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Dick wasn’t sure what to do at this point in time. He almost considered calling in reinforcements— maybe Kori or Wally, someone that he could trust. He brushed it off to the back of his mind. He was turning into Bruce, it felt like. He couldn’t trust most people, and now it felt like he wasn’t even trusting himself.
See, Dick was 30, no, 45% positive that he had some sort of stalker. He had seen weird shadows and felt presences the past few weeks. Yet, every time he turned around, nothing was there.
At first, he thought it was a criminal that was running away. However, it kept happening over and over. His new theory was to believe that it was one of Ra’s al Ghul’s little games. Dick wouldn’t put it past that sick bastard to mess with his head.
And yet Ra’s didn’t make an appearance, even 3 weeks later. Plus, y’know, he lived in Bludhaven. The Demon Head tended to annoy Bruce in Gotham more than anything. Unless Ra’s was planning something in Bludhaven, there was no reason for any shadowy assassins to be around.
So Dick was at a loss.
Who would stalk him, Dick Grayson? The shadows never appeared when Dick was out as Nightwing. At least, Dick didn’t think so. He was silently blessed and at ease due to that thought. What if a villain tied Dick Grayson to Nightwing? It was horrifying to even think about. Many lives and secret identities could evaporate because of one mishap.
Dick was determined to figure out his little stalker. He needed to start with the basics. Why would anyone want to stalk civilian Dick Grayson?
His first thought was sex. He really hoped it wasn’t sex. He had enough issues about that already. He couldn’t change his appearance, so he skipped over it. Hopefully it wasn’t anything relating to that subject.
Next was his job. Being a police officer wasn’t his best thought, so he might as well switch it up. He was getting tired of fighting crime day and night anyways. He couldn’t find joy in it anymore. He resigned, said goodbye to his pension, then started to work at the local gymnastics lounge. He was hired on sight after he performed some of his famous tricks.
The only thing left that Dick could think of was ransoming. Dick was still a Wayne, even if he wasn’t on speaking terms with Bruce. Well, that was a bit of a lie. They were recently rekindling it. Trying hard to be a family unit for Jason. But still. Dick didn’t go to Gotham much. Maybe someone thought it would be a good idea to strike him out for money while he was away from home.
Dick thought that after visiting his family for a few days would fix things. He didn’t patrol — wouldn’t make their secret identities too obvious — but he helped around the house with Alfred, learned that Jason was acing his Language Arts class, and attended a small gala. Dick was, to the public eye, spending more time with his family. Meaning, it would be harder to notice his absence.
And yet, as soon as he went to work Tuesday morning at the gymnastics office, he saw the shadow again.
Dick was getting frustrated. He was beginning to believe that metas had to be involved, too. Who else could hide and escape expertly? He had to go through a breathing exercise in order to calm down as he started a pot of coffee. The kids filtered in, all brimming with hope as he started the stretching routines before they got into the harder stuff.
When he exited his job for the day — 2 hour lessons, 3 times per day — he saw the shadow again.
Dick flipped his shit.
He ran towards the shadow. He didn’t care that he wasn’t in a suit or that he looked a bit deranged as he chased down a shifting shadow through a dark alley. It occurred to him part-way down the alley that maybe that was the plan all along. To make him be the one to disappear from the camera so his missing persons case was all the more bizarre.
Except… except he was met with a child.
The kid was maybe 4 feet tall, maybe a little more. He had dark onyx hair and the widest, brightest, clearest dark blue eyes Dick had ever seen. His frame was small and narrow, perfect for fitting into small places. His lips were parted in surprise and was that… awe?
Dick froze as he analyzed the kid. Surely his stalker wasn’t some itty bitty twerp. Did he really have a baby stalker? Dick couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He was 21-years-old, damnit! Why does he have a kid stalking him?
