in panicking while you're on top of a tree. Breaking a bone will make things even worse. No, you have to calm the fuck down and get on the ground first. Then you can decide what to do from there. So Tim shuffled back down the trunk.

Okay. He was on the ground. Now what?

He heard voices, and before he could even register what they were saying, he bolted towards them.

He saw his father's outline and nearly called out until his Bat-training stopped him when he saw two strange men talking to him. He quickly jumped behind a bush, peeking between the leaves. Did Bruce call CPS after all? He forgot to ask. They were too wrapped up, explaining 4th of July to Damian and fretting about his parents' arrival to remember that Bruce was to meet fucking Linda.

A scream interrupted his thoughts. His father fell to the ground and his mother screamed again until she too fell to the ground after one of the men hit her in the head with something. Tim's breath got caught in his throat and his ears were ringing. What happened? What just happened? What the fuck just happened?

He saw his parents being dragged away to a truck parked outside, but he couldn't move. He couldn't move when they were shoved inside, he couldn't move when the truck started, he couldn't move until the silhouette of the vehicle disappeared completely from his view. That's when Tim let out a sob and started running, with one word on his tongue.

"Bruce!" he yelled when the door to Wayne manor sweeped open. It wasn't Bruce. "Jason, where's Bruce?"

"He's in the Cave. Why?"

Tim pushed past him without explaining and hurried to the grandfather clock and spun it open. He nearly fell down the steps, but Jason caught him and steadied him. "Bruce!" he screamed when he saw the man.

"Tim?" Bruce frowned. "What happened?"

He ran to him and hysterically started explaining, "Two men— they came to our house— they— my parents— in the truck— they got kidnapped— I saw the whole thing and— and—"

"Tim, hey, calm down. Breathe, remember?"

"There's no time to breathe! My parents got kidnapped!"

The whole Cave froze, then as if a timer finished counting down, it burst into business. "Did you see what these men looked like?"

"No, it was dark."

"How tall were they?"

"Almost the same height as my father. Both of them."

"Did you see anything on the truck?"

"I… it said…" Tim's eyes widened in realization. "It said Ice cream delivery and had 'Clown' spray painted in front of it."

"Joker," Jason growled.

"Why did he go after the Drakes specifically?" Dick asked.

Bruce grunted in agreement and turned to the batcomputer.

"I think I caught a couple numbers from the license plate," Tim whispered.

"Can you recall it?"

Tim scrunched his eyes closed, trying to bring back the memory of the truck. "7… 1, 0? I— I mean… the last letters were M, Z, X"

Bruce typed it into the computer, and they waited for the results. Tim knew what was going to happen next. The registered vehicles with said license plate would pull up, the ones which aren't trucks would be eliminated which would leave them with…

"Ian Laugh? Seriously? Is Joker losing his touch?" Jason scoffed, but Tim could see the tense line on his shoulders.

"It may be that he wants to be found as soon as possible," Bruce said, immediately presuming his Batman persona. “There’s an address attached to the information, suit up.”

It only took a few minutes, and no one bothered Tim as he reached for his Red Robin suit, though he did get a few concerned glances. Soon, they were all flying into the night.

“Nightwing, Robin, I want you two to stay outside the building in case anything happens. Hood, you stay close, but out of sight,” Bruce ordered. “Oracle, are there any cameras or security measures in there?”

“Hey, B. No, I can’t find anything, but they might just be switched off. Be careful…” Babs answered. Dick must have filled her in.

Tim resisted the urge to just barge in and get his parents, instead he silently looked through his thermal vision while squatting on a roof. “I can’t see anyone,” he informed. “No wait. There are a clump of bodies tied together in the back room on the third floor.”

“Careful, Red,” Bruce warned. Tim waved it away and jumped down from the roof and in front of the abandoned block of apartments. He slowly approached the door and entered. “Stay behind me,” Bruce said. Tim obeyed, too nervous to argue.

They made their way upstairs silently on high alert. With the Joker, you’ll never know what you’ll find. The case was true as Tim’s eyes widened at a group of teenagers tied together with a deactivated bomb on each of them. Tim slightly sagged when he realized that his parents weren’t here after a quick search of the building but was also relieved because it meant that they didn’t have a bomb attached to them. He came back to Bruce who was inspecting one of the bombs. He saw who it was attached to and gasped. "What's the matter?" Bruce asked.

"That— that kid. That's Henry! And—" he shuffled to look at the others. "That's Lana and these are all kids of the richest people in Gotham. Most of them. Except for the three families who went on vacation together and…"

"Tim Drake," Bruce finished. "And Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne."

"Wait—" Babs interrupted. "Why did Joker kidnap Gotham's Richest' kids?"

Bruce didn't reply.

"He didn't kidnap Dick, either because he was supposed to be in Bludhaven or because he isn't a kid," Tim speculated. "And Damian was only announced a couple weeks ago and we— and the Waynes haven't released his full story and picture to the press yet."

"And Tim Drake was not in the house like it was planned," Bruce said suspiciously looking at him.

"He…" Tim looked down. "He was kicked out of the house," he said quietly. He felt a hand on his arm.

"We'll find them," Bruce reassured.

"I'll let the others know," Babs said.

"Inform the GCPD too,"

"Affirmative," Babs switched off.

Tim took a closer look at the bombs. "They aren't switched on, are they?"

"No. Something's up."

"I'm guessing it's not the ceiling?" Dick joked. He and Damian froze when they saw the unconscious group of teenagers. "Damn it, I was hoping that Babs was joking. Why would Joker kidnap the rich brats? He doesn't usually hold people ransom for money."

"He's sending a message," Bruce replied.

"What?"

"That's what we need to find out." He brushed his gloved fingers over the bombs attached and they suddenly started beeping.

"Shit." Dick cursed.

"What happened?" Jason entered the room. He saw the scene and ran over. "I know these bombs, one of the cartels had gotten their hands on a couple models."

"Do you know how to disarm them?" Bruce asked.

"I… yes." Jason snatched a bird-a-rang from Tim and carefully removed the tiny timer screen which was ticking down to a minute. He removed some red covering and sighed at the mess of tiny wires. "Just do the steps I just did." They got to work. Tim was feeling jumpy and jittery, his fingers aching and protesting him to let them twitch. He forced himself to stay calm and removed the red covering. "Just cut them all."

Bruce snapped his head to face him. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, old man, I'm sure. Joker predicted that you would waste your time fiddling with each of them, but he didn't predict you guys being connected to me." So, they cut the wires all at once. Holding their breaths, they waited to see if anything would happen. Nothing did. So, they moved on to the rest of the teens.

"Get them out of here," Bruce ordered. Just then, Henry woke up with a gasp.

"Where— where am I?"

"Henry, I need you to stay calm," Bruce immediately said. "You're in an abandoned room tied with a bomb which we just defused. It's going to be okay. I—"

"NO!" he shrieked. "You don't understand. I— I heard— he was talking about something at— something at 10:34. I'm— I'm gonna die at 10:34!"

Tim checked the time on the watch under his glove. "B, it's 10:32!"

"Get them out of here. Now."

They took two kids each with Henry walking. They were four floors up and the stairs were narrow. They were making slow work down the stairs with every other step breaking under their weight. A large snap accompanied with the sound of Henry yelling in pain, "My foot! It's stuck!"

Tim passed on the two teens he was carrying to Jason and Bruce's backs and went to help him.

"Tim! There are only 55 seconds left for you to bolt," Babs voice cut through.

"I can make it." He turned to Henry. "I'm hoisting your leg up. It's gonna hurt," he said as he pulled on his foot. Henry screamed, but his leg wouldn't budge. Large chunks of splinters were wedged into his skin, holding it in place. He tried again, but it wouldn't move.

"45 seconds…"

"I know, O."

"L— leave me," Henry gasped.

"I'm not leaving you!" he yelled.

Henry gave a bitter laugh. "If only my dad could say that. Go, Tim."

Tim looked at him, mouth agape.

"You have the same bruise. Leave, Tim. He was gonna kill me anyway. My dad. If the Joker hadn't patched me up… Go."

"Henry…"

"He said that this was for nostalgia. The clown." He sounded resigned. "I've always looked up to you. Honestly? The only thing keeping me going."

"Tim, 10 seconds!"

"It was nice meeting you, Red Robin. Tim."

With one last look, Tim threw himself out of the nearest window just as the building behind him exploded. The force catapulted Tim further into the air. He spread his arms and the wings steadied, slowing his momentum down. He collapsed into a heap on the empty street full of abandoned houses.

His ears were ringing, and he clutched them, desperately hoping that the comms took most of the damage. He gasped in pain, sticking his fingers into his ears and throwing his comms away then sticking his fingers back in. The ringing faded, but most of the pain remained. He could hear faint noises of someone calling his name.

"The Joker…" Tim slurred. "He wanted to do a repeat of Jason… nostalgia." He could hear the voices more clearly now. They were telling him to stop talking. "No, listen. He—Henry—told me. Before he—" Before he died. Tim collapsed again in realization.

He died.

Henry.

The boy who had become sort of his friend despite sharing his secret.

"He died," Tim whispered. "He died and all because the stupid clown wanted to prove a point."

"What do you mean?" Bruce's (much clearer) voice asked.

"I just realized. All the teens tied up; their parents were fishy. Joker didn't kidnap Damian or Dick because they weren't abused. Henry was. Lana was. Stacy and Kim were. They're all kids who I— who all hung out together at adult-children separated formal events. We knew whose parents hit their kids because we were the only ones who can see the signs. And—" Tim looked up at Bruce. "And Joker wanted to show how you were part of the group of parents because you let the second Robin die."

Stunned silence met this statement. Tim shook his head, trying to clear out the remaining ringing and some of the shock too. Henry died. Henry died just to prove a point. He died.

Tim's head snapped up. "My parents," he whispered. "B, we can't let them die like him. We can't."

Bruce squeezed his arm. "We won't."

"I'm not sitting this out."

"I'm not going to force you."

Tim nodded gratefully.

"Father…" Damian hesitantly approached. "The thug I killed… he didn't say anything when I interrogated him, but he pointed at something."

"And you kept this information to yourself?"

Damian scoffed, "He was bleeding from his throat. I thought he was already dead. But in hindsight, he pointed at numbers. 0, 0, 5 spray painted on the wall."

"Numbers…" Bruce muttered. "What were the numbers you saw on the fake license plate?"

Tim blinked. "7, 1, 0, and M, X, Z?"

"7, 1, 0, 0, 0, 5… 7, 1, 0, M, X, Z, 0, 0, 5."

"Big brain working here," Dick rolled his eyes then concernedly looked at Tim. "Are you okay, baby bird?"

Tim looked down. "I just want to find my parents," he whispered.

"We'll get 'em," Jason said, ruffling his hair.

"They're my parents."

"I know, baby bird, I know."

Bruce gave a special 'Hn' which was only uttered after uncovering a clue. "It's a word. If we get rid of the zeroes, it leaves us with seven, one, and five which spell the letters G, A, and E. If we include the 'M' Tim saw, but exclude X and Z due to them being the rarest used letters of the alphabet, the word spells—"

"Game," Tim finished. "They're at an arcade! But which one?"

"Oracle, check for all closed down arcades in Gotham," Bruce ordered.

"On it," Babs replied. "It seems that there are three closed down ones. Two of them close to where you guys are right now and one which is a bit far. I'm sending you all the locations."

"Red Robin and Red Hood, you check the closest one. Nightwing and Robin, you two check the second one. I'll handle the one which is the farthest."

"Batman, wait!" Dick put a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "I don't think you should see him alone if he's there."

Bruce shrugged his hand off. "There are three of you here who are most likely to kill him. I'm keeping you where he is the least likely to be found. If you do find him, do not engage." With that, he got into the Batmobile and drove off.

Chapter Text

A haze of dreading possibilities were clouding Tim's head as his brain tried to latch on to one. He forced his brain to stop being a depressed little bitch and pay attention to the facts first.

Fact #1: Tim's parents were kidnapped.

Fact #2: They might be held in the abandoned arcade Tim was stalking through with Jason right now. There were grimy walls, peeling paint, dusty arcade games, and random posters which dated years back. But no parents yet.

Fact #3: Jason was trying to keep calm, but Tim could see that the older boy was on edge. He knew that Bruce paired them up because if Jason went into one of his Lazarus episodes, Tim would be the only one who could help him gain control. Dick would just infuriate him even more, seeing how connected to the past he was. Damian wouldn't have the words to calm him down, and him being Talia's son and his connection to his pre-Lazarus, post-death days wouldn't do any good either. No, though Tim would anger his feelings at being replaced, he was still the least connected and the best one with tricking words.

Besides, Tim knew that Jason was there to calm him down too. Him being his idol was a big factor. But Tim didn't mind. All he cared about as of now was to find his parents since the hostages were collected by GCPD.

They split up and Tim walked over to a game which once upon a time would have been Mario Kart. He sighed wistfully, remembering the happy times he spent playing that game with Dick and Jason. He reached out and ran a hand over the steering wheel, it was dusty. He moved along to the next game (Pac-man), then the next (Time Crisis), and the next (Donkey Kong), running a hand along all of them. Then he froze and backtracked. One of them was not like the others…

Tim squinted at the games, trying to see what had caught his eye. He brushed the dust off the screens then realized that one of them lacked a significant amount of dust compared to the other two. Time Crisis. Time. Joker was going with the theme of time. Probably to remind Bruce that he wasn’t there to save Jason on time. “Jason,” he hissed. No one replied. “Jason?” he tried again.

“What?” he heard a distinct voice.

“Where are you? I think I found something.”

“I think I found something too. What did you find?”

Tim squeezed between the tight-wedged spaces between the game boxes to see if there were any wires. “All of the game boxes here have a sheet of dust on them except one. Time Crisis. I think it’s been touched recently. What did you find?”

“A mirror that doesn’t reflect.”

Tim frowned. “How is that possible?”

“That’s what I was thinking. Joker really wanted to be found, huh? What do you say we investigate both our leads? Tackle him two on one?”

“Okay. Be careful though, it might be a trap.”

“It’s always a trap.”

Tim squeezed out of the space, having seen no wires. There had to be a trigger. He pressed the most obvious thing: the start button. He was right. The box exploded once more, throwing Tim to another game boox. He groaned as he slumped to the ground. How many more explosions was he going to get caught in?

The smoke cleared, revealing a dark hole. It was all or nothing. He shared his location to everyone and jumped in.

Tim landed almost immediately on the floor, his bat-reflexes keeping him from twisting an ankle by ducking and rolling. He stood up in a large room. How did he not notice the hollow space underneath the floor before? Must be the thick carpet. Tim looked around. He knew it was a large space, but he couldn’t exactly see the large space. A single spotlight was on him, coming from in front of him, making him put a hand over his eyes and squint.

“Well, I know you’re one of the bird brats, but you’re a new one,” a voice declared. Tim knew that voice. He knew it very well.

“Joker,” he stated.

“Ah, I recognize the voice though. Aren’t you the third Robin? Did you get fired? Did Batsy think you were too boring? Because you were, no hard feelings.”

Tim very much took hard feelings, but he had to play this smart. “Where are the Drakes?” he asked.

“What are you calling yourself?” he dodged the question. “Cuz I need to quickly paint this on.”

“Stop dodging my question.”

“You stop dodging my question,” Joker’s voice snarled. “I cannot go on without hearing your new name.”

He sighed. “Red Robin.”

“Almost as genius as Batman, ha ha ha!” he chortled.

“I get that a lot.” He shifted slightly to press the panic button. Tim wasn’t stupid. He knew he couldn’t handle Joker on his own. Jason proved that. Turns out, Joker wasn’t stupid either.

“I’m not stupid, Red Robin, just psychotic, as my lovely dead therapist said. Don’t move. Or else this fun pointy red thing will shoot your and the couple’s brains out.”

Tim stiffened. So his parents were here. That was good. Or… not good, as he didn’t want his parents to be in trouble.

He heard a ‘schhh’ type of noise, as if someone was using a spray paint can. “Done!” The lights switched on and Tim took a step back at the sight. There was a large banner above, displaying the words “Welcome, Red Robin!”. His parents were under it, unharmed, but they were tied up back-to-back with two crates of explosives on either side of them. Tim gulped. This was… not ideal.

He resisted the urge to call out and forced himself to stay where he was. You shared your location already. Wait for backup. Do not engage. Try to keep him talking.

