Chapter Text
On some level, Tim knew that he was little. He was short with a high voice, and his face had a chubbiness to it that made teachers and strangers alike coo over him. He had to pretend to be with an adult just to get on the bus, and he couldn’t reach the tall cupboard without climbing on the counter. So on some level Tim knew he was young.
And yet, it somehow wasn’t a thought that occurred to him when he was wandering alone down the crowded streets of Gotham after school, trying to hurry to the corner store and pick up a snack before taking the bus home. The stream of people was loud and hot, and smelled bad. Tim wrinkled his nose.
He wanted to leave, but he was a big boy, and big boys needed food to be smart and grow up. That was what Mrs. Mac had said, so that was what Tim was doing. He used to want his parents, or someone to pick him up so he didn’t have to wade through all these gross people, but then he wouldn’t get any food, and he was old enough to get himself home.
See? A big boy.
Tim nodded to himself, making one last push through the crowd and reaching the shop itself. He leaned all his weight against the door, just barely managing to get inside. Padding through the aisles, he pulled out nonperishable foods like peanut butter, some trail mix, a handful of granola bars, and some jerky. These foods would get tucked in his dresser under his pajamas. Then he grabbed a ready-made sandwich to eat now, and went up to the counter.
The cashier peered down at him. They were new, someone he hadn’t seen before. Which meant they hadn’t seen him, either. They frowned, brows wrinkling.
“Hi!” Tim chirped brightly. “Mama said she wanted me to pick up the stuff for camping tonight, can you help me?” He blinked too-bright, too-blue eyes, a childish lisp coloring his voice. People often fell for the innocent act, and the less they asked questions, the faster he could get his food and return home without anyone noticing.
The cashier’s face relaxed, and they smiled. “Of course, kiddo. I assume you’re meeting your mum outside?”
“Yeah! She’s really pretty, too. Did you know she can tie eighteen knots? ” He babbled on about nothing in particular, internally counting the seconds until everything had been scanned, and he forked over the cash.
“Here you go, enjoy your trip!”
“Thank you!” Tim waved with practiced clumsiness, already calculating the time he had to eat. His parents didn’t know that the grade school they had enrolled him in expected parents to pack lunches, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell them! Can you imagine, if he bothered his Very Busy parents just to make him lunch every day?
Tim shuddered.
He wormed his way through the crowd again, ducking pickpockets and that one guy who didn’t seem like he was doing anything wrong other than giving off gross vibes. He made it to the stop with ten minutes to spare, and hopped up on the bench, unwrapping the sandwich, and taking a bite.
Crisp lettuce, corned beef, and mayonnaise filled his mouth, and Tim’s stomach let out a grumble. He chewed hastily, swallowed, then took another bite. The coffee he had had for breakfast hadn’t sat well with him. It was hard to sneak in time for breakfast, considering the fact that his parents came into his room to wake him up very early, then shooed him out as quickly as they could. Neither Jack nor Janet were in the habit of eating breakfast, so why should Tim? Maybe it was a hereditary thing, and Drakes just didn’t need breakfast.
Tim coughed as a piece of tomato went down the wrong way.
“Christ, kid. Slow down, would ya?” An older lady next to him frowned in concern. “Ya look like ya haven’t eaten in months.”
He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry ma’am.”
“Ooh, look at you with the manners. ‘Ma’am.’ I ain’t been a ma’am in years.” She rifled through her coat pocket, pulling out a wrapped candy bar. “Here you go. I was keepin’ it for a rainy day, but’cha look like you’re about ta keel over.”
Tim’s teeth itched.
“Thank you for the offer, miss, but my parents said I’m not supposed to have candy.” In order to prevent her from insisting, he kept both hands on the sandwich, taking another bite. After swallowing, he continued. “It rots your teeth.”
She laughed, a warm, rumbling sound, and Tim involuntarily perked up. “That it does, kid.” The woman tucked the candy bar away, pulling out yesterday’s newspaper. “Say, you any good at crosswords?”
By the time the bus came, Tim was kneeling on the bench, draped over her shoulder while puzzling through each of the clues.
“Sorry, sweetheart, but this is my bus.” She got to her feet, knees creaking.
“Oh.” He shifted and sat properly, hands folded in his lap and shoulders pulled back. In a quiet voice, he asked, “Will you be here next week?”
She gave him a sympathetic look. “Probably not. Still, finish the crossword for me, would ya?”
Tim nodded. He could do that.
He picked up the other half of his sandwich in one hand, a pen in the other. Munching through the sandwich, he directed an intense focus at the tiny print squares. The more of his mind he bent around the words, the less of it was free to wander away and get into trouble. Tim was very good at getting into trouble. That was what his mother said, anyway.