The kid’s cheeks were bright pink, likely from embarrassment at being caught. Dick couldn’t even be mad. The kid wasn’t threatening at all. He had on a blue and purple sweater with a tan jacket on top. He had a small backpack with him, but it looked to be full of nothing. If anything, the kid looked too innocent and small and adorable.
“Hey,” he greeted gently in an attempt to not scare off his baby stalker. “Whatcha doing out here, kiddo?”
The kid blinked his large eyes but remained silent.
Dick continued, “Are you okay? It’s a bit late for you to be out here alone. Do you want me to call someone? Your guardians, maybe?”
The kid shook his head.
Well, alright. At least he knew the kid was responsive.
“Why are you out here, little guy?” asked Dick. He stepped closer, causing the boy to step back twice as much. “Do you need help? I can get someone to help you.”
Dick stepped forward again, as gently and slowly as possible.
The kid was gone. Just. Evaporated in front of Dick’s eyes. He yelled out for the boy to no avail. He searched the entire alley only to find nothing. Not a single trace. When Dick called Babs for help on the cameras, she got nothing. Not even a shadow of anyone else being with Dick.
To put bluntly: Dick spiraled.
He was beginning to think that Bruce clouded his brain. He made up his own little stalker out of paranoia. Dick had officially lost it. After years of being lonely in Bludhaven, he finally broke down. He didn’t remember much from that night, other than drinking and eating all the snacks he stoked up on after his last fuck up. They were preparations for next time because he knew there’d be a next time. There always was.
When Dick woke the next day to a bang, bang-bang. He was on his couch with weird imprints on his face, arms, and chest. He groaned as the noise repeated. He flopped off the couch expertly, dodging the nearly empty bottle of tequila. He went to the door, expecting Bruce to chew him out for not patrolling.
Instead, it was the kid.
Dick immediately sobered up. He became increasingly aware that his apartment was in shit shape. He wasn’t exactly organized. He was usually too busy for that. Ever since he started his gymnastics job he started to be better about it, but he just wasn’t an organized person in general.
“Can I help you?” he asked innocently, trying to be calm as he pretended to not have a headache and a massive problem. He was hallucinating a knock and a kid now. Great. Did he hit his head too hard?
The kid looked ready to burst into tears. He announced nervously, “I’m so sorry for running away! I was so anxious and excited about meeting you that I accidentally turned invisible. I kept trying to find ways to approach you while you weren’t busy, but I kept chickening out, even when I was a foot away. I’m so sorry, Mr. Grayson!”
Dick decided to process those statements later. He bent down, patting the boy’s shoulders as he calmed down. The kid apologized some more, but he wasn’t as loud. Indoor voices, right?
“Shh, it’s okay, kiddo. Things happen by mistake all of the time.”
The boy wiped away his tears with his sleeve. Dick supposed that things started to make sense. Most children wouldn’t willingly wear a sweater unless it was winter. Seeing as it was spring, borderline summer, it made sense that the kid’s parents were more well-off. They needed to keep up appearances. Sweaters, when kept in good condition, were always appeasing on the eyes.
Dick ushered the boy inside. He sat the kid down on the couch after pushing the empty bottles of alcohol and snack bags under the poor, poor coffee table he had. Dick even added a little lap blanket around the boy’s shoulders for comfort. In fact, Dick then added a blanket around his own shoulders. He needed some comfort and stability too.
“So,” he said quietly after a few moments, “why do you keep following me? Can I help you with something?”
“Uhm.” The kid wiped at his cheek. All it did was cause his skin to blossom with color again. Sweaters weren’t the nicest against bare skin. His big, round eyes looked into Dick’s with a hopeful look. “I need your help.”
Dick replied instantly, “Okay. You name it, I’ll help you.”
The kid’s lip wobbled. It goddamn wobbled. Dick knew then and there that he’d tear down anything in his path. The kid in front of him was clearly too cute and innocent to be crying. He didn’t deserve that.