“What is your game here, Joker?” he asked, silently cheering at himself for sounding calm.

“Oh, you truly were trained by the greatest detective. You realized that it’s a game!” Joker grinned creepily and pointed the laser gun at Tim’s chest. “Small time boy in a big arcade,” he softly sang. “Here’s the thing, Red. Can I call you Red?”

“It is my name.”

“Hmm… still feels weird. I’m gonna go with Robin. So, here’s the thing, Robin.” Joker stalked past his parents. They still seemed to be unconscious. That was good. He didn’t want them to see the trauma. “These people here, sure they’re rich and give charity to the small people and assist children in warring countries.” He rolled his eyes. “BUT do they even give a care about their own child?”

Tim clenched his fists. They do. They really really do. He just needed time to realize that.

“They go on fabulous trips, leaving the boy alone…”

Just so they could provide for him, of course.

“They don’t even leave him with a proper caretaker.”

Because they know how important it is to learn how to be independent in this world. It’s good to start practicing at a young age.

Joker stopped walking. “And the little times they are home, they hit him.”

Because Tim fucking deserved it, okay? He was a mess of clumsiness and disrespect. Whatever mistake he made, he never repeated again after his parents disciplined him. It works. It hurts, but it works. They’re doing this for him. He can’t blame them for that. He… he loved them. And he couldn’t believe that it took such a long time to realize that. Besides, it was thick coming from Joker about hitting kids.

“So really, do they deserve to live?”

“Yes.”

Joker looked amused. “Not quite the answer I’m looking for, bird brat.”

“They don’t deserve to die. They’re parents. They have a son who they must be worried about.”

“Are you sure, Robin?”

“Yes.”

“Are you really really sure?”

“STOP PLAYING THESE GAMES JOKER!” he yelled. “What is all this supposed to accomplish?”

Joker grinned, undeterred with his outburst. “To show Batsy that he never was a good parent. To show him that he still isn’t.”

Something heavy fell on top of Tim. He gasped and collapsed under the weight. It was a net. He fumbled with the ropes and its thickness and gave up trying to snap them. He needed a different plan. If only he could reach for his bird-a-rang.

“Well lookee here! Guess we got Thanksgiving sorted.” Joker stalked towards him. Then, he pulled out a knife. “I’ll volunteer for the carving,” he said with his tone dropped octaves low, sounding just as bit as psychotic and dangerous he was.

He grabbed Tim’s hair and hovered the knife over his throat. “No!” he gasped. The knife drew closer, and Tim could feel a drop of blood running down his neck. Where were they?

Just then, a gunshot rang through the air and Joker dropped the knife. Tim turned to look who had arrived. “Hood!” he screamed.

“So you’re the bastard who took over my old name,” Joker growled, barely looking at his hand with the bullet in it, dripping blood onto Tim’s hair. “I was wondering who you were. Would you remove your mask if I say please?”

“I’ll do you one better,” Jason scraped something metal across the floor. Tim couldn’t see it from his position, but he knew that it was a crowbar.

“Ooh! I remember that! I used it to kill the brat before this one. Or well… before times two this one. Since there’s another one roaming around.”

“Precisely,” Jason snarled and removed his helmet.

Joker’s eyes widened. “Bird brain?”

“The one and only.” He swung the crowbar, smashing it down his face.

“Hood, no! Wait!” Tim struggled. But Jason wasn’t listening. He must be too consumed by the Pit. Tim stretched his fingers through one of the holes in the net to the belt on his hip. Jason was brutally beating up the Joker now, but all the clown did was laugh, infuriating him even more. Tim managed to catch one of his bird-a-rang with two fingers and carefully slid it closer. He glanced at the two again, hastily sawing the thick ropes. He managed to cut one of the strands and started on another. Jason stood up, covered in blood, with the crowbar dripping more onto his shoes as he hung it to his side limply. Tim then realized: Jason couldn’t kill him. Despite his rage and bitterness, he was still the 16-year-old boy who was brutally murdered. The trauma must be overwhelming for him.

Tim managed to snap another strand and slipped out through the hole. He passed Jason and hurried to his parents to untie them, a plan already forming in his head. He dragged them both towards the hole, then proceeded to “accidentally” drop two of his compressed explosives. “Jason?” he whispered, audible enough to be heard over Joker’s laughter.

Jason turned to him, his cheeks streaked with tears, but his face impassive.

Tim coughed and said, “Those crates over there must be quite dangerous. These little guys would make it even worse, huh?” He nudged the tiny explosive balls near Jason’s feet. The older boy looked down, then at him, then back down again. He picked it up and faced Tim again, eyes wide. “Stay safe,” Tim whispered, then made sure that he had a firm grasp on his parents before shooting his grappling gun and flying out through the hole.

He managed to drag them away to a safe space before the building exploded. Tim checked his parents’ pulses and made sure they were okay before facing the burning building. He counted till fifty, but still didn’t see anything. “Jason?” he reached to his ears to activate his comms, but cursed when he realized that he had thrown them away.

“JASON!” he screamed, running to the building. What did he do? He thought he was helping him. He thought it would be a good idea. It was not a good idea. It was so not a good idea. He was stupid. He was so damn stupid and careless and—

“Careful kid, you’ll get yourself hurt.” A hand snatched him, pulling him back.

“Jason? Oh God, you scared me you bastard! For a minute there, I thought I murdered you.”

Jason flinched but laughed. “Didn’t you already assist me in murder?”

“I didn’t do anything. I have all my weapons in count.”

A smirk sneaked its way onto his face. “You’re sneakier than I thought.”

Tim grinned. “How are you?”

The smirk disappeared off his face. “I’ll be fine. How are your parents?”

“I checked them over. No stab wounds of gunshot wounds, no cuts or bruises. A couple lumps at the back of their heads, but other than that they’re pulse is steady. They’re steady. Unconscious, but steady.” He didn’t know who he was reassuring.

Jason shook his head. “They don’t deserve you.”

“But they’re mine.” Tim looked down.

“Only you get to decide.”

“They feed me, they clothe me, they put a very expensive roof over my head.”

Jason put his hands on his arms, avoiding his shoulders. “Basic necessities. I’m not saying anything right now, Tim. Just think it over later. And I’ll be there for you if you call, just like you were here for me.”

“Okay.”

“What happened?” a voice cut their conversation. Bruce shut the door of the batmobile. Tim grimaced.

-----------------------------------------

Tim had rushed to his house with his Robin-cycle (it was booked to be repainted next week). He got the spare key out which was hidden under the pot-plant (which he didn’t use because he wasn’t that stupid. He knew it would anger his parents even more) and got in and had a quick shower (he scrubbed extra hard to get rid of Joker's blood from his hair) and changed back to the same clothes he was wearing before (which were delivered to his doorstep by Alfred already) and sat on the steps outside, waiting. He thought up several excuses and lies he would say when his parents would get here. A screech alerted him of their arrival.

“Timothy!” his father yelled, slipping out of the batmobile.

Remember to look confused. “Dad?” he asked.

“Oh Timothy,” his mother shrieked. Tim ran up to hug his parents. They enveloped them into the first hug he’d received from them in ages.

“What happened?” he asked, then turned his gaze to Bruce in the batmobile.

“Your parents were kidnapped along with a group of teenagers from some of Gotham’s richest. They were held hostage by Joker until Red Robin and Red Hood managed to save them from a seemingly exploding building which they woke up in front of.” His jaw tensed. “Joker did not survive.”

Tim resisted the urge to smile at that, instead quickly turning to his parents and letting the smile cross his face. “We were so worried!” Janet gasped. Tim’s features softened. She sounded so… genuine.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Jack replied, then turned to glare at Bruce. “Though Batman here insists that we’re fine.”

Janet nodded, “I was worried that our hearing might be affected, but Robin snapped to get over it.”

Tim raised an eyebrow.

“And Red Hood had the nerve to call us rich stuck-up brats, as if we hadn’t just been kidnapped,” Jack sniffed.

“Let’s go inside, dad.”

“Yes, let’s,” Janet agreed.

They were making their way to the door when Tim broke off from his parents’ grips. “Can I just go and say thanks to Batman? He… he was my hero after all.”

They looked at each other then turned to him. “Very well dear, for all the rudeness, they did save us.”

Tim ran over. “Why are you guys being hostile to my parents?” he cut straight to the point. “They did just survive a kidnapping and an explosion.”

“Which they were unconscious for,” Bruce replied gruffly.

“Bruce,” he sighed. “They’re my parents.”

He saw his jaw loosen up. “I know, I’m sorry. On behalf of the others too, I apologize.” Tim nodded, he turned to leave, but was stopped by him. “But Tim… you’re such a bright boy. You’re smart enough to figure out my identity, and yet you can’t see that there is more than just good and bad.”

“What?”

“I mean,” Bruce sighed. “You can’t label people as just good and bad. They’re more than that. Just think about it, okay?”

Tim didn’t reply. He watched as Bruce got in the Batmobile and drove away. Then he turned and walked back to his parents who were waiting for him. His father opened his arm and Tim pressed himself against his side, tensing only slightly.

Chapter Text

It had been a couple days since the Joker incident which was now all over the press. The families whose teenagers were kidnapped were pestered by reporters. Most of them stayed silent, but the some who chose to make a statement, they sniffed and sobbed about how glad it was that their kids were returned and how glad they were and that Joker had gotten the wrong information about them abusing them. Still, they were under investigation and Tim had made sure that Henry's father got caught by slipping in security footage as Red Robin to Gordon.

Tim's parents were pestered even more so, since their son hadn't been kidnapped, but them. This led to ridiculous beliefs that Tim was the one who abused his parents. As soon as he got wind of this rumor, he called in Clark. He managed to convince his parents to give a statement to him and when the big man, and surprisingly with Lois, arrived, they were dressed, prim and proper for the cameras.

"So Mr. and Mrs. Drake, what exactly do you think of the rumor that your son here indulges in abuse?" he asked.

"Well, I think it is simply horrid for the press to have such negative misconceptions about our son," Janet spoke sternly. "He is a star model. You can even check everything at school. Perfect grades, perfect attendance. There is simply no way that he can be as vulgar as abusive."

"What if the rumor was directed towards you? And the Joker just missed him because you were too busy abusing him?" Lois asked sharply.

Tim immediately started coughing and reached for a glass of water, shooting a secret glare at them. So, Bruce told them as well. He was going to kill him.

"Excuse me?" Jack asked, horrified. "Why—"

"I'll ask another question, I apologize," Lois quickly interrupted. "I'm sure you're very capable parents who take well care of their children." She sounded reassuring, but Tim could see how tightly she gripped her pencil. Clark looked calm, probably years of training to control his strength, but there was still a tense line along his shoulders. He shamefully looked down.

They must have noticed because the rest of the interview went smoothly, even earning a laugh once. At the end, Lois apologized and excused her behavior as "covering all bases". Jack and Janet assured that they were okay and bid them goodbye. Tim led them to the front gate and they all stopped and waited for Jimmy to pack up in the van.

"Are you okay, son?" Clark asked gently.

"I would be if you didn't prey on them after such a traumatic event."

"From what I heard," Lois said, "you were the one witnessing all the trauma while they were sleeping through it."

He looked down at his shoes and scuffled them against the gravel. "They're my parents," he said quietly.

"I know, Tim. I know," Clark sighed, wiping his glasses.

Tim narrowed his eyes. "How do you know?"

"Dick told me," he answered.

"Dick Grayson?"

"The one and only. I cornered him and asked about what was happening and why you weren't with the Titans, and after a bit more prompting, he told me everything so I wouldn't have to find out from anybody else."

"And I snooped," Lois added.

Tim sighed. "What am I supposed to do? Ever since after the incident, they've been nothing but kind to me. And it's genuine. My bat-trained brain proves it. They were genuinely worried about me and they're genuinely worried about me now." He looked up at them, almost hopefully. "Maybe this was a wakeup call?"

"Could be," Lois mused. "But remember, Tim. Just because a person is good some of the time, doesn't excuse all the other bad things they did."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She smiled. "Just think about it, okay? I'll see you later. Bye Tim."

He waved at them as they got in the van. "You're like, the third person to say that to me," he muttered under his breath.

He walked inside, mulling over everything he was told.

"They feed me, they clothe me, they put a very expensive roof over my head."

“Basic necessities. I’m not saying anything right now, Tim. Just think it over later."

That was Jason. And then there was Bruce:

“You can’t label people as just good and bad. They’re more than that. Just think about it, okay?”

Finally, there was Lois.

"But remember, Tim. Just because a person is good some of the time, doesn't excuse all the other bad things they did."

What did all of that mean?

"Timothy," his mother interrupted his thoughts. Tim looked around. How did he get inside so quick? "Your father and I are going out for a lunch date. The horrible Joker incident gave us such a fright. We decided to listen to that wakeup call and we're going out."

"Do…" Tim hesitated. "Do I get to come?"

"Oh, no, Timothy. But that's just what I was about to tell you."

Tim sagged.

"We feel horrible for what we did to you that night, so we decided that you can visit the Waynes while we're out today."

Tim un-sagged quickly. That was even better! He was hoping to go over and talk about the night's events with them. "Oh, thank you, mom!"

"Hmm, you're welcome Timothy."

Tim bade his parents farewell as they drove away and quickly ran up to his room to change the stuffy tux he was wearing for the cameras and into a much more comfortable summer hoodie. He bounded down the stairs and excitedly jogged over to Wayne manor. "I get to see Bruce!" he excitedly whispered. "And Dick! And Jason, and Alfred and…" he hesitated. "Ah well, the brat's not so bad either. So I get to see Damian too!"

He laughed out loud, excited to be seeing the Waynes again after what felt like years. He did a little dance, then stopped. "When did I ever get this excited for my parents?" he whispered to himself. He thought back to all the times his parents said they were coming home. He started feeling scared ever since he was six, after the airport incident. Now that he thought about it, the airport incident was the first time he was actually hit by them. He had snuck into the airport, in hopes of going with his parents, but got caught and was taken home and taught a lesson. Well, Tim bitterly thought, lesson well-learned. I never snuck into the airport ever again.

He changed his jog to a scuffle, once again thinking about what exactly Jason, Bruce and Lois meant. All thoughts were promptly forgotten, however, when the manor came within his view. He broke into a run and pressed the doorbell.

"Tim!" Dick exclaimed brightly, opening the door. "You're here!" He turned back and called over his shoulder, "Yo drama bats! Tim's here!"

Tim smiled toothily and stepped in.

"Hey Replacement," Jason called, holding a hissing mess of Damian upside down.

"Let me down, Todd! Right this second!"

"Not if you don't tell me where you hid my helmet, you little shit."

"Give me back my Robin mask and I will."

"What's going on?" Tim asked.

"Tim! I'm so glad you're here," Bruce smiled, walking towards him and ruffling his hair.

Tim laughed, "Hey Bruce."

"Master Damian and Master Jason are in a heated battle of hiding each other's things," Alfred explained, entering the scene. "So far, we have failed to find a peaceful solution."

"Why don't you just hide both their costumes and let them sort it out themselves?" Tim suggested.

The room went quiet.

"Yeah okay, your mask is in the laundry," Jason said at the same time Damian grumbled, "Your stupid helmet is at the bottom of the pond."

Jason dropped him. "YOU GOT MY HELMET WET?"

"YOU MADE MY MASK SMELL?" Damian shot back.

"I… have a feeling you solved this and made it worse at the same time," Dick chuckled nervously.

---------------------------------

"So what's going on at home?" Bruce asked.

"Nothing much," Tim said, scraping the last of the mashed potatoes on his plate. "They've been recovering from the event. They visited the family doctor and she said that they're lucky they were unconscious for everything, missing out on the fun PTSD stuff."

"What about you?" Jason asked, flicking a pea at Dick who caught it in his mouth.

"Hm?" Tim finished the last bit of his food.

"What's going on with your fun PTSD stuff?"

Tim shrugged. This was normal for him. What wasn't normal was Jason facing his killer. "How are you handling stuff?"

"Are you kidding?" Jason laughed tersely. "The clown's gone. For good. I've never been happier."

"Lie," Damian stated. Jason flicked a pea at him, he caught it and flicked it back.

"You are lying," Dick backed him up. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know," he sighed. "It's just… feels unreal. Everything feels unreal."

“It’ll take a while, Jason,” Bruce reassured. “And don’t give up my suggestion of seeing Dinah to help you get through.”