His bus came at 4:10pm exactly. It was supposed to arrive at 3:45pm, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. Folding the newspaper under his arm, he climbed up the stairs and slid into a seat directly behind the driver. Flipping the paper open, he continued to work on the puzzle while keeping an eye on the people filtering in and out.
Gotham was an amalgam of cultures, a writhing hub of bodies from all over the place, each with their own array of stories, and Tim loved it . The woman who just stepped on had three cats and no kids, and her husband was not happy about it. His fingers itched for a camera, but his was at home, and besides, taking pictures of people without asking seemed so rude. Tim was many things (a liar, a brat, a freak), but he wasn’t rude.
The next man was a habitual bar room brawler, judging by his crooked nose and the smell of alcohol wafting off his breath. Three more stops.
A woman with two children stepped on, likely a single mother coming home from a job. He was glad they let her keep her kids with her. She looked really tired. He accidentally made eye contact with her, and she looked startled. Tim immediately glanced down at his paper.
Two more stops.
He finished the crossword puzzle and kept people-watching for another seven or eight minutes before the bus jerked to a stop and he had to get off. He clambered off the bus, careful to keep the edges of his uniform out of the worst of the grime of the streets.
Waving goodbye to the bus driver, he dashed over to where he had stored his bike this morning. It was a clever spot, hidden under a large bush behind a tree, and so far, no one else had found it.
After brushing away a few stray leaves, he mounted the bike and pedaled frantically home. It would only be ten minutes, but his parents were supposed to arrive around eight tonight, and it was already almost four thirty!
The bike screeched as Tim hurriedly pedalled up the driveway to the manor, tires grinding over the gravel as tiny vibrations traveled through the frame. He chewed on the corner of his mouth, thinking about what, exactly, he needed to do before his parents got home.
Change, definitely. Hide his bike, hide the food, touch up the concealer under his eyes.
Copper filled his mouth as he accidentally bit his lip, and Tim hissed.
He was just getting off the bike when the front door swung open.
“Timothy, Dear. Welcome home!” He saw Janet standing there, arms spread, and he froze.
Was he dreaming? He remembered seeing a movie about a girl who went through a little door into a perfect world, but he didn’t get a doll or a key, and there were no buttons…
“Welcome home, Mother. Did your flight arrive early?” He kept his voice polite and clear, like a bright spring morning.
“It did, and you won’t believe the wonderful artifacts we found. Jack! Come show Timothy what we found!” She swept away, and he was thankful she didn’t mention the filthy mud staining the edges of his pants, or the bag of food he had surreptitiously adjusted to be out of sight. He followed her inside, slipping the bag into one of the lesser-used closets. He’d come back for it later.
“Tim?”
“Coming, Mother!” He called, hurrying down the hall. “My apologies, I had to take my shoes off.” He entered the dining room and found his mother and father standing over a table covered in a thick white cloth and stuffed full of different kinds of rocks and pottery.
“Wow! Is this from Brazil?”
Janet laughed. “Brazil was three months ago, Timothy. Do try to remember where your parents have been, would you?” Her voice was light and teasing, so he smiled in return.
“Of course, Mother.” He didn’t want to risk another guess when he really had thought they were in Brazil. “What are they?”
“That’s the fun part, sport!” His father reached across the table, picking up a small, palm-sized tablet with far less delicacy than Tim thought he should have used. Jack presented it to him with a proud flourish, and small plumes of dust drifted down. He saw his mother’s smile tighten, but neither of them said anything. “We’re not sure. They seem to be early Mesopotamian, based on the majority of the cuneiform, but the region we found them in was all wrong. And see this?” He pointed to a strange symbol carved in the clay, one Tim didn’t recognize. “Complete anachronism.”
“So is it a replica? What did the carbon dating say?” Tim demanded, leaning on the table.
“Timothy, hands off the table. Honestly, were you raised in a barn?” Janet scolded him lightly, and Tim whipped his hands off the table as if burned. “I don’t see why we should indulge such childish curiosity if you can’t mind your manners.”
“Sorry, Mother.”
She sniffed. “Hm. Acceptable, I suppose. Jack?”
“The tablet itself is dated sometime between 2000 and 2100 BCE, but some of these symbols date from later empires and writing forms that didn’t appear until hundreds of years later.”
Perhaps the dating was incorrect? Or maybe there was a time traveler!
The excitable little goblin in Tim’s mind started bouncing up and down, and he swallowed the burst of glee he felt at a new mystery. After all, this mystery wasn’t his, and his parents could probably solve it better than he could. He had to keep his hands to himself.
“Fascinating.” His voice was flat, mind whirling with the different possibilities, the hows and the whys of what might have happened.
“Well, if you don’t find it interesting, you’re free to leave.” Jack huffed, face turning splotchy.