“You’ll help me?” he whispered, voice cracked and oh so hopeful. Dick quickly nodded, taking the kid’s frail hands into his. “Thank you so much,” he whispered again.
Dick rubbed his thumb along the boy’s shaking hands. “Hey, hey, it’ll be okay. I’ll help you out.”
The boy nodded seriously, or, well, as seriously as a little kid could. “I know you’ll help me. You’re a good person,” he stated firmly, confidently. Damn. Dick wished he was that confident in himself.
“Just go for it. Say anything,” urged Dick after the kid went silent.
The boy nodded to himself, likely psyching himself up for the big reveal. Then, he said quickly, “I’m being murdered by my aunt and I couldn’t find anyone else to turn to.”
“I’m— I’m sorry. Your, uh, your aunt is trying to—”
“Kill me,” confirmed the boy hastily. “I inherited everything from my parents. When they died, everything went to me. Even the company. No one’s allowed to move things around in the company without my consent. Right now, the board of directors are deciding major things, but everything else is being held off until I’m 18-years-old.”
Dick mulled it over. “Okay,” he said softly. “Your aunt is trying to kill you because you were left a lot of money.”
The boy added like an afterthought, “My guardian takes control of everything I inherit if I die.”
Oh, well, that was a motive. A big one, too, if a family member was willing to kill a kid as cute as the one in front of him.
“That’s not good. Have you gone to the police? I don’t work with them anymore, kiddo.”
The boy shook his head vehemently. “When I tried to go to the police, they dragged me back home. My aunt pushed me into the pool and rolled the cover on it.”
Again, that was a lot to unpack.
“But I’m not a police officer. I can’t help you escape your situation,” said Dick. “I left that job a couple of weeks ago.”
“I know,” confirmed the kid, oblivious as to why Dick switched jobs. “I’m happy for you. You always hated being an officer. It made you resent criminals and it made you a bit violent on bad days.”
“I, uh, I don’t know how to respond to that.”
The boy assured, “Everything’s fine. You can talk to Commissioner Gordon and make sure that he’s the one to investigate my aunt. I’ve tried emailing and calling him, but I think he thinks I’m playing a prank or spamming him. If you talk to him, he’ll take you seriously.”
Dick wanted to ruffle the kid’s hair. He asked a bit dumbly, “Why on Earth would Commissioner Gordon listen to me?”
“Because you’re Nightwing…?”
The kid looked at Dick strangely. Dick tried to not freak out. His heart rate increased and he’s pretty sure that he had a horrible poker face on. Oh, God, I’m terrible at being a vigilante. A baby found out my identity.
The boy shook his head. He asked, desperate, “Will you talk to him? I’m getting really annoyed at being murdered every day. It hurts, ya know. I don’t like waking up after it.”
Dick paused. He calmed at the words. He squeezed the boy’s hands gently in his own. “You mentioned that you turned invisible earlier… and now you’re talking about being murdered every day…”
The boy nodded confidently. “Something’s up with me for sure. I’m not sure if it’s immortality or if I’m a meta or something. My parents didn’t have any signs of it, but they were very secretive. I don’t think they would have told anyone if they had powers.”
Dick felt dread curl up in his stomach and made itself at home. “You’ve died before?”
The boy frowned and twisted his lips. “I mean, I don’t know positively if I’ve died. I’ll wake up with injuries or I’ll cough up water ‘n’ stuff. I assume I’ve died before. My aunt always looks at me with frightened eyes each day I wake up, anyways. I’ve tried to record it, but my video never works. I just don’t show up on the screen.”
“As if you’re invisible or unrecognizable to cameras or technology,” he murmured. It made sense now why Babs couldn’t find anything.
The boy bobbed his head up and down happily. “Yeah! I’ve tested it with my camera before. It lets me take photographs of other people, but it won’t let me take photos of myself.”