“Yeah, I’ll think about it, old man.”

“So Bruce accepted that he’s dead. He didn’t try bringing him back?” Tim asked.

Dick snorted. "It took a lot of convincing for Mr. Bat-dramatic here that Joker was dead. Burned body and all," Dick shot a glare at Bruce, "and that it didn't matter whether he got murdered or not because his sons were finally free of his tyranny. Also, Babs and Alfred helped."

Bruce merely shrugged, catching a pea thrown at him by Jason with a fork.

“Don’t throw your food, Master Jason,” Alfred scolded.

---------------------------------

Tim sat with his parents, watching the news.

The reporter on the TV blared, "Earlier today, the Gotham City Police Department released the official briefing, confirming the rumors for Joker's death to be true. A severely burnt body was found and was DNA tested to confirm that it indeed was the Joker."

Tim breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"An interview with Harley Quinn, a former associate of the Joker, addressed the topic, stating that she was glad the man was gone for good."

"I bet they didn't put on the actual statement because it included much worse words than "man"," Tim mused under his breath.

"Many parties and galas are to be hosted in celebration. Many mockingly compare this event to that of the death of Voldemort, a fictional character from the famous series, Harry Potter."

“Should we hold one, Janet?” Jack asked.

“If Mr. Deirdre and his family are holding a party, then we will too.”

“Wasn’t Lana Dierdre one of the children who was held hostage?” they turned to Tim.

“Uh… I think so?” Tim panicked. Did they expect him to know because she was his age or were they just including him in the conversation?

“Hm,” Janet turned back, talking about what they would need for a formal party.

Tim sighed and got up, making his way to his room when Jack stopped him. “Where are you going, Timothy?”

“To my room,” Tim tiredly stated. It was nearly 12 and he was tired from the day’s events.

“Why not spend time with your family?”

Some family, he thought, thinking about the fun times with the Waynes in contrast to the tense ones with his parents.

“What did you say?” Jack stood up.

Tim froze. Shit. He had said that out loud. “Nothing.”

“Your parents just went through a traumatic event, and you don’t even care one bit?” Janet growled.

“I told you, Janet. The boy is unkind and uncaring, never sparing any sympathy.”

Tim didn’t have time for this. He was tired and his head was full of thoughts. And for some barbaric reason, he felt a furious wave of anger towards the people in the room who he called his parents.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To my room,” Tim stated blandly.

“You’re not going anywhere until I say you are.”

“You mean until you drag me out of the house again? The house where you leave me for weeks and sometimes months on end, with no company?”

Jack punched him, but Tim already had his hands up, so grabbed his hand and jerked it away.

“Timothy!” his mother exclaimed. “How could you shove your father like that?”

“He was about to hit me,” Tim clenched his teeth, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. Jack punched him again, shoving him to the wall.

“Apologize,” he growled.

“No.” Something had consumed the Tim before his parents’ kidnapping. This new Tim was risky, bold, and brash. And angry. Very very angry. He felt fists hitting him, and yet Tim still refused to apologize. He was scared though. Fear was ever-present when his father went into one of his rages. It was clawing at his throat and being pumped through his heart. But for the first time, there was a new emotion present. Rage.

He shoved his father away, breathing heavily, ignoring the pain searing in the places where he was hit. Tim was filled to the brim with anger. All the instances where he was manhandled and hit by his own father and mother flashed through his eyes. He was sick and tired of living like this. Two years be damned.

But one look up at his father’s face, filled with an even greater fury than his, drained the whole emotion from his body and his breath got caught in his throat. What had he done?

Before he could even register what was happening, two hands clutched his throat, cutting off his air supply. What…

What was happening?

He couldn’t breathe?

Why couldn’t he breathe?

Two arms were attached to his throat and they were… squeezing him? Not letting him breathe? Black spots appeared in his vision and he croaked.

What…

He couldn’t breathe.

Who…

He couldn’t breathe.

“Jack!” a voice called out and the arms disappeared. Tim collapsed to the ground, sucking in deep, rasping breaths, he fingered his throat and looked up at his parents. Jack was staring at his hands and Janet was staring at him.

He bolted, locking himself in his room. He expected to hear banging on his door and shouts ordering him to open it, but no sound came. Tim moved back to the wall, scraping his nails against the wallpaper and trying to control his hyperventilating pants. He sunk to the floor and clutched his hair.

He was nearly strangled, nearly killed.

By his own father.

Excuses filed into his head. He didn't mean it. Tim was being rude anyway. Tim was insulting him. Tim shoved him. It's Tim's fault, really. He asked for it.

But his head was registering only one word: Bruce, Bruce, Bruce, Bruce, Bruce, Bruce. Tim sobbed. He clutched his throat in shock. Were there bruises? God, he hoped not. What was he going to do now? What the fuck was he going to do now?

Could he keep on living like this for two years? Could he keep being used as a frustration outlet by his parents? But they don't always do that, only when Tim's misbehaving.

But is spilling fucking coffee or talking back when you're mad, misbehaving?

It's just that his parents don't have a full grip on their emotions, he can't blame them for that.

But can't he blame them for fucking up his emotions?

It's just the cycle of abuse which they experienced.

But couldn't they try to break the cycle like Tim decided he would?

Tim pulled at his hair and groaned in frustration. He wanted Bruce. He wanted Dick. And Alfred and Jason and even Damian. He wanted… he wanted…

He was ashamed to admit it, but he wanted a hug.

Dick's hugs which have his arms under his armpits as if he's about to lift him any moment if he thinks it's suitable.

Bruce's hugs when he wraps his arms completely around his whole body as if he's protecting him from everything else.

Jason's hugs which have one arm around his back and the other behind his head and he buries himself in his chest because it feels so safe to be with his hero.

Alfred's hugs which have two frail but firm hands on his back as he wraps his own around him and takes in the calming chamomile smell wafting from the old man's clothes.

Heck, even the one brief, awkward hug the brat gave him would do.

He just wanted a hug, damn it.

He wanted arms around his shoulders, looping to meet on his back.

He wanted to bury his head in a chest or shoulder, just clutching and never letting go.

He wanted a hug.

Just one.

A knock sounded on his door and his head snapped up. "Timothy? Timothy, it's your mother. Open the door."

Fear clutched his heart. No.

"Timothy Jackson Drake, please do not make me wait out here."

No no no no. They were here. They could kill him.

His breathing sped up and Tim's mind was too much in a daze to think straight. So he opened the window, clutching the tree branch and lowering himself to the next branch. He leaped from the lowest branch of the tree onto a patch of grass.

There was no time to worry about getting hurt. There was no time to worry about a sprain. He needed to run. Run where?

The answer immediately came to his mind: Bruce. He needed to run to Bruce. He needed to run to his hugs. He needed to run to his warmth. So he ran. He ran even when he felt he couldn't run anymore. He ran even when his lungs burned and protested. He ran until he finally stopped at the door in front of Wayne manor.

Bruce.

He pressed the doorbell.

Bruce.

He felt salt water, and maybe blood, running down his face.

Bruce.

He heard footsteps approaching.

"Bruce?" The door opened.

Tim flung himself into the man's arms, not caring that he almost toppled Batman to the ground.

"Bruce!"

"Tim? What happened, chum? Is everything okay?"

He felt his arms wrap around his scrawny, pale body, protecting it from all the outside dangers. That's when he really started sobbing. The breath-hitching, tear-flying, snot-running, ugly kind of sobs.

"Tim? Hey hey hey, it's okay. It's okay, bud, it's okay."

"No it's not!" he screamed. "It's not. It's so not! It's not okay. It was never okay. It's not okay."

"Alright, alright. Can you tell me what happened?"

"He tried to kill me," Tim cried.

He felt Bruce freeze and tense up. But he kept clutching his shirt and crying, not letting go. He never wanted to let go. Bruce shifted, then asked, "Can you repeat that, Tim?"

"He— he pushed me to the wall and had his hands around my throat. He tried to choke me. He tried to kill me." Tim kept his eyes closed, willing himself to finish explaining. "I— we fought. I don't usually— usually say stuff back. But this time I did. I know it's unfair I was rude after they got k— kidnapped, but I couldn't help it. I was just so angry."

Bruce put a hand on his head which made him cry even more.

"I don't want to be angry. I don't want to be angry like my dad. I don't want to hurt someone."

He felt both of Bruce's arms on his back.

"I shoved him when he tried to hit me, but— but—" Tim's throat felt raw and wet at the same time, but he had to tell him. He had to tell Bruce. "He tried to choke me."

"It's okay now, Tim. It's okay now. I'm here. You're safe."

He was with Bruce.

He was with the Waynes.

He was safe.

"You're safe."

He buried himself into Bruce, fingers still clutching the now tear-soaked sweatshirt. "I'm safe," he whispered.

Chapter Text

Dick panicked when he heard the doorbell ring. They had managed to keep Tim for a full 24 hours and a bit more from his parents. Every knock and doorbell sent a wave of panic zooming through his heart. And every time the same thought played on repeat in his brain: I have to keep my brother safe.

Granted, Tim wasn’t actually his brother, but if Bruce’s plan worked, it would only be a matter of time.

The last time the doorbell rang, all of them had rushed to the door to see who it was. When Bruce opened the door, drawing up to his full height, the delivery man nearly fell down the steps in surprise. They sighed and let Alfred apologize and take care of it and went back to the living room where Tim was and found him crying with his face buried in his knees. Dick’s heart broke at the sight of him and he put an arm around him, but quickly drew back when he flinched. He had forgotten about him being triggered by having his back touched without warning. That made his heart break even more.

This time, they had Jason stay with him in his room as they went to check the door. When the door opened, Dick’s breath got caught in his throat.

“Mr. and Mrs. Drake,” Bruce declared.

“Mr. Wayne,” Jack growled. “Do you have my son?”

“Yes.”

“Will you care to give him back?”

“No.”

Dick resisted the urge to smirk at that.

“Mr. Wayne,” Janet pushed her husband out of the way. “I’ve been trying to contact him the whole day, but he didn’t reply. He always replies.”

Probably because you don’t contact him as often as you need to so he jumps at every opportunity to spend time with you, Dick bitterly thought. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Drake,” Dick stepped in. “But I don’t think it is a good idea for you to see him just yet.”

Janet blinked in surprise. “Why not?”

“Because we have to wait for GCPD,” Damian scoffed.

Dick could see the couple visibly melt at that. “What did my son tell you? I assure you it's not true.”

“He said that you tried to kill him,” Bruce said darkly.

“Nonsense!”

“I think I will decide that,” a new voice called out. They all turned to face Gordon marching up to them with a social worker trailing behind.

“Commissioner, you really must ask Mr. Wayne here to give me back my son!” Jack protested. Dick could almost imagine him stomping his foot in frustration.

“We’ll tackle that issue after we solve a certain case of Priority 1 abuse.”

“How dare you accuse us of abusing our own son!” Jack yelled.

A small hitched breath drew everyone's attention. Dick saw Jason quickly hide behind a wall and give a thumbs-down, but he was more worried about Tim who was staring at them with almost a glassy look on his face. “Mom?” he whispered. “Dad?”

“Timothy!” Jack and Janet shrieked at the same time. “Timothy what is happening?” Jack asked, forcing himself inside the house. Tim took an involuntary step back, fists clenching, looking anywhere but at his parents. His eye got Dick’s and Dick immediately went over to his side, avoiding his shoulder and putting a reassuring hand on his arm.

“I think…” Gordon climbed the steps, raising his voice to be heard, “we would all like to hear an explanation from Mr. Wayne as he is the one who called for all this to be in order.”

Bruce nodded and Dick pressed himself closer to Tim’s side, feeling Damian stand in front of the both of them. So far, all they could do was sit and watch as Tim went through being with his parents alone and hiding his abused incidents from them. But last night, since Tim arrived in tears, Dick finally felt a rush of relief and protectiveness flow through him. It had been torture pretending that Tim hadn’t gone through anything all those weeks before his parents came back. But now… now he was so fucking glad that they could finally do something about it and get Tim away. For good.

---------------------------------

Tim zoned out the whole time Bruce was explaining. He did catch a whiff of what he said though, basically about how they noticed signs of abuse and confronted him, how they weren’t sure as Tim denied it a lot, how last night Tim came to them crying in hysterics that Jack had tried to kill him. It was greatly altered because Jason was supposed to be legally dead and Bruce took credit for noticing the signs as it would increase his chances of receiving custody, though Jason would still probably give him shit over that. He clenched his hands, knuckles white, the entire time.

The incident last night was blurry and chopped up. He couldn’t remember anything specific. He knew what had happened. He knew that he had snapped at his parents. He knew that he shoved them away when they tried to hit him. He knew that his head hit the wall and he couldn’t breathe… but, and he had plenty of time to think about it, he wasn’t exactly sure what happened next. Bruce explained that he had come to the manor, crying about his father having choked him, but Tim wasn’t completely sure that had happened.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t remember, it was just that he wasn’t sure if the memory he had in his brain was real.

“From what you’ve said, Mr. Wayne,” Gordon spoke up, “I think Tim falls under the case of physical, emotional and neglectful abuse. If Tim can attest to that.”

He felt eyes on him and he looked up from the spot he was staring at on the floor. “Huh?” Then he internally cringed and glanced at his parents. They always said never to use words like “what” and “huh” when he was confused. It was poor behavior, they said. Right now, they were just staring at him expectantly.

Gordon repeated the question, “Do your parents physically and emotionally abuse you? Do they neglect you by leaving you alone for long periods of time?”

Tim blinked.

Gordon smiled and turned to face him fully. “I know you’re a smart young boy from what my daughter told me by her visits here, courtesy of Mr. Grayson,” he nodded at Dick. “So I’m guessing that you understand the question, but you just don’t know how to answer it.”

Tim looked down, neck and ears burning. “I— I don’t want anyone to get in trouble.”

“Tim,” Gordon said gently. “If you don’t attest to being abused, if you say that your parents don’t abuse you, Mr. Wayne will be charged with false accusation.”

Tim’s head snapped up and he looked at Gordon with horror. “You can’t put Bruce in jail! He didn’t do anything.”

“Then are you saying that your parents do abuse you?”

Tim opened his mouth to speak, but his mind drew at a blank. Everyone was looking at him. His mother, his father, Bruce, Dick, Damian, Alfred, Gordon, the social worker, and Jason from all the way in his hiding place in the next room, they were all looking at him and waiting for him to say something. Tim ran a hand through his hair nervously, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. There were too many people here. And half of them would get arrested if he doesn’t say something, right now.

“Yes,” he said, avoiding looking at anyone and looking back at his shoes again. He suddenly felt sick as nausea and guilt bubbled a broth in his stomach.

“Okay,” was all Gordon said to him. “Mr. and Mrs. Drake," he turned to his parents instead. "You are aware that you’ve been abusing your child, aren’t you? Physically by hitting him, even if it is labeled as discipline, emotionally by making rude remarks about him and smashing his favorite things, and neglectful by leaving him alone with no one at home for weeks on end.”

Jack Drake looked down, almost shamefully. "I— I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know." And Tim would have believed it.

He would have believed it if it weren't for that one information session on child abuse at school. If he hadn't done more research into child abuse and found that it wasn't normal. If he hadn't asked about his classmates' and friends' home life and found it being drastically different from his. If he hadn't researched emancipation. If he hadn't found that website with stories of how people deal with it and got away from their home lives. If he hadn't researched scholarships that would take him far away. If he hadn't planned out his steps of escape down to the second, he would have believed it.

But Tim Drake did do all those things. He did research symptoms of abuse and triggers. He did come up with a list of what he thought might be his symptoms and triggers. He did train on controlling his symptoms and staying away from triggers. He did come up with coping mechanisms. He did all that.

So no, Tim did not, for one second, fully believe that his father was telling the truth. And before he could fully process his emotions, he stood up and his voice burst out in anger, "YOU LIAR!"

Everyone looked shocked from the outburst. Even Commissioner Gordon had his mouth open.

Cursed tears were blurring his vision, but his tongue did not stop making words. "I told you so many times that what you do isn't normal. You and mom. And what did you say, mom?" He turned to Janet Drake. She simply stared at him, her mouth slowly curling in distaste. "Let me refresh your memory. Do the lines, 'Oh, Timothy! Don't listen to everything that's being said by people. Different and difficult children require different and difficult methods of discipline' sound familiar?"