“No, it– my apologies, that was not the impression I intended to give.” He measured his words like ingredients in a cake. Leveling the flour. “I was merely attempting to consider the possibilities behind how such an event might have occurred. I apologize if I gave you the impression that I wasn’t interested.”
“Oh? So you think it’s my fault, then.” Jack’s face was growing redder, and Tim… he could either give up and cut his losses, or he could try again to keep everything stable. Balance out his father’s rage. Tim knew many things, but he never knew when to quit.
“No, I didn’t mean–”
“Enough, Timothy.” His mother’s eyes cut between him and Jack. “I think it’s best for you to head to your room for the night. I will send dinner to you in a few hours.”
“Yes, Mother.” He hefted his backpack, preparing to leave.
“And Timothy?”
“Yes, Mother?”
Her nose wrinkled, graceful disdain on her face. “Do wash the mud off your clothes, would you? We can’t have the Drake heir looking like a street urchin who rolls around in the mud for fun.”
“Yes, Mother.” He bit down the retort that the mud was because he had to bike home, and it happened every day , she just didn’t notice. Plus, the comment about street urchins was stupid. Nobody wanted mud on their clothes if they could help it, not if you were old enough to understand that you had to get the mud off, like Tim was. “Good night.”
She waved him off, while Jack just turned aside.
Tim trudged silently up the steps, listening to the creak of the wood. The bag in the closet downstairs was a weight on his mind. Was he going to risk sneaking down later to grab it?
He sighed as the door clicked shut behind him. His parents never bothered to lock it anymore, not after he proved that he could be obedient. He threw himself on the bed, which bounced slightly. The covers were a little musty, because Tim was six , and didn’t like doing his laundry unless he really had to.
His stomach growled. With a quiet whine, Tim peeled himself off the sheets and stripped out of his clothes. He pulled on a soft pair of blue pajamas and plodded into the bathroom, where he dumped his uniform into a bucket with a dollop of soap to soak overnight. Then he plodded back to his bed and crawled up and under the covers.
“Good night, Mr. Scales.” He hugged the bat plushie he had snuck in under his parent’s not-so watchful eyes. He couldn’t tell you where the name Scales came from, but he’d had the plushie for years, and the name had stuck. “Good night, Mr. Moon.” He waved at the little moon sticker on the window.
His jaw creaked as Tim yawned. He wasn’t tired yet, but his body didn’t seem to have gotten the memo, eyelids growing heavy. Another yawn.
He blinked. Slowly, his eyelids drooped, and Tim fell asleep. The sounds of soft breathing filled the room as darkness fell.
He had slept deeply and without dreams for a solid seven hours, when the door to his room creaked open. He woke rather abruptly, and shot upright with a gasp. His mother peered into his room with a smile, eyes shining pale in the low light.
“Rise and shine, Timothy. We have a family activity planned, and it wouldn’t do to be unprepared.”
“Yes, mother!” He hurried out of bed. “May I ask what we’re doing?” He hoped this wasn’t one of those times where being questioned would send his mother into an icy rage.
It wasn’t.
“Oh my, didn’t we tell you?” She frowned. “I could have sworn we had… anyway, we’re spending the day in the city. You’ll be networking with your peers, of course, and if you manage to do well, we have tickets to the circus to meet the Flying Graysons. So dress nicely, but don’t worry too much about presentation. It’s not as if we’re meeting anyone important.”
Tim begged to differ. “Of course, mother.” He waited for her to leave, then dashed over to his closet and rifled around for his nice blue polo. It wasn’t the fanciest of his clothes, but it was soft, and Tim liked the way it felt on his skin and the way it complimented his eyes. And his parents wouldn’t complain about it! He found it piled in a heap on the floor in the back of the closet, and he gave it a quick sniff to make sure it was fine.
Close enough.
After getting dressed, he ran downstairs to find his parents sitting in the breakfast room, two mugs of steaming coffee in front of them and no food in sight.
“Well don’t just stand there, come sit down!” Jack pulled out a chair for him and Tim lit up. It seemed his father had forgotten all about his anger from the previous night.
“Thanks, dad!” He beamed. “How’s your morning going?”
His father launched into a long-winded spiel about the things he’d read in the news, with a small tirade against the new (or ‘new’) vigilante running around.
Batman.
Tim had known about him for ages . With the amount of stories that made their way to the internet forums, the only way Tim wouldn’t have heard about the man was if he’d been living under a rock. Which apparently his father had.
“Huh. That…” His father would prefer ‘sucks,’ but his mother would find the language distasteful and common. However, his father would find words like ‘unfortunate’ pretentious coming from a six-year old. And now Tim had been quiet for too long. To cover for himself, he faked a wide yawn.
“That sounds bad.” There. A perfect balance between the two.
Sort of.