Dick wondered if immortality was a new meta thing. Invulnerability or regeneration to a certain point was. But immortality? Dick hadn’t heard of such a thing occurring on its own in a human. What if Ra’s learned about this kid? They’d be doomed, he knew.
“You seem like the type of kid to run tests,” he said.
The boy agreed with a slight smile. “I’m really good at the whole science hypothesis thing. At least, that’s what Ives says. He’s pretty smart, so I think he’s trustworthy.”
Dick nodded along. The kid did seem pretty smart. Smart enough to learn his identity and track him down at a young age. Smart enough to realize his aunt was murdering him over and over again. Smart enough to try to get proof, only for it to not work.
“How about this? I’ll let you stay here for the night while we work out a plan against your aunt. I’ll call, uh, Commissioner Gordon and get to work.”
The kid innocently commented, “You can talk about Mr. Wayne if you want. I know all about him.”
Oh dear God, this kid was going to rule the world one day if Dick wasn’t careful.
Dick reached for his phone. He had no major notifications. Good. This meant that he could focus completely on a child getting murdered multiple times. He pulled up his contacts numbly. He was forgetting something, he just knew it.
Oh. Right. “Hey, kid, what’s your name? And your aunt’s name?”
The boy answered brightly, “Timothy Drake. I go by Tim though.” After a pause, he added, “My aunt is Ginnie Goodlake. She’s my mother’s older sister. Her husband passed a few years ago, but when I was investigating it, I think she actually murdered him for his estate too. Wild, huh?”
“Yeah… wild.”
Dick instantly called Bruce. He held the phone up to his ear, just in case Bruce was snappish this morning.
“Dick? Did you forget something at the house? I can have Alfred send it over. I don’t want you coming over. I’m afraid Jason’s sick. Contracted a bug from school,” answered Bruce.
“Hey, B. I’m all good here. Is Jay okay?”
Bruce paused, shuffling around. “We’re okay. He’s got the sniffles right now. Nothing too bad.”
“Do you have some free time to check things on the Batcomputer for me?”
“... Sure.”
Dick looked at the boy, Tim. He huddled further into the blanket for warmth. His eyes held such hopefulness and awe as Dick just sat there, waiting for Bruce to get to the cave. Dick felt so guilty. He didn’t even know who the kid was.
After a little longer, Bruce said, “I’m here. What do I need to search for?
“Have you heard of Ginnie Goodlake? She recently took custody over a child that I’m afraid is in danger.”
“I haven’t heard the name, no.” Bruce clicked on a few things. Then he hummed. “Oh. Our neighbors. I didn’t realize that their child stayed in Gotham.”
“Yeah, well, he’s sitting with me right now.” Dick squeezed Tim’s hand again. The kid looked like he was getting antsy. “He says his aunt keeps trying to kill him. I think I’m going to believe him for now.”
Bruce’s grunt turned different. He asked, “Any evidence on the boy? Any evidence at all?”
“Bruce,” he said seriously. Dick heard the man straighten up over the line. “Tim’s telling the truth. I don’t want to explain everything over the phone because it’s complicated, but I need you to believe me right now. Tim’s life is in danger if we don’t figure this out. He can’t go back to that house.”
“Dick, I… I want to believe you. I want to believe Tim. But the Drakes are high up. I can’t point the finger at them without proof. And you can’t have a child stay with you even if you have a hunch. It’ll be considered kidnapping.”
Dick remembered one of his breathing exercises. He went through the motions while he fumbled with Tim’s hands. He exhaled shakily before stating, “Tim has powers. He’s already died before but he keeps coming back to life. If I send him back home, he’s going to die again. I’m not risking it, B.”
Tim’s round eyes looked scared at the tone that Dick spoke with. He shook his head and wrapped one of his arms around the boy. Tim relaxed into the embrace, like a doll who had its strings cut.
“He’s died before?”
“Yes.”
“Those powers are rare.”
“Bruce.”