His voice choked at the end, but Tim didn't stop.

"And I believed it!" he screamed in his croaky voice. Hot, angry tears still spilling down his face. Stupid, stupid tears, he thought. "For the longest time I believed in those words. I tried to tell myself it wasn't true, but deep down—" he stopped short, looking down at his shoes, as he tried to keep the sobs in. "Deep down I realized it to be true," he whispered.

"Oh, Tim," he heard Bruce say. He felt his arms around his shoulders. He didn't even bother trying to hide the flinch. The secret was out. Tim's life was destroyed. Bruce moved back after feeling Tim's body violently jerk, regret showing on his face.

Tim took a step back. He felt sick. He wanted everything to be back the way it was before. Long periods of happiness and short periods of pain. Not… this. Not this mix of happy, sad, angry, hopeful emotions all put together in a blender and forcibly shoved down his throat.

"I think we should discuss this issue separately," Gordon suggested. His voice was calm, but his stance was not.

"Good idea," Janet Drake said, locking her eyes on Tim's.

Tim, unsure in deciding who to look at, whipped his eyes back and forth. Bruce solved that problem by stepping in front of him, blocking his view of his parents.

Tim shuddered. God, they were his parents. The people who had raised him, fed him, gave him a house, clothes, money. He was going to press charges against them. His own parents. He suddenly felt even more sick.

Damian noticed and said, "Father?"

They all turned to look at him and his teary face.

"Do you feel sick, Tim?" Dick asked.

Tim nodded, suddenly noticing the sweat at the back of his neck. He just wanted to be done with this. He just wanted this to be over so he could… what? Bask in the love given by the Waynes? He grimaced.

“Right,” Gordon stood up. “I would like all of you to come to the station for further questioning tomorrow. I will send Mr. Wayne and Mr. Drake emails by tonight about the timings. If all seems okay, Linda, you can say your piece.”

So this was fucking Linda, Tim thought, Bruce met her after all.

“From what I’ve seen and heard, the Drakes cannot have Tim living with them at the moment as they fall under the legal requirements for removal which is an immediate danger to physical health and safety and reasonable efforts were made to prevent or eliminate the need for removal. We will be taking a conservatorship type of approach to this situation. I’ve met with Mr. Wayne before and handled the adoption and settling in of all of his sons, including his newest,” she smiled at Damian, who gave an unimpressed look. “He is also a certified foster parent, so I’m declaring him to hold emergency custody of Timothy Jackson Drake until this matter is closed.”

“Thanks Linda. I’ll see you all tomorrow,” Gordon said and held out his arm for Jack and Janet to leave first. Tim hesitantly looked at his parents and saw them giving him wistful looks, then shuffling out the door. He waited until they all left the room. He waited until they closed the door. He waited until he could hear the voice of cars screeching and driving away. And only then did he collapse to the ground, grasping his hair tightly and shaking his head, letting all the tears out, but biting his bottom lip to control the heavy sobs.

“Tim?” he heard someone say, but he shook his head. He didn’t want to be here.

“I feel sick,” he whispered, his voice cracking even then.

“Do you want to go to the bathroom?”

Tim blinked. Right. Bathroom.

He got up and turned to leave when Bruce put out an arm. "Someone should go with you," he said.

Tim shook his head. All he wanted to do was be alone right now. Place himself out of this situation which was making him feel queasy.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded and left, hairs at the back of his neck prickling as he felt everyone's stares on him.

Once he reached the bathroom, he let out a shuddering breath and slid against the wall. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. He calmed down a bit and peeked at the curtained bathroom window which seemed big enough to squeeze a scrawny body through.

He didn't hesitate. Simply recognized the command his brain told him and left. Once outside, he breathed in deep. The air was slightly cool, far enough from the main area of Gotham for it to be only slightly polluted.

He could do it. Just run away. Run away from the unfamiliar situation. He knew how to survive. He knew how to hide. He could do it. No problemo.

“Running away, Gale?” a voice snarked. He whirled around to see who it was and relaxed when he saw Jason. “Had a feeling you would be out here. You looked suffocated in there.”

“Don’t remind me,” he muttered.

Jason hummed and sat down on the grass, looking up at the stars. Tim sat beside him, hugging his knees. They stayed like that, only being interrupted when Jason’s comm buzzed. “I’ve got him with me, Goldie, don’t worry,” Jason said, then turned back to the sky.

“I need to get my own comm.”

Jason hummed in agreement. They were silent for a while, the summer breeze keeping them cool enough and slightly dishelving their hair. “Do you think you can handle the questioning?” Jason asked, breaking the silence.

Tim fidgeted. Questioning. Interrogation. It meant the same thing. But hadn't Tim dreamed of this? Didn't he have fantasies which he played on especially painful nights? Fantasies of him ranting about the different things his parents had done to him while the officer nodded in understanding? Hadn't he imagined himself speaking to the jury about the unfairness he faced? Hadn't he fantasized about winning the court battle and possibly being adopted by Bruce Wayne next door who collected orphans? Possibly being made a Robin or some other type and being trained to fight and bust criminals with Batman and his hero? Didn't he? So why, why the hell, was he feeling so damn guilty and sad?

“I don’t know,” he replied truthfully. “Nothing seems real.”

“I feel you,” Jason said.

Tim remembered Jason admitting the same thing when asked about Joker. “How are you dealing with it?”

“Well, you’re here to provide one hell of a distraction.”

Tim snorted. “Glad that my little situation is good for something.”

Jason turned to him. “This little situation is good for you too.”

Tim grimaced, looking down at his knees. “Then why do I feel so guilty?” he whispered.

“It’s normal,” Jason replied back confidently, stretching his arms. “I felt guilty when I first got adopted, like I was betraying my mom by staying with a stranger, and I know Dick did too. He dealt with it by exploring the place he was in, roaming the manor and familiarising himself with it by climbing chandeliers like the fucking tiny monkey he was. He told Babs who told me.”

“How did you deal with it?”

Jason scrunched up his face. “I… don’t exactly remember. My Lazarus memories are slowly coming back, ever since you broke the green haze I was in, but… I think I just thought it was temporary.”

Tim stopped himself from slipping out another “huh” and instead asked, “What do you mean?”

“I thought that it would only be a matter of time until I got kicked out, I think. So I started stealing stuff. I know that’s true, because Alfie would never let me live it down, or die it down.”

“But you stopped at one point.”

Jason plucked at the grass around him. “I stopped at one point. Somehow, Bruce and Alfred, and maybe Dick, made me realize that they weren’t gonna abandon me. Even if I stole stuff. And I just… got used to the idea, I guess.”

Tim didn’t reply. It must’ve been one thing, knowing that you weren’t going to be abandoned for stashing food, but a whole other thing when you’re being brutally beaten with a crowbar, praying for rescue. “The Joker’s gone,” Tim said randomly and reassuringly.

“The Joker’s gone,” Jason agreed.

They were silent once more, mulling over the declaration, when Tim said, “You’re right, thinking about someone else’s trauma is a good distraction.”

Jason barked a laugh and got up, holding out a hand to him. Tim stared at the hand for a moment, before accepting it and nearly having his arm be yanked out of his socket. Jason wrapped him in a headlock and rubbed his knuckles against his head, giving him a noogie. “Ow, Jason, idiot, let go!”

“Only if you try and stop being a depressed little shit.”

“Okay fine, I will.”

“Good.” Jason stopped, but still didn’t let go of his head. “I’m making sure you’re fed, watered, and going straight to bed. You’re a good distraction.”

“Bitch.”

“Watch yer mouth, ya little hoe.”

“Real smooth.”

“Like butter.”

Chapter Text

Tim awoke only once during the night. He roamed around the halls, remembering what Jason said about Dick wandering the manor when he was little. He tried recalling the memories of the night before, but they were still blurry and confusing. Despite that, he still doubted that his father choked him. He was disoriented by the hit against the wall, he must have gotten confused and told Bruce on impulse. But then again, the whole night was acted on by impulse.

"Tim?" he heard a voice call out and he turned around.

"Dick? What are you doing here?"

The older boy raised an eyebrow in amusement and folded his arms. "I think I'm more qualified to ask that question."

"Not really. You can expect me to be awake after such an event, but you don't really have a reason."

Dick laughed softly and walked closer to him. "Can't I be up and about with worry for my little brother?"

"You don't need to worry about me, I'm just peachy." He then registered what Dick said then snapped his eyes to him. "Wait, little brother?"

Dick held his palms up. "Whoa, didn't mean to imply anything out loud. Just habit, I guess. From all those times of fighting crime and playing pranks, I think… I just…" Dick trailed off.

Tim smiled. "You came to think of me as a brother. I don't mind, it's actually pretty sweet."

Dick relaxed and walked towards the kitchen, tilting his head for Tim to follow him. "I wish we could go back," Tim thought out loud. "To the simpler times with fighting crime and playing pranks."

"Joker was still there in those times."

"Minus the Joker."

"And Damian wasn't there."

"Is that really a curse?"

"Jason wasn't there either."

Tim brought up two index fingers, holding them a couple inches apart. "There's this small space between Jason arriving and him revealing my secret. That's the time I wanna be in."

Dick shook his head and ruffled Tim's hair. "We can't go back now though, kiddo," he said quietly.

"I know," Tim sighed back. "I just feel bad for giving them in. And right after they got kidnapped too."

'I know, baby bird, but we're gonna get you through this." Dick reached up to one of the shelves in the kitchen and got out a box of sleeping pills. "Here." Tim accepted a pill and swallowed it down with water. Immediately, he began to feel drowsy. "Specially made sleeping pills. Made especially for unsleepy bats."

Dick made sure to project his movements before grabbing his shoulders and leading him to his bedroom. "I think you're a good big brother to have,” Tim slurred, climbing up the stairs. "I still have the converse you gave me. The sale bucket ones."

"That's good to hear, Timmers." He could hear the smile in his voice. Tim felt himself being carried, but he couldn't be sure, he was feeling so tired and this position felt so nice…

He closed his eyes.

---------------------------------------

The Questioning. The end of the world. Or the end of Tim’s world. Same difference. They pulled up to the Gotham City police station, trying to look confused about where they were, like they hadn’t been visiting and breaking into the very same place for years. Detective Montoya found them and led them to the interrogation rooms. Tim resisted the urge to roll his eyes, the police squad was too underfunded with so many attacks on the place to provide proper rooms. The interrogation rooms were the only ones which were properly put up.

“When was the last time I donated to this place?” Bruce mumbled under his breath.

Tim scrunched up his eyebrows. “Last year?”

“Damn it.”

They arrived at the small waiting room reserved for victims where the Commissioner, Linda, and another social worker were waiting with his parents. “I see that everyone’s here,” Gordon declared. Jason wasn’t here, since he was legally dead. But he wouldn’t be surprised if a mysterious man with a white streak in his hair suddenly appeared at the station having a whole list of excuses for him to be there. The receptionist was going to have a field day.

“This is Hasan, he is going to be joining us today,” Linda introduced.

“Hey guys,” Hasan smiled. “So we’re going to be asking you all questions to determine the severity of the situation, and after that, we’re going to be making a medical assessment on Tim to determine whether the statements you’ll be given are true.”

Tim gulped.

“So far we’ve managed to keep the press out of this,” Gordon huffed. “But that won’t be for long considering most of the people here have their faces advertised everywhere. Which is why we’re hoping to get the questioning and assessments done today so that we’ll have a smoother time in court.”

“Court?” Tim blanched.

Gordon pressed his lips in a thin line. “Yes, court.”

Tim gulped again. It was suddenly so hot today.

“If you, at any point, feel like you can’t go on, don’t hesitate to tell us.” Linda directed the line to Tim more than anyone. “If we can begin, Hasan, can you take the parents? I’ll handle the Wayne family.”

Hasan led his parents away to the farther end of the line of interrogation rooms. “Tim?” Linda called. Tim looked up at her. “Do you want to go first?” He involuntarily shrunk back into Bruce who was behind him. Linda smiled kindly, “That’s okay. I’ll have a volunteer then.”

Dick flashed a smile and walked behind Linda, leaving Tim to swallow the bile that had risen up to his throat. He nervously ran his fingers through his hair and sat on a chair, clenching his fists on his lap. “It’ll be over soon, Tim,” Bruce reassured, sitting beside him. Damian brought another chair to his side.

“Where’s Alfred?” he asked, even though he knew the answer.

“At the manor, trying to keep Jason inside.”

“That’s not gonna stop him.”

Bruce smirked. “Which is why I called for Barbara to hover in front of the entrance.”

Tim leaned forward. “Babs’ is here?” Somehow, knowing that another person who was less connected to his situation made him feel better. They waited in silence, occasionally shuffling until Dick came back.

“It’s all good, Tim,” Dick grinned. “The needle isn’t even that big.”

“Very funny.”

“Damian?” Linda called. The young boy shifted his gaze to look at her, still unimpressed. “I want to ask you a few questions about Tim, but it won’t take too long considering you’ve only been here for a short time. On another note, I would like to hear how things have been going with you.”

“Don’t mention the assassins this time,” Bruce hissed as Damian stood up.

Dick suggested they play their game, but Tim shook his head, too nervous to speak. Soon, Damian came back and Bruce went in. Tim wondered about what was happening on his parents’ side while Dick taught Damian the game. Surprisingly, Damian had very interesting analogies for people. Finally, it was Tim’s turn. He stood up to follow Linda, feeling extremely jumpy. Honestly, he’d rather be at the hands of Killer Croc than in a room snitching behind his parents’ backs.

“So Tim,” Linda smiled as she gestured for Tim to sit down. “How are you finding your time with the Waynes?”

“It’s good,” he managed to say.

“I understand that you’ve been living with them while your parents went on their long trips?”

“Yeah.”

“And you feel safe?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” She smiled some more and brought out a notebook and a pen. “I’m going to be writing down some notes while you talk, this is purely for research purposes.”

“Okay.”

“Are you aware that you’ve been physically, emotionally, and neglectfully abused?”

“Yes.”

“Do you understand what those terms mean?”

“Yes.”

“You’re doing well so far, Tim, but I need you to open up a bit more. Remember, there is no right or wrong answer in this situation.”

Tim took a deep breath. “Okay.”

Linda smiled and Tim wondered how much more she could lift her lips and how much longer it would last. “Have you always felt safe with your parents?”

“I…” Tim hesitated.

“Tim?” she said gently. “I know you feel guilty and feel like you’re doing something bad behind their backs, but this is for your safety.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I… didn’t always feel safe.”

Linda wrote something down. “When was the first time you felt unsafe with them?”

“...I think it was… when I was six? Or maybe seven.”

“What happened?”

Tim took another deep breath. The secret was out. How much more damage could he do? “I snuck into the airport to go with them. I forget where they were going, but I remember that I got caught and they missed their flight because of me. And when we went home… I…” The memory from the fear toxin flashed past his eyes. “I was…” He could feel the phantom pain at the back of his head. “My head hit the wall,” he said lamely. “And I got slapped.” She wrote something down. “Twice.”

“Did something else happen?”

“I think so? My memories are a bit blurry.”

“Are all your memories blurry? The ones with your parents abusing you?”

“I think so.” Tim ran a hand through his hair nervously. He didn’t experience an adrenaline rush, but his heart was thudding loud against his ribs.

“What’s the most recent one you can remember clearly?”

“It was the night they got kidnapped. I was pushed out of the house.”

He saw realization dawning in her eyes. The reason why Tim was never kidnapped by the Joker was because he wasn’t there for Joker to take him. Her lips pressed into a tight, forced smile. “Can you tell me about a few times you were abused?”

Tim looked down. A few times? He had to say them? Out loud? He never even told Bruce or Dick or anyone. He just wrote it in the diary his parents got him. The diary…

Oh God, he was betraying them. He was betraying his own parents. What was he doing? He had to get out of here.

“Tim?”

He looked up, breath slowly increasing

“Tim? Are you okay?”

“I don’t want to do this,” he said, but it came out as a whisper.

“Tell me what’s going on, Tim.”

Tim shook his head. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be home. He wanted to be in his room, solving cases and getting distracted by YouTube videos. He didn’t want to be here, snitching on the parents who birthed him and gave him everything to stay alive, who took him out to dinner, parks, and circuses, who gave him a huge house and elite education, who bought him a camera which costed thousands of dollars and prepare him for a company which is worth millions. They were loaded and they would still give everything to him. Why was he here?