“Here you go, Timothy.” His mother slid him her mug. “It wouldn’t do to have you fall asleep halfway through a conversation.”
Tim imagined that he could feel the warmth from his mother’s hands lingering on the mug. Pretended that it wasn’t just the heat from the coffee. He took a sip, ignoring the bitterness.
“Thank you, mother.”
“Of course.” She brushed a piece of imaginary lint off her business suit. “You can drink it in the car. We should be going, or we’ll be late for our first meeting. Jack?”
The two of them walked hand-in-hand to where the chauffeur waited, with Tim trailing behind. It would be a long, long day, full of faces he neither knew nor cared about, and conversations about things he hated.
Just grin and bear it, kiddo. His father’s voice rang in his head, and Tim pasted on a smile as the car drove away.
Think about the circus tonight, and you’ll get through it. You can do this. You can.
He took a deep breath, screwed his smile on tight, and settled in for the wait.
~*~
That had been so worth it. The big top towered above him like a protective canopy, and Tim was in love. It felt like the sky was hugging him, and he just wanted to wriggle with joy.
Putting up with Mrs. Abbot’s spoiled twin brats and their ridiculously incorrect assertions about vigilante justice? Horrible. But it was worth it. Tim wanted to live here forever .
“Mom, look at that!” He pointed upwards at the embossed stars on the tent roof. “They’re shiny!”
Janet sighed, and some of Tim’s enthusiasm died a cold, hard death. “Timothy, I’ve told you many times. You may call me ‘Mother.’ And if you’re going to make pointless observations, it’s better to remain silent until you have something worthwhile to say. Don’t you agree, Jack?” She turned to his father, who was staring at some of the performers as they practiced a contortionist act. “...Jack?”
“Huh? Oh, yes. Listen to your mother, Timothy.”
Janet’s mouth twisted in a cruel slash. “A prime example.” Tim fought a giggle, and his mother’s eyes twinkled just a little.
They made their way to the stands and were seated. Tim ran his hands over the rough wood of the benches, tracing along the grain of the flat seat.
“Timothy, keep your hands still please. It’s unbecoming. Fiddle with your fingers if you must, but keep them folded over your lap.”
“Yes, mother.” Tim folded his hands politely, beginning to kick his feet back and forth instead. His mother sighed. Reaching over, she placed one hand on his shoulder. He felt her nails resting just over his collarbone, and he stilled completely.
“Much better.” She kept her hand there until the lights dimmed and the performance started. He clutched the bench tightly, eyes fixed firmly on the arena below as a wide array of animals paraded back and forth, from a series of horses all the way to an elephant . Thankfully the low lights kept his mother from seeing the way his mouth hung open in surprise.
“ Wow . A hushed sound of awe whispered out of his mouth, lost under the magic of the circus.
“And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for! The magical Flying Graysons!” A performer announced. Suddenly, Tim’s head felt funny. He remembered he hadn’t eaten since this morning, and his vision swam. For a second, he thought he saw two figures standing on the stage that hadn’t been there before. But then his vision cleared, and he saw there was no one there.
Tim blinked. He turned to ask his mother if she’d seen anyone, but… she had just told him not to make ‘pointless observations,’ and there was clearly no one present now. So he kept his mouth shut. To keep from fidgeting any further, he sat on his hands while he wiggled his toes in his uncomfortably tight-fitting shoes.
Inside Tim’s head there was a whiny little toddler. He didn’t like the shoes, he wanted to go home, the hair gel smelled funny. But Tim was a big boy, so he couldn’t say any of those things, because only babies whined.
Then there was the sound of a drum snare, and Tim looked up. A spotlight shone, large and bright on two figures, luminescent against the dark backdrop at opposite ends of the tent. As one, they bowed, each gripping a trapeze and preparing to jump.
Tim’s head swirled.
They let themselves fall.
And they kept falling.
The rope snapped, and there was no net underneath to catch them as they fell and fell and fell.
For an uncountable period of time there was silence. Tim felt the air weigh heavy and there was a weird sensation, like things were being measured and he was one of those things.
He knew he shouldn’t, but he looked down to the arena floor, to the crumpled bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Grayson. He figured he probably owed it to them, since they had given him such a wonderful night at the circus and paid for it with their lives.
There was a person standing there!
He squinted at them. Maybe… maybe there was something else going on? He didn’t know, but when he looked at them his head felt weird . And he couldn’t actually see anything about them. He knew he was seeing a being with all the physical features of a person, but when he reached for the concepts to describe what he was seeing, they just… weren’t there. He knew they were wearing clothes, but when he reached for the idea of clothes to describe what they looked like, he just… couldn’t. It was like the understanding was gone.
The figure knelt over the Graysons and pressed a hand to their collapsed forms. As they drew their hand up, blue mist followed, forming two orbs that the figure then ushered into their… clothing.