The man was silent for a few moments. Good. Geez, Dick couldn't understand why Bruce didn’t realize how dangerous this situation was. Who cared if the Drake name was powerful? Dick wasn’t going to let Tim get more traumatized.
“I’ll contact Jim. We’ll look into the case today. Keep the child safe.” Bruce made a weird noise. “Why did Timothy go to you? He’s always been a shy kid. I don’t think you’ve ever talked to each other. Does he know you’re a police officer?”
Dick hummed in satisfaction. This reveal would be good. He hugged Tim tight before announcing, “Nah. I quit that job anyway. Tim just trusts me. He’s pretty smart. I think you’ll like him.”
The line was quiet before Bruce asked in a small, almost judging tone, “You’ve already emotionally adopted him, didn’t you?” Dick hummed in confirmation. Bruce sighed, resigned. “It just happens out of the blue, doesn't it? It can’t be controlled.”
For once, Dick agreed with his father.
“Yeah, so, Timmy and I will be over for dinner this weekend. By then, your case against his aunt should be strong. He’ll stay with me until then. Love you. Bye, B.”
Dick hung up and tossed his phone onto the table carelessly.
He looked down at Tim, who was snuggled in his arms and smiling, all small and cute. Dick reached forward to the coffee table. He turned on the television and asked, “What’s your favorite movie, Timmy?”
Tim looked up, his eyes still oh so round and hopeful. His smile was small and reserved, like he couldn’t believe that he was there. Dick just tilted his head and asked the question again. Tim waited a few more moments before flipping through the apps on the television to get to the right service.
Dick was fairly confident that he wouldn’t be able to turn away. He didn’t even want to. Tim fell asleep on his shoulder spontaneously just a few minutes into the movie. Dick wasn’t going to complain. It was fairly late in the evening anyway. He’d count it as going to be early.
When he woke up the next morning, he had weird indents in his skin from the couch again. However, he was also greeted with a plate of pancakes at least half a foot high. Tim grinned at him as he held the plate with both hands.
“Are you hungry?” Tim asked, tone hopeful.
Dick tried to wake up completely, yawning his sleepiness away. He reached for the plate once he was sat up. Tim’s muscles shook from holding it. Nervousness, probably. Dick looked down to the plate. The pancakes looked perfect. He was jealous. He had training from Alfred and yet he still struggled with the basics.
Dick asked, “How did you make these without waking me?” He took the given fork and stabbed at the tower of pancakes. They seemed to be fully cooked and incredibly fluffy.
“Home Economics,” announced a giddy Tim. “My parents weren’t home a lot, and Mrs. Mac was a bit, uh, strict about things. So. I signed up for Home Ec. It was really cool. We made cookies every week. I’m good at making a lot of things now. Next year, I plan to sign up for it again. Since it’ll be a different school tier, there should be new things to learn.”
It occurred to Dick that he didn’t know much about Tim. he knew about Tim’s problems, but not the boy himself.
“What grade are you in?”
Tim tilted his head, still smiling. “Eighth grade. I’ll be a freshman in highschool next year.”
Dick paused, the plate in his lap forgotten. He never imagined the boy in front of him to be so old. Surely Tim skipped a few years. “How old are you, Timmy?”
Tim seemed to chuckle to himself. “I’m 13, Mr. Grayson.” He plopped himself down beside Dick on the couch. “You’re 21, yes?”
Dick agreed. He cut a new part of the pancake into a piece. He was very disturbed at the idea of the person beside him was so small while about to enter highschool. He set the plate of pancakes down on the table. When he looked back up, Tim seemed almost frightful.
Tim wobbled out, “You didn’t like them, did you?”
“What?” Oh. He has issues. Dick quickly assured, “No. I love the pancakes, Tim. Absolutely love them.” He saw Tim visibly relax at that. “I would, however, like it better if we ate together. Do you have some to eat?”
Tim didn’t move. He seemed very cautious.