“Tim?” he felt a hand on his arm. He looked up to see Bruce, kneeling beside him. “Remember the breathing I showed you? In for 4, hold for 8, out for 7.” Tim followed the directions and tears pooled around his eyes. He just wanted to leave.

“Can you continue, Tim?” Linda asked. Tim shook his head. “That’s okay, we can do this another time.” She turned to Bruce to talk about available dates and the things they needed to do. At some point, they left and were standing outside the station. The sun was shining brightly down on all of them, and Tim felt glad to feel the familiar and soothing warmth on his skin.

It was supposed to take longer, but after Tim’s panic attack, they cut it short. His parents were still inside though. Tim spotted a familiar figure in a trench coat and a hat somewhat covering his white fringe standing beside them while they were waiting for Alfred to bring the car. “All Barbie’s fault,” the man mumbled. “Wouldn’t fucking let me in.”

Bruce, Dick and Damian wearily glanced at the man, but didn’t say anything. So they must have met while Tim was inside.

Now that they were outside and away from the stuffy and intimidating room, regret and guilt spawned in his stomach and prepared a volcano leading to his throat. He clamped his mouth shut, before he said something stupid. He was getting irritated with the mood swings. Before, he was hesitating to give any information, now he wanted to spill everything. What was he going to do?

Linda and Hasan exited the station just as Alfred pulled up with the car. She was quietly murmuring something to Hasan who was furiously scribbling in his notebook and nodding with a frown, creasing his happy-looking face. Something possessed him just as he was getting in the car, and before he could bite his tongue down, he shouted, “I have a diary!”

They all turned to look at him. Linda smiled, knowing what he meant, “If you don’t mind, we would love to have a look at that.”

Tim nodded, remembering thankfully that he had erased all the cringy parts and wishes when he was still living with his parents after their kidnapping. He glanced warily at Jason in the trench coat as he pushed him inside the car, flashing a grin at the social workers and shuffling inside.

---------------------------------------

Dick declared it an emergency comfort movie night, but no matter how much he tried to forget the day, he couldn’t and slowly kept getting sicker and sicker. He kept his mouth closed until he couldn’t and barely managed to get to the bathroom before he threw up in the toilet. The only consolation was that he managed not to flinch when Bruce patted his back as he retched. “You okay, Tim?” he asked when Tim flushed the toilet bowl and leaned against the wall, shivering slightly.

He looked up to find Bruce, Jason, Dick, Alfred and Damian all in the bathroom with him. “No,” he replied. He was not okay, because he was with the Waynes while his parents were right next door. He’s in this house, tangled with people who aren’t his real family, just friends who know him through exceptional circumstances. They wouldn’t even be friends if it wasn’t for him finding out their identities. They would be strangers and…

Oh God.

He was with strangers.

His parents were right next door and he was in a stranger’s house with strangers all around him.

Tim gasped and looked around wildly for escape, but he was cornered and against a wall. There was no way out.

“Tim, hey, calm down!”

There was no way out.

“Breathe in, okay? With me.”

There was no way out of this house.

“Just breathe in, Tim.”

There was no way out of this situation.

“Tim?”

He was stuck.

Hot tears started spilling down his cheeks as Tim barely managed to control a choked sob that escaped his throat. That sent a chain reaction and Tim was hysterically crying on the bathroom floor.

“Hey, hey,” he felt an arm on his shoulder and he jerked it away. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“I don’t want to be here,” he automatically said, almost to himself. “It’s too strange.” Saying it out loud sent another wave of nausea through his body and he curled up and dug his nails into his scalp. He could taste the salty tears and feel it running down his cheeks and nose. He let out another racking sob, squeezing his eyes shut.

His throat was clogged up with sobs, and despite having his eyelids shut, tears still squeezed out, his nose was leaking a shitton, and… lavender. He could smell lavender.

Tim stopped sobbing and leaned closer to the smell. Lavender… it smelt nice. It reminded him of the flowers in his garden. The flowers which he always sat beside when reading a book for a school assignment, or just for pleasure. The flowers which stayed with him when he jumped worlds through the books. The lavender scent distracted him from the scent which wafted from the rest of the house. The smell that accompanied Wayne manor and its daily inhabitants which Tim had subconsciously labeled “stranger smell” in that moment. He didn’t even realize that it was the smell that was annoying him.

He opened his eyes and saw a jar of bath salts under his nose. He gratefully took it from Alfred’s hands and held it close. Tears were still running down his face, but he was no longer sobbing. He was still freaked out, but only a bit.

Looking around, Tim squirmed at the unfamiliar, alien vibes he was feeling from being in a bathroom with people who weren’t blood-related. Strange arms, strangs bodies, strange vibes.

“Let’s go to your room,” Bruce said softly. Tim added ‘strange voices’ to his list too, but he nodded, standing up and following him to his room.

He still clutched the lavender scented bath salt, as if it was the only thing grounding him. Well, in this situation, it was.

Tim entered the bedroom and his muscles, he didn't even know he'd stiffened, relaxed. His room. Even if it wasn't at his own house, it was still his room. His wallpaper which he chose as a surprise gift from Bruce in his early days of Robin, his desk with his mess of papers, his bed with his bedsheets and blankets he brought over from Drake manor, his closet with his clothes, and just his room with a mess of his laundry, papers, and gadgets. No strange things, none, present.

He was ordered into bed, even if it was only 8pm. "How are you feeling now, chum?" Bruce asked. The others hadn't followed him.

Tim sat up with the jar of bath salts still under his chin. "I feel fine now," he lied.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, meaning that he did not believe Tim for one bit. Considering that he was Batman, Tim was not surprised.

"Okay, maybe not, but I feel better than before."

Bruce nodded. "Is there anything that would help you?"

An answer (besides time travel) popped up in his head. He hesitated before replying, "Yes."

-------------------------------

"Here ya go, Piggy," Jason threw the copy of Lord of the Flies to him.

"You think of me as Piggy?" Tim asked in amusement, replacing the bath salts with the book, hugging it close to his chest.

"Yeah, and I'm Ralph."

"You sure you're not Jack?"

Jason sniffed disapprovingly. "As much as I'd like to argue about how Jack had his own justified reasons which can't earn him a full blame, Bruce and Alfred said you need to sleep." He turned to leave but halted in the doorway. "Oh, and before I forget," he tossed the diary Tim had written in, to him. "I stole this too, to avoid a hassle."

"Thanks, Jay," Tim said, carefully putting his diary aside.

"Your hiding place was obvious. Also, tell me why you have a mega jumbo packet of salt and vinegar chips and a whole damn jar of coffee in there?"

Tim shrugged, dismissing the accusation.

"Uh huh," he switched off the lights before leaving. "Get some sleep, baby bird."

"Bring me back something from patrol."

"I'll get Damian to bring you a severed arm."

Chapter Text

"All done," the doctor smiled.

"Thanks," Tim blushed, too nervous to ask for his name again.

"That's okay, buddy." He slapped his back lightly, in a friendly way, but Tim jerked away, suddenly mad at himself for doing it. The doctor was such a nice guy, making casual and comfortable remarks, telling him about his 3-year-old cousin who suddenly discovered what frogs were. And now he made, not just himself, but the doctor embarrassed too. "Sorry for that," he said.

"No, it's okay," Tim said. Anger and irritation slowly grew inside him. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have done that."

He smiled pitifully. "It's okay, you know? You can't control those sorts of things. I've known strong people who seem to break down at the smallest things."

"I shouldn't have done that," Tim repeated.

"Well," doctor guy said, changing the subject, "your medical assessment is done at least. You don't have many bruises, thankfully, but there's the obvious one on your face which you've been hiding with concealer—"

Tim's face flushed when he remembered the little incident which caused him to reveal the concealer he was wearing to the doctor.

"—Which you've done a very good job with, but the bruise should fade in a few days, and there's slight scarring on your neck, but it's really light, so you don't need to worry about putting concealer on that."

Tim was sure that he looked like a tomato with blue eyes and black hair now.

"However, you’re malnourished and your shoulder seems a little creaky and there's a slight lump at the back of your head which worries me that you might have experienced a concussion."

Tim forced himself to appear nonchalant, remembering Red Hood and Damian's attack. He thought about the irony of moving from one abusive household to another, minus the abusive parents themselves. But he quickly came to the conclusion that his former attackers were changed now and they hadn't intentionally beat him up. It was mind control.

… Sorta.

"I got that from a skateboarding accident," Tim said, the lie already on his tongue from the many times he used it. "My brother and I went to the skatepark and he was teaching me a new move, but I messed it up and got hurt. That was weeks ago." It technically wasn't a lie. Jason and him had gone skateboarding after Jason discovered that Tim owned one. He was showing Tim a popular move he had seen some of the street kids do when he was one. Tim tried to copy it, but didn't land right. The only thing that could be considered a lie was how greatly he got injured.

The doctor guy smiled knowingly. "Okay."

Tim frowned. "Is something the matter?"

He smiled even more, looking like he was going to laugh. Running a hand through his auburn hair, he said, "No, nothing's the matter. It's just…"

"Just what?"

"You said 'brother'."

Tim blinked. Had he? He resisted the urge to sigh in exasperation. They haven't even gone to court yet, or met their lawyer.

"Don't sweat it, kid," the doctor said as he got up. "It's nice that you already have someone who has a close bond with you. Not many kids that come to me in these circumstances have that."

The reassurance was nice, but it did nothing to stop him from rethinking all his life choices as they walked to the waiting room. Bruce and Dick immediately stood up at their arrival. Damian was going through home-schooling choices with Alfred, after his and Bruce's little talk with Linda this morning when she dropped by to pick up his diary (which he tore out the more embarrassing pages of).

"... and the unbiased medical reports will be sent to Linda and Hasan's department which they will thoroughly go through," doctor guy was explaining to Bruce.

Tim let his gaze wander again when he saw a pair of familiar eyes staring at him. "What are you doing here?" Tim walked over.

"I could be saying the same thing," Ives said, face still scrunched in surprise. "Is that a bruise?"

"Skateboarding accident," Tim said automatically.

"Yeah, like I haven't heard that excuse several times." He glanced at Bruce who was scowling slightly at what the doctor guy was saying. "Is that Bruce Wayne? Wait—" He held up his hand and rubbed his forehead. "Are you finally getting out of there?"

"Where?" Tim frowned.

"Your parents' place. They hit you, didn't they?"

Tim felt the blood draining from his face. "How did you know?"

Ives rubbed his bare scalp, looking uncomfortable. "I… noticed. I noticed you looking extra emo when your parents were around, and you flinched and seemed to have sore muscles and a lot of accidents and…" He sighed guiltily. "I'm sorry. I should've said something before."

Tim opened his mouth to reassure him, but stopped. What would he even say?

"I'm glad that you're moving out of the house though. I've heard Bruce Wayne's a nice guy."

"He is," Tim confirmed. "He really is. Hey, why are you here?"

'I'm getting another medical examination done to see if I'm eligible for extra money support. You see…" He looked uncomfortable again. "I… am moving to Europe. Not sure where, Mom says that they'll decide depending on the money. Till then, I'm going to live with my grandparents."

Tim reached out a hand and put it on his shoulder. "You've been a good friend, Ives."

Ives smiled. "Thanks, Tim. You've been really cool too. I'll keep an eye out for you on TV when the whole thing is inevitably swallowed by the press soon. Good luck."

"Tim!" Dick waved, signaling to leave.

"Thanks, Ives,' he said. "For everything. I hope you go easy on those little cancer guys."

He gave a thumbs-up. "You know I'm keeping them in check."

---------------------------------

"Was that your friend?" Damian asked. They were back from the check-up and were waiting for a call from Gordon or Linda about what was to happen next.

"Who?"

"The bald boy you were talking to."

"How do you know who I was talking to? You weren't there."

"Tt. Grayson told me."

Tim put his laptop to sleep. "Yeah that was my friend. Why do you want to know?"

Damian hesitated. "How… how did you acquire him?"

Tim didn't laugh. On the outside. "I just talked to him. We had class together and we started talking, then we started talking more and we became friends."

Damian blinked. "How?"

"Where did this come from all of a sudden?" Tim asked, genuinely curious.

"Nothing." Damian turned to leave.

"Wait!" Damn it, he should've been more careful. "Look, if you want to make friends, then just… find something you have in common with them. Like, talk to them and ask them stuff like "Do you like to draw?" then just… talk. That's as best I can explain."

Damian nodded. "That is… adequate, thank you."

"Tim!" Dick came rushing into his room. "Gordon's on call!"

It only took a split second for them all, including Jason at some point, to rush downstairs to where Bruce had just hung up the phone. The four boys looked with expectant eyes at their father or soon-to-be father.

"I need to call our lawyer," Bruce said slowly, as if this was exactly the thing he was waiting for. "They want this to be done as soon as possible because they expect the press is going to be all over this tomorrow or the day after." Bruce stopped and sighed. Tim could see masked excitement behind his sigh. "The Drakes decided to take this to court for some reason and… the first trial's on Monday."

"It's Saturday today," Damian immediately said.

"Exactly." Bruce let out the smile he was suppressing. "Tim's going to be with us within a week."

The whole room exploded into cheers, but Tim stil hadn't fully processed the information. The trial was in two days?

"But there's a chance that we might lose the trial," Tim said.

"Worrywart," Jason said from under him. He hadn't even realized that he was hoisted up on Jason's shoulders.

"Not with our lawyer and evidence," Bruce replied. He didn't look a single bit fazed from Tim's worries.

"The trial might take longer."

"They don't want an extended press scandal, so they want to wrap it up in two weeks at the latest."

"But—" Tim tried to think of other things that could go wrong, but his brain was still spinning the gears, flattening the information out for him to understand.

"But nothing," Dick said stubbornly. "Tim, it's going to be okay."

"Yeah, stop worrying. Or else I'm gonna keep you in a headlock till you agree."

"Jay…" Bruce warned.

"Okay fine. Can we get ice cream though, Alfred?"

Tim turned his head to look at the old butler who he didn't even know was there. He needed to improve his situational awareness.

"I believe that there's still half a tub left in the freezer."

"YES!" Dick yelled, pumping his fist up in the air and picking up Damian and running.

"Not if we beat you to it, Dickhead." Tim clutched Jason's hair as Jason ran to catch up with Dick.

"Jason! Put me down!"

----------------------------------

Tim, once again, wasn't sure what to feel. On one hand, he was glad that the first trial was soon, because then they can get over this as quickly as possible. On the other hand, he didn't want his parent's images to be tarnished and to send them to jail. They were his parents.

He spent the entirety of the next day being locked up in his room, trying to distract himself, but failing. He met the lawyer Bruce had phoned in, and Mr. Lincoln seemed nice enough, but he zoned out for most of the meeting. He couldn’t remember what questions he was asked and what answers he gave. The memory was blurry, just like a lot of his other ones. Except this one didn’t include his mother or father or an injury.

Then, sooner than he wanted, it was time for court.

“You ready, Tim?” Bruce peeped into his room.

Tim sighed exasperatedly and threw his tie on the ground, huffing. Bruce chuckled and entered the room. “Here, let me do it.” As Bruce made his tie, Tim was reminded of the last time he put on one. It was before Jason’s arrival, the last gala he went to with his parents. Jack helped him put on his tie, complaining that Tim should be old enough to tie one himself and that he could look at tutorials later, not having the least bit of interest to teach Tim himself.

“Okay, so you won’t be called up to the witness stand just yet. They always leave that for last. Probably for drama. You might be called to stand up to clarify a question though if there is some doubt with any statements. Just try to keep your answer short and concise. And try not to sweat too much. I did that last time with Jason and Mr. Lincoln had to call me away to spray perfume all over me.”

He finished the tie. Tim blankly stared at it, half digesting the information.

“I can teach you how to tie a tie later, if you like,” Bruce offered.

Tim looked up at him with a nervous smile. “If we win the case,” he said hesitantly.

“If we win the case,” Bruce replied back confidently. Tim just wished he shared the same confidence.

They had to leave Jason behind as there were only a limited number of people allowed. Jason pouted and said that he was going to go to watch the proceeding by hacking the cameras with the Batcomputer anyway. Bruce shrugged. When Tim, Bruce, Dick, Damian, and Alfred arrived at the venue, they were immediately bombarded with cameras and overlapping voices from different news channels and news agencies. Tim remembered what Bruce told him and kept his head down, following Dick who was in front of him. He put a hand on Damian’s shoulder just when the boy was about to turn to a lady who shoved a mic under his nose and gave a small shove to tell him to keep going. When they finally got through the crowd, all of them let out a sigh of relief simultaneously, much to the amusement of Linda who was waiting for them.