They then looked up and made eye contact with Tim.
He felt a little shiver go down his spine, but that was it. The figure tilted its head, then turned. Tim tracked its gaze to see another figure(!) standing behind a child a few years older than him. He recognized them as the youngest (and now only) Grayson.
This figure he could see. Fiery red curls tumbled down their back, set against deep brown skin. Golden eyes stared back at Tim with piercing sharpness, but they didn’t seem malicious. Just watchful.
They curled a hand protectively over the young boy’s shoulder as he wept, and suddenly time began to move again.
Screaming reverberated through the tent, and dimly, Tim felt his mother begin to shake him.
“Come on, Timothy. Make an expression.” She hissed. “People will think you have no feelings!”
Unbidden, the words slipped from his mouth. “Funny, that seems like a ‘them’ problem.”
His mother’s nails dug into his shoulder in five points of icy fire. Tim hissed.
“For god’s sake, Timothy. Why can’t you be a normal child for one night.” She didn’t hit him, but he kind of wished she had. Then he might be able to be upset, and it might hurt less than this.
“I’m sorry, Mother. I’ll work on that.”
Her face twisted. Her hand moved to grab him by the wrist, hard enough to bruise. “I’ve heard enough of your sarcasm, young man. You’re grounded. ”
Tim was being honest. “I’m sorry, Mother. I will try to do better.” He injected every ounce of honesty he had in his body into that once sentence. It wasn’t very much, but it did seem to do the trick. She released his wrist, and Tim cradled it close to his chest.
“See that you do.” The icy words were like a slap to the face. “Until then, the only time you will be leaving your room will be for school. I do not want to see you until you’ve improved your manners, young man. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Mother.” Tim bowed his head, trying to hide the tears in his eyes. Although, now that he thought about it, maybe she was trying to make him cry so people didn’t think he was weird. Honestly, he didn’t truly believe that, but he could hope. “I understand.”
“Good.”
And thus ended one of the best nights of Tim’s very short life.
~*~
Dick Grayson was Robin. Which made Bruce Wayne Batman. Tim couldn’t believe it… except yes, he totally could. That man had a sharp gleam in his eyes that reminded him of his mother at her fiercest. He wondered how no one else had noticed it yet.
Either way, Tim was ecstatic.
He tucked his precious, beloved camera away in his messenger bag and dressed quickly in deep black-browns and greys as he got ready to head out for the night.
He had collected every story on The Batman (on Bruce Wayne!) he could get his grubby little hands on, and consumed them like candy. He had the Bats’ patrol routes down to a science, which Rogues they would go after, where they were liable to stop, everything. He knew it all. And he hoarded that knowledge like his namesake, with an insatiable greed to know more .
Hence the photos. It wasn’t… Honestly Tim didn’t want to know them. He didn’t want to invade , to overstep. He didn’t want to press into their lives like an intruder. He hadn’t done anything to earn that, to deserve it. No, he just… he just wanted to watch. To see .
Yeah, it was kinda creepy. But Tim was a creepy kid.
He packed the camera away with an extra bag of jerky and set off. The air was cold, and his breath came out in silvery puffs. Scarves were a risk, too easily caught on sharp edges and grasping hands. Gloves were always good, and Tim had a very nice pair with silver woven into the fingertips, so he could still use the touchscreen on his phone if needed.
Tonight he was headed to a building just outside Gotham U, all the way across Bristol and then some. It would be a long ride, but the buses would be going the whole night, provided no Rogues attacked, and Tim was fast . Worst case-scenario, he’d be home by morning no matter what.
He checked his watch.
11:30pm.
Late enough his parents would be in bed. Late enough for the Bats to be out. Early enough for them to just be starting their route.
An hour later, Tim stopped at the entrance to an abandoned building. Leaning back, he surveyed the area. An old fire escape provided a good ladder to the second floor even as the rust flaked off under his gloves. If he had to establish an alibi for tonight, he’d have to get rid of the gloves.
Suddenly he got a strong image of his body, collapsed and bloody at the base of the alley.
Tim shook his head violently. He wasn’t going to slip tonight. Or any other night. He’d be fine. With a deep breath, he stopped on the third floor and slid the window open, listening to the creak of the hinges. He crawled into the building, keeping low to the floor.
Based on his information, Scarecrow should be in the opposite building, preparing a “gift” for the GCPD. Tim had left a handy little tip with Commissioner Gordon, who he knew would send it off to Batman.
He got his camera out and crouched down, waiting.
By the time the sounds of fighting drifted out from the building across from him, Tim’s bones ached. He flexed his fingers, joints creaking. He sighed, a plume of silver air coming out in a warm rush.
Then there was a flash of movement below. Tim readied his camera.