Dick got up. He took the plate with him. He said, “Let’s change that.” Dick split the pancakes on his plate onto another one. He then got out another fork. He sat back down on the couch and handed one of the plates to Tim. “There. We can both eat now.”
Tim held the fork in his hand with a limp grip. His eyes darted all over. He eventually asked, “You don’t mind if I eat with you?”
Dick tried to push through his emotions. He quickly said, “Not at all.” He ruffled Tim’s hair for good measure. He then reached for the remote. “Let’s watch some cartoons while we’re at it.”
Tim fell back against the couch, his plate high up in his lap. Dick smiled, letting himself fall back into the cough too. After he turned on the cartoons he used to watch, Dick picked up his fork. He glanced over to Tim, who was pecking at his plate carefully. Dick took a bite of his breakfast in wonder.
Dick asked, “How did you figure out I was Nightwing?” Just for conversation. It was more lighthearted than diving into parents, politics, or murder attempts, successful or otherwise.
Tim chewed his bite of the pancake, then answered, “I saw you doing a flip that only one, uh, living person could do. After that, figuring out everyone else’s identities was easy.” He bit his lip as he looked up to Dick. “Why did Starfire choose her civilian name to be so similar to her original name?”
Dick couldn’t… deal with that right now. Too many eggs in one basket.
“Civilian names should be close to your real name.” He eyed Tim with a bit of concern. “How many secret identities do you know, Timmy?”
Tim sat up straight, the embodiment of a child who was raised to be proper. “I know a lot of identities. I expected Superman’s identity to be hard, but it wasn’t. Not when Mr. Kent and Mr. Wayne are always seen with one another in their civilian lives. It ended up being harder to determine who Mr. Queen was, but that was because he acts like a douchebag when he’s not being a hero.”
“Huh.” Dick chewed thoughtfully. “What about the Flash?”
“... Which one?”
Dick hummed at that. “Good point. I’m guessing you already know, don’t you?”
Tim just grinned, innocent and completely oblivious as to why Dick was internally freaking out. Don’t get him wrong, Dick was learning to go with the flow, but it was still a bit concerning and, if he was being honest, a tinge creepy. But in an affectionate way.
“The one I had trouble with was Bart. I’m fairly sure he’s from the future, yeah?”
Dick replied, high and panicked, “Mm-hmm.”
Tim bobbed his head. “Yeah. He was the hardest to figure out. I like his name, though. Impulse. It fits him. He’s a wildcard and he doesn’t seem to mind traveling all over the world to get what he wants.”
“Oh? And what does Bart want?”
“Fruit,” chirped out Tim. He took a bite with a lop-sided grin. “I’m honestly a little green with envy,” whispered Tim, like it was a huge secret. “I wish I could get fruit from all around the world within a few minutes.”
Dick thought of Wally. He replied to Tim, “Maybe if you befriend a speedster, they’ll be willing to get your fruit when you ask politely.”
Tim’s eyes shone with stars. He practically vibrated in glee. “You think?”
“All the speedsters I know are very loving and caring friends,” confirmed Dick.
“Awesome.”
After breakfast, Dick sent Tim to wash up after seeing dried blood in his scalp. Apparently, Aunt Ginnie decided that she would finally kill Tim herself. She took a gun and shot him in the head. Dick was horrified when Tim held up his bangs to reveal a healing scar of where the bullet had once been. It appeared that the bullet was out of the boy’s head, but he didn’t get all of his blood cleaned off before he went to Bludhaven.
Dick was officially not old enough to deal with Tim, a child who had been murdered at least 10 times, probably more. He had been in his aunt’s custody for 3 months now. 3 months of living in fear. 3 months of dying again and again.
Dick called Bruce while he gathered Tim clothes to change into. “B, any updates?”
“... She admitted to it as soon as she was in interrogation. Jim thanked me for bringing it to his attention. Then, he said that when I find Timothy, that he’d ask Bruce Wayne if he wants any more kids.”