“Hello, everyone. I was wondering if I could borrow Tim for a quick sec?” Bruce nodded and Tim followed her to a distance. “Okay, Tim,” she began. “You do know what’s going to happen, right?”

Tim nodded.

“Good. I've read your diary and firstly, let me just compliment your handwriting.”

Tim gave her a tight-lipped nervous smile.

“And secondly, I think there are some holes from what you’ve given us.”

Tim tensed.

“Since you decided to give a written testament, and not a verbal one, the other side might argue that it could have been faked or forged or any number of things which means that when you are called onto the stand—which, don’t worry, it won’t be today—you will have to answer all the questions truthfully. If not… it will be used as guilt and attempt for fraud and all those other nasty things.”

“I understand,” Tim sighed. This is what he gets for being a stupid, whiny bitch. Mr. Lincoln will most probably go easy on him, but his parents’ lawyer… he’s not so sure.

“I’m not doing this to scare you, Tim. I just want you to be prepared.”

“Thanks, Linda.”

She smiled, squeezed his shoulder and left. At least he didn’t flinch?

--------------------------------------

The trial passed by in a blur too. Bruce hadn’t mentioned anything about what to do when his parents were in the court itself. He tried to keep himself busy by listening to what the lawyers and the judge were saying (there was no jury in family law cases), but he kept finding himself gazing at his father’s blank face and his mother’s sad one. Guilt kept twisting and twisting in his stomach until he felt so nauseous that he couldn’t breathe. When the judge announced a short break, he bolted out of the room. He opened the front door of the hall then quickly closed it when he found reporters still standing outside. So he ran until a sign caught his eye. Homicide trials. A perfect distraction.

Tim had around ten minutes to wander and he let the whispers of anxious clients and lawyers wash out his own feelings of anxiety. He heard cases about bodies found in freezers, false accusations, evidence evictions and everything Tim excelled at. By the time Dick found him, he heard everything he needed to about a case involving a dead body found in a man’s bedroom with high levels of hormones.

“Tim!” Dick hissed. “Come on, we have to go back inside now.”

“That man’s innocent,” Tim hissed back.

“Huh?” Dick looked dumbfounded.

“Those two people over there, the ones whisper-yelling at each other, a dead female body was found in the man with the gray suit’s bed. He’s being charged of rape and murder, but the guy is way too scrawny and insecure to murder or touch anyone. Heck, I think he was raped or harassed himself.” He whispered it loudly and close enough to the two men that they stopped arguing and heard him. The one in the black suit, Tim suspected him to be the lawyer, slowly turned and narrowed his eyes furiously at the other man in the gray suit. Gray Suit Man looked sheepish and nodded to confirm what Tim had just said. Black Suit Man looked like he might commit murder himself as he prattled on about communication.

Dick simply shook his head and sighed, “Only you, Tim. Only you.”

Tim was extremely sorry to leave and go back to his own case. The distraction was perfect until he caught wind of his parents and felt all color leaving his face. Not for the last time, he was shaking with the realization that he was suing his parents. He shuddered as nasty chills ran along his body.

“It’s okay Timbers, I got you.” Dick enveloped his arms around him, blocking his parents and radiating his own warmth which engulfed Tim as he tightly held onto Dick’s sleeves, breathing in and out slowly to calm down.

-------------------------------------

“I zoned out,” Tim admitted in the car.

“Wish I could do that,” Bruce muttered.

“The whore from the enemy’s side argued that the Drakes were under extreme stress and anxiety after the kidnapping and blamed the family doctor for misdiagnosing them,” Damian spat.

Dick rubbed his eyes. “It’s true. They got another doctor to testify. All the testimonies will be presented at the next trial. This was the introductory one. They’re going with that as their main defense.”

“But— but what about my bruises?”

“They blame that on unknown circumstances. There is no real way to determine how long ago you got that and whether that coincides with the time they were staying in Gotham,” Dick said sadly.

“And they admit guilty to choking you but blame it on the after-effects of the kidnapping. They also brought up Jason.” Bruce snarled.

Tim felt like pulling his hair out. He just wanted this to be over, damn it.

“Mr. Lincoln did quite a well job though,” Alfred interjected. He glanced at Tim through the mirror after making a turn. “He refuted their claims by arguing that Master Jason was kidnapped and Master Bruce had no way to fight against the Joker. He also rebutted that the Drakes were unconscious for the other incident involving Joker and his death.”

“But then the other lawyer, Hudson, provided a doctor’s written testament that they suffered from physical trauma to the head,” Bruce groaned.

“Which Lincoln rebutted by showing the medical examination which the kind doctor did two days ago that showed tender spots on Master Tim’s head which account for repeated hits against a hard flat surface.”

Tim stiffened, a soft ache making itself known at the back of his head. He ran a hand through his hair and looked down at his shoes, trying to keep the memories of the many times Jack and sometimes Janet hit his head against the wall.

“We can win this,” Bruce said, noticing Tim’s sudden change. “I believe it.” Hearing the stubborn confidence in Bruce’s voice, Tim almost believed it too. Almost.

-----------------------------------

The next trial was in another two days. They were going to bring in all the witnesses and people who were going to testify in it. Everyone excluding Tim. Jason and Dick were playing lawyers with Dick pretending to be on the witness stand and Jason being the biased lawyer who kept “accidentally” insulting his own clients. Tim excused himself before the game even began and sat on the roof, legs dangling as he looked at Drake manor wistfully and fearfully.

“Hey Damian,” he said as he pretended to look like he knew Damian had sneaked up on him the whole time.

The kid sat down and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Watching,” Tim quietly replied.

“Right. Todd was wondering where you were. He wants you to listen to his new lawyer persona.”

“Okay.”

There was only one room in Drake manor with the light switched on. It was his room. He wondered what his parents were doing there. He was glad he hid his favorite albums and photographs. Other than that, he didn’t really have anything he needed to hide there. Most of his stuff was in Wayne manor.

“What will happen if you go back?” Damian asked. He sounded almost like a child. Which was the only reason why Tim felt compelled to answer.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I really don’t.” He knew they would be mad, but they wouldn’t be as stupid as to hit him or leave him alone for a while. But… he couldn’t help but consider the possibility that they would actually be happy to have him back, that they would welcome him with open arms, with hugs, and kisses. It wasn’t as much a possibility as a probability. His parents really did care for him. They were just… angry. That was it.

No amount of beatings would erase the good memories he had with them. The flowers they planted in the garden, the movie nights which included at least three rounds of popcorn of every flavor available in the cinema, the carnivals in which they all played games together, the souvenirs they brought for him from their trips, the camera he got for his ninth birthday…

He groaned and massaged his temples.

“Are you… okay?” Damian hesitantly asked.

“No,” Tim answered truthfully. “I’m really really not okay. I just want to go back.”

Damian didn’t say anything at first. Tim felt his stare as he buried his head in his knees, sulking. “My mother didn’t hold back during sparring,” he said, looking back at Drake manor. “Fighting was the only way I knew love. Pride and honor came with succeeding in missions. But…” He looked down at the large patch of grass right under them, looking like he was considering whether to jump or continue what he was saying. He decided on the latter. “But when I lost a fight, I was told to pick myself up and begin again.”

“And now?” Tim couldn’t help asking.

“Now… I still get told to pick myself up and begin again, but… but I get to sit down and breathe first. And if I want, I can get a hand to help me up.”

Tim smiled and finally lifted his head to look at the little assassin. He was struggling to continue, a soft shade of pink forming on his cheeks.

“What I’m trying to conclude, Drake, is that you can get a hand. Not just from Grayson, but Todd, Pennyworth and… and Father too.” With that, he stood up and turned to leave.

“What about you?”

Damian paused, his back facing Tim. “My height is shorter than yours for now, but I have enough strength to pull your scrawny body up.”

Tim grinned and let him leave. Oh Damian, he thought to himself, like I’m ever going to let you be taller than me, baby bat.

--------------------------------------

“They just want to be with their son on his birthday,” Hudson cooed. It was as if a timer was set off when all of the Waynes’ and Tim’s jaws dropped.

Tim’s birthday was in two days.

The trial wasn’t over yet.

He was going to be 16.

His sweet sixteen would be celebrated with his parents in a court battle, fighting for his custody.

“Bullshit,” Bruce swore under his breath. Tim imagined Jason shouting that word, and many more in the Cave as he watched the second trial.

“Mr. and Mrs. Drake have nearly always been there for their son during his birthdays. It’s a special tradition and the least they ask for is to spend at least a day with him,” Hudson, his parents’ lawyer, continued. Tim didn’t understand. Why would they suddenly just bring this up? This piece of information would do nothing to help with the overall case. Why would they…

Unless…

“Can Tim Drake and Mr. Lincoln approach the stand?” the judge called.

“C’mon Tim,” Lincoln muttered, grabbing Tim’s arm to lift him up. He unsteadily rose up and walked, feeling numb and confused.

“I don’t think it is a good idea for Tim to see his parents whilst the trials are going on,” Lincoln immediately whispered to the judge.

“I only called you because you are the other side’s lawyer,” the judge said matter-of-factly. “I want to hear what Mr. Drake has to say first.”

Tim opened his mouth, but he wasn’t sure what words to form. Should he say yes? That he did want to meet his parents? Or should he say no? That he really did not want to spend a whole day with them alone? “I— I don’t— know,” he desperately looked to Lincoln for help. The lawyer cleared his throat and stepped up.

“What if we arrange a chaperoned meeting? Just for an hour?” he suggested.

Tim looked at the judge in agreement. He liked that.

The judge considered it for a bit then finally leaned back and nodded. “Very well. A meeting for the parents with their son can be held with a chaperone from Child Protection Services for an hour on the 19th of July.”

“Two hours,” Hudson smiled sweetly.

The judge narrowed her eyes. “Very well, two hours it is.”

“Thank you. One more request, my clients would like it if none of the members of the opposition are present during the meeting.”

“What? No—”

“Mr. Wayne. Sit down.”

Bruce begrudgingly sat back down, fists clenching and jaw tightening.

“As the meeting will already be chaperoned, there will be no need for any of the Waynes to be present. This argument is closed.”

Tim sat back down in his seat and did not miss how Bruce shuffled slightly to shield him from the looks of surprise and hope his parents were giving him. It made him feel warm inside, just enough to distract the crushing guilt of nerves when he caught his father’s eye.

They called the doctor who the Drakes got to declare their slight trauma to the stand. Hudson asked what made him reevaluate the previous diagnosis and he went into a rant about unnoticed physical trauma which is interconnected with emotional and mental trauma. Lincoln then stood up and asked him if this slight physical trauma could affect any decision-making after two days of recovery.

“Oh, I— I don’t think so,” the doctor glanced nervously at Janet who was giving him one of the discrete glares she reserves for when she wants to let Tim know that she was disappointed in him while they’re at galas.

“This is a matter of fact, not opinion, Dr. Vugh,” Lincoln warned.

Dr. Vugh sighed and fiddled with his thumbs. “N- no. It doesn’t affect any immediate decision-making skills or cognitive skills, but,” he cleared his throat and sat up straighter, “But it does give quite a lot of stress to the victim which results in impulsive reactions out of anger.”

Lincoln smirked. “And would this victim be impulsive enough to hit their own offspring and nearly kill them, which causes said offspring to race to the nearest comfort on their impulse?”

Tim saw Dick biting his tongue to keep from smiling. Lincoln was good, effectively implying how rationalization cannot be wavered by simple impulses which one can control.

“I— I am not sure about the son, er, offspring, but the tension and fear that comes with knowing you’ve been kidnapped and survived an explosion, even if you’re unconscious, can cause anyone to temporarily lose their minds.”

“So are you implying that the Drakes are deranged?”

“Wha— what? No!”

“I don’t know, it sure seems like it.”

“Objection! Argumentative!” Hudson yelled.

“Sustained. Questions only, Mr. Lincoln,” the judge reminded.

Lincoln bowed his head, “I apologize. Let me rephrase. If the Drakes are susceptible to “temporarily losing their minds” at times, enough to strangle their own son, wouldn’t this give even more of a reason to keep someone they could harm out of their way?”

“I… suppose,” Dr. Vugh sweated. He cringed under the glares both Hudson and Janet were giving him. Tim almost felt sorry.

“Objection!” Hudson stood up again. “Relevance. He’s asking non-medical related questions to a medical professional,” she bristled.

“Quite the contrary, Ms. Hudson,” Lincoln said innocently. “The question I asked is partly related to medicine.”

“Sustained. Either ask full medical related questions, or sit back down,” the judge said wearily.

“Yes, Your Honor. I have no further questions.”

Despite the objection, it was clear that he had made the point he wanted to make. Tim felt a sudden rush of gratefulness to the man and his quick-witted rebuttals. A similar thing happened with the doctor guy who had examined Tim before. His name was Gary, and this time, Tim was determined to remember it because he answered nearly all the questions in a way which made it clear that “in his medical opinion” he was in favor of Tim being handed to the Waynes. Him and Lincoln hit it off from the start, confirming statements and making agreements, much to the annoyance of Hudson who called objection for the littlest things. She was clever though, timing her objections just right so that the flow of questions and answers would be disturbed enough to make it less dramatic and obvious.

They called Commissioner Gordon who declared the same information that everyone else knew, but his answers were careful and devoid of any amount of biasness, no matter how much Hudson tried to make his statements and investigation removed from the case.

Then the trial was over. It was time to leave. They all stood up silently and headed to the door, but Tim stopped in front of his mother and father. He still couldn't believe that he ratted out on them.

Janet looked at her son with tears. She could only manage to choke out one word, "Why—". Tim knew what she wanted to say. Why are you doing this?

He wanted to reply. He wanted to answer. He wanted to tell them that he really did love them. He wanted to tell them that he knew they loved him back. He wanted to tell them that all the happy moments, all the family trips, the laughs, the hair ruffles, the movie nights, the dinners, were not forgotten. He wanted to tell them that he forgave them already, even if they hadn't asked for it. He wanted to tell them that despite the beatings, punishments, delayed trips, yelling, and silent treatments, he still loved them. He loved them and forgave them, but he just couldn't live with them.

He wanted to say all that, but all that came out was a silent, stifled noise. I love you, he desperately thought at them. I really do, he screamed inside his head as they left the room.

By the time he arrived at Wayne manor, his fingers were hurting with how tightly he was clenching his fists the whole time.

--------------------------------------------

He wanted this to be over. He knew that he couldn’t go back. Time travel can’t be used for something as simple as this. So his only choice was to get this over with. He didn’t care what happened anymore. Which was why he was compiling all the security footage of Drake manor and making copies of it to transfer to a USB. He sealed it in an envelope and sneaked it into Gordon's room during patrol.

"What are you doing, Little T?" Barbara's voice cut through.

Tim winced. "Cover for me?"

"Tell me what you're doing in my dad's bedroom and I'll decide."

Tim put the envelope on top of Gordon's desk and quickly snuck out the window. "It's cam footage. To help with the case."

He didn't have to explain for her to know which case he was talking about. "Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

Tim took a deep breath. How the fuck was he supposed to answer that question?

He swung into one of the alleys marked safe to talk about personal stuff. "I just want this to be over, O," he said quietly. "I've had time to think and… I don't know what exactly happened that night. Maybe my dad tried to kill me, maybe he didn't. I don't know. All I know is that I want this to be over."

"And you chose to be with Bruce, why?" she gently asked.

Tim thought for a moment before replying, "He doesn't hit me." Tim shook his hair in frustration. "I've been thinking a lot, and it all boils down to this: one side makes me feel like shit then leaves and the other side makes me feel like shit sometimes but stays. I've weighed the pros and cons and…" Tim trailed off. Admitting out loud that he doesn't really want to be with his parents was something he wasn't ready for. "I just don't want anyone to go to jail," he finished.

Barbara didn't reply. Tim could hear her soft breathing and occasional beeps, so he knew that she was still online.

A shout distracted him and he said, "Trouble near my place. I'm gonna check it out." Then he switched back to the main channel and went to finish patrol.

-----------------------------

It was July 19th. His birthday. It was also the day where he would meet his parents for the first time after that horrid night.