Scarecrow came lurching out of the building, gurgling a horrible laugh. The camera captured the moment when Batman lunged out of the smoke and mist saturating the abandoned lab just before decking the villain in the face.
Tim drew in a tiny breath of excitement. He waited, snapping a few more photos, before carefully setting his camera aside and sitting down to watch. Robin wasn’t here, but Batman didn’t tend to bring the young boy to the serious fights. Tim could imagine it might be a point of contention between the two of them.
He saw Scarecrow’s arm rear back and toss something. Batman deflected it and it came sailing directly at Tim . With a yelp, he ducked, and the object sailed harmlessly over his head.
He crouched down, shaking, pressing himself into a tiny ball and trying to minimize the amount of skin exposed to what would likely be a horribly painful explosion. But nothing happened.
He cracked one eye open to see a perfectly normal sphere sitting in the corner of the room, not doing anything.
A cold shiver went down Tim’s spine for no reason at all. He didn’t want to touch whatever it was, so he edged to the opposite end of the room until he knew it was safe. Then a loud grunt came from the fight outside, and Tim gasped.
That was Batman!
He raced over to the window, throwing all thoughts of the object to the back of his mind and peering over the edge of the windowsill.
Without his camera, it was kind of hard to see the details of what was happening, but he saw a thin red trail running down Batman’s face. Tim gasped again, and his heart began to race.
What if Batman died?
All of a sudden, it felt like there was no air in the room. Tim’s head began to spin, and his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.
Oh no. Tim looked at the orb again. Fear gas. But Batman was in trouble. Tim had to… he had to…
He had to remove himself from the situation. Tim was a liability right now.
Taking great, heaving gasps of poisoned air, he stumbled over to the window, trying to crawl through the thin gap. Panic made him clumsy, and long gashes were forming where he scraped his hands on wood or glass.
His vision was growing spotty, and Tim swore he could see that figure moving in the corner of his eye.
Air was growing scarce again, but he had to… he had to…
His foot caught on something sharp, and a hot pain shot through his ankle as he slipped. Tim grabbed blindly for something to steady himself.
He missed.
He fell.
If he had had the air, Tim would have screamed, but as it was, the only sound he made was a wet crunch when he hit the ground at exactly 1:32am.
Clouded eyes somehow saw that vague figure standing over him again. When they pressed a gentle hand to his forehead, it was like Tim could breathe all over again. His ribs and spine snapped back into place, lungs mended over, and the pieces of his skull that had fragmented inward, piercing his brain, reformed into a solid plate exactly where they should be.
“Oh. You’re Death, aren’t you.”
“And you’re a smart one.” They smiled. Or, he thought they were smiling. He got that impression. “And very brave, considering where you are.” They held out their hand. “Come along, little brave one, it’s time to be going.”
Tim hesitated. “No thank you.”
“No?”
“No.” He said it more firmly this time. “I have to be going home now, or Mother will ground me again.”
“Is that so?” Death sounded amused, but it was a kind amusement, not a mean one, so Tim figured he was probably safe. “And why should I let you go?”
Tim stopped to think about this, lower lip jutting out as he puzzled over the answer. What was equal to a life?
“...Never mind. I can see you have some life in you yet.” They laughed, before fading away. “Until next time, Timothy Drake.”
“Goodbye.” And then Tim was left alone in a dirty alleyway, with nothing but the rats for company.
After a few minutes of cold, panicked processing, Tim hurried inside and grabbed his camera. If he left it here, a) it was evidence, and b) it would mean this whole trip was for naught. But he hadn’t lied to Death, he really did have to get going before his Mother found out he was missing.
Raising a hand he squinted at the horizon where the morning sun was just beginning to rise. Then he said a word that, had his mother heard it, she would have washed his mouth out with soap.
He began the long trudging walk home. If he was lucky, maybe his parents wouldn’t notice the giant bloodstains on his clothes.
…
(they didn’t)
~*~
Months had passed and there was a new Robin. Tim was ecstatic! The new Robin didn’t have quite as many dramatic flips and puns as Dick did, but Jason cared about Gotham herself in a way that Dick had never quite matched. Granted, it was an aggressive kind of caring, but Gotham was an aggressive city, and Tim supported punching pedophiles and human traffickers in the face. Hard.
He could see it in the way that Jason would have to be called away from victims, the empathetic rage against injustice, the sheer life of the boy calling to him like a flame.
Tim was on a roof, night air cold against his skin, watching as Jason said something funny to Bruce, and the old man threw his head back, laughing loudly. Tim raised his camera and snapped a photo.
Batman laughing. Nobody’d ever believe me unless I showed them, but I can’t do that. Tim pouted, just a little. He felt like a scientist who’d made a great discovery, only to be told he had to keep it secret because of safety issues.
What a bummer.