Dick couldn’t help but smile into the phone as he fetched out a shirt from the drawer in his room. “That’s great. She’s not going to be able to hurt Tim again, yeah?”
“Hn.”
Dick nodded to himself as he gathered up some shorts that Jason had left during the one weekend when Bruce was off-world and Alfred was in London. He replied, “I think you should apply. I, uh, Nightwing will drop Tim off at Jim’s and then you can swoop in.”
Bruce seemed hesitant when he said, “You don’t want to take him in?”
Dick stopped in his tracks. “I’m not parent material, B. Tim needs someone who knows what they’re doing. I can barely take care of myself. This morning, he was the one who made breakfast while I slept.”
“That can be difficult, yes.” Bruce appeared to be waiting for something. “I’ll take him in, I suppose, but are you sure you don’t want to try?”
Dick looked at the closed bathroom door. In his hands were the too-large clothing for Tim to wear. He sighed wistfully. “Maybe, uh, maybe I’ll move back into the manor while he adjusts. I… he’s a good kid, B. I can’t take care of him on my own. He needs more than I can provide.”
“So you’ll move back to Gotham?”
“I guess so.” Dick set the clothes just outside of the door for Tim to get to. “B, I just sent him to wash off the blood from his latest murder attempt. He was shot in the head and didn’t tell me about it until I noticed the flakes of dry blood in his hair.”
Bruce was silent for a long while. He eventually said, “The aunt admitted to that. We assumed she was lying. Tim would have been dead otherwise.”
“Were you not listening, B? Tim did die. He died over and over. If he didn’t have— didn’t have his abilities, he would have been dead weeks ago. B, he can turn invisible. He can’t control it. He got anxious around me in-person and just went poof. It’s a new power. One, that I think only came out because he died.”
“That’s concerning.”
“No shit!” Dick closed his eyes as he counted to 10. “Look, B, when you meet him, you’ll understand why I’m so protective. Apply for the foster papers for now. I’ll get Tim over there later today. Hopefully, the precinct won’t take their sweet time by asking how many ways his aunt tried to keep him dead.”
Bruce grunted, then confirmed, “I’ve already filed for fostering rights. Jay wants to see the new kid too. Says he’s heard of Timothy before. Says he’s a weird, introverted kid with strange habits, but still has a lot of friends. Jason and Alfred have been putting together your bedrooms.”
Dick sighed. He wasn’t even mad this time. “Thanks, B. I’ll pack up some of my things and we’ll see you in a few hours. Oh, and Tim knows how to cook. I think Alfie will like him too.”
Bruce huffed over the phone. He sounded amused. “Love you, chum. See you soon.”
“Love you too.”
Dick gathered up some of his basic wear. He wondered if he’d have to quit his gymnastics job. He couldn’t travel 2 hours a day just for work. He was sure that there were gymnastics instructor jobs available in Gotham.
By the time he exited his bedroom, Tim was back on the couch. Dick sat down next to him after placing his box of goods on the table. Tim looked up with a hesitant expression.
“What’s on your mind?” asked Dick.
Tim was reluctant. At Dick’s remaining stare, he admitted, “I don’t know if I’m supposed to lie to Commissioner Gordon or not. Do I tell him I’m a meta or do I keep it a secret? Do I pretend to have survived all of the mur— attacks, or do I say that she succeeded?”
That was a good question.
“I guess you need to decide for yourself,” said Dick, voice optimistic. “Jim would have to register you with the Justice League if you were a meta, but it wouldn’t be public knowledge. I bet B can even make it so that only Jim knows, and not anyone else in the department. Aside from a judge, that is. The judge will decide how long your aunt stays in jail.”
Tim was still tense, but he seemed more at ease. He looked up to Dick with those round blue eyes and said, “Thanks, Robin.”
Dick gripped onto Tim’s hand, letting the kid know that he was loved. “No problem, Timmy.”