Tim clutched Bruce's shirt tightly when they arrived at Drake manor. Drake manor. His home. Or well, previous home.

Bruce squeezed his arm in reassurance and stopped in front of the driveway. "Okay, Tim. Remember. You don't owe them anything. You don't have to talk if you don't want to. Just look to your chaperone if you feel uncomfortable. And most importantly," Bruce brushed a tuft of hair from his eyes, "I—we—are all just a call and a house away."

Tim nodded. He tried to give a smile, but his face wouldn't move. So he let go of Bruce's shirt and walked to the door. Turning back, he looked at Bruce who was still watching him. He felt a sudden sense of deja vu as he remembered the last time, when he came to Drake manor alone to collect his thoughts while he was mad at Bruce. How things change.

Taking a deep breath, he pressed the doorbell. It only took a few seconds for the door to open and reveal Jack in the doorframe. Tim tensed, remembering that last time, Jack was pushing him out of the house. Now he was fighting in court to invite Tim back in. "Tim," his father greeted unsurely.

"H- hi," Tim smiled, but it turned into a grimace.

"Come in." Jack stepped back.

Tim hesitantly entered, warily watching every move Jack made. He didn't know why he was watching his father like he was an assassin sent to kill him.

Tim stayed a little more than an arm's length away from Jack as he followed him to the living room. Janet and the chaperone, Sylvia, were already there. The set up was formal, but everyone was tense. Tim chose to sit on the couch facing the three adults in the room so he wouldn't have to sit near or next to any of them.

"You can all talk about whatever you like, except the case and any other topic which is deemed inappropriate in these legal circumstances," Sylvia smiled, but Tim could see how tightly her ankles were locked to each other.

There was uncomfortable silence when nobody said anything for a total of five minutes. Then Janet broke the silence, "So… Tim. How have you been?"

"Good," he replied. "And you and dad?"

"Good," she nodded. "We're good."

A few more moments of uncomfortable silence stretched by before Janet broke it again. "That was a lie. Tim, we miss you. We’re sorry we weren't good parents. I'm sorry we weren't good parents. None of this should have happened."

Tim didn’t reply. He looked down, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

“Tim?” Jack said tentatively. “Whatever happens, I just want you to know that I’m proud of you. We both are. I just…” Jack sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I just wish we were better.”

Tim wished that they were better too. He wished that none of this would be happening. He wished for a lot of things, but they’re just not possible.

Sylvia noticed Tim’s uncomfortableness and butted in, “I think the conversation is veering off course. Could we change the topic? What is something you like, Tim?”

Tim looked up to her gratefully and mumbled, “Photography.”

“Right. Do you take pictures often?”

“Used to.”

“Are you going to enter the photography competition I told you about?” Jack asked.

Tim shrugged. “Maybe. There’s still a few months and the theme is pretty much anything. I’ll have more than enough time to create an album, adjust the warmth and the settings, edit it and all that stuff.”

“Tell me about the process,” Janet smiled.

So Tim did. He told them about his favorite things to photograph (besides Robin and Batman), he told them about his photography fails, they in turn told him about paparazzi photographs. The conversation shifted from photography to galas, the annoying press, some of the people they knew in high society. When Tim mentioned Henry’s death, they looked genuinely sorry for him.

There was no way that Tim felt completely at ease during the two hours, but he felt slightly better at the hint of familiarity. Sylvia was a big help, redirecting the conversation when it touched too close to court and the past. By the end of the session, Tim was feeling slightly better, knowing that his parents cared for him.

As he stood in the doorway, struggling with how to say goodbye to them, Janet leaned forward and put a hand on his shoulder. Tim barely managed to keep the flinch in. “Happy birthday, Timothy,” she said softly.

“Happy birthday,” his dad nodded. “No matter where the direction of this case goes, we’ll still love you.”

Tim nodded and stepped out with Sylvia behind him. They walked away from the estate and Tim’s phone buzzed with Bruce’s message saying that he’s two minutes away.

“I think that they really do love you, Tim,” Sylvia said after Tim texted Bruce back.

“Then why am I pressing for charges?” Tim muttered shamefully.

Sylvia laughed softly. “The world isn’t black and white. People can be good and bad. They’re good people, Tim,” she said to him. “But they’re bad parents.”

Tim frowned, pondering what that meant when Bruce pulled up. “Hey, Tim. Are you okay?” he asked, rolling down his window.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Well, it was nice meeting you,” Sylvia said. “I believe my car is a couple streets over, so I’m bidding you goodbye.”

Tim waved as Sylvia walked off to the streets and got in the passenger seat beside Bruce. They didn’t talk during the few minutes drive and Tim was happy enough to stare out of the window, trying to figure out what exactly Sylvia meant.

They’re good people, Tim. But they’re bad parents.

What did that mean? Criminals didn’t get out of jail just because they drew a line at killing children. The Joker wouldn’t be let off the hook just because he hated Nazis. The world wasn’t black and white, but the actions of people sure were.

Still contemplating, he absent-mindedly got out of the car and opened the door, only to have his heart yanked out of his mouth in surprise.

“SURPRISE!” the hellions shrieked, blowing a shitton of party poppers in Tim’s direction, sending him toppling down the stairs.

Bruce suppressed his laughter, catching Tim before he fell.

“What the fuck?” Tim mouthed, his ability to speak temporarily shocked away.

“Tt. I knew you would abandon your sense of situational awareness, if you had one.”

“Shut up Dami, no insulting or berating someone on their birthday.”

“You should have seen the look on your face, Replacement! Did you catch it, Barbie?”

“I got it, edge-lord. And I’m sending it to you all right now.”

“Shall I frame it?”

“That would honestly be amazing, Alfred.”

Tim blinked in surprise, then pushed himself up from Bruce’s arms. “What?” was all he managed to say out loud.

Dick laughed and pulled him inside. “It’s your birthday, dumbass. Or did you forget?”

“Hope you didn’t have too much fun with your parents,” Jason sniffed haughtily. “Or all our plans are going to waste.”

“Dames, perform the honors?” Barbara grinned.

Damian smirked. “Of course.” Quick as lightning, he revealed the cake he was hiding behind his back and pushed it into Tim’s face. On reflex, Tim tried to dodge, but Bruce held him steady.

Tim wiped some of the cake from his eyes and glared at Bruce. Betrayal. Bruce shrugged unapologetically, swiping some of the desert from his face and licking it. “Mmm,” he said. “Caramel fudge.”

“I helped Alfred make it,” Jason puffed his chest proudly.

Barbara poked it back. “So did the rest of us.”

“Did Damian poison it?” Tim asked, licking some of the fudge on his lips.

“Tt.” The brat rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t make it that obvious.”

Tim could no longer keep the grin from his face and he scooped some of the fudge and flicked it in the demon brat’s direction. Damian, expecting the attack, used Jason to cover him. Tim saw the opportunity for drama and took it, flicking pieces of fudge at everyone except Alfred.

When a piece landed on Bruce’s nose, they all ran (Dick while pushing Barbara’s wheelchair). They spent the afternoon throwing more cake, popping balloons to scare Damian, hiding from Jason when one of them pushed him into the last slice of cake, running from Dick’s octopus arms and taking turns pushing Barbara’s wheelchair.

Tim’s smile did not leave his face for one second (other than that one moment when a piece of cake narrowly missed Alfred’s head). He had the smile, even when they were scrubbing all the places where they messed up when Alfred ordered them to. He pushed the information Sylvia told him to the back of his mind, promising to dig it out later.

It was a relatively good day.

Chapter Text

It was the final trial. The closing statements would be done after a few hours break. Dread, anticipation and nausea prickled through Tim’s heart every few moments. Despite Dick’s efforts on cheery conversation and Damian’s unsure hand on his arm in the car and Bruce’s reassuring lines, Tim messed with his hair and hands, fiddling and shifting every second.

When they pulled up to the courthouse, a wave of trepidation and queasiness nearly made him stop breathing. Bruce basically carried him past the reporters and to the courtroom with how numb and antsy he was.

When the trial began, the judge declared, “We received a tip from Commissioner Gordon on the security footage of Drake manor. He has kindly compiled a playlist of key moments which will help with the trial. In concern for the victim, I would like to ask Timothy Drake to step outside.”

Bruce, Dick and Damian looked at him suspiciously.

“Is this evidence legal?” Hudson piped up.

“It should be,” the judge said. “Considering young Tim Drake himself submitted the evidence.”

Tim ignored Bruce’s eyebrow raise and ran a hand through his hair. “Damian,” Bruce said. “Take Tim outside?”

Damian looked like he was about to argue, but a warning glance from Dick made him close his mouth and tug on Tim’s shirt. Tim stood up and followed Damian outside. Just before the door closed, Tim quickly slipped a foot through it and eased it closed except for an inch. Damian shifted closer too, wanting to snoop on what’s happening inside.

The video was playing on a screen which was wheeled in beforehand. The first one was when Tim was around 12, the belting incident. He could still clearly feel the fear and the pain from the fear toxin memory. Tim and Damian watched as young Tim tumbled to the ground, shrieking apologies. Tim grit his teeth and closed his eyes when he heard the sound of the buckle clinking amidst the shouts. Just as the leather snapped against younger Tim’s skin, Tim gasped and stepped back. Damian lingered for a second when the second scream reached their ears, then he let the door close.

Tim looked down at his violently shaking hands, blinking and trying to clear his vision. He heard his name concernedly be called by Damian. He looked up at Damian’s strangely worried face and bolted to the bathroom. He barely managed to reach the toilet bowl before he puked. Tim retched and retched until there was nothing to throw out, then he retched some more.

Bruce was watching him getting beat up without defending himself. He was watching younger versions of Tim helplessly fail around and compare that Tim to the Robin and Red Robin Tim. He was watching Tim being belted, pushed around, punched, kicked at, and left alone, in a whole room full of people. Dick was watching him. Jason, Barbara, and Alfred, they all would be watching him through the cameras too.

And his parents! They would be watching him scream again. He couldn’t deal with that.

He was fully sobbing now. Tears dripping and mixing with snot and drool, shoulders heaving, breath gasping. Damian put a hand on his shoulder, but Tim didn’t shake it off. He let the touch vibrate through his whole body.

They don’t deserve you. Only you get to decide.

You’re smart enough to figure out my identity, and yet you can’t see that there is more than just good and bad.

Just because a person is good some of the time, doesn't excuse all the other bad things they did.

They’re good people, Tim. But bad parents.

“Drake?” Damian crouched down in front of him. “Can you get up?”

Tim closed his eyes, then hauled himself up. Damian grabbed a bunch of paper towels and handed it to him. He wiped his face with them then took some breaths to calm the wooziness, while Damian flushed the toilet. He washed his face and clumsily stumbled out. Damian supported him by keeping his hands wrapped around Tim’s arm, leading him back to the courtroom.

Lincoln stood in front of the door, raising an eyebrow at them. “You have to get up to the stand.”

Tim nodded. He ruffled Damian’s hair and whispered, “Thanks baby bat, you can let go of me now.”

Damian didn’t, but he loosened his grip and they walked inside. Tim avoided everyone’s gaze on him, shakily walking to the stand.

Damian squeezed his hand to keep him steady and Tim weakly squeezed back before the kid stepped away. The walk to the witness stand seemed to take a millenia. He could clearly hear his slightly ragged breath, the thudding of his heart, his footsteps echoing throughout the room. The wooden seat was cold under him and he gripped his hands together tightly, his knuckles white.

Lincoln approached him. He smiled reassuringly. His hands shook. “Were you the one who sent the video evidence to Commissioner Gordon?” Lincoln asked.

“Yes,” his voice shook too.

“Okay. Let’s start from the beginning then. When was the first time your parents hit you?”

“When I was around six. I snuck into the airport alone.”

“Why did you sneak into the airport?”

Tim cringed inwardly. “I… I wanted to— I didn’t want them to leave me alone again.”

“Did you live alone in the house?”

“No, until I was eight. Then our housekeeper, Mrs. Mac, started coming in every two days.”

“Two days each week ever since the age of eight?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting,” Lincoln commented. Tim looked down.

“Earlier, we saw a collection of videos which depicted your… abuse. Do you remember any of those memories?”

This one was hard. “I… do know what happened, but I don’t… I don’t remember them happening.”

“Can you elaborate?”

Tim took a shaky breath. “I know what happened, I know how I felt when it happened and what people were saying, but I can’t recall them. It’s just blurry images and flashes. I can’t recall them like I can recall other memories.”

Tim flicked his eyes to Bruce and immediately regretted it. His lips were pursed in a thin line, and his face was impassive. That usually meant that he was disappointed in the situation. Not the Bruce type of disappointment. The Batman type.

“And what do you remember of the night when you ran to Bruce Wayne, claiming that your father tried to kill you?” It was a perfectly phrased question. Mentioning Bruce meant that Tim trusted him to run to him, and mentioning Jack as Tim’s father phrased it in a way that would invoke sympathy.

He couldn’t mess up that question. “Flashes,” he replied. “I’m not completely sure what happened and didn’t happen.”

Only you get to decide.

“I’m not sure if he actually did choke me.”

There is more than just good and bad.

“Maybe he threatened to choke me, and honestly that seems more likely. I do know that Mom stopped him”

Just because a person is good some of the time, doesn't excuse all the other bad things they did.

“But all I remember is being scared and running to Bruce because…”

They’re good people, Tim. But bad parents.

“Because I feel safe with him. I feel safe with Bruce. With the Waynes.”

Bruce’s lips twitched, and Dick was grinning through shining tears. Damian had his head down so Tim couldn’t see, but his posture showed that he was tense with a hint of guilt.

“My parents…” Tim looked to them, his mother had her mouth covered and eyes puffy, and his father’s eyes were red and he had his hair buried in his hands, shoulders slightly shaking. “They’re good people,” Tim said. “Not the best parents, but I don’t want anything bad to happen to them.”

He could almost hear Jason’s voice teasing him of his nobleness, but Tim wasn’t thinking about being noble. He was thinking of all the good times he had with them. The movie nights of when his parents let him solve the mystery before the ending. Planting flowers in the garden. Cooking a meal together. And when he was really young, they regularly played hide and seek every morning before Tim’s bath. Honestly, maybe that’s how Tim learned how to be sneaky enough to snoop through Gotham at night to take pictures of Batman and Robin.

“Do you know what repressed memories are, Tim?” Lincoln asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“I’ve heard of them.”

“The medical assessment done by Gary Shaw diagnosed you with repressed memories. Memories which are traumatic are met with denial with the victim, which occurs when something is so traumatic or upsetting that your mind doesn’t let you form a complete picture. Another alternative is dissociation, which is how victims cope by detaching themself from what’s happening. Do you think you were dissociating, Tim?”

Was he?

No. He wasn’t. He clearly remembered the fear and desperation. Tim shook his head.

“Then do you think you are denying what happened?”

Tim hesitated. His father would never try to kill him. Threaten him? A solid maybe. But kill…

Then again, from what everyone else was saying, he was strangled by Jack. By his father. Why was he angry in the first place…?

Because Tim was angry. He was a living container full of suppressed anger. So he snapped at them. He shoved them. He used his Robin strength. He hurt his father. Then Jack grew angry at that. Why wouldn’t he? He had every right to. Tim hurt him. But Jack didn’t punch him, Tim remembered. He didn’t take out his belt. No he…

He strangled him.

He tried to kill him.

He…

He tried to kill his son. He tried to kill Tim.

“Tim?”

Tim looked up. Lincoln was expecting an answer. His parents were looking at him expectantly too, with bated breath. Bruce was already half out of his seat and Dick and Damian were pulling him down. The judge wanted an answer. Everyone was looking at him.

At Tim.

“He… tried to kill me?” Tim hesitantly whispered. His throat was dry. He couldn’t breathe properly. Tim shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. What was the question again?

“Do you think you are denying what happened?” Lincoln asked carefully. “That was the question.”

Oh. He said that out loud. “I— I was,” he croaked. “I—” Tim rubbed his eyes and grabbed the front of his hair with both hands. “I remember.” He didn’t want to remember. “I couldn’t breathe.” He could barely breathe right now. “I wanted to run.” Why couldn’t he run just now? “I wanted to find Bruce.” Bruce! He was right here. Bruce was right there, with Tim, in the courtroom. He looked ready to grab him and run out himself. He wasn’t leaving Tim. “Bruce,” he whispered, not loud enough for anyone to hear but himself.