Still, the contentment Tim felt as he snapped a photo of Batman and Robin swinging away was something he’d carry with him through his lifetime. Er, lifetimes.
Apparently Tim dying hadn’t been a one-off thing. Death was very nice about the whole thing, and it wasn’t like anybody else had noticed! So for now he was just… dealing with it. And besides, it was nice having someone check in on his wellbeing, even if he had to crack his skull open on the pavement first.
Case in point.
“Timothy.” Death sighed. “I know this is a challenge for you, but I request that you go at least a month without dying.” They leaned down, unseeable frame flickering away briefly. Apparently, Death was blond. That was all he got to see before the shadows slid back.
“But if I don’t die, then I don’t see you.” Tim slurred. Death sighed heavily, stooping over to brush a hand(?) through his hair.
“Pitiful child. Will you come with me this time?” He shook his head, and they sighed again, this time with fondness. “No, of course not. Why would you?” He could feel the dryness of their tone, and he knew they were both thinking of the very, very long list of reasons. “Until next time, Timothy.”
Death vanished, and Tim pulled himself off the ground, ignoring the splatter of bone and brain matter coating the cement. The sun was peeking over the horizon again, and he would have to get home and clean before Mrs. Mac showed up. He could only ask for new clothes so many times before his parents started getting suspicious, chiding him about waste and being grateful for what he had.
But when it came to itchy, uncomfortable suits…. Tim grumbled as he made his way onto the morning bus, where no one cared about his stained clothes or his age.
~*~
Time continued to pass, with Tim meeting Death every now and again. Sometimes, at night when he dashed across the rooftops chasing hints and flickers of fabric around corners, he’d catch a glimpse of the same red-haired figure he’d seen at the circus, but he never met her in person.
Tim’s favorite Robin had a falling out with Batman, which was stupid , because even if Jason had pushed that guy—which he hadn’t—the guy would have deserved it. Neither Death nor Tim mourned him, but there was a strange look on Death’s face when they collected his soul. A strange kind of melancholy anticipation.
When he asked why, he received no answer.
One month later, the full moon had risen high in the sky as wailing echoed across the city.
Tim clapped his hands over his ears with a flinch, trying to block out the terrible noise. He felt something wet against his palms.
“Timothy, dear, are you alright?” Mrs. Mac hurried over, crouching in front of him. “Is the fridge bothering you again?”
He shook his head furiously, not sure what was happening, but he wanted that awful, horrific noise to stop . He kept shaking his head.
“Oh dear.” She tried to pry his hands away from his ears, but Tim shook her off, sprinting up the stairs two at a time to his room, where he removed his hands only to see his palms stained with blood.
“Death.” He croaked. “Death, please. What’s happening?”
It took a minute, but the familiar figure swathed in shadows appeared. This time he could almost make out long, silver hair, and a pair of earrings.
“Timothy. Here, allow me.” They ran what he assumed were hands over his ears, and the pressure inside his head vanished. His ears no longer bled. “It’s… complicated.” He stared up at them, and as he did, more and more features came into view. Long, silver hair with piercing blue eyes, dangling black feather earrings, and a terrible look of sympathy on their face. “You may want to sit down for this, little one.”
Tim sat, right on the soft carpet, twining his hands in the fake fur for comfort.
“Robin is dead.”
Something in Tim’s chest cracked. “No! He can’t be, he’s Robin! Robin is magic, he can’t be dead.”
Death reached out, trying to pull Tim close. He struggled out of their grasp, and if Death had had a heart, Tim would have described them as heartbroken. “I’m sorry, little one. I collected his soul myself. Please, you aren’t alone.”
“Do you see anybody else here?” Tim screamed, releasing the rug just long enough to gesture around the room. There was a terrible loneliness invading him, one that had been held at bay by Robin’s light, the idea that there was someone out there who promised hope to kids like him. Someone to make things better because they could, someone who wasn’t so angry. And now he was gone. “I am alone, I’ve always been alone.”
“Timothy.” They knelt to his level, extending one hand. “You aren’t alone. I am here, and Gotham weeps with you.”
Tim hadn’t realized he’d been crying. He lifted a hand to his face and it came away wet with tears. He sniffled. Death reached out a little more, and he seized their hand, gripping it like a lifeline. And in a way, it was.
“Please don’t leave.” He begged. “Everybody leaves, please don’t leave me too, I don’t want you to go. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I yelled at you, I’m sorry I was mean. Please don’t leave.”
“Oh, my little star.” They swept him into a hug, warmer than he’d expect from someone (something?) cloaked in shadows. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Tim sobbed in Death’s arms, the sound of his weeping echoing in tandem with Gotham herself as they mourned the lost Robin, flown so far from home.
~*~
Tim may have stopped crying after a few hours, but Gotham’s cries continued for months, growing in intensity as Batman grew more and more violent. Where once he may have left a card for a shelter, or therapy, he now left broken bones and bleeding wounds. Tim had had to call an ambulance more than once, and he had made a point to carry a field medic kit with him.
Death was a watchful presence over his shoulder, always present, and he’d caught Gotham watching him from alleys, tears running down her face as she mourned the loss of two heroes at once.
Today was hard. It was the first anniversary of Jason’s death, and Batman had chosen to patrol, like an idiot .
Tim was mourning, he was, but Bruce had been Jason’s father. For him, the pain was more intense, more unforgiving. Originally, Tim had wanted to cut him some slack. However, the fact that he was leaving scores of burning pain in his wake as he crossed Gotham spat on everything Robin had been, and Tim couldn’t stand it.
As he made eye contact with Gotham from across dirty alleyways in the depths of the Bowery, Tim knew she had also reached her limit. In two quick strides, she was in front of him.
Death loomed over his shoulder as Gotham stared down at him with a look of heartbreaking rage.
“You understand.”
Tim nodded.
“Good.” She bowed her head. “I’m sorry to ask this of you, child. You are young, and I cannot protect you.”
Tim felt Death’s hand lay heavy on his shoulder, as reassuring as it was ominous.
“I know, ma’am. But I don’t like what he’s doing either. That’s not what Batman is supposed to be, what Robin stood for.” Tim stared up at Gotham, his face almost eerily blank except for his eyes, which shone a piercing, otherworldly blue in the dim night. “The whole city is unbalanced and hurting, and it’s not right. And I can fix it.”
Gotham leaned down, pressing a burning kiss to his forehead. Suddenly he was hit with the familiar scent of smog, of grime and gunpowder, and the smell of the bus he’d take home every day. That, and a brief impression of thousands of voices all talking, screaming, whispering at once. Then it was gone, and all that was left was the feeling of warm lips against his forehead.
“Go with my blessing, brave little bird. And be well.” Gotham vanished.
Tim blinked. Something had happened, something other than what he had agreed to, but he didn’t know what it was. The air was heavy with the weight of loss and a promise, and Tim felt something like a scale, tipping from one side to the other, not sure on which side he would land.
“Well.” Death’s voice came from over his shoulder. “They always were very dramatic.”
With that, the moment was shattered, and Tim let out a soft giggle. They ran a gentle hand over his cheek, and he leaned into the affectionate touch.
“Rest, my little star. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow.” There was sadness in their voice, but also a great pride, like Tim had just handed them all the stars in the night sky. “I’ll get you home safely, just close your eyes.”
He did, and within seconds the shadows had swallowed them, and Tim found himself standing in his bedroom, with Death nowhere in sight. He brushed his teeth and put on his pajamas in a daze, still processing the events of the day.
Gotham asked me to be Robin. I’m going to have to convince Batman to make me Robin, but Robin was Jason, and I–
Tim broke off that train of thought. He wasn’t going to be Bruce Wayne’s son. He was going to be Batman’s partner. There was a line in the sand that would have to be drawn, except it would be less of a line in the sand, and more of a ravine etched in stone.
He could do this. He was Timothy Jackson Drake , who spent time with Death on a regular basis, who had been given Gotham’s blessing.
He could do this.
It took a long time for Tim to fall asleep.
~*~
Tim had succeeded in becoming Robin. It was a terrifying process, and he was alone the whole time, without even the shadow of Death lurking behind him. There was no whisper of Gotham, nobody to help him. Just him in the rafters and a bunch of Two-Face’s men below.
He had been terrified beyond belief. But Gotham had faith in him, so he could do this. And he did. He saved both Batman and Nightwing, and with great reluctance and no small amount of hostility, Bruce agreed to train him.
When the words finally left his mouth, Tim spotted Gotham standing just beside Jason’s memorial, a look of sad acceptance on her face. She bowed her head in gratitude, and Tim blinked back.
A comforting weight blanketed him once more, and he felt Death wrap him in their version of a hug.
Well done, child. The words weren’t spoken, so much as just resounding in his mind. I’m sorry that you have to go through this .
It’s okay. He told them. If I can help somebody, even just one person, the way Jason helped me, then it’ll all be worth it.
He felt Death’s sorrow, but also their pride, and a warm affection that lit his chest from within. If he had this, then he could face anything. Bruce’s coldness, Alfred’s distance, the ghost of Jason haunting his every step in this manor and beyond. It wouldn’t matter. He had Death and Gotham beside him, and he was cherished. He’d be okay.
The weight of the scales tipped to one side, and Tim heard the echoing, solemn reverberation of a bell, or perhaps a gong being struck. Whatever it was, it was clear that he was the only one hearing it.
Thus began the career of the loneliest Robin.