“That’s okay, Tim. That’ll be all for now.” Lincoln helped him up, steadying him when a wave of dizziness made him stumble.

Tim staggered to Bruce, who wrapped his arms around him. As if protecting him. Just like before. Just like that night.

“Your Honor,” Lincoln flourished. “From the testimony, you can clearly see that being with Jack and Janet Drake holds too much trauma. So much so that he subconsciously repressed the memories, believing that he was merely threatened to be killed. Not that that’s any better.” He muttered the last bit and made his way to his seat beside Tim, smiling at him reassuringly.

Tim was shaking like a leaf. He bit his lip to keep from having sobs torn out of his mouth. That would not give a good impression and would make his parents sadder than they already are. Janet was crying quietly, and Jack was talking to Rae Hudson, their lawyer, while still having his face buried in his hands.

“You Honor,” Hudson stood up. “May my clients and I have a private consultation?”

The judge’s eyes narrowed. “Very well. Can the defense step outside with their lawyer?”

Bruce steered Tim up and out of the room. The door closed and Lincoln excused himself and went to the bathroom. Tim finally let out the sob he was holding back, and more followed. He was numb. Too numb with emotion. Bruce led him to a bench and Tim burrowed his face in his shoulder. His sobs were muffled and his tears stained the expensive cloth, but Bruce didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he pulled him closer, stroking the back of his head and muttering quiet reassurances. “It’s okay, Tim. It's okay. It’s nearly over, chum. We just have to hang on for a bit more, but it’s okay.”

“He- he- he choked me,” Tim gasped. Finally accepting the truth after days of denial. “He tried to kill me.”

“He won’t anymore, Tim. I promise.”

“Mom stopped him, but— but she came knocking on my door.”

“I’m here now, chum. So is Dick, and Damian.”

“I still love them,” he whined. “They’re my parents, they bought me the camera, I still love them.”

Bruce pressed his whole lower jaw into Tim’s hair. “I know, chum. It’s hard to let go of the people you grew up with, it’s impossible even. But what you did, owning up to their mistakes and holding them accountable for the things they did to you, it was the right choice. And do you know how I know?”

“H- how?”

Bruce whispered, so quiet that he had to hold his sobs to hear him, “Because you’re a Robin. You have people face the mistakes they made in the right way.”

“Not like Batman,” Dick also leaned in, whispering softly. “Batman’s all brute force and punches, Robin is more. Robin is hope. And you are one. You’ll always be one. A hope, I mean.”

Tim shifted to see Dick nudge Damian closer. “Grayson,” Damian hissed angrily. Then he turned his wide eyes to Tim. “You taught me that I didn’t have to fight for my place, Drake. But it seems you have to fight for yours.”

Tim snorted amidst tears. That was probably the best he was going to get out of Damian.

“Oh and Jason says that despite his best efforts at squishing your Robin, you popped right up like an annoying spring,” Dick relayed, touching the comm in his ear.

Tim laughed wetly. That was probably the best he was going to get out of Jason too.

Dick pulled Damian in and put his arms around all of them, smothering Tim into a multi-person hug. Tim melted, taking in all the warm, comfortable touch in. His sobs quietened to occasional hiccups by the time they were let in.

“After hearing a proposal from the opposition’s side, I have come to the final judgment,” the judge declared. “After evaluating the arguments from both sides, I announce the custody of Timothy Jackson Drake to be deprived of his parents’ custody and transferred to Bruce Wayne and his foster care until he reaches legal age. Jack and Janet Drake will be paying a hefty fine and attend anger management classes until further notice. They can visit their son with the presence of a chaperone regularly after they can prove that they have their anger in control. I now declare this case closed.” The hammer banged on the gavel and Dick leaped onto Tim, holding him tight.

Tim felt lightheaded. He couldn’t believe his ears. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He couldn’t believe reality. This felt like a dream.

He felt a pinch on his arm, and he shot a look at Damian. “You said you were in a dream,” Damian shrugged. Tim laughed and ruffled his hair, and Damian didn’t resist.

Dick broke off Tim, only to have Bruce and his bulky arms wrap around him again.

Tim laughed again. “Bruce!”

“You’re my son now, Tim. You always were, this is only official,” Bruce said, hugging him close.

Tears prickled Tim’s eyes at that sentence.

“And hey, we’re officially brothers too!”

“Tt, how disappointing. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I love you too, demon brat,” Tim chuckled.

“Tim,” a voice called. He broke off to see his mother calling him. He walked to her, squeezing Bruce’s hand first.

“Hey mom, hey dad.”

“Tim, I—” Jack rubbed his face and started over. “I’m sorry. I was angry. I shouldn’t have done that though. I do love you, son.” He winced at the last word.

“Me too, Tim,” Janet said. “Watching the security footage and revisiting those memories, this time in your perspective… I… I had no idea it was that bad,” she whispered truthfully.

Tim shuffled his feet. “I didn’t think it was that bad either. All I knew was that I was scared…”

“Because of me,” Jack finished.

Janet shook her head. “Because of us. And now we lost—” she stopped and dug out another tissue to dab at her tears. Jack’s eyes were looking shiny too.

“I still love you,” Tim whispered. He didn’t have any more tears left. He cried them all away. “Even after all this, I still do.”

Jack laughed softly. “Me too, son. Me too.”

And that was enough for Tim.

----------------------------------

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my little brother,” Jason greeted at the door.

“I think I’ve had enough dramatics for one day, big brother,” Tim retorted with a smile, entering.

“So the Drakes didn’t get any jail time, huh?” Jason turned to Bruce.

“They still have a public image to uphold,” Tim replied instead. “I think they bribed their way in.”

“Rich little—” Jason stopped after seeing Tim’s expression. “Never mind.”

“This is the first time they bribed someone,” Tim defended. They had bribed someone for him. He was glad that they weren’t going to jail. He was even more glad that he was with the Waynes now. Permanently.

Oh.

Oh wait.

Oh fuck.

He was a Wayne now.

Oh shit.

Wow.

“I’m a Wayne now,” he said out loud in amazement.

“That you are, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne,” Alfred said, bringing a tray of cookies with a smile.

Butterflies of joy whizzed around in Tim’s stomach. “That name’s too long.”

“We should shorten it to hindrance. Get out of my way, Drake-Wayne. You’re blocking the cookie tray.”

“Fuck you too, demon brat.”

“Now that you are fully a part of this family, I don’t want any of that language in this house.”

“Sorry Alfred.”

“Who’s up for a movie?”

“I just want to drink coffee.”

“I will be controlling your coffee intake much more now.”

“Bruce!”

“Yes? Son?”

“...Never mind.”

Chapter Text

“Timothy Jackson Drake, you get over here right now!” Janet yelled.

“What’s all the noise, Jane?” Jack’s footsteps could be heard approaching his wife.

“Timothy is hiding again,” Janet complained.

“Well he can’t possibly be in the closet, can he?”

“All alone?”

“In the dark.”

“He must be pretty brave for that.”

A giggle burst out, but was quickly muffled. Jack and Janet exchanged sly grins of agreement.

“Oh where can my young Timothy be?” Janet feigned desperation.

“He can’t be under his bed, can he?”

“No, he’s too smart.”

“He can’t be behind the curtains, can he?”

“No, he’s too sneaky.”

“He can’t be in the closet, can he?”

“Why don’t we check it out?”

The 5-year-old boy hurriedly piled up jackets and dresses over himself, biting his fingers to keep from giggling. He waited with bated breath as the door to his parents’ closet creaked open slowly. He expected hands to grab him, but nothing came. Narrowing his big bambi eyes, he unbuttoned a jacket to peek when—

“Boo!”

Little Tim squeaked and laughed as he was pulled out and tickled mercilessly. “Okay, okay!” he shrieked.

Jack laughed fondly and lifted him up, brushing hair out of his eyes. “You know we have to leave now,” he said gingerly.

“No! No!” Tim screamed, upset.

Janet immediately set to work, making shushing noises and combing through his hair with her fingers gently. “We have to go to work, Timothy.”

“It’s important. We have to earn money. We explained that to you before, didn’t we?”

Tim sniffled and nodded.

“Besides,” Janet said, looking at her son with fondness and still stroking his hair comfortingly. “You’re nearly six now! We’ll be back before your birthday, okay? You’re getting older, and smarter, sweetie.”

“You’re a Drake, okay? You’re our son. So you have to behave and be brave like one.” Jack kissed his forehead.

Tim rubbed his eyes, determination setting in his bones. “Okay. I’ll be a big, smart, brave boy. Like Robin!”

The couple laughed. “Yes, sport, just like Robin,” Jack reassured. “Don’t give your nanny too much of a headache, okay?”

“We’ll bring you something back from Saudi Arabia. How about a camel?”

Little Tim nodded enthusiastically. He would love a camel!

“Whoa,” Jack exclaimed with amusement. “Maybe not a whole camel. How about a book on it?”

Tim liked books. He’s never seen a camel in a book anyway. “Okay.”

Janet pressed her lips against his cheek. “Be safe, Timothy. We love you.”

“Camel!”

-----------------------------------

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne!” Jason screamed. “I can’t believe you took Dickhead’s side!”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Dickhead wasn’t the one who tried to kill me, Jay.”

Jason stopped. “Whoa ho ho, I thought you were past that.”

Tim smirked, turning back to the batcomputer. “We are past that, but we aren’t past using it as a guilt-trip.”

“But why did you stand up for Dick?”

Tim shrugged. “You deserved it for stealing my batch of cookies last night while I was in the shower.”

“It’s your fault for not eating them immediately and showering instead.” Jason whined, “Now I’m benched for a week!” He dramatically fell on Tim, pushing him from the chair.

“Jay,” Tim squawked. “Get off me. You’re too heavy!”

Jason gasped. “Are you fat shaming me?”

“You’re fat shaming yourself, Todd.” Damian tutted, wiping sweat off his brow.

“Fuck you too, demon spawn.”

“Language, Jay,” Dick called out from a distance.

“Jason, get off,” Tim grumbled. “Broooooose!”

“What is it, Tim?” Bruce appeared, patting his sweat away with a towel.

“Tell Hood to get the fuck off me.”

“Jason, get off of Tim. He has to meet the Drakes soon.”

“Oh shit, is it time already?” Jason asked, slipping off of Tim’s chest.

“Ow,” Tim groaned, shooting him a glare. “And yeah, they changed the time so we don’t have to rush at the end.”

“Well, don’t get too cozy.” Jason slapped his shoulder. Tim flinched, but quickly stood up, brushing it off.

“Sorry,” Jason muttered. “I forgot.”

“It’s fine,” Tim said hurriedly. “I have to get ready, Alfred’s dropping me off this time.” He quickly moved away, climbing the stairs which led to the manor from the Cave.

It had been a few months since he was legally declared Bruce’s son. On some days, the news felt unreal. On other days, it seemed like the most natural thing ever. He still got some dirty looks during galas and parties, and annoying comments from people who asked about his life before. There were even some people who tried to purposely make him flinch. Fortunately, Tim had gotten better overtime to deal with those people. If they still didn’t shut up, he had four brothers, two sisters, a father, a grandfather, a Barbara, a dog, a cat, and a cow to back him up.

It took some getting used to for everyone at first. They had to move all of Tim’s things from Drake manor as his parents were selling it to someone else and moving elsewhere at the edge of Gotham. And it took a while to recognize and deal with all of Tim’s triggers (they did the same with everyone else too, since they were just a bunch of traumatized people haphazardly put together and painted as a family). They still occasionally forgot, but they were getting better at avoiding slapping his shoulder and back without warning, and ignoring his arms automatically moving up when someone stretched too close to him.

But despite dying without warning, surviving the League of Assassins, fighting every so often, dealing with aliens, and battling the Court of Owls, they still stuck together. They didn’t fall apart, or leave him. They didn’t hit him or attack him unless some other factor like fear gas or pollen was present. They were an unusual family, but still, they were a family. And when asked about it, Tim said he only had one.

It’s not that he’s gotten distant with his parents, he still meets them every week or so. It’s just that he’s… moved on. At least that’s what Dinah said when he asked why he was feeling lighter.

Alfred and Tim chattered as they drove to his biological parents’ house. The old butler wished him luck before driving off to restock groceries. With a family of around eight vigilantes to feed, they had to restock every week, which coincided perfectly with Tim’s weekly meetings with his parents.

They still went on long trips, but never missed more than four meetings consecutively if they could help it. Jack and Janet had been making such progress in their anger management classes that they no longer needed a chaperone unless Tim asked for one.

They usually talked about their trips, what Tim was doing, gossip about the latest Gotham celebrity news, and about their life before the custody battle to gauge a better understanding of how Tim used to live.

Tim mostly stayed to the good or neutral bits of his life (peppered with lies and cover stories to hide his Red Robin identity). He didn’t feel close enough to rant about his problems to them, he never really did. They weren’t around much anyway. He did consider coming clean about his vigilante life, but decided to break the news once he was 18.

They hadn’t been mad at him even once during their visits. Jack showed him the breathing technique he was taught to do when he was annoyed, and Tim noted with amusement that it was the same one he had been using the entire time. In for 4, hold for 8, out for 7.

Today, however, they were talking about the photography competition Tim had entered a while ago. The results were a little late in announcing because of the amount of entries they received.

“So what did you get?” Janet asked excitedly.

Tim paused for drama, then declared, “Third prize.”

Jack whistled and Janet laughed and clapped. Tim grinned. Their reaction was polite and quiet compared to the glitter bomb roar the Waynes had caused, but he was happy nonetheless. They were his biological parents, why shouldn’t he?

He ranted about his photographs of the skyline and how hard it was to find the right album for them while they listened intently, occasionally adding a comment here and there. It was the best visit so far. There weren’t many laughs and easiness compared to before he became a Wayne, but it was okay. The chaos and destruction of one family was enough.

Soon, Alfred came to pick him up. There was a tense moment which occurred when the Drakes and the Waynes were present in the same space at the same time, but Tim learned how to navigate past it. He kept his normal attitude, appearing oblivious to the tension in the atmosphere and waved to Jack and Janet before entering the car.

“Going home, Master Tim?” Alfred asked.

“Home,” Tim smiled. Home. Not the big fancy house with too empty walls and the stench of fear the owners brought. No, now it was the big fancy house with too many vigilante siblings under one roof, prank wars, hardcore teasing, and a big bat-cave underneath.

He still got wary and concerned glances from the people who had watched the security footage in the court when they thought he didn't notice, but Tim tried to ignore it. When it got just too much, he called Damian and hung out with him, and the demon brat came up with the best distractions (once, they stole an entire duck pond).

They stopped by Tim’s old home to see Hazel, their new neighbor. Hazel was Henry’s half sister, who no one had known existed until she made herself public and exposed Salcruz, extending his prison sentence to life. She was a single mother with a 3-year-old who all the Waynes played with. She also had two cats and a dog who Damian paid more attention to than the toddler herself. They delivered the package she had requested before going back to Wayne manor.

Home.

As Tim sat around the dinner table, playing a round of Battle Of The Pea Launcher with Jason, he felt complete. It was just one of those days, when you feel full of fondness and love. Tim looked around the table. Bruce was telling Steph and Damian off, Dick was enthusiastically explaining Tim and Jason’s Mario Kart battles to Duke, Alfred was bringing out more food with Cass, Alfred the cat and Titus were going around the table, looking for food offerings. Tim decided that it was definitely one of the good days, his fondness for his found family filling his heart to the brim and more.

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BREAKING NEWS: CAPTAIN BOOMERANG BREAKS OUT!

Earlier in the evening, when the guards of Iron Gates were making their rounds, they stumbled upon an empty cell which previously held one of the rogues from the Flash’s gallery of rogues. The rogue was identified to be George “Digger” Harkness, better known by his rogue name “Captain Boomerang”. Recent eyewitnesses have pointed him to be in Gotham, along the edge of the city. Citizens are told to stay inside at all times and avoid opening the door to anyone if it can be helped.

Furthermore, it is theorized by the majority of the public that Captain Boomerang may be targeting one of Gotham’s heroes or their families. This rumor has raised several suspicions among neighbors and the Gotham City Police Department, along with Batman and Red Robin themselves, have had to step in between several brawls and fights. There have been several sightings of flashes of red and black in the area which has raised suspicion that a loved one of Gotham’s vigilantes might be living there.